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“I’ll nose around.” I slap Jake’s shoulder and give it a squeeze.
* * *
Four hours later, after working on the Elroys’ deck and then Mom’s shelving unit, which Lennon is storing in the barn on his property, I turn the doorknob to my duplex and hold my breath. I do this every time I come home, wondering if Jolene happened to leave work early.
I inch the door open, my pulse ticking in my ears.
A quick scan shows she’s not here, but I groan.Chaos.
There’s no other way to describe the state of my home. A sweatshirt is tossed over my love seat. Six pairs of shoes are scattered near-ish to the entryway. Water glasses are all over the place, because Jo takes a sip out of one, then forgets it or decides she needs another. For some reason, she can never remember to put recycling in the recycling bin. The pièce de résistance is her open bedroom door, revealing dirty laundry and a towel on the floor.
A towel she probably used after showering and dropped while still wet.
I’m annoyed about the mess, but I stare at the towel, feeling antsy. I picture Jolene pulling it off the rod, using it to rub her wet body, the generous contours of her breasts, the hard points of her nipples. Although that assumes she’s turned on. Maybe she masturbated in the shower. Her vibrator could be waterproof. She might use it in there. Moan and shake as she comes on a battery-operated piece of metal.
My eyes cut to our shared bathroom, cluttered with her ten million feminine products.
Swallowing becomes an effort.
Clacking my teeth together, I march into my place and tidy up more forcefully than necessary. I’m not sure why I bother. Living with Jo is like living in a time loop. No matter how many glasses I wash or shoes and boots I line up neatly, it all reverts to lawlessness by the morning. As does my traitorous mind. My only saving grace is working myself so hard I’m too zonked out to dream.
Instead of making a proper meal, I toss together a quick turkey sandwich. It’s not what I want to eat. I actually miss cooking. The hobby used to calm and interest me—playing with different recipes, experimenting with new ingredients—but my jam-packed schedule and long days haven’t left much time for creativity.
I read while I scarf down my sandwich, barely breathing as I chew. I refuse to look toward Jo’s room andthe towel. I finally get into my biography on Cesar Chavez, but it doesn’t take long for my eyelids to droop.
Exhausted, I wash up, strip down to my briefs, and crawl into bed. Where I unceremoniously pass out.
* * *
Aclangjolts me awake.
It’s dark through my window. My clock glows with 2:10 a.m. I blink the sleep from my eyes, see light streaming in from under my closed door.
Anotherclangsounds, followed by Jolene’s aggravated “Just open already.”
I should go out there, see what she’s struggling with. Follow through on my promise to Jake and talk him up to her. Find out if she actually likes drive-in movies. But the shower turns on, as does my vivid imagination.Jolene. Wet. Breasts. Nipples.
I squeeze my eyes shut, bite the inside of my cheek. I count my breaths and try to get back to sleep. Ten guesses on how that’s going.
I force my eyes wide and stare at the darkened ceiling, willing my pulse to calm the fuck down. She’s showering because she’s dirty from work. It’s a normal, everyday activity. Old people shower. Prisoners shower.Everyoneshowers, and there’s nothing sexy about it. Unfortunately, my thickening cock finds the simple sound of falling water pretty fucking sexy.
Groaning, I dig the heels of my palms into my eyes. Give them a hard rub, because I refuse to rub anything else. I will not jack off to my brother’s ex and current love interest. I haven’t touched myself since she moved in here and plan to uphold that record.
Instead, I focus on my worst mistake. The reason I need to be a better man.
The weeks when I morphed into my evil twin.
Jake and Jo had been together for two years. I was away at college but drove home most weekends. I was often a third wheel with them back then, tagging along on their nights out, feeling tense as they’d flirt and hold hands.
Then Jake went to visit a friend at school in New York.
It was just Jo and me. Like old times. We traipsed through my family’s property, laughing about the adventuring we used to do.
Then she looked at me and said, “Let’s go to our tree house.”
We hadn’t been there in ages, and my heart tripped over itself as we jogged toward it. Jo launched herself up the ladder like the bruiser she used to be. So fast, she stumbled on a rung. I jumped up after her, wrapped my arm around her trim waist. My face was almost pressed into her back, her signature scent all around me.Lightning storm in a spring meadow.
“I’ve got you,” I murmured.
