40. Chapter Thirty-One #2
A fresh scent hits me as the door swings open and we step inside the room.
It’s spacious enough that I could do a cartwheel if I wanted to—not that I would in my current state.
A mirror lines the wall behind the bed, which has a plush white comforter and big fluffy pillows.
Excitement thrums inside of me when I spot the private bathroom and the fancy soft white robes hanging on the wall.
It quickly disintegrates at the sight of the man before me—the one whose head is cast downward and his back facing me.
“Are you okay?” I ask him quietly.
He shakes his head and runs a hand through his midnight-black hair. “No.”
I vigorously nod as I contemplate my next move. I’m still trying to figure out what’s happening and feeling whiplash from the night’s events. “Are you angry?”
A broken laugh escapes him as he turns to face me. His eyes are wild and bright, and everything wonderful. “I am jealous ,” he seethes, his frustration evident.
My heart starts to float. “Jealous?”
His jaw feathers, his heated gaze heavy on me like a weight that wants to drive me to my knees. I’ve never felt this kind of pull toward anyone and I have to admit, it’s frightening.
“Out. Of. My. Mind,” he enunciates.
“We were only talking. ”
His eyes darken. “ Talking? His hands were on you.”
I shake my head, swallowing thickly. “Before that, I mean. I slipped, and he caught me.”
“Do you like him?” he asks, throwing me through a fucking loop.
I rear my head back. “Do I like him?”
“Answer the question.”
“You are being so unreasonable. Do you hear yourself?” I bite out, crossing my arms.
“Believe me, I do. Loud and clear, ma cerise.”
I step forward, poking him in the chest. “You’re the one that was chatting it up in the corner with your ex .” At the look on his face, I laugh. “Oh yeah, I know all about Miss Perfect.”
Something in his eyes flicker then and I know my words bring him joy—the sadistic ass. “You were jealous, weren’t you?”
“No, I wasn’t. I’m not .” I huff, placing my hands on my hips. “Now you’re being both unreasonable and ridiculous. Congratulations.”
He barks a laugh, but it lacks humor. “If you must know, Eden and I are ancient fucking history, but we’re friends . She asked me if I could do some pieces for her clients.”
That should comfort me. It really should, but I feel an unwelcome bitterness inside of me. “Well, you were catching up, and I was getting caught. So, let’s just forget everything. We’re even.”
He steps forward, brows raised. “Even?”
I nod once.
His voice is lethally calm when he says, “Andrea, he’s lucky he’s Ryder’s son, or else I’d have laid hands on him for laying hands on you.
” I open my mouth to interject, but he cuts me off.
“You don’t see how other men look at you.
How he was looking at you. It drives me fucking insane to watch them watch you when I want nothing more than to gouge their eyes from their sockets. ” His chest heaves as he stares at me.
I’m stunned into silence, trying to put together all my pieces that scream real and not real .
There’s a sudden knock on our door and both of our heads swing in that direction. A flash of annoyance crosses Julian’s face at the interruption. With great reluctance, he pulls himself away from me to answer the door. He opens it with only a crack and there are a few whispers exchanged.
Cursing under his breath, he glances back at me. “I’ll be right back.”
I remain silent, still nestled in my confusion. I’m not certain if I can get past this part—the part that comes after letting myself come to the same realization of recognizing my jealousy for what it is.
Yearning.
The door clicks softly behind him, and I’m encompassed in a quiet that is interrupted only by the sound of the steady vibration of the engine. I remain rooted to the floor as the pieces of myself come back together. There’s a strange emotion that sprouts inside of me at his admittance.
One moment I’m watching him talk idly with a beautiful woman who happens to be his ex and the next, I’m in the arms of a perfectly good-looking man. The issue itself is not that Julian stepped in. The issue is the feeling I got when he did.
With a huff, I grab my duffel bag and bring it into the bathroom with me. I’m not sure how long he’ll be gone, but I need a shower. Why? Because showers help me think.
This oddly feels like a game of chess and one I’m not adept at playing.
I check the time and find it to be nearly two in the morning.
I quickly strip out of my clothes, shivering slightly at the cold air as I do.
Turning on the shower, I set the temperature to as hot as I can handle it.
Swiftly stepping underneath the warmth, I sigh in contentment.
I’m still pretty drunk despite having stopped drinking an hour ago. My body rocks and I can’t really tell if it’s me or the boat. I take my time, though. Even after I’ve finished washing my body and hair, I let the water continue to beat against my face.
There’s this strange flutter in my stomach as I shut off the water and step out of the tiny shower.
Grabbing a robe, I wrap it tightly around my body before doing my skincare and brushing my teeth.
Once I’m finished, I search through my bag for the cute pajama set with cacti on it that I picked out when I went shopping with Maisie.
Instead, I only find a dark green satin night dress.
My mouth falls open—first in shock and then in realization.
Fucking Maisie Dupont. Oh, I’m so going to kill her for this.
Knowing that I have no other options, I slide the smooth fabric over my body. I stare at myself in the mirror and then at the door. When I press my ear against it, I’m met with silence.
Attempting stealth, I gently pry open the door and step into the room. There’s no need since it’s empty. Still, however, I find myself quickly dropping my bag on the floor and stuffing myself under the comforter. I reach over to turn the lamp off and then proceed to pull the covers up to my chin.
I’m not sure how much time passes before the door opens, the light briefly cascading into the room before it closes. Through the darkness, I watch Julian stare at me for a moment. He must not be able to tell that I’m awake since he goes for his bag and disappears into the bathroom.
He doesn’t turn on the shower, but I do hear the shuffling of clothes as he changes. Through my time living with Julian, I’ve learned that he prefers mornings, whereas I like to shower whenever I feel like it. I’ve never been too particular about routine in my life.
When the bathroom door swings open, my breath catches in my throat at the sight of him wearing low-hanging gray sweatpants, the elastic of his boxer peeking out from the waistband. My mouth goes dry at the ripples lining his abdomen as he approaches the bed.
My entire body tenses as he slides into the space next to me, and I recall the last time we shared a bed.
His bed. That felt different somehow. Now, it feels like it could mean something—maybe it already does.
I could tell him right now that I’d prefer it if he slept on the floor and he’d do just that.
But I want him next to me. I’m learning the closer I let this man in, the safer my heart feels.
Where my mind has been loud in its fear, it’s quiet now.
He tucks his long body under the covers and instead of turning away from me, he lies on his right side, facing me. This causes him to catch me staring at him and he pauses for a moment before setting his head on the pillow.
“Hi,” I whisper, not sure what else to say or if I’m supposed to be saying anything at all.
He cracks a gentle smile and whispers back, “Hi.”
Something resolute settles into me. I’ve only known him for two months and he’s already one of the greatest people I know. He’s also one of the saddest and every so often when I think about what he’s been through, it makes my insides fracture with its impact.
Then he’ll laugh at something I said, and I’m overcome with awe at how someone can find themselves on the other side of tragedy if they never stop fighting to get there .
“I’m sorry for leaving. I had to go deal with something.”
I shake my head, instinctively inching closer to him. “Don’t be sorry,” I reassure him quietly. “It’s okay.”
“You don’t want to know where I went?” he asks, sounding curious.
My fear tells me he was with her. That’s why I ask, “Do I want to know where you went?”
This question causes him to frown. “Andrea.”
“Hm?”
“I wasn’t with Eden,” he says slowly. “I was with Felix. He’s uh—he’s not doing so great right now.”
It’s hard to ignore the blatant relief I feel even as a pang of sympathy for Felix stumbles over me. The way his eyes kept landing on Kira all night tells me a lot about exactly why he isn’t doing so great right now. “I could tell something was off with him tonight. Is he going to be okay?”
He lifts a shoulder. “Yes, but not anytime soon.”
I nod in understanding and silence surrounds us once more, but neither of us closes our eyes and try to fall asleep. A few strands of his dark hair lay across his forehead, and I resist the urge to reach out and push them out of his face. They look good there. Too good .
I stare at his eyes, watching them trail over every inch of my face in fascination as if I’m as worthy of being admired as a painting.
No one has ever made me feel this way when they look at me, but Julian makes me feel touched underneath my skin without laying a single hand on me.
He’s always looking at me like he sees me.
It’s addicting and I always find myself craving it more and more as time passes. He’s intoxicating and intimidating and lovely.
And now I’m thinking that I don’t want this to be fake anymore. What I want is something real and I badly want it to be with him .
My eyes fall to the jagged pink scar across his chest and my vision blurs. “Who did this to you?” My hand goes to it, tracing the rough skin there. A tremor moves through his body and his eyes pinch shut, as if my question has brought back unwanted memories.
When he finally opens his eyes again, they land on mine. “Do you really want to know me?”
I press my palm flat over the scar. “Yes.”
“You won’t like what you see,” he says, and the way he’s looking at me tells me that he carries a desperate hope that I will.
“Let me see you, anyway.”