Chapter Three #2
I blinked. “So, the Princess not only owns a hardware store, she knows how to use the stuff. I’m impressed.”
“Nothing impressive about it. Why do you keep calling me Princess?”
“You kind of look like one right now.” I gestured to the dress. “You’re dressed like a girl tonight. That’s a rare treat.”
She smiled wryly. “Don’t let the dress fool you. I’ll be back to normal by midnight.”
“It’s past midnight.”
I didn’t know what I meant by that. Maybe that the magic of the day hadn’t worn off yet. I hoped it wouldn’t.
She focused on the lock again, hands steady, lips pursed.
I leaned a little closer to see what she was doing.
Her short nails were painted a dark red tonight.
She smelled of something subtle, clean and fresh—a light perfume, or maybe just soap, and a trace of wine.
It was more inviting than a thousand dollars designer eau de parfum.
“So, how did you end up learning to pick locks?” I asked lightly. “Are you Catwoman by night and I’ve just ruined your schedule?”
She smiled. “Hardly. I’m not an expert lockpicker.
My skills are amateurish at best. I like to know a little about everything.
I got it from my dad. There was nothing he couldn’t do—paint walls, build furniture, fix appliances, dabble in electronics…
He did it all. I still have boxes full of his inventions in a storage unit.
I have no idea what they are, but don’t have the heart to throw them away. ”
Something in my chest tightened. She talked about him with love and reverence.
She cherished his memory. I wished I could talk like that about my parents, but it hurt too goddamn much.
So I didn’t talk about them. I kept them to myself, and when they faded too much from my memory, I looked at old pictures and questioned everything about the universe.
“I knew your dad,” I said softly. “I liked him a lot. He fixed quite a few things for me. We played chess together now and again.”
She glanced up, surprised. “Yeah, he loved chess. I never managed to beat him.”
“Neither did I,” I admitted. “He was also a great painter. You got that from him, too.”
I knew it because I had three of her paintings. I’d picked one up at an art exhibit, and had some friends order the others from her website, so my name didn’t show up on the order form. I didn’t know why I’d made it such a secret.
Jesse smiled fondly. “He was amazing, yes. He loved landscapes. Unlike me, he never mastered portraits. I’m more into faces—charcoal sketches are my favorites. The love for arts and crafts runs in our family.”
The lock pins gave a click, and she managed to twist the tension wrench.
She pushed the door open triumphantly. “Eureka!”
I was beyond impressed. Maybe some men would feel emasculated by this kind of woman, but I was in awe of her.
“Way to go, Jenni!” I jumped to my feet and reached down to give her a hand up.
She took it, laughing. “You still need a new lock. Tomorrow, you’ll have to go down into Mr. Gore’s dungeon. Tonight, you can use the safety chain and put something heavy in front of your door. Don’t try to lock it.”
I nodded, still kind of stunned. There was something undeniably sexy about a woman in flip-flops and a bridesmaid dress wielding a lockpick kit. Most of the women I met didn’t know which end of a screwdriver to hold. Jesse handled tools the way I handled a keyboard.
I kept her hand in mine. “What if a thief comes by? Candi’s not here to protect me. Would you stay and be my bodyguard?”
I made a puppy dog face that had gotten many women out of their underwear. I wasn’t sure, but in the low light I thought her cheeks had turned rosier.
She slipped her fingers out of my light grasp. “You’ll be fine.”
“Thanks, Jesse.” My smile relaxed. “I owe you. I’m actually glad this happened. I learned something new about you.”
“No problem.” She bent down and gathered her tools.
I pushed the door open and turned on the light before I realized one of her paintings was right in the hallway.
I saw the moment she noticed it. Her face softened, her lips parted slightly in wonder.
The painting was a rainy autumn scene in a park, with two indistinct lovers dancing in the rain.
It was done in beautiful shades of yellow, orange, auburn, and blue.
Part of me was embarrassed that she’d seen it. Another part hoped she was impressed that I’d chosen it for the entrance into my home.
“Nice piece.” She stood in the doorway, gazing at the painting.
“I know. My favorite.” I stood close to her, just inside the apartment.
“Where did you get it?”
“From your online store, a couple of years ago.” I studied my shoes. “It was right after we met, unofficially. I knew that your first impression of me was... unfavorable. I never got the chance to explain what happened that night.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “I don’t need any explanation. Your private life is your own.”
“Yeah. I just want you to know that I’m not a bad guy, Jesse. Not a pervert—well, not more perverted than the average Joe.” I gave her a lopsided grin, putting my dimples to work.
She didn’t appreciate the joke. “Sebastian, you don’t have to justify anything to me.
Whatever goes on in your bedroom is your business.
That night I was staying over because my dad wasn’t feeling well.
I only came to your door because I was afraid the music coming from your apartment would wake him.
I didn’t expect to find the door open and. ..”
“Me lying in bed, naked?”
“Yeah, that.” She hastily picked up her toolbox. “Anyway, goodnight. Make sure you don’t lock your door and call Mr. Gore first thing tomorrow to replace your lock.”
She hurried to the stairs.
“Thanks again, Jesse. Sleep well.”
I watched her descend the stairs, then listened to the sound of her flip-flops and the jiggling of her key as she went inside her apartment. I closed my door, slid the chain across, then pushed the coat rack in front of it.
I peeled off my suit jacket and tugged at the tie around my collar. In the bathroom, I turned on the shower and dropped all my clothes in the hamper. They smelled of alcohol, cigarette smoke, and Candi’s sweet flowery perfume.
Steam billowed as I stepped under the hot spray. I closed my eyes and let it wash the night off me, piece by piece.
Weddings always made me twitchy—like talks about religion. Both demanded blind faith in things no one could prove. I had more friends who were divorced than friends who were still struggling together, chasing a happy ever after. No good sex, no joy. Just obligation dressed up in matching bathrobes.
So what was the point?
Cam’s mother would say I was drowning my traumas in pussy. Not that I believed in that kind of psycho-bullshit. My lifestyle was my own choice and I liked it that way.
My thoughts landed on Jesse. What kind of lover would she be? Soft and submissive? Wild and untamable? I was dying to find out.
She moved like someone who’d make a man work for every breath, every moan—as though she could ride him straight into heaven, or into hell if he didn’t know what he was doing.
But there was so much more to her. Her art reflected a soul so beautiful, so complex that a man could spend a lifetime discovering new shades of her.
I cursed the day we met. The day I screwed up the one shot I might’ve had at knowing her.
Lola—the woman I was dating—had brought the whipped cream.
And the handcuffs. The cherry had been mine.
It was her birthday, we were tipsy, we’d finished off a bottle of champagne and realized we were out of condoms. Lola offered to go grab some, since she said she needed some vitamins too.
So I figured I’d surprise her. Lay back, naked, drizzled and shackled—a literal snack.
It would’ve been funny. Hell, it was funny until Jesse walked in. The cream had just started dripping off my balls when she barged through the door. I’d never forget her face. She looked like she’d caught me drowning a puppy.
And that had sealed her opinion of me. One moment of absurdity that erased any chance I had with her.
Or had it?
I turned off the water, reaching for the towel. I might be many things, but I wasn’t a quitter. My door breaking could be the best thing that ever happened to me. Because now I owed her something. I had a connection with her, even if it was tiny. I had a chance to show her who I really was.
I dried off and pulled on a pair of boxers, then wandered into the living room.
The apartment felt too quiet without Candi’s chatter filling the space.
I grabbed some water from the fridge and stood in front of the thirty-gallon aquarium in my living room.
Five female bettas swam lazily through the planted tank, each one a different color—sapphire blue like a nebula, deep crimson like Mars at sunset, iridescent purple that reminded me of distant galaxies, pale pink like a planetary ring, and one that shimmered between copper and gold, depending on the light, like Venus at dawn.
They were beautiful, graceful, and unpretentious.
Unlike their aggressive male counterparts who’d kill each other in seconds, the females coexisted peacefully in their little society.
“Hey, ladies.” I tapped gently on the glass. The golden one—I called her Venus—swam up to investigate.
Janine had laughed her ass off when I first set up the tank, and said I’d never have the discipline to clean it properly. But my sister was entirely wrong. The whole thing was almost soothing to me.
I’d started with one betta—Venus—after a particularly long night debugging satellite telemetry code.
I’d been staring at orbital mechanics for so long that, when I walked past the pet store, the golden fish in the display tank looked like a tiny celestial body, floating in her own universe.
I’d read about how misunderstood bettas were.
Everyone assumed you could only keep them alone, but females could thrive together if you did it right.
It required the right tank size, the right environment, the right balance.
It took work. Maybe that’s why I liked them.
They reminded me that coexistence didn’t mean domestication.
The blue one, Luna, chased the pink one, Io, away from a choice spot near the driftwood. Europa, the purple beauty, ignored them both and nibbled at the algae on a rock. Callisto, the crimson beauty, hid behind the plants the way she always did.
I took a sip of water, watching them move. Five gorgeous, independent creatures, each with her own personality, none of them interested in being tamed or understood.
Kind of like Jesse.
I smiled to myself. Maybe I had a type after all.
The difference was, I didn’t want Jesse in a tank.
I wanted her to let me into her world—into that messy, creative, competent space where she built things and fixed things and created beauty out of nothing.
I wanted to know what made her laugh, what kept her up at night, what she dreamed about when she closed her eyes.
Venus bumped against the glass where my finger rested, then darted away.
“Don’t worry,” I murmured. “I won’t waste this opportunity.”