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“Come in,” I tell him.
He’s hesitant as he enters. Then he stands in the middle of the room waiting on me to decide how we do this. The room’s got a chill to it because Lee is militant about the boiler temperature, so I don’t particularly want to get out of my warm bed. Finally, I scoot to one side and pat the space beside me.
Jack takes up most of the bed, the mattress dipping toward him. Other than the diffused moonlight that slants across the floor, the room is black. We both lie on our backs, me under the covers, him on top of them. I pick at the buttons of the duvet cover, waiting for him to speak and listening to the soft groans and various ticks the house makes when we’re still.
“I wanted to apologize,” he finally says. “I’ve been, ah, avoiding you.”
“Oh my God, really?”
“I take it you’ve noticed.” Jack pauses. “You do my head in, if I’m honest,” he confesses with a smile in his voice.
“Don’t even start.”
“What I mean is I don’t think my mind’s been right since you got here.”
“Sure it hasn’t been longer than that?” I’m only half joking. Jack’s been a confounding enigma from the start. If there’s any rhyme or reason in his behavior, that math is beyond me.
He nudges me with his elbow. “I’m trying to be serious.”
“Right, okay. Serious.” He can’t see me, but I put on a stern face. “Okay, go.”
“I’ve had a thing for you since the day we met.”
“Have you been drinking?”
“Abbey.”
“Just checking.”
He exhales loudly. “I deserve that.”
Yes. He does.
“I mean it, though. I wanted you the moment I met you.”
“You mean the moment you found me in the kitchen my first morning here, looking like a deer in headlights?”
“Yes,” he says simply. “You didn’t feel it?”
I bite my lip. Because I did feel it. The attraction was there from the get-go. Potent. Alive. It was the same way with Nate.
“I felt it.”I still do, I almost confess. “But I’m not playing these games with you anymore.”
“I’m not trying to play games, Abbs. Thing is I’m not good at this. I know how to get women into bed. I know how to fuck them.”
“No, you’re doing amazing, sweetie.”
He coughs out a sharp laugh. “I mean, it’s all the other stuff. The intimacy part. Talking about feelings and the— ”
“Serious stuff.”
“Right. I’m shit at that part. Nothing comes out right.” He throws his arms behind his head. “Guess it scares me a little too. Caring enough to mess it up. I don’t know how to open up to people like that. I’m not quite sure how else to explain it.”
“I think I understand.”
I’ve seen how dejected he gets watching his favorite teams lose a rugby match on TV. How he spends half the game pacing the kitchen because he wants to know what’s happening but can’t bear to witness it. Too invested in the outcome. It makes him anxious.
“We’re all afraid of getting hurt,” I add. “Of not being good enough. If this stuff were easy, there wouldn’t be reality dating shows, right?”
