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***
Much later, after evening has fallen, I park outside Ocean’s building. I’ve never been to his place before, but he explained on the phone how to get here.
I’m unaccountably nervous. And excited.
Unaccountably because I know Ocean, and because this isn’t a date.
Repeat after me, Kay: Not a date. No reason why you’ve spent two hours trying to find the perfect outfit and hairstyle. No reason why your hands are shaking as you turn off the engine and why sweat is running down your back
.
I don’t have a crush on Ocean. I don’t. I just like him.
A little too much.
I’m nervous because I got to read the lines of his life, I tell myself, shivering as I remember touching his rough palm. And because I know his brother’s name, and the fact he has problems with him, and his parents live, and there was an accident…
One taste, a dip of a fingertip into the mystery that is Ocean, and I’m thirsty for more. Denial or not, I’m dying to know more.
If curiosity killed the cat, this is a high-risk mission.
One last deep breath, and I grab my bag of groceries and step out of the car. Smoothing down my coat and skirt, I hit the door buzzer.
Here we go.
He only asked for my help. That’s what I’m here for. To make soup, apparently. No problemo. I can do this in my sleep.
Mom ensured I have all it takes to make a good wife. Cooking, cleaning, washing, ironing, mending socks. All the important skills a woman needs, right? No matter how I fought it, despite my protests, some knowledge managed to seep in.
The door clicks open. I push it and enter the dimness of the building. The elevator, small and claustrophobic, brings me up to the third floor.
When the doors scrape open, I find myself on a narrow landing with three doors. One of them is open a crack, and yellow light spills out.
Someone’s standing at the opening, blue hair falling into long-lashed eyes, muscular shoulders, arms folded over a broad chest. He’s dressed in low-slung black sweats and a white tank top that leaves his strong arms bare, the tattoo of an angel on his forearm barely visible.
I shiver with cold just by looking at him. “Hey.”
“Come in,” he says ands steps back inside.
I follow and a blast of warmth swallows me. “Whoa. Let me guess. You left the oven on? Or maybe you decided to turn your apartment into a sauna?”
He snorts, watching me as I put down my groceries and shrug off my coat. “Nah. I like it warm, and he was cold, so…”
He. Who’s ‘he’?
Ocean huffs, probably noticing my blank expression, and takes my hand. “Come on. Let me introduce you to Jason.”
Jason.
Too shocked for words, I let him lead me into his tiny living room. The curtains are drawn against the only window. A corner lamp is on, and in the dim light his sofa and coffee table are mere shadows.
Someone is lying on the sofa, covered with a blue blanket. A man. His has his tattooed arm thrown over his eyes, and his blond hair is showing dark roots.
Jason. Who is he? What am I doing here? What’s going on?
Definitely not a date, this one.
“Jason.” Ocean puts a hand on the man’s shoulder. “This is Kayla. Kayla, this is Jason.”
