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Fear rippled through me. Who could it be? Megan had a key, and she was knee deep in elementary kids at this point. She didn’t live in the safest of neighborhoods so of course my mind shot to the worst possible scenario, all of which ended with me being assaulted, robbed, and left in a bloody heap on the floor. That’s what I get for all of those Law and Order: SVU marathons.
The knocks magnified and a deep, familiar voice accompanied them. “Leila?”
It had to be some fevered dream. I was conked out, imagining things. To prove it, I pinched my arm then hissed when the pain came through loud and clear. I took a tiny step toward the door, opening my mouth then snapping it shut.
“Leila, if you’re in there--”
I rocketed to the door. Ever since he stormed out I wanted him to come back and here he was. I couldn’t let him walk away again.
Jacob. Holding a crumpled bouquet of roses.
And looking as horrible as I felt.
His dark hair was a crumpled mess with the layered locks sticking out every which way. His usually strong jaw was hidden by shadow and untouched by a razor. His blue eyes were bloodshot and puffy from lack of sleep. His white, button down shirt had an ashen, dusty parlor and I realized with a gasp it was likely the shirt he was wearing the day before. But there was one earthquake status difference. His shirt was half tucked, half not into a pair of dark wash jeans.
Jeans.
Jacob Whitmore was wearing jeans.
I was definitely dreaming. Even on our most relaxed days in Venice, he still wore blazers with sleek cut trousers. Jacob was a walking, talking advertisement for sophistication. He just didn’t do jeans.
I must have been gawking like I was watching a train wreck unfold before my very eyes because he gestured with the roses, bringing me back. “Planning on inviting me in?”
I blushed and stepped aside, letting him past. My eyes dropped to his rear and a flash of lust echoed through me. Despite the rest of his wrinkled exterior, he looked like sex on a stick in those jeans.
He stopped in the living room area, glancing around the place with silent disapproval. “This is where you’re staying?”
“Yes,” I said, feeling defensive. “You have a lot of--” My eyes widened when I realized there was something slightly more important than defending Meg’s place. “How did you know where to find me?”
His cool gaze drunk me in. “Well I’m not stalking you if that’s what you’re asking.”
“That’s not what I asked,” I fired back. “How did you find me?”
He ran a hand over his cropped hair. “I called your mother.”
“My mother?” I winced. Great, just great. I could just imagine her perched on the edge of her seat, already prepping to call her contacts. I’d have a mess to clean up by lunch.
“She’s worried about you,” he continued, clearly picking up on my wariness. “She told me that she had no idea where you were, but your friend Megan might.”
“So you just decided to show up at her house,” I said, crossing my arms.
“I’m not sure if five hundred square feet can be called a ‘house’, Leila.”
“I’m sorry you had to come to the slums,” I said, dripping with sarcasm. “But I’m sure you didn’t come all the way here to school me on real estate.” I glared at him. “Should I bend over? Take my licks like a good girl?”
I saw the retort flash in his eyes before he remembered the bouquet he was holding. Or the roses that were left. Red petals made a trail from the door to where he stood, piling up at his feet.
“These are for you.” He cleared his throat nervously. “I got them last night but...” His nostrils flared. “Anyway, here you go.”
I took them, a smile tipping at my lips as I brought the fragrant flowers to my nose and breathed them in. “For me?”
He gave me a hesitant nod.
“Thank you,” I said, staring at him, wanting to feel something other than the apprehension but only remembering our argument and the hurt. Swallowing, I pushed away the slight dizziness that hit me and walked to the counter, placing the roses beside the sink. I took another step and swayed, feeling the nausea taking over.
Nonononono! I thought frantically, knowing it was coming. Knowing there was no stopping it.
I dashed to the bathroom, surprisingly making it to the toilet. My body took over, pushing the Gatorade from my system.
