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“I would have gotten to that,” Jules said, voice soft. It didn’t sound like one, but he knew it was. A thank you. Sometimes with Jules, you had to read between the lines.
“Yep. But now you don’t have to,” he offered, turning to find her already watching him. He flicked his head to clear a strand from his eye, seeing her eyes watch the motion as his hair moved backward.
Worried about being caught, her gaze flew to his, eyes a bit wider than usual.
Her eye-contact game was generally strong.
With everyone else.
With him, though, it had this tendency to skitter, to flutter, to find other places to land.
But right then, it held.
And her lips parted.
And he could have sworn there was something in her gaze, something unmistakable, something heated.
Something that hinted at the idea that she felt it too, whatever it was between them.
And a hint, well, he could work with a hint.
He pulled in a breath as his hand went to the back of her chair, as his fingers curled in, pulling it slightly, making the wheels bring her closer, her thigh brushing his.
His other hand went on the desk, fingers itching to grab her hand, but wanting to take it slow, knowing this was delicate.
When her eyes didn’t break away, seek another target, the lids only getting heavier, he eased his way closer, heart hammering under his ribcage with the anticipation, with the rightness of the moment.
“That motherfucker,” Gunner’s voice yelled from the front door, somehow punching in the code without them hearing, so lost in their moment, making both of them jolt, flying backward, the moment gone, the chance lost.
There were no words to describe the sinking in his gut at that.
And the sneaking, niggling suspicion that he wouldn’t get another try.
“I am going to rip his fucking cock off,” he added, storming past the desk toward his office.
Kai took a deep breath, trying to find a voice that didn’t sound so tortured.
“Fenway?” he asked, looking back at Jules, whose eyes held for the barest of seconds before flitting away.
“Fenway,” she agreed with a nod.
Time would tell he was right.
He didn’t get a chance again.
She started dating someone right after.
FIVE
Kai
She had cried.
Relentlessly.
Soaking through my shirt, her slight body racking forcefully.
It tapered off after a while, sniffling replacing the quiet sobs.
But she stayed.
She stayed there on my chest, her knee pressing into my thigh, her hand on my shoulder. Curled into a fist at first, then curled into my shirt after.
She stayed there as her hair went dry between my sifting fingers, as my shirt dried under her cheek. As she finally drifted off to sleep.
It felt like I had waited a lifetime to have her just like she was then, on my chest, resting peacefully.
It never occurred to me to specify that I wanted her there because that was where she wanted to be, because she found joy there.
Not because she was hurt, broken, because she needed someone to tell her it was okay, that they would hold her together as she fell apart.
Regardless, I got something I had wanted for a long time.
To hold her.
Even if I had to do so while she cried over another man.
One thing off the bucket list.
She rolled away sometime in the pre-dawn hours, curling up on her side beside me, her backside wiggling against me as she settled, making me need to take a few, deep breaths, reminding myself that I was a good guy, not the kind who saw women in the grips of personal crises as an opportunity.
Sometimes it sucked being the good guy.
Sometimes you got blue balls and a black hole in your chest.
I passed back out, waking up alone with the light streaming through the opened blinds, making me let out a loud grumble, never having been the get up and get going kind of person, preferring to hit snooze a few times, to give my body the opportunity to wake up slowly.
Jules, I figured, was not of the same mind.
I could hear noises from behind the closed bathroom door, the sliding of something across the counter, the clicking open and closed of something. Products, makeup, something. Then the distinct sound of her heels on the tile.
The softer, less guarded, aching Jules was gone. Hidden behind the work Jules.
Maybe I should have felt disappointed. But as much as I liked the unguarded Jules, I liked work Jules just as much. I didn’t feel the need to pick and choose which parts of her I preferred. I liked the whole package.
Pulling myself up in bed, I waited as she went through her routine, noticing a low hum of her music likely coming from her cell. Not Miley. Not anything upbeat like I imagine she used to pump herself up every morning in preparation for her long days. It sounded low and crooning. Like country. Which was yet another piece to the Jules puzzle. I never would have figured her for a country music fan.
