grin spread over her lips and she handed me a pair of the gloves, motioning for me to jump down from the counter. “I think I have enough answers about the weekend to satisfy my curiosity for now, and judging by the look on your face, you’ve had enough talking about Jackson and Chris. I know you worked all day and just got home from class, but I say we blow off some steam. I had a feeling you had one hell of a weekend, so I brought more than ice cream to lift your spirits.” Taking my hands in hers, she wiggled on the rubber gloves then clapped her hands. “I brought the hotel’s very best all-purpose cleaner and brand new scrub brushes just for you. Let’s tackle the bathroom first. I’ll get the music and booze flowing.” She squealed and skipped over to the stereo to blast the Red Hot Chili Peppers, then filled us two shots. We clinked glasses and downed them, then scrubbed away the weekend’s events. No matter how much elbow grease I put into shining the bathroom floor, I couldn’t extinguish one thought.
What would I do when I saw Jackson at Pete’s on Friday?
Chapter 6
I didn’t have much time to worry about how to handle the awkwardness with Jackson Friday night. He showed up on my doorstep the next day around dinner time, bags of groceries in hand.
“Hey,” he said, eyeing my scrubs. “Whitney said you’re usually home by 5:00. No class on Tuesday nights, right? You said something about Mondays and Wednesdays, so...”
“Um, yeah, no class.” I wiped my hands on the dish towel I was holding, drinking him in. His eye was still in bad shape, but not nearly as swollen as Saturday night, and despite the cut on his lip and a nasty scrape on his cheek, he looked insanely good. A simple white t-shirt hung loose around his torso, and a pair of black jeans with holes at the knees sat snug on his waist, his favorite charcoal-colored boots on his feet. He must’ve been born in those boots. Every time I saw him in them, I’d noticed a new knick or scuff mark that hadn’t been there before.
“You gonna invite me in?” He lifted the bags in his hands with an uncharacteristically shy smile.
“Oh!” I snapped out of it and moved aside, holding the door open. “Sorry. Can I get you a beer or something? I didn’t expect to see you until Friday night.”
“Yeah, sounds good. I brought dinner. I’m going to cook...if you don’t have plans, I mean.”
“No, no plans.” I shut the door behind him and hurried to the kitchen counter, busying myself with the dishes. Think, Em, think. Every part of me was fully aware of his presence as he followed me into the kitchen: the motion of his arms as they lifted the grocery bags to the counter, his straight-from-the-beach scent, and the way he carefully avoided my elbows while he started to prepare the food next to me.
“Do you like fettuccine?”
I eyed the groceries he’d set on the counter.“No. I’ll eat the vegetables you have there, though. Thanks.”
He looked down at the noodles, disappointed. “Okay, where do you keep your cutting board?”
I pointed to the drawer to his left.
He grabbed the cutting board, turned to retrieve something from the fridge, and then his throat cleared behind me. The leather soles of his boots shuffled against the tile floor until the tips gently hit the backs of my heels. His hands found my waist, and his nose the base of my ear. An involuntary shiver rolled down my spine and I dropped the glass I was washing into the sink. It landed in the soapy water with a muffled clunk.
“We need to talk about what happened,” he said, his lips touching my earlobe.
I reached for the counter ledge and my shoulders tensed. “We do.”
His touch moved from the base of my ear to the back of my neck. He rubbed his nose up and then down, planting a light kiss just below my hairline. “Please don’t be angry with me about Saturday night. I’m sorry I lost my cool with Chris.”
“I’m not.” I slowly turned to face him,
What would I do when I saw Jackson at Pete’s on Friday?
Chapter 6
I didn’t have much time to worry about how to handle the awkwardness with Jackson Friday night. He showed up on my doorstep the next day around dinner time, bags of groceries in hand.
“Hey,” he said, eyeing my scrubs. “Whitney said you’re usually home by 5:00. No class on Tuesday nights, right? You said something about Mondays and Wednesdays, so...”
“Um, yeah, no class.” I wiped my hands on the dish towel I was holding, drinking him in. His eye was still in bad shape, but not nearly as swollen as Saturday night, and despite the cut on his lip and a nasty scrape on his cheek, he looked insanely good. A simple white t-shirt hung loose around his torso, and a pair of black jeans with holes at the knees sat snug on his waist, his favorite charcoal-colored boots on his feet. He must’ve been born in those boots. Every time I saw him in them, I’d noticed a new knick or scuff mark that hadn’t been there before.
“You gonna invite me in?” He lifted the bags in his hands with an uncharacteristically shy smile.
“Oh!” I snapped out of it and moved aside, holding the door open. “Sorry. Can I get you a beer or something? I didn’t expect to see you until Friday night.”
“Yeah, sounds good. I brought dinner. I’m going to cook...if you don’t have plans, I mean.”
“No, no plans.” I shut the door behind him and hurried to the kitchen counter, busying myself with the dishes. Think, Em, think. Every part of me was fully aware of his presence as he followed me into the kitchen: the motion of his arms as they lifted the grocery bags to the counter, his straight-from-the-beach scent, and the way he carefully avoided my elbows while he started to prepare the food next to me.
“Do you like fettuccine?”
I eyed the groceries he’d set on the counter.“No. I’ll eat the vegetables you have there, though. Thanks.”
He looked down at the noodles, disappointed. “Okay, where do you keep your cutting board?”
I pointed to the drawer to his left.
He grabbed the cutting board, turned to retrieve something from the fridge, and then his throat cleared behind me. The leather soles of his boots shuffled against the tile floor until the tips gently hit the backs of my heels. His hands found my waist, and his nose the base of my ear. An involuntary shiver rolled down my spine and I dropped the glass I was washing into the sink. It landed in the soapy water with a muffled clunk.
“We need to talk about what happened,” he said, his lips touching my earlobe.
I reached for the counter ledge and my shoulders tensed. “We do.”
His touch moved from the base of my ear to the back of my neck. He rubbed his nose up and then down, planting a light kiss just below my hairline. “Please don’t be angry with me about Saturday night. I’m sorry I lost my cool with Chris.”
“I’m not.” I slowly turned to face him,
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