28. Jules
TWENTY-EIGHT
JULES
“I can’t stop thinking about starting a cult.”
Drew pauses while removing the carton of milk from the fridge. I’m standing by the kitchen island, slowly sipping my coffee as I stare out at the sea. The beach house sits on a large chunk of land with private access to the beach.
We’re still in our pajamas because it’s disgustingly early in the morning and the sun hasn’t even had the chance to wake up yet.
“I’m surprised you haven’t started one yet with how much you think about it,” Drew says.
“I feel like now’s the right time.” I nod. “A nudist cult.”
Drew adds a splash of milk to his coffee and stirs it in. “You’re going to be naked?” He raises the cup to his mouth and looks at me over the brim.
“I could be naked,” I say. “Or I could be the kind of leader who always dresses because I’ve reached enlightenment.”
Drew hums. “What exactly does one need to do in order to reach enlightenment?”
“I’m not going to share that. What if you steal my ideas and start a cult? Then I’ll be out millions of dollars from all the gullible people.”
His eyes flick over me once, briefly. It might be a trick of the light, but I’m certain I almost see a spark of interest. Just when I tell myself nothing is ever going to happen here and I should move on, he looks at me like that.
How am I ever going to recover?
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.” He looks down at the counter.
I set my cup down. “No, what is it? Do you think I’m not capable of getting a large following?”
He scoffs lightly. “If I know anyone who’s capable of gathering a large following, it’s you. People will flock to your side if you simply smile at them.”
My cheeks warm with a blush. “Then why are you looking at me like that?”
Bailey barks, scratching at the backyard door, demanding to be let out. Looking relieved at the interruption, he goes to open the door and let her out. It’s cloudy today and they’re predicting rain in the afternoon and through the night.
We definitely chose the wrong week to come here.
I head up to my room and take a long shower. I’m amazed that there’s zero awkwardness between Drew and me. Not once since I started living with him have I wondered how we’re going to get along. It’s like every argument and death threat was a thing of the past and we’re new people now.
I can’t help feeling this sense of tension that this is temporary. Drew and I are friends for the summer, while everyone is scattered. As soon as everyone returns and hockey season starts, Drew will be too busy and I’ll be a forgotten friend.
If I’m even his friend. Is he my friend? Are we friends? Wait, did he confirm we’re friends at Archer’s or was I the only one who said it? Suddenly, I need the answer to this question right now.
I turn off the shower and dry off, wrapping the towel around myself. We don’t have an en-suite so Drew and I are sharing the bathroom. Hopefully, he’s still downstairs. I open the door with every intention to run to my room and end up running into Drew.
“Oof!” My head collides with his chest and I see stars for a second. “Why is your chest rock solid?”
I expect a snarky reply and when one doesn’t come, I look up at him in question. His eyes aren’t even on my face. They’re on my bare shoulders, on my fist gripping the towel to myself so it doesn’t fall off, on my one bare thigh because the towel is too small and doesn’t fit me properly.
I swallow nervously, my stomach swirling with butterflies.
If it were anyone else, I’d be freaking out right now and in the middle of a panic attack while I looked for a heavy object to defend myself if necessary.
I’m not saying I’m not a little bit scared, but the fear isn’t screaming inside my head.
It’s mixed with something a lot sweeter and tender.
“Drew?” I say.
His eyes flick up to mine, pupils dilated so that the green is almost completely gone. His throat bobs as he swallows and without a word, he turns around and walks down the hall to his room, closing the door behind him.
I should be relieved. So why do all I feel is disappointment?
“You’re using the wrong burner,” I say from where I’m perched on the counter.
Drew is making lasagna at my request, with homemade sauce. Outside, the rain has slowed down from a storm into a lazy shower. I’ve opened the window over the kitchen sink so the sweet petrichor mixes with the scent of the sauce.
Drew pushes his glasses up, glancing at me. “I wasn’t aware there’s a wrong burner.”
We’re pretending that he didn’t see me naked in nothing but a towel. Maybe it was a way for the universe to even things out between us since I’ve seen him shirtless. An image which has been permanently branded into my brain and that I still think about every night while I’m lying alone in bed.
“This is the right burner.” I point to the first burner on the left. “All the other burners are wrong.”
“What if someone wants to use the other burners?” I almost see a hint of a smile as he looks down at the sauce.
“It’s going to take them twice as long to cook because first they have to figure out how to work that burner. The bigger one is always more complicated and it always feels like you’re doing something wrong because it never works right.”
Grabbing the pan, he puts it on the first left burner and turns off the other one. “Happy?”
“Yes, thank you for indulging my neurosis.”
“Whatever makes it easy for you to sleep at night.”
I laugh. “I’m a horrible sleeper. Nothing makes me sleep at night.”
“I just don’t bother to force it anymore,” he says. “The less pressure I put on sleep, the more likely I am to actually sleep.”
“I like that, and I might try it myself.”
I jump off the counter and grab the dirty dishes to wash. If I do most of them now, we won’t have to do a lot later.
The song on the radio changes just as I’m drying my hands. “Oh, I love this song.”
Drew turns the burner low and puts his hand out toward me. I look at it in question. “Did you want something?”
“Your hand in a dance.”
He grabs the end of my top and tugs me a little closer. My heart flutters each time he does something like this, the way he’s so careful not to touch me. I’m not saying he wants to touch me, which I’m sure he doesn’t. The simple fact that he doesn’t assume he can touch me is enough.
“You want to dance with me?” I look up at him. His eyes shine behind his glasses.
“Why not? We’ve already done it once.”
I put my hand in his and he spins me around, making me laugh. His hand settles on my waist and I feel the warmth even through my shirt. This time, he doesn’t leave space between us for a third person to fit in. I feel his body against mine as we move to the music.
“Can I ask you something?” I say.
“Of course,” he replies easily.
“Are we friends now? I think I’m the only one who said we were, but you didn’t agree or deny.”
He blinks once, looking down at me. His silence makes me wonder if I shouldn’t have asked. If we’ll never be friends.
“Do you want us to be?” he finally says.
“Better than being enemies,” I say.
“Doesn’t that really depend on what kind of enemies you are? What if we want to be the kind of enemies who make out?”
I nearly stumble on my step and Drew wraps his arm around me, pulling me in a little closer. We’ve only been this close once--the night Gemma died. I’d allowed him to hold me in my darkest moment. Well, we both know how that night ended.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Drew says. There’s a spark behind his eyes that seems to suggest that maybe he did mean to startle me.
“Making out as enemies isn’t fun,” I say. “I like to keep my enemies as my enemies.”
“What if I don’t want to be your enemy then?” Drew says.
“Then you’ll be my friend,” I reply.
He spins me around and around, bringing me closer again. His body is solid, like a brick wall. How much does he work out? His grip around my waist is tight, fingers pressing into my skin. I suddenly feel breathless.
“Are you sure you want to be my friend, Juliet?” His eyes move back and forth between mine.
My heart thuds inside my chest. I’m distantly aware that the song has ended and we’re still standing close to each other, neither of us attempting to push away.
“I…”
Bailey barks and whines, making us both jump. Drew looks at me for a second longer before stepping back, his arms dropping to his side.
I’m suddenly glad for Bailey’s intrusion because that was a question I didn’t want to answer.