I walk to him, letting my hands rest on his tense stomach. “I can’t help feeling like this is all my fault,” I say. “I went on a date with him. I gave him hope.”
Jude’s eyes open, searching my face. “None of this is your fault. You went on one date and ended things before it went anywhere.” He looks away, his throat moving in a tight swallow. “After what happened with Sofia’s parents, it makes sense that you got scared. You had every right to find someone to fuck around with instead of starting something serious. But if I’d been a better friend to Henry, I wouldn’t have touched you. Not after I told him I wouldn’t.”
My breath feels like glue in my lungs. “So you regret it?”
He looks up at the ceiling, and the exhale he makes sounds helpless. “I should. God knows I should.” He stares back down at me. “But I could never regret you, Gracie. Not for one second.”
A soft ache spreads through my chest. Last week, I ran to him in panic, thinking he’d keep me safe from the lie of Happily Ever After.When he unearthed all the feelings I’ve been denying for him instead, I tried burying them again in endless work. But tonight, he dropped everything to help me. Made my opinions about shower sex do a three-point turn in the opposite direction. And every new second I’m with him, it gets harder to deny the truth: this doesn’t feel like fucking around at all. It feels like all I’ll ever want again.
“I don’t regret it either,” I whisper.
He pulls me against him, cradling my face against his warm skin, and even though I don’t have any answers, I do know that I want this hug to last until I’m seventy-five.
When the tea is made, he leads me to the big sectional in the living room with cloudlike cushions. I sink into it with my chamomile tea and let out an involuntary sigh. The living room, like everywhere else, is neat but welcoming, except for the coffee table. It’s covered in paperwork and his open laptop.
“Sorry,” he says, shuffling the papers together and closing his screen. “I was working earlier.”
“I thought you were trying to hog-tie Taco before you gave up,” I say, taking a sip from my steaming mug.
“Part of the process,” he says. “Sometimes if I work on the couch, she’ll cuddle me from over there.”
He points at the chaise end of the couch with an enticingly fluffy white blanket.
“I hate to break it to you, but I don’t think it counts as cuddling if there’s more than a football field between you.”
“Shows what you know,” he says, sitting close enough beside me to make my heart start skipping rope. “She has a very large personal bubble.”
I roll my eyes. “Where is she, by the way? Doesn’t she know her manicurist is here?”
“It’s flattering that you think I’m privy to her comings and goings. She could be speaking at the UN for all we know.”
I snort into my mug. “Must be hard leading a less accomplished life than your cat. Is that why you were working so hard on a Saturday night?”
He runs a hand through his damp hair and doesn’t look at mewhen he says, “I’m working on something pretty urgent. It’s why I couldn’t stay at Larkwood this weekend.”
“Oh,” I say as my mind feels around for those loose puzzle pieces again, thinking of what he did for Maya. “Is it for a regular client or pro bono?” I ask tentatively.
He interlaces his fingers like he can prevent them from fidgeting. “Pro bono.”
I bite my lip. After pushing me away so many times before, now I can practically see when his emotional force fields come up. But for better or for worse, things have changed between us. I’ve never been more intimate with anyone in my life, and as a result, he was able to get me to open up at my most vulnerable. Now I’m wondering if he’s needed the same thing all along.
After a moment, I decide to take a chance and climb onto his lap. He looks surprised but doesn’t argue when I settle and face him like I did in the shower.
He squints at me. “I think I’ve seen you here before.”
I want to roll my eyes, but they get stuck on a tattoo of a sweet little teddy bear next to his hip bone. It might be the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen. I brush my thumb over it, and his stomach muscles contract like I’ve pressed a magic button labeledSIX PACK.It’s disgusting. I hate it.
“Do they mean anything?” I ask, eyes traveling over the collection of seemingly random images. I touch a wasp on his ribs. A small breath shudders out of him.
“Yes.”
I wait patiently, but apparently, that’s all I’m getting. “Seriously?”
His eyes slide away. “It’s stupid.”
“Your fourteen Yale shirts would beg to differ.”
This pulls an exasperated laugh out of him, and my grin can probably be seen from space. “Come on. Tell me.”
