Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MELLOW SUNLIGHT STREAMS IN, ROUSING me from the most blissful sleep I’ve had in years. I force my eyelids closed even tighter, snuggling into the pillow I’m hugging. A freshly washed pillow that smells nostalgic and comforting. Like home. And so warm. I tighten my grip and the pillow grunts.
I stiffen, lifting my head as Alex rubs his eyes, then blinks them open.
He looks a little dazed, as if the awareness is just catching up with him.
Our bodies are tangled, coiled around each other in the center of the bed.
My gaze shifts down to my jean-clad leg, slung over his.
He fought sharing a bed so adamantly last night. Is this why? Did he see this coming?
I know I didn’t.
I attempt to let go, to scoot back to my side, but I can’t manage to move my pinkie toe, let alone the rest of my body. Maybe it’s the drowsiness. That must be it. I’m physically incapable of pulling away from him.
I can’t help but note that he’s not moving, either.
And then a slow smile stretches up his obscenely handsome face. Fuck. He’s even hotter than usual—thick stubble, mussed bedhead, hazy eyes. And that smile. God, that smile does things to me.
His eyes sharpen, as if the fog is lifting. But he still doesn’t break out of our jumble of limbs. “Morning,” he rasps. And that’s all it takes to melt my insides.
I blush, dipping my gaze, and he reaches out, tucking a messy swath of dark red hair behind my ear. His fingers linger a moment, and my heart threatens to careen out of my chest. Slowly, his hand slides down, grazing my skin as he cups my cheek. And then his gaze drops down, zeroing in on my mouth.
Oh, my god.
Is he about to kiss me?
My pulse slams a riot against his palm. He must feel it because his smile widens. Then he tilts down, and I close my eyes.
An earsplitting siren cracks through the room, catapulting us apart.
We scramble back to our respective sides, and whatever spell was hanging over us vanishes.
My heart is pounding so hard, I can’t pick out individual beats.
It’s just one continuous hum. The blaring stops, but only for a moment before it starts up again. What the hell is that? A fire alarm?
Alex swings his legs over the side of the bed, then rustles something on the nightstand, halting the shrill clamor. “Hello?”
The phone.
I press my palm to my chest, pulling in breath after shaky breath, trying to calm the chaos. That screeching was loud enough to wake the dead. I can’t make out anything the person on the other end of the line is saying; it’s just a series of squawks with varied inflections.
Alex mutters, “Okay,” then hangs up the receiver. He runs his hand through his hair, still facing away from me. “Tow truck is downstairs.”
The car.
I forgot all about it. Right. That’s the only reason we’re here.
Silently, we get out of bed and find our shoes. Alex slides his glasses on, then slings his messenger bag over his shoulder. He pulls the dress from the closet, carefully folding it over his arm. He can’t even meet my gaze. “Got everything, November?”
The name hits like a devastating blow. The magic is already gone. I manage a nod, my heart cracking.
The door clicks behind us, and deep down, I know we’ll never get back to that moment in bed.
“Fifty bucks.” The mechanic shuts the hood with a loud thunk.
“Are you serious?” Alex blinks in disbelief. “That’s it?”
The older man nods, wiping the grease from his hands with a dirty rag. “That’s it.”
After he hooked up Alex’s SUV, we rode in silence to the repair shop. He took one listen to the starter and fixed the blown fuse in less than half an hour.
Alex gladly hands him his card, and in twenty minutes, we’re on our way home.
In awkward silence.
It seems to be the theme of the day.
I peek at Alex, who hasn’t taken his hands from the wheel or his eyes off the road. I’m not even fazed by the vibrations this time around. It’s like they feel sorry for me and are on their best behavior.
Alex’s phone pings, and he glances sideways at me. “Would you mind checking that?” he asks.
Wow, he must really trust me if he’s asking me to read a text. I swipe his screen and relay the message. “Need you back at Westbrook this week.”
He nods, as if this makes total sense. “Can you send a thumbs-up?”
I shudder. Is he serious?
“Alex, a thumbs-up is the most passive aggressive response you can send to someone.”
A laugh sputters out of him. “What are you talking about?”
“Seriously? How do you not know this?”
“What should I send, January? A heart?” He adjusts his glasses. “That won’t get me sent to HR.”
I laugh. Maybe he does have a point.
He presses his hand to his chest. “I promise to never reply to you with a thumbs-up, how about that?”
I know it’s corny, but it still makes my stomach dip. Especially with the mischievous look he’s giving me, eyes framed by the world’s sexiest glasses.
Oh, god. There go the vibrations.
“So, how did you get into epi?” I ask, once again begging for the distraction.
“Nope.” He rubs his jaw, then checks the rearview. “It’s my turn to ask you a question this time.”
“Okay …” I squirm in the seat. That wasn’t part of the deal. But I guess it’s only fair.
“How on earth did the shy girl who grew up next door to me end up as a sex professor?”
A proper laugh falls out of me. “It just sort of happened,” I tell him.
He narrows his eyes. “That’s it? I was half convinced you were going to end up as—” He stops abruptly, clearing his throat.
“As what?”
He exhales, then looks over his shoulder as he changes lanes. “As a stay-at-home country club wife.”
Like my mother.
“Um … ouch.”
He gives me a pointed look. Okay, he’s probably right. I’m sure that’s why she keeps attempting to set me up with the club’s most eligible bachelors.
“I mean …” I shrug. “It took me a while. I met Millie my sophomore year, and she didn’t just gently pull me out of my shell, she yanked.
” I grin. “We started living together, and senior year, she begged me to intern with her at the student health center. That’s when I really discovered who I was.
” I run my fingers over my uterus necklace.
“At first I was completely out of my element. I was shy and embarrassed and could barely say the word sex. But over time, I got more comfortable. I met so many students who were still stuck under the guilt like I had been, and I made it my goal to empower as many of them as possible.”
“So you’re not affected by the guilt anymore?” There’s a hint of skepticism in his voice, and I hate it.
“Nope.”
He lowers his gaze. “Then when I bumped into you at the grocery store, why were you dressed like a wet dream for the Young Republicans Club?”
He’s got me there.
I rub my thumb over the inscription on the back of the necklace.
“Charlie was always the golden child. When we were growing up, he could do no wrong. He was never yelled at or criticized …” Or slut-shamed.
I pull my legs up into the seat. “The worst part was, he didn’t care what our parents thought.
In the meantime, I did everything possible to be the perfect daughter.
To get even an ounce of that love, that praise.
” I shake my head. “But when Charlie chose Ohio State over Barrett and refused to work for Dad’s company, he fell off that pedestal.
And suddenly, it was me who was getting the attention.
I thought they were finally proud of me. ”
“They weren’t?” he asks.
“Turns out, none of it mattered.” My mother’s eyes were lethal the last time she looked at me. A rough swallow works its way down my throat.
“Did something happen?” Alex rests his hand on the gear shift between us, his fingers tightening on the polished lever.
Reluctantly, I tell him about the condom incident.
“That’s so fucked up.” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, June.”
My heart clenches at the concerned way he says my name. My real name.
He shifts in his seat. “What does Charlie think about all this?”
My shoulders sink lower. Probably that I should grow a pair and peace out, just like he did.
I’m sure Alex thinks the same. “I haven’t talked to him since Christmas.
We basically text each other on birthdays and holidays and have an obligatory phone call for a few minutes once or twice a year.
” I turn in the seat to face Alex. “Do you still talk to him?”
His lips press into a tight line before he shakes his head. “Not for over a decade.”
They used to be so close. I wonder if Alex misses their friendship. I wonder if Charlie does.
My phone chimes in my lap, finally back online, and I swipe the screen.
Gram: I missed you this morning Sweet Pea. Your mom will never admit it, but she did too. She knows she did wrong.
I roll my eyes. So glad she’ll never admit it.
June: Missed you too, Gram.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, just my grandma.” I lean back in the seat, taking in the vast skyscrapers through the passenger window as we reach LA.
When Alex pulls up in front of my apartment, he shifts the car to park, but doesn’t turn off the engine. When he looks at me, his hazel eyes smolder, and it takes me back to that moment this morning. When we were in bed together.
“Thanks for …” My voice dies in my throat. For taking me to meet my idol. For not chugging pickle juice in front of me. For holding me last night. There’s so much I want to say, but the words won’t come.
He nods, not even unbuckling his seatbelt. What did I expect? That he’d walk me to the door and kiss me goodbye? I curse myself for the thought.
“Um …”
“Right.” I open the door before he can say anything else. “Thanks again.” I wave—awkwardly, because what else is new?—and climb the mountain of stairs, praying he’s not watching me. I slip into the corridor and out of sight, finally able to take a proper breath.
Whatever feelings I thought Alex might have had for me are nowhere to be found. It was all in my head, just like it was that hideous night back in high school when I asked him to have sex with me. I’m such an idiot.
Grumbling, I take the two flights of stairs up to my apartment.
Alone.
I’ve barely gotten settled when there’s a knock on my door. I groan. It’s probably Millie. I sent her a slew of texts about the past thirty-six hours, but leave it to her to just show up rather than respond.
I trudge to the door. But when I swing it open, I stare slack-jawed at Alex.
“You forgot the dress.” He stands unassumingly in the doorway, the garment bag draped over his arm. All I want to do is rip it out of his grasp and throw it to the wayside so I can wrap my arms around his neck and drag his mouth to mine.
Get a grip, June. Shut it down.
“Thanks.” I attempt to take it from him, but he draws back.
“It’s pretty heavy. I can hang it up for you.”
My stomach drops, landing somewhere near my toes. He wants to hang the dress up. In the closet. In my bedroom.
“Sure …” I try to say as coolly as possible while my brain melts down like a nuclear power plant.
Halfway down the hall, I kick myself for not opening the entry closet.
Well, on second thought, that wouldn’t have worked.
Rather than housing coats and umbrellas like an actual adult’s closet, mine is filled to the brim with clutter I shove in whenever my mom makes a surprise visit.
When we reach the bedroom, I slide open the mirrored door and swipe the hoard of hanging clothes to the left to clear a space. Then my entire body liquefies as my gaze snags on the burgundy sweatshirt hanging mere inches from our faces. Alex’s sweatshirt.
My heartbeat pounds in a rhythmic oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. Oh god, am I muttering that under my breath?
To my absolute shock, Alex doesn’t notice. He just slings the hanger on the rod without a word.
“Thank you,” I blurt out. You need to leave now. It’s on the tip of my tongue, and I pray he gets the hint.
Instead, he gives me that lopsided smile, and fuck, it’s all I’ve been wanting. Except not here. Not now. I can’t let him see the hoodie. I will die of mortification. He needs to go.
But he doesn’t budge.
“I really appreciate it.” I step forward, crowding his space, and finally, finally, he steps back.
That’s right. Keep it moving. Eyes away from the closet.
He slides a hand through his hair, then turns on his heel, heading back toward the living room.
Fuck. I made it.
Once we’re back in neutral territory, my heart rate levels out. Except he’s looking at me with that soft gaze again. The one from this morning, when he was about to kiss me.
He was about to kiss me, wasn’t he?
Is that why he still hasn’t left? Is he waiting for an invitation?
My whole body tingles at the thought. I run my finger along the counter. “Do you—”
Four knocks sound in a staccato pattern. They might as well be nails hammering into the coffin that is this moment.
“Hellooooo,” Millie calls through the door. “Hurry up, I brought ice cream and it’s melting.”
My eyes close in pure anguish.
“Sorry, I’ll get out of your hair,” Alex says with a halfhearted smile.
No.
My mouth opens in protest, but before I can stop him, he opens the door. Millie stares wide-eyed and almost drops the two cups of mint chip she’s carrying.
He nods in greeting as he steps past her, and this time, I know he’s not coming back.