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He ignored the complaining intruder behind him and kept his focus on the quick steps of his now upset neighbor. After Jess entered her place, he waited to see if she’d look at him, something, but she didn’t even glance in his direction. When she pulled the blinds across and snapped them closed, Ryan flinched as if he’d been slapped in the face.
Chapter Nine
Jess
“Stupid! Absolutely, positively stupid!” Jess stomped on the foot pedal of her trashcan, making the black plastic lid fly up with a bang. She chucked her leftovers into the silver receptacle; the top bounced upon its rapid close.
She pressed her palms to her eyes and took a breath. “It’s only been a week and a half,” she whispered.
Only a week and a half. It was just sex. Only a week and a half. It was just sex. She repeated the mantra in her head. Maybe if she said it enough, she’d actually start to not feel like such a fool. After another cleansing breath, Jess moved toward her fridge. She stuck her head in the cool box before emerging with a soda. She popped the top and drank down the sweet reminder of home, and hoped the sugary beverage would calm her erratic heart.
He had a girlfriend. She’d been nothing more than a rebound girl. Hell, not even that. An intermission, that’s all she’d been. An itch to be scratched during the interim. The thought made the all too familiar ache in her chest tighten. How in the hell had she managed to catch feelings for a dude in such a short time?
With a sharp intake of breath, Jess reached up and yanked the scarf from her hair, letting her curls tumble free. “Not feelings, Jesslyn. Just sex.”
The words could be said, but the idea she’d been party to a possible cheating situation turned her stomach. Maybe her sisters were right; she wasn’t cut out to be off on her own. Being predictable—boring—that at least kept her out of trouble. A month by herself, trying to be more adventurous, ended up being an embarrassing disaster.
* * *
Saturday Jess spent her time cleaning and unpacking the remaining boxes that had sat untouched in the garage. Music poured from her Bluetooth portable speakers and the blinds on the sliding glass door had remained decidedly closed. Which, unfortunately for her, meant her only natural light came from the small, transom window above the front door. A small sacrifice if it meant she didn’t have to look across to his place and see him, or worse, see him with that chick.
Ashley.
Tall, slender, Ashley with her perfectly made up face, and manicured nails. The kind of woman men like Ryan dated. For the umpteenth time, Jess looked toward the vertical blinds. With a quick shake of her head, she attempted to clear out all of the wandering thoughts before they could make an appearance. She didn’t care what he was doing. Or if Ashley had spent the night. It didn’t matter if he’d had sex with the blonde in the same bed Jess had been in days prior.
It’d been a fling.
She’d been a fling.
Time to move on.
With more force than necessary, Jess jammed the box cutter into the cardboard, slicing through the taped bottom so fast she nicked her finger.
“Shit!”
After slamming the offending metal utensil down on the coffee table, Jess stalked to the kitchen, shoved the lever up to turn on the water, and stuck her hand under the cool stream. Her eyes closed and she rested her elbows on the speckled granite. After a few seconds, she shut off the water and inspected her cut. Nothing life threatening.
As she headed upstairs to fetch a Band-Aid, three raps on her patio door stopped her. Her chest clenched and an avalanche of boulders descended in her stomach. She stared at the closed blinds knowing there was only one person on the other side. No breathing. No moving. Maybe if she stayed perfectly still he’d think she wasn’t home and would go away.
Seconds ticked by like hours. Three more raps made her jump.
“Peaches?”
She bit down on the inside of her cheek, hearing the stupid nickname he’d saddled her with. Stupid name that gave her butterflies every time he said it. Including now.
“Come on, Jess. I hear the music. I know you’re in there.”
Her gaze darted to the traitorous speaker playing her classic 90s R&B playlist.
“We really need to talk.”
She started to respond, but pressed her lips together instead. She couldn’t guarantee what would come out of her mouth if she did He’d had no desire to talk and maybe give her the heads up he had a girlfriend. She released a slow breath; she wasn’t sure what hurt more: the fact he’d omitted that tidbit or that she’d let herself get caught up so fast. In truth, it was a fucked up combo of both that leaned heavier toward the latter.
Deep inhales and slow exhales as she waited to see what he’d say next. Friends. The word popped in her head so loudly she’d thought it’d been spoken. Teasing, flirting, and mind-blowing sex aside, the F-word had clearly been stated more than once no matter how much her overactive imagination took her other places. Hell, he hadn’t bothered to get her phone number, and they hadn’t left his place before last night. Could they even be classified as friends?
“Okay. I’ll go. But it’s not what you think.” Gone was the playful, somewhat cocky undertone his words usually held. In its place stood solemn dejection.
Her chest tightened again. Did it really matter what she thought? The painful truth was he didn’t really owe her any explanations. Yet he’d come over to give her one. Why? Was he hoping she’d be okay keeping their “friends with benefits” status, reducing her to some side piece? The part of her brain that fed on the strong chemistry between them admonished her for the negative thoughts. Maybe it wasn’t one-sided and he’d actually felt it as well.
