Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Vivian
I normally sleep on my left side. That’s the only reason I’m facing the bathroom. It has nothing to do with Jonah being in there for the last twenty minutes.
When I’d finished my shower, he’d given me attitude about how long I’d taken that had sounded almost like teasing. But that’s way too gentle a tone to ascribe to Jonah. And the way he looked at me? I must have imagined it because I looked terrible.
I hate going to bed with wet hair, so I usually shower in the mornings.
But tonight, I needed it. Needed to wash off the day.
Needed time to myself. Which meant I had to dry my hair.
It’s a poofy mess. My face is devoid of makeup and every blemish stands out.
I almost covered my face with my charcoal mask, but fuck it.
This is who I am. I don’t care what Jonah thinks.
But that look…like he wanted something. Like he wanted…me.
I shut my eyes, willing myself to sleep. But I can’t. I’m too keyed up.
The bathroom door opens, and Jonah steps out of the steam like Beyoncé making an entrance.
He drags his hand through his wet hair. His face is open, for once.
But that’s not what catches my attention.
He’s wearing shorts and nothing else, putting his broad chest on display.
Drops of water drip over his impressive pecs, and I hold back a whimper.
He brushes the water away with his hand. Fuck. Does he need help? I volunteer as tribute. His nipples pebble in the cool air of the room. And suddenly, I don’t mind the cold.
He glances my way, and I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping he didn’t see me staring. My heart beats wildly and my cock pulses. I don’t dare move.
“Vivian? Are you still awake?”
“No.”
He snorts. I can feel him standing there. Watching me. Why doesn’t he go to bed?
“Is it too cold in here for you?”
I want to snap at him to stop it. I don’t need his concern. It’s confusing. And sweet. So, so sweet. “I’m fine.”
He sighs. “Really, Vivian. I can turn it down.”
I wait for my usual irritation over Jonah trying to take care of me when I don’t need it.
But it’s not there. Instead, there’s a warmth pressing against my breastbone.
For one reckless moment, I almost confess.
Would it shock him to know how much I want to touch him?
Lick him? Probably. And it would be yet another thing Jonah could use against me.
No thanks.
“Go to bed, Jonah.” And for some reason, it doesn’t come out as snippy as I want. There’s a note of fondness that I didn’t intend to add.
He slips into bed. “Goodnight, Vivian.”
My chest aches as I snuggle into my blankets. “Goodnight, Jonah.”
In the morning, I’m groggy. Did I sleep at all? It doesn’t feel like it. I’m tired and on edge.
Something is shifting between Jonah and me, and I don’t like it. I definitely don’t know how to handle it. What if it’s my imagination? What if I’m the only one feeling this way?
Which is enough of a reason to not say anything.
But it’s not long before Jonah reacts to my one-word answers. “Did I do something?”
I’m in the bathroom, shoving my products in my bag. Jonah stands framed in the doorway, taking up the entire space. I shake my head, more at my own thoughts than him.
“You’re acting weird. If I did something to upset you—”
“Seriously?” I laugh. “You live to upset me.”
He shrugs. Jesus. What is happening here?
I give him a smile. “I’m fine, Jonah.”
“Okay.” He blinks, looking so unsure I want to—nope. No hugging Jonah.
I turned back to my task. “We need to get ready before your dad and my mom start banging on the wall for us to hurry up.”
We have to wait for the auto parts store to open, so we can’t leave as early as yesterday. Mom seems a little better today. She has more energy.
Mom and George stay at the hotel and finish their breakfast, while I go with Jonah to fix the wipers on the van. The fuse was blown, so that’s a quick fix. We don’t even need the tools Jonah apparently stashed in the back.
Jonah decides we also need to change the wiper blades. His hands are sure as he works, and that stupid competency kink comes roaring back. It’s inconvenient. When Jonah looks away, I adjust myself.
“All done. Can you check they’re working?”
“Sure.” I jump in the driver’s seat and realize I don’t know which knob controls the wipers. He doesn’t rush me, and after turning the lights on and off again, I find the right switch. The wipers jump to life, and Jonah and I grin at each other.
He opens the driver’s side door, and my heart leaps. What is he doing?
“Need to fix the window.”
Right.
He pulls the glass up and adjusts it. Trying to get it on its track or something. He finally gets it working and it rolls up and down. “It might not last, but at least for now, we’re good.”
“You’re pretty handy to have around,” I say, joking with him.
He tilts his head and our eyes lock. “Am I?”
“You are.” I feel lightheaded as I lean my arm against the steering wheel.
Hooonk!
Shit. I jump back. And Jonah laughs. But this isn’t the normal Jonah laugh. Not the one he gives me anyway. This laugh is warm. Inviting.
“Ready to go?”
I nod. “Absolutely.”
He leans his arm over the door and grins. “Are you driving?”
“No.” I scramble out of the van, brushing against him in my hurry to get out of his seat. God. He smells amazing. “Excuse me.”
Rushing to the passenger side, I try to ignore my jumbled thoughts and hard cock.
I’m able to get control of myself before we get back to the hotel. It’s not long before everyone’s once again loaded in the van and we’re back on the road.
Stretching my legs, I lean my head back. “Welcome” by Fort Minor plays in my earbuds. The familiar song helps soothe my nerves.
This is the best seat in the van. I don’t have to share with anyone. Or talk to anyone.
George is driving, and Mom is once again in the passenger seat. This time, I got the back, and it’s nice having so much room. The sun is out, but George checks the wipers more than once, and they seem to work fine.
When we reach the interstate without anything breaking, I close my eyes and try to lose myself in the music.
But my eyes don’t seem to get the message. They keep straying to Jonah.
He’s playing with Maisy—and Bell—keeping her entertained. He’s such a good guy. That’s always irritated me. But I’ve never really examined why. Is it because it highlights how different we are? Or because he’s usually a nice guy to everyone but me. Like I’m not worthy.
I know that feeling well.
It’s getting harder and harder to hate the guy. Which feels way too dangerous. After a while, my music is distracting, and I turn it off so I can hear Maisy’s happy voice and Jonah’s laugh.
“I brought some games to play on our trip,” Mom says in a way too excited tone.
Jonah leans forward like he’s interested. Of course he is. “What kind of games?”
“Your dad said you guys used to play games where you’d draw a question out of a cup.”
Jonah groans. “Not that game.”
“It was fun,” George insists.
“Anyway,” Mom says, holding up a cup. “I found some random questions on the internet. Do you guys want to play?”
Maybe if I pretend I’m listening to music, I can get away with not playing. But the truth is that I’m interested in hearing Jonah’s answers.
He rubs the back of his neck, and I can’t help but follow the path of his fingers as they scrub the fine hair on his nape. There are a few freckles sprinkled at the base. I’m busy cataloging every single one when he turns around.
He catches me staring at him and his smile widens. “Vivian wants to play.”
I lean forward and keep my voice low. “Vivian does not want to play.”
He smirks and turns back. “If I have to play, Vivian has to play.”
The air-conditioning doesn’t reach the back, which is usually great. But with the heat now prickling my neck, I really need it.
The questions should be simple, like “What’s your favorite color?” or “What’s your favorite television show?” or something else equally asinine, but I have too many memories of being shut down. Told I was being childish. Or worse.
“Come on, bro,” Jonah coaxes.
“Don’t call me that.” But everyone is looking at me. Even George through the rearview mirror. “Fiiine,” I whine. “I’ll play.”
Mom claps her hands, and I can’t be upset if it makes her happy. She’s rarely happy these days.
“It was Dad’s idea, so I think he should go first,” Jonah says with a smirk.
“Bring it on.” George gives us a look in the mirror like he’s going to wipe the floor with us. And now I know where Jonah gets it from.
Mom holds the red cup, and George pulls out the slip of paper. I keep my eyes on both of them. No way is this random. Since George is driving, Mom reads it for him. “What’s your favorite vacation memory?”
“So far? The pizza party last night.”
Mom laughs fondly. “George, it has to be from a different vacation.”
“Why?” he asks. “Show me where it says that in the rules.”
At her look, he sighs. “Fine. When Jonah was seven, we went on a fishing trip in southern Missouri with my dad. I loved that trip.”
“Me too,” Jonah says quietly.
His voice is filled with sadness. Is it because his grandpa died? Or is this about his mom? Was she on the trip with them? I almost ask if the rules allow follow-up questions, but then I remember it’ll be my turn soon.
“Who’s next?” Mom glances around. Both Jonah and I are sinking into our seats.
“Me!” Maisy says, trying to grab the cup. “My turn!” Mom hands Jonah the cup, and he angles it so Maisy can grab a slip of paper.
“Here, I’ll read it for you.”
Maisy pushes Jonah’s hand away. “No. My turn.” She then pretends to read the words. “What is your favoritest ice cream?”
She puts her chin in her hand exactly the way Mom does when she’s thinking. We could all answer this question for her.
“Strawberry,” she finally says, as if there’s any question.
Jonah plucks the paper from her hand with a smile. He’s facing Maisy, so I can only see his profile, but it’s enough to make me squirm in my seat. His strong jaw. Those lips. Jesus.