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Instead of answering, I just change the subject. “You did well today, Jen. It was great to be cooking with you again.”
She blinks over to me, looking like she wants to say something. Finally, she just nods. “Thanks. You want to shower first while I unpack?”
I just fucked up. I can tell by the shuttering of her gaze, the way she angles her shoulders away from me. I had a chance to open up to her, to make her understand who I am, why I left, and how I feel about her…and I wasted it.
Big fucking surprise. Screwing up is what I do best.
I hold her gaze for a moment, conflict roiling inside me. If I told her the truth about my past, my family, my troubles…would she judge me like everyone else does? Would she look at me differently? Would she reject me the same way she did when Amanda showed up?
Probably.
Finally, I nod. “Sure.”
I watch her thin, angular body unfold itself from the armchair and stand, her clothes clinging to every slight curve. I still remember how it felt to have my arms around her, my hands buried in her hair. She tasted sweet as honey, so fucking delicious I never wanted to stop kissing her. I didn’t think it would be the only chance I’d get. I watch her walk to her bag and lift it onto the bed, then I turn around and head for the bathroom.
As soon as the door closes behind me, I release the breath I’d been holding. I’ve been on edge all day. When I opened the door to see Jen on the stoop, all I wanted to do was drag her inside and crush my lips to hers. I wanted to push her up against the wall and claim her, make her see exactly what she does to me.
Stripping my shirt off, I look in the mirror. I turn to stare at the huge tattoo that spans the width of my back, the tails of two snakes coiling over the sides of my ribs. My biggest mistake inked into my skin forever. The pledge I made to a brotherhood when I was too young to understand the consequences.
And that’s why I can’t tell Jen where I was, or who I used to be. Because she knows me as the happy chef who worked at Four Cups—not the ex-con who ended up in prison when he was too young to know any better. The guy who’s relegated to kitchens and construction laboring jobs forever, because he’ll never amount to anything more.
Tearing myself away from the mirror, I turn the shower on and tilt my head into the stream. My skin feels too sensitive, and when I hear Jen humming to herself on the other side of the door, blood starts flowing between my legs. Did I really commit to four whole weeks of this? Four weeks of being close to Jen and not being able to touch her? Four weeks of feeling my cock twitch every time Jen gives me one of those rare smiles?
Turning the shower to cold, I do my best to chill my heated blood. I wash quickly, ignoring the insistent throbbing between my legs, and exit the bathroom to find Jen tucking her empty duffel bag away in the closet. She’s got the shelves color-coded and organized, with honeycomb-shaped organizers for all her socks and underwear. Of course she does.
I fight a smile at the sight of it, then point over my shoulder. “Bathroom’s all yours. Go for it.”
She nods, grabs a towel, and shuffles past me. The bathroom door snicks shut, and I find myself sinking down onto the edge of the bed.
It’s amazing how natural it feels to share a space with Jen. It was like this when we started working together too. We just fell into a rhythm without much effort—well, I did bribe her with masala chai tea to get her to stop coming in at the crack of dawn to avoid me. And I did stop playing my music whenever she was around because I learned she likes silence. And I might have kept her multitude of kitchen scales stocked with fresh batteries to stay in her good graces.
But after that? Working with Jen was a dream.
I missed her. I didn’t want to leave—but I had to.
Being back here—seeing her little sock organizers and her perfectly folded clothes—it reminds me of all the reasons we can’t be together. We come from different worlds.
Women like Amanda Bailey like me because I have sharp edges. I’m just trouble enough to feel dangerous for a night, but not so much that they get hurt. Amanda didn’t want to get back together with me—she just wanted me to fuck her.
I wasn’t interested, because there’s only one woman I’ve wanted for the past three years, and she’s currently showering in the next room.
Night has fallen. It’s dark in the room, so I stare out the window as the sounds of the shower fill the space, Jen gently humming a song to herself.
Then, something moves outside the window. It’s barely a shadow in the woods, but I freeze, squinting. I stand up and move to the side of the window, peeking outside, trying to tell shadows from branches.
More movement. My blood freezes as the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. There’s someone out there. Another shape darts in the trees, and my blood starts pumping.
They fucking followed me. I should never have gone back to Nevada, back to prison. The guys that got me arrested just couldn’t let it be, and now they’re here, outside a cabin while Jen is singing in the shower. Adrenaline dumps in my veins as my aggression roars to the forefront, my mind screaming protect her!
It only takes me three steps to get to the front door. I throw it open and call out, “Hey!”
Stillness answers back. I scan the woods where I saw the shape and I wonder if I’m going crazy. The paranoia is getting to me. The past six months have ridden me hard. I thought going back to face the worst years of my life would allow me to move on—but it feels like it’s only dragged me into the quagmire of my past.
“Who’s there?” I yell out in the night, and the breeze ruffles the trees. Standing on the stoop for a few more moments, I shake my head.
There’s no one there. I’m losing my mind. Scraping my nails over my scalp, I squeeze my eyes shut and try to calm my racing heart.
When I re-enter the room, Jen has her hair wrapped in a towel and is wearing loose pajama pants and a hoodie. As soon as I see her, my latent aggression turns to lust. Her nipples poke through the fabric like two little beacons begging to be sucked.
