Once he walks away, I check my reflection in the mirror attached to the visor. My hair is a mess, my lips are swollen, and I’m covered in glass fragments and speckles of blood. It’s obvious to me—and probably the other cop—that we were making out.
Jesse slams a hand into the dashboard, and my heart sinks. I guess he’s ashamed that we got caught, and the hurt swells up until I think I might be sick. His look softens at once, and he covers my hand with his.
“Hey, no. It’s not that, Shan.”
“What is it then?”
“I’m pissed we had to stop.”
I don’t suggest that we pick up where we left off. This isn’t the time or place. We both got carried away, but damn, was that amazing. “Oh.”
He smiles, his dark eyes warm as melted chocolate. “Now I have to be responsible and make sure you don’t need stitches. Then you’re coming home with me. No arguments, or I’ll remember that I’m furious. You don’t wanna find out how that story ends, sugar.”
I smirk. Actually, I kinda do.
Eight
Jesse takes me to a twenty-four-hour clinic, where the doctor cleans and wraps my injuries, apart from a deep cut between my middle fingers. It gapes open when I flex my knuckles; that gets two stitches, but since they’ll dissolve on their own, I don’t have to come back in. The doc looks tired, and he doesn’t ask any questions. I’m sure Jesse was prepared to answer them, but I guess the doc sees much worse on a daily basis.
This time, when we get in the SUV, Jesse doesn’t take me to my place. He’s gotten savvy; he figures I might change my mind if he gives me the chance, so we end up at his apartment, even though I don’t have any clothes. Like me, he doesn’t live in a complex. Rather, this is a three-story brick building. From the size, I estimate there are six apartments total, two on each floor.
Jesse leads the way up two flights, then unlocks the door. Inside, it’s tidy, but I glimpse the ravages of an old scuffle; there are lighter spots on the walls, as if small holes have been patched, and the furniture is so crisp and new that I figure something must’ve happened to his old, comfy stuff. This doesn’t look like I imagined, however. It’s warmer and less modern, possibly because of the combination of textiles and colors. I would never have pegged Jesse as favoring red and yellow. Against the white walls, it works, though.
“You’ll sleep on the couch,” he says.
I’m not surprised. The heat of the moment overwhelmed him in the car, but now that logic’s driving the bus again, he doesn’t feel right about asking me to get na**d and hop in his bed. Though that would totally be all right with me.
“I hope you have a spare toothbrush.”
“In the medicine cabinet.”
When he comes back with it, I ask, “Are you worried about your coworker telling everyone…?”
He shakes his head. “They’ll probably give me shit for steaming up the windows with a girl in a Pretzel Pirate uniform, but I can take it.”
Oh, shit. I realize I am, in fact, still wearing my work clothes. “Do you have a washer? I have to go in tomorrow. I promised Tim I’d cover his shift if he took over for me today.”
“So you could go poking around a store that came to you in a vision.”
“Hey, it was almost a memory.”
“I can’t believe you just went off on your own. Were you thinking at all? You know somebody’s stalking you, Shan.”
“Since when is shopping hazardous to your health?” I bristle.
Jesse sighs. “Yes, I have a washer. This way.”
His apartment is definitely nicer than mine. His bathroom has a small space set back in the wall, which holds a stacked washer and dryer. I’d love if I didn’t have to drag my clothes downstairs to the communal laundry room. Because I’m made of evil with whipped cream frosting, I start stripping right there.
“What’re you doing?” he demands, whirling away.
“Washing my things. Do you have anything you want me to add? It seems like a waste to run the machine for four items.”
“I’ll get my laundry basket.” He sounds strangled. “And I’ll bring you something to put on.”
“Appreciate it,” I say cheerfully.
So I’m literally standing na**d in Jesse’s bathroom when his arm reaches around the corner. He’s holding a white V-neck T-shirt and a pair of boxers. I scramble into them, then I step out, so he can add his clothes to the washer. This outfit’s not exactly modest. You can see the points of my ni**les and the fly gaps when I walk.
“I should get you a robe. Dammit. I don’t own one. I’ll go to the store.”
I laugh. “Now you’re being silly. I’ll wrap up in a blanket in the living room. It’ll be fine.”
“No, it won’t,” he mutters. “You’re wearing my clothes.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind. You don’t need any hints on how to drive me crazy.”
Ignoring my offer of help, he aims me at the couch and whips up a quick meal. The chicken and rice is fancier than I’d have made, though it’s not haute cuisine. It’s also really good. He turns on the news as we eat, and I have the thought that I’d be so happy if this was my real life. I mean, not necessarily wearing his underwear every night, but curling up with Jesse, eating dinner?
God, yes. Please.
After dinner, he dumps the plates in the sink and joins me on the couch. It’s just past nine by now, not early enough for bed, and I have no idea what he’s thinking. With a sigh, Jesse wraps an arm around my shoulders.
“Don’t be nervous, Shan. I won’t do anything. I was an a**hole to treat you like I did in the car.”
I laugh. “Seriously? You think that’s why I’m uptight?”
“No?”
“In my mind, that’s the best move you’ve made where I’m concerned, and certainly the most honest. And now you’re back to being the good guy, the one with perfect manners. I’m afraid you’ll raise up the walls between us and I’ll have to start all over again.” I pause, wondering if I should say this. “I don’t know if I have the energy. I mean, I want you. I’ve made no secret of it. But I won’t chase you forever.”
“Is that an ultimatum?” He sounds coldly furious.
I’m a little proud of myself. I didn’t know it was possible to make Jesse angry so fast. “Just a fact. In time, I’ll move on, find someone who wants me more.”
Rage bludgeons me. For the second time tonight, he loses control and his emotions hit me like a hammer. It’s a mad wash of fury, jealousy, frustration, and a hint of possession that thrills me to my core. He might be struggling, but he doesn’t take me lightly.
“That would be impossible,” he growls.
I never imagined he’d be so intense; he projects such casual charm. Most likely, other women couldn’t handle it, so he hides. He pretends to be gentle and tender, no darker feelings, no obsessive tendencies. He’s been playing that violin so long, it’s become the only tune he knows. But I don’t just want his sweetness.
I want everything.
“Tell me about her,” I say then.
“Who?” I’ve surprised him.
“The girl who made you like this. Before, you said you haven’t felt this way since high school. I’m guessing it didn’t end well.”
“It never does.”
I stare at him until he shifts uneasily. Then he pushes out a sigh of mingled annoyance and capitulation. “You want to know how it goes, sugar? I’m a black hole. I want and need and I devour their feelings, until they’re empty, too. Nobody can satisfy me. And I drive everyone away in the end.”
“I’m still here.”
“That’s because you’re not actually with me. If you were, you’d come to hate yourself…and me. Because you’d see me reacting to other women, just like they did. Do you have any idea how hard it is not to reciprocate when somebody wants you and you can feel their desire coursing through you, sweet and hot? It’s like a drug.”
Suddenly, I understand—and the barrier isn’t what I thought. He’s not thinking about how wrong I am for him, or that I’m too young anymore. It’s not being with me that he fears; it’s losing me. And I fall in love so hard that I see stars.
“Well, here’s my opinion: I don’t care where you start the fire, as long as you bring it home to me.”
Desperation wars with hope in his dark eyes. “You say that now. But it wears away at you. I’ve heard it so many times, why aren’t I enough for you? Why—?”
“Don’t compare me to other women, Jesse. That’s not fair, and…I’m not doing it to you.”
“Stop,” he begs, pained. “You’re so f**king lovely that there must’ve been guys, but when I think about it, I could kill somebody.”
“Fair enough.”
“Give me some time. Not long. Just…I need to think.”
“Are you sure? Thinking is bad.” But I’m teasing him. When I said I’d move on, I meant after fruitless months…or maybe even years. I’ve never been in this situation before, so I can’t say with any surety when I’d run out of patience. So if he needs a few days to consider where we go from here, that’s fine.
And he knows this. That’s a handy adjunct to his empathy; he can feel my amusement. His expression lightens to relief and appreciation. I don’t have to worry about stupid fights with Jesse. He’ll always know how I’m feeling when I say something. It also means there will be no secrets, no quietly nursed resentments. I bet most women found that much honesty terrifying, but I’m on board.
“If…when…we do this, just know…I’m gonna be possessive as hell. I’ll crowd you. I might annoy you. And I don’t want—”
“Hey. None of that’s a surprise to me. If you start bugging me, I’ll push back. I’m not made of spun sugar and unicorn whiskers.”