Why didn’t they tell me to jump off a cliff?
Because Justin’s words have me feeling like I’m standing on the edge of one.
Deep inside, I’m elated, because his words feel right. Yet I’m not ready for them, and I can already feel the weight of them crushing me. Between Ben and the shop and school, I have too much on my shoulders already. Now Justin’s heart has been added to the list. Though Holly keeps saying that Justin is a big boy and that I should worry only about myself, I can’t ignore his words.
And what about my heart?
I can’t even contemplate the issue of love. It’s too much.
I never wanted things to get to this point. It was supposed to be just fun. This sudden deep emotion is suffocating me.
Unable to deal with all the emotions swirling through me, I stand and turn on the shower. For over a half hour, I let the spray of water wash away my thoughts. By the time I step out, I’ve run through all the hot water and my mind is nearly empty. I put my hair in a bun and dab on a bit of makeup, then go change the laundry before getting dressed. I roam around the apartment, mindlessly straightening up and tinkering in the kitchen. I build a wall between those words and me, and try to relax. I pretend for the moment that they don’t exist, that they were never spoken, and that whatever is between Justin and me is just fun.
And instead of acting freaked out, I’m going to have fun for once, dammit.
Once the apartment is spotless and Justin’s clothes are dry, I toss his jeans and boxers at the end of the bed. He sits up still sleepy eyed despite having slept for hours.
His blond hair is a wild mess and his jaw is covered with a dark scruff. The white comforter around his waist contrasts with his coppery skin and the black tribal art and Japanese-lettering tattoos. He is absolutely delectable. Releasing a yawn he asks, “Where’s my shirt?”
“I thought you could hang out in your jeans until we leave.”
The ring in his eyebrow rises. “Oh, I’m your eye candy now?”
“Absolutely. No better eye candy around.”
He jumps from the bed and lunges at me. Laughing, I step into the hallway. “Get dressed. I started making lunch.” I leave him shaking his head and reaching for his pants.
Since I usually cook for Ben, my kitchen is stocked with kid basics. Holly rarely eats here and hardly ever shops. So after searching the cupboards and refrigerator three times, I decide we don’t have many choices besides grilled cheese and tomato soup.
I’m slicing cheese as Justin wanders into the kitchen. I pause to take him in wearing only jeans, with a strip of his boxers showing. Screw Todd. Tribal tattoos are hot. Justin is hot. I want to forget about lunch and have him instead.
He glances at the pan on the stove and the items on the counter, then bumps my hip with his. “Let me cook. You did the laundry.”
“How about you do the soup and I’ll make the sandwiches?”
His lips turn down. “Why do you get the good part?”
I set the knife on the cutting board. “Fine. I’ll make the soup.”
Picking the knife up, he says, “Prepared to be awed by my grilled-cheese-making skills.”
“I’ve already been awed by your spinach quiche.” I dig in a drawer for the can opener. “How did you learn to cook so well?”
“The housekeeper had weekends off. My parents were usually out and about.”
I pause from opening the can of soup and watch him butter a piece of bread. “All weekend?”
“My mother had luncheons and fund-raisers. My father had a car-collecting hobby that filled every weekend. He could spend all Saturday and Sunday searching through car dealerships in a hundred-mile radius. I went with him once. Once was enough. He also dragged me to a few boring car shows.”
“What about at night?”
“They usually met up for dinner at some fancy restaurant. Sometimes I went along. By the time I was thirteen, I opted to stay home. Something like grilled cheese”—he pauses from buttering bread and grins—“tasted better than seared foie gras.”
“What exactly is foie gras?”
He picks up the spatula and spins it. “The liver of a duck or a goose that’s especially fattened to make it a delicacy.”
My nose wrinkles. “Yuck.”
“Thought so too at thirteen, but I tried it again in France. It’s not too bad. Pretty good with a glass of red wine.” He flicks on a burner.
I shake the can of soup into the pot. “Ah, France,” I say dreamily.
“We should go someday.”
“Did you forget I have a son? And limited resources?”
He drops a sandwich in the waiting skillet. “I have resources, and why not take Ben?”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“Il pourrait être.”
The can in my hand nearly clanks to the floor. “You speak French?”
“Un peu, et pas parfait.”
He’s too hot, standing in my kitchen half-naked but speaking French? He’s hotter than hell. I almost fan myself. “What did you say?”
“First?” He pushes a strand of wayward hair from my bun behind my ear. “‘It could be.’ Then ‘A little, and not perfect.’”
Still dumbfounded by him, I spend a moment figuring out his responses. “Nothing’s easy with a five-year-old.” I stand next to him, brushing his arm with mine as I stir the soup. “Did you learn to speak it while you were there?”
He flips a sandwich. “Mostly. I took two years of it in high school but a month there was worth more than two years in the classroom.”
“So you don’t know Italian.”
“Le basi.”
I tilt my head in question.
“The basics.”
“Like?”
“Spaghetti, Parmigiano, prosciutto,” he reels off in a heavy Italian accent. “Chianti, Frangelico—”
My laugh cuts him off. “That’s all food and alcohol,” I say, nudging him with my hip.
He hip-nudges me back. “That’s the important stuff.”
We’re standing there grinning at each other when the apartment door opens behind us.
Though I’m startled that someone is coming in, I’m thinking it’s Holly. Turning, I drop the tomato soup–covered spoon and it clanks on the tile as my heart drops to the tile too.
My father and Ben stand in the doorway.
Justin steps away from me and crosses his arms over his naked chest.
“Dad! What are you doing here?” Oh, crap, crap, crap. Oh, big-time crap! Why didn’t he call to say that he was dropping Ben off early? Why didn’t I give Justin his dang shirt? Because I’m a hormonal idiot who’s now preoccupied with fun. I’m completely mortified by my father’s harsh expression at seeing me with a man. A half-naked man at that.
My father’s expression turns harsher as he stares at Justin. “Your mom and I have a retirement party this afternoon. She’s not cooking today.”
“Oh.” Why don’t people tell me this stuff? “Um—”
Ben tosses his backpack on the dining room table then points to Justin. “What’s he doing here?”
“Um…” My shocked brain is coming up with nothing.
My father’s jaw grows tighter.
Justin’s face appears serious. “Your mom called me over this morning to fix your leaky sink. She offered lunch as payment.”
Ben scoots onto a stool in front of the peninsula. “So you’re a…plumber? Don’t they wear shirts? Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”
Justin twirls the spatula. “It’s in the dryer. Got wet while I was working.”
Ben’s forehead crinkles. “Where are your tools?”
“In the trunk of your mom’s car.”
Okay, Justin’s kicking butt here, at least with Ben. My father is a totally different story. Though I’m relieved Ben’s still clueless about us, the lies coming out of Justin’s mouth have me a bit worried.