54. Jo
Chapter 54
Jo
P lacebo or not, the coffee hits my system like a jolt of lightning streaking across the distant sky. Between the storm and the fact that I stupidly let Isaac drag my ass out of the restaurant last night sans my own transportation, I’m already contemplating ways to execute my escape.
It’s what I do best.
My heart might want me to stay here in this cozy, familiar bubble with Isaac, but my head is sure it’s all too good to be true, and I’m not sure I can handle another almost with Isaac.
He sits down on the couch next to me—just out of reach, but close enough to feel his warmth.
“I’ve made a lot of promises I couldn’t keep.” His words are projected at the floor until he turns to face me. “But I made a promise to Sam, and I won’t break that one.”
I know he’s baiting me, but I can’t help myself. I’m no better than a fish chasing a worm.
“What did you promise him?”
He clears his throat, crossing his arms over his chest before speaking almost too quietly to hear. “No more regrets. Sam made me promise I wouldn’t run away from the things I want anymore.”
“Okay,” I add subconsciously before he shoots me a glance.
It’s weird. My usual feral urge to run as far away as possible from a situation like this has transformed into an insatiable need to prove to Isaac that I can help heal the hurt. Like every interaction and missed connection we’ve had to this point has somehow brought us here to his dirty living room. Kismet. I take one more sip of my coffee before setting the glass back on the coaster.
“I’m going to be honest with you, and I need you to not freak out.” He nods in response, delicately studying my face as I speak. I’m painfully aware of my increased blood pressure and Isaac is too, glancing at the bounding pulse in my neck. “I’ve been in love with you for twelve years.” My cheeks flame when I realize how much of myself I’ve just put on display for him.
“Jo, you have to believe me when I say—” he reaches out to wrap his fingers around my forearm. “—same.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“Why didn’t you?” Silence falls around us.
“We’re actually stupid,” I say, eliciting a laugh from Isaac. Shaking my head, I join in his laughter. “Man, Carmen was right, and she’s going to be insufferable when she finds out.”
“Since we’re having a moment of admissions, can I say something else?” I hesitate but nod, and he inhales a lungful of air before continuing. “I’d really love to make up for lost time.”
My chest squeezes as Isaac drops to his knees in front of me, placing his hands on my bare thighs.
“Is that okay?” He asks, a rasp present in his voice that I’ve never heard before. I swallow hard, nodding again. “We went over this already, Jocelyn. I need to hear you say it.”
“Yes,” I gasp.
“Good girl,” he whispers against the skin of my thigh. Another bolt of lightning flashes across the sky in time with a rush of blood to my core.
I try to keep my focus on the feel of his palms as they glide my skirt up and over my hips. I’m very much regretting the fact that I shoved my underwear into my purse after I showered, but Isaac licks his bottom lip as he exposes me to the dim lighting of the living room. The pouring rain and sound of my panting provides a perfect soundtrack for the moment Isaac pushes my knees as far apart as my skirt will allow and dips his head forward to take a long inhale, his nose brushing gently against my clit.
“Fuck, Jocelyn. You smell amazing.” I shudder and my knees instinctively close against the sides of Isaac’s head as he takes his first languid lick. He wraps his arms under my thighs and pulls me towards the end of the couch. My skirt gets dragged further up my abdomen in the move, but I don’t fight it. I want this.
Right?
My body responds to the stimulus, but it’s like I’m watching the interaction from above. Physically, I’m in the moment. Emotionally and mentally, I might as well take up residence on Jupiter.
It takes me a few seconds to realize he has, in fact, stopped all physical contact and is staring at me, a puzzled look on his face. I push myself upright, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
“Hey,” he says quietly. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m so sorry, Isaac, it’s me, not you. I promise.” He hooks his thumbs into the fabric of my skirt, pulling it back down over my exposed center. I will not cry.
I will not cry.
I did nothing wrong.
Moments like this are the reason I chose to research the brain. Though we only know some of the intricacies of how the powerful organ controls us, it never ceases to amaze and destroy. Logistically, I should be happy. This is exactly what I want.
However, be it the fear of failure or intimacy, my brain has decided that the red warning flare of panic is the only appropriate response.
“Hey,” he says again. I start to cry.
The car ride back to my apartment is mostly quiet, just the sound of the windshield wipers screeching against the mostly dry glass. The storm has finally passed.
I take a breath, ready to force myself to speak, but Isaac beats me to it.
“If you apologize again, I will actually have to punish you.”
“Oh, you’re truly terrifying,” I tease, wiping the last of the rogue tears from my eye with the back of my finger. When Isaac pulls to a stop in the closest parking spot he can find, I reach for the door handle, but he stops me with a hand on my thigh.
“Can I walk you in?”
I nod and he releases his grasp. He turns off the engine and the doors unlock automatically, freeing us from the confines of the space. We reach the door and are greeted by a pile of brown boxes—packages that I don’t remember ordering. I gently kick them off the doormat and the pile topples as I reach for my key.
Chloe got all the athletic genes in the family.
I unlock the door as Isaac hurriedly piles the boxes into his arms and follows behind me into the apartment. Luckily I had enough forethought to clean, although it was for Jake and not Isaac.
Except it was. Everything was for Isaac.
“Where should I put these?” He lifts the pile towards me and I gesture to the kitchen island.
“Thank you,” I say and he nods, setting the packages down onto the faux granite countertop. He backs away from the counter and shoves both of his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and I’m overcome with a need to press my body against his. So I do.
I launch myself at him, wrapping my arms tightly around his neck and pulling him into me. He hesitates before pulling his hands out of his pockets and sliding them, one at a time, around my waist. He sighs, relaxing into me, and I nuzzle my head into the crook of his neck, inhaling his musk.
“I want to do this, Jo,” he whispers into the top of my head. “We’re doing ourselves a disservice if we don’t at least try.” I can’t tell if the pounding in my chest is his heart or mine, but it doesn’t matter.
“Okay.” I give him one last squeeze and pull away, my eyes immediately finding the floor between our feet.
“I want you to come over again tonight.” He grasps my chin with two fingers and guides my gaze to his face. “Will you do that for me?”