Chapter Eleven
Eleven
Abby
When I get home from class, the lights are all on in the living room, but there’s no sign of Jack. It isn’t until I pass by the hall bath on the way to my room that I hear the sound of running water and loud music, realizing that he’s in there showering.
It’s strange, what that mental image does to me.
It’s a new development, this thing where I realize that Jack is hot and actually acknowledge it—and I know it’s our conversation the other night that’s to blame.
Before, it was easy to shove Jack into a little fuckboy box where he was safely out of reach and therefore no danger to my libido.
But after hearing all his worries and his doubts and his fears…
it makes it all too real that there’s an actual person underneath all the swagger and bad jokes.
I don’t know what to make of that Jack, but it means that I’ve been looking at him a little more than I should these last few days.
It means that I’ve taken to asking Lila or Ian how the games have gone, if only to suss out what his emotional state might be.
I even find myself desperately wanting to check in on him, to see if he’s had any more episodes like the one he had the other night.
I shake away the thoughts as I continue on to my bedroom.
It’s already pretty late, and I honestly want nothing more than to throw my pajamas on and crawl into bed, but my stomach is demanding sustenance before I tuck myself in.
I grab a threadbare T-shirt and a pair of sleep shorts that I’m partial to, slipping into them and unhooking my bra.
The T-shirt is big enough that it’s hard to tell I’m not wearing one, and besides, I plan to be in and out of the kitchen before Jack finishes up, anyway. He tends to take long showers.
It’s kind of weird that I know that, and I definitely don’t want to think about the reason as to why that is.
I slip out of my bedroom quietly, easing the door shut behind me as I try to make it through the apartment without alerting Jack of my presence.
It’s still a little weird between us after so deep of a discussion the other night, and for all the furtive glances I’ve been giving him since, I have tried to make myself as scarce as possible.
I turn from my bedroom door and note the same heavy beats of some rock band singing about acid and alkaline (weird)—and maybe that’s why it doesn’t click at first, that the shower is no longer running.
Maybe that’s why I don’t realize until it’s a second too late that the bathroom door is opening just as I’m passing, a large body spilling out of it and colliding right into me.
“Fuck,” Jack practically shouts.
His wide palms shoot out to grip my shoulders, which means the towel that is precariously tied to his waist slips just a little, giving me an eyeful of his Adonis belt that is…very well-defined.
“Abby,” he breathes, clearly taken aback by my presence. “I didn’t realize you were home.”
My entire front is wet now, and I have to shift my feet to steady myself so I don’t topple over after being nearly mowed down by a six-foot-four hockey player.
His eyes dip, and that’s when it dawns on me that my entire front is wet now.
Which means the T-shirt that should have had no problem hiding that I was going sans bra is now plastered to my front—my nipples jutting against the fabric and already pebbling as the cool air hits the wet cotton.
I feel my face flame as Jack’s eyes catch there; I notice the way his throat bobs with a swallow before his gaze finally climbs back up to meet mine.
“I didn’t know you were home,” he says.
“You already said that.”
His jaw tics. “Did I?”
“You did.”
“I forgot my clothes,” he tells me. “It actually happens a lot.”
“I was just…going to the kitchen.”
I think we both realize at the same time that he’s still touching me, his grip on my shoulders a now-solid weight that I can’t ignore.
He releases me in an instant, clearing his throat as one of his hands shoots down to his towel, which is hanging on for dear life, gripping it tight to ensure that it doesn’t fall.
And I’m doing my best not to stare at his nipples the entire time.
I’ve never really given much thought about a man’s nipples, but Jack’s are small and tight with little droplets of water still clinging to them, and I have the strangest urge to press my tongue there and catch one.
What the actual fuck? This is Jack Baker. We don’t lust after Jack Baker.
Do we?
“Well, I’d…” He rubs at his wet hair with his free hand. “I’d better go and get dressed.”
I glance down at my wet T-shirt—a mistake, I realize, because it makes Jack do the same thing. “I’d better go change.”
“Yeah…Sorry about that?”
I narrow my eyes. “Are you really though?”
“Well…” He flashes me a grin that is more like the Jack I know. “At least a little.”
I roll my eyes, but I don’t feel the same level of irritation I usually do, more like subtle amusement. “Pig.”
“If the wet T-shirt fits,” he says seriously.
I make a disgruntled sound as I turn away from him, heading back to my room and shutting the door firmly behind me.
I’m doing my best not to think about sculpted abs and tight nipples and cum gutters that are absolutely lickable—deciding then and there that it has been entirely too long since I got laid, and that’s the reason for all this weird and sudden thirsting.
I haven’t had sex for the better part of a year.
It’s kind of hard to hook up with a course load like mine, not to mention that before this year, I was afraid every person I met would somehow find out who I was and leak it to the press.
But there’s nothing stopping me now, I suppose.
And if I’m looking at Jack Baker the way that I just was… Obviously it might be time.
Because I can’t be attracted to Jack.
That would be the stupidest thing I could ever do.
When I’m changed and decent—I put a bra back on just in case—I make my way back out into the kitchen, still hankering for some food before I pour myself into bed.
I was sort of hoping that I would be able to get through it unscathed, that Jack would be fucking off in his room somewhere, but of course, the universe isn’t that kind.
He’s standing over the sink with one of those individual pints of ice cream, taking slow bites. I actually have the misfortune of seeing him lick the spoon as I walk up, and that’s an image that is going to take a long time to get out of my head.
“Hey,” he says.
I upnod him, moving to the fridge. “Hey.”
“I have ice cream,” he tells me.
I eye him from the open fridge door. “I can see that.”
“That was supposed to be me offering you some,” he clarifies.
I purse my lips. “What flavor?”
“Rocky Road.”
Fuck. That’s my favorite.
I chew on the inside of my lower lip for a second, weighing my options. On the one hand, it’s probably a bad idea to share such a small tub of ice cream with a man whose nipples were at the forefront of my mind not twenty minutes ago, but on the other…Rocky Road.
“Gimme a spoon,” I tell him.
He fishes one out of one of the drawers, handing it over to me and letting me dig out a scoop, watching as I bring it to my mouth with a small moan.
“Damn, that’s good.”
“It’s my favorite,” he says.
I cock a brow. “Mine too.”
“Wow, look at us,” he says with a grin. “Practically soul mates.”
I roll my eyes. “You wish.”
He just smiles again, a barely there sort of thing that one might almost miss, as he goes in for another bite of ice cream.
“So how was your day?” he asks.
How was your day?
This feels like dangerous territory. Are we somehow becoming friends here?
“It was…long,” I tell him with a sigh.
I think back to the slew of text messages from my dad that I got today—all saying some iterance of the same thing—and frown.
“Very long,” I add. I steal another bite from his tiny tub. “What about you?”
“It was…fun?”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“It was just unexpected. I tagged along with Ian over to St. Michael’s for the day.”
I cock my head, licking my spoon. “St. Michael’s?”
“The orphanage Dee has her play days at every year,” he explains. “It’s the same one we spent some time in as kids before our aunt got custody.”
I feel something sink in my stomach, remembering yet again how much more there is to Jack than I give him credit for.
“That’s…nice,” I hedge. “What did you do there?”
“There’s a kid Ian has been mentoring,” he tells me. “I just went to help out.”
“That’s really good of both of you,” I say, meaning it. I point my spoon at his tub. “Gimme another bite.”
“Bossy,” he laughs, holding it out to me.
I take an extra-large bite just for his sass, making a show of plopping it into my mouth.
“Hey, I’m supposed to be the childish one here,” he says. “Get your own thing.”
An actual laugh tumbles out my mouth, and Jack’s brows shoot up, looking as surprised to hear it as I am.
“I actually thought about you today,” he tells me, making my heart rate quicken a little.
I try to appear nonchalant. “Oh yeah?”
“Just something with the kid. Kyle. He fell on the ice and was really bummed about it. It made me think about what you said the other night.”
“Which part?”
“About how you can get back up even if you stumble,” he says.
“Oh.” I let my spoon rest against my lower lip, considering that. I hadn’t realized that anything I said had made that much of a difference to him. “Well, good. Now I won’t feel bad about the bill that I put in the mail for you.”
He chuckles. “You put a bill in the mail for me when you live across the hall?”
“I’m a professional,” I tell him seriously.
He laughs again, and the moment is just so…easy, that it sort of freaks me out. I can’t recall a single time I’ve ever had an easy moment like this with Jack Baker. It really is as if we might be becoming…friends. Even if friends don’t think about their friend’s nipples like I still kind of am.
“Oh, that reminds me,” he says, looking nervous suddenly. “I actually got you something. You know, as a thank-you.”
I go still. “You did?”