by Sarah Adams
His smile falters ever so slightly. “I don’t have my swim trunks on.”
Oh, silly little practical Jake. As you’re about to find out, I don’t give one hill of beans if your trunks are on or not.
I smile wickedly, and then, before he has time to process the evil about to befall him, I give him a shove from behind and dump his practical butt in the pool.
He comes up out of the water like a cologne ad that never made it to live television because it was too sensual. His navy shirt is clinging to his chiseled body, and his hair is dripping wet before he dashes his hand through it, sending glistening water droplets through the air—and basically, I’ve never been prouder of a decision in my entire life.
Sam has dissolved into a fit of laughter beside me, and I’m pretty sure that Charlie just called Jake a moron under his breath. (Obviously, he likes Jake, but I think he’s a tad bit jealous of our new friendship. He can go cry to Rachel Green.)
“Laugh it up, chuckles,” Jake says with a heart-melting smile. “You’re next.”
I see what he’s doing. He’s inching toward the edge of the pool with a smirk that says I’m coming for you. Jake is so certain that I’m going to scream and run away like the girl who just got her hair done and would rather die than ruin her blowout. He doesn’t know me very well yet, and my hair appointment is so overdue I think my hairstylist has given up on me completely.
Ladies, if you don’t take any other advice from me, listen to these words, because they are the most important you will ever hear: if a sexy man is in a pool and smiling at you like Jake is smiling at me, don’t waste a single moment standing on the side.
Before he has a chance to make it to the stairs, I take off running and cannonball in right beside him.
Chapter Sixteen
EVIE
I’m wringing out my hair from my shower and listening to Leon Bridges croon over the speakers. I have a sweet, warm, scented candle lit on my coffee table, and everything is right with the world. It’s been a good week. A good day, especially.
I can’t put my finger on it, but something about me feels different. I’m still working my same job; I still have my same thimble-sized apartment; there is still the same chance I’ll have a seizure today as there was yesterday, but something feels different. It’s like I had a pile of books stacked on my desk, and although I can’t be certain, I think someone came in at some point and rearranged them. I’m rearranged.
Laughing in the pool tonight with Jake and Sam made me feel a sense of belonging. It scares me as much as it excites me, but I don’t want to give into the fear. I still feel like I’m sitting up in the nosebleeds, but maybe I’m ready to walk down a few flights of stairs to get closer to the field.
I think Jake feels this way too. I could try to talk myself out of it—run a fake play on my own heart and choose to believe that he’s not interested in me. But here’s the thing: I catch him looking at me a lot. And it’s not a normal look. It’s a smoldering, knock-your-socks-off-kissing-until-midnight kind of look. He’s at least attracted to me—I know that much.
So, what kind of dance are we doing here?
I just finish squeezing the water out of my hair and neatly hang up my towel on the drying rack (ha ha, just kidding! It’s laying in a bundle on the floor where it will probably live for the rest of the week), when I hear a knock at my door.
“Did you order cookies again?” I ask the lazy dog lying on my bed.
He gives me a look that says stop blaming your poor eating habits on me and then lays his head back down. It’s a good thing he’s so cute.
I open the door and then realize I should have looked through the peephole first. I could have just opened the door to a murderer, or a rapist, or—gasp—my mama. But thanks to my incredible luck in life lately, I open the door to none other than Jacob Broaden.
“Jake!” I say, and whoa I need to simmer down because I sound WAY too excited to see him. Play it cool. I’m supposed to be walking down the stairs toward the field, not full-on sprinting and skipping steps.
He likes it, though, because he smiles when he says, “Hey, Evie.”
Then his gaze drops and takes in what I’m wearing.
And this is the moment that I remember what a lovely ensemble I am wearing. I have on an XL shirt that says “Dolly is my spirit animal” which lands just above my knees, tall socks, and NO BRA. To make it worse, I am wearing flannel PJ shorts under my shirt, but there’s no way you can see those, so basically, I look like the world's biggest hussy right now. But it isn’t my fault! I obviously wouldn’t have worn this if I knew Jake was coming by.
Although, I have to admit that I am enjoying the appreciative look in his eye.
No. Bad, Evie.
I fold my arms across my chest (but let’s face it, my boobs are so small that this part is only for show) and feel the need to blurt, “I’m wearing shorts!” And if that wasn’t stupid enough, I uncross one arm to lift up my shirt just enough to show him my green-and-red-checkered flannel bottoms.
He’s so smug now. I swear he looks like a man that’s just been told he won GQ magazine’s Sexiest Man of the Year award. I’m squirming under his gaze, and he’s loving the effect he has on me. “I like the Christmas trees on them,” he says, and YES, I do wear Christmas PJs in July.
“It feels wrong to leave something in my drawer all year just because it’s 80 degrees out. Do you want to come in?”
He nods and my heart races. Jacob Broaden is going to come into my apartment. My tiny, minuscule mouse hole that really should be called a playhouse rather than an apartment because it looks like dolls could fit in here easier than humans. He ducks his head as he steps through the door, and oh my gosh, I just remembered that I’m a slob.
I quickly survey what I like to think of as my boho apartment through the eyes of Jake and see what he’s seeing.
Unfortunately, since my whole apartment is only one room, he gets to see it all. Unmade bed. Cereal bowls stacked up on my itty-bitty kitchen counter (but the butcher-block top still looks adorable). Half-empty cups of old coffee sitting on my end table. Clothing dotting the hardwood floor. And is that…? Yep! My bright-pink bra is definitely draped over the back of my couch from where I took it off as soon as I got home earlier.
I make a lunge to grab it before Jake sees it, but it’s too late. He’s looking at it now and smiling. I grab for it anyways and tuck it behind my back, aiming a tight smile at him. “Clearly, I wasn’t expecting company.”
“I’m glad. I like seeing how you live.” He looks right at me, and I think I might fall over. This apartment is too small, and he’s too big for it. If he moves, I’ll bump into him.
I don’t think I’ve ever been so nervous having someone in my space before. Jake is so grown and adult and hot. And I’m…well, I’m grown too, but I definitely don’t feel adult. Never have. Probably never will. I’ve given up any aspirations of becoming the woman who rinses out her mug and puts it right into the dishwasher when I’m done with it. I don’t need that kind of pressure in my life.
My nerves are sizzling like bacon in a frying pan, and I feel the urge to bounce. Why is he here? I only left his house about two hours ago. His presence in my apartment doesn’t make sense.
“Did I forget something at your place?” I ask after a minute more of his quiet surveying. I want to blindfold him.
DON’T LOOK AT MY CRAZY.
“Nope.”
Oh, great. Now he’s walking fully into my apartment and sitting down on the couch. I want to laugh—no, I do laugh—because he makes my loveseat look more like an armchair.
“Okaayyy. Well, don’t take this the wrong way, but what are you doing here?”
He grins, his dimples come out to play, and now I’m way too aware that it’s after 8 PM. He’s not texting me. He’s in my living room, breathing my air, and adding at least ten degrees of heat to the room.
“Do I make you nervous being in here?”
“No.” I shift my we
ight to my other foot, shove my pink bra under the blankets of my bed, push my hair behind my ear—don’t like that—untuck my hair. “Okay, maybe a little. Is this payback for me snooping around your room?”
He chuckles and moves his big arms to spread out over the back of my loveseat. He looks mighty comfy there. Like a man that’s in no hurry to leave. What the heck is happening?!
“Actually, I came by to bring you an invitation.” He eyes me, and his brows pull together. “Are you going to stay over there all night?”
If this were a movie, this is the part where the camera would pan to me and I’d be gone. It would have to tilt up to find me plastered in the farthest upper corner of my apartment, like Spiderman.
Why am I being so weird? I’m twenty-six years old and acting like I’ve never been alone with a man before. So what if Jake is here at my apartment? No big deal. Friends visit other friends’ apartments all the time. I just wish this friend was wearing a bra.
“An invitation?” I ask, moving closer to Jake. He scoots toward one end of the “couch” and makes room for me.
Okay. I guess I’m sitting there. With Jake. That’s fine.
I sit down, and we are so close now that I feel like I might as well be sitting on his lap. I adjust so that my legs are up in the seat with me and I’m somewhat facing Jake. Because having my feet touch his leg is way better than the whole right side of my body. Well, not better. Just friendlier and less steamy.
He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper and hands it to me. There is a very childish drawing of a girl jumping into a pool drawn on the front. “I had no idea you were such an artist,” I say with a grin.
“I could say the same about you.” He nods his head toward my fruit masterpiece leaning up against the wall. “Gotta say, I didn’t take you for a butt girl.”
My face flames and I laugh. “It was supposed to be an orange.”
“Mmhmm. Sure it was.”
“Oh, go home and finish Twilight,” I say while shoving his shoulder.
He laughs, and honestly, I love the sound. It echoes off the walls, and somehow my apartment suddenly feels safer and homier.
“So, what’s this?” I’m opening the invitation and reading the few scribbled lines stating a date and time. SATURDAY, 12:00.
“Sam and I decided you were right, and we should make more time for fun. So, this is your official invitation to our pool party this weekend.”
I look up from the invitation, and I feel my smile growing too big. My smile is more appropriate for winning a new car off of The Price Is Right than accepting a pool-party invitation. “I love this idea. Count me in.”
“Before you agree, you should know that my entire family will be there.”
Okay, okay, okay. Just chill the freak out, Evie.
I want to dissect every part of what he just said and look for all the hidden meanings. Meet his family? This has to mean something, right?! But instead, I answer, “How entire are we talking? Like distant-crazy-Uncle-Fred-who-drinks-too-much-and-might-try-to-cop-a-feel entire?”
He laughs and rubs his hands over his legs and dark denim jeans. “Just my parents, sisters, and their families.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad. In fact, it sounds like fun.” Someone sign me up for a movie deal, because I’m such a good actor right now that no one would suspect I’m completely freaking out. Jake wants me to meet his family. Wants me to spend the day with his family. Which reminds me of something.
“Wait, where’s Sam right now?”
“My sister is at home with her. I had to run into the office for a little bit.”
Right. The office. HIS office. The one he owns. I have to stop thinking of these things, because all they do is remind me that there is no way this guy should be interested in me. I’m the furthest from successful anyone could be. Just ask my mama. She’ll tell you.
“So, work usually keeps you pretty busy?”
He sighs one of those heavy man sighs that sounds like he’s literally holding the world on his shoulders. “Yeah. But I’ve delegated a lot of my work to the two other architects in the firm, though.”
“You don’t sound as relieved as a person normally does after a statement like that.”
“I guess it’s because I’m not really all that relieved. This is going to make me sound like the world’s worst dad, but…I love my job. It’s been hard for me to give up most of my work to be home with Sam.”
I shake my head. “That doesn’t make you sound like a bad parent. I think, if anything, it shows how amazing you are. You’re giving up something you love to be there for your kid.” I wish I wasn’t having to say all this out loud. It’s forcing me to think of all of the incredible qualities of Jake that I’ve been trying to ignore.
“Thanks. It was easier to balance it all when…” His words trail off, and I know what he’s not saying.
“When you were married and had a second parent at home with Sam?”
His blue eyes lock with mine, and he nods. “Sorry. I don’t mean to keep dropping that in every conversation.”
“It’s okay. Really. It’s a part of your life, so why wouldn’t I want to talk with you about it?” And then, suddenly, I realize I’m not such a good actor after all because I’m letting my interest in him show way too much. I clear my throat and look down at my knees. “How were Sam and Daisy getting on after I left?”
“Great. Sam is like a new kid with Daisy. She seems so much lighter and more excited about life.” He chuckles. “She even put a fake spider in my sock drawer earlier today. You have no idea how good it is to have her interacting with me like that again.”
I smile. “That’s wonderful, Jake. I’m so happy for you guys. I know what it’s like to find that security, and honestly, there’s nothing quite like it.”
“Is that how you felt when you first got Charlie?”
I smile at the memory of those first few weeks of finding my new independence. My parents hated it, but I thrived in it. “Yep. It was pretty wonderful. I didn’t move out of my parents’ house until I was twenty-three because I was so scared of what life with epilepsy would look like living on my own. But Charlie and I clicked right away. My parents didn’t support my decision at all to leave their house because…well, I think they liked being able to keep me under their thumb. So when I moved out, Joanna became more of a mama to me than my own mother ever was. She helped me set up a landline here that attaches to a special button Charlie can push when I have a seizure.”
I pause and point to the round yellow button on the wall by my bed. “It speed-dials Joanna’s number. She usually waits about ten minutes for my seizure to pass and me to regain consciousness and then calls me to make sure I’m okay.”
“Wow,” Jake says, looking stunned.
“I know. Charlie’s pretty incredible. And even though we can’t technically train a service dog to alert before a seizure, he has. Charlie alerts me about thirty minutes before almost all of my seizures, and that gives me a chance to go lie down in a safe place.”
“That’s…I don’t even feel like the word amazing is good enough. Do you think Daisy will do that with Sam?”
“Hopefully. But only time will tell. Just keep an eye out for Daisy doing anything out of the ordinary. It could be her trying to signal you.”
Jake nods thoughtfully for a moment, and I think he’s about to say something profound. “And to think we would never have found any of this new independence for Sam if it weren’t for you telling me to get my head out of my butt.”
He and I both laugh at the memory. I still can’t believe I said that to him, but I don’t regret it anymore. Not if it got us to this place.
Jake’s eyes land on mine again, and his playful smile dies away. Something is changing in the air, and my body is fully aware of it. He shifts his arm and gently grasps a lock of my damp hair between his fingers. “I’m serious, though, Evie. Thank you. I owe you.” His low voice is rolling over me, and I’m a little worried
his finger is going to brush against my neck and feel my hammering pulse.
“You’re welcome.”
His eyes narrow ever so slightly, like he’s contemplating something. He looks down at his fingers that are caressing that one lock of my hair and then back up to my eyes. I’m holding my breath, and I don’t dare move. This moment can go from nothing to something in a split second, and I’m just waiting to see what it will be.
And now he’s leaning forward…oh my gosh, he’s leaning forward, and he’s going to kiss me. “Evie,” he whispers, and I can feel his minty breath on my lips. He said my name as both a statement and a question. What he means is, Evie, can I kiss you?
To which I’m responding with a YES by leaning forward too. His hand leaves my hair and moves to cup my neck, and now I’m certain he can feel my racing pulse. He’s moving so slowly toward my mouth, and I’m dying. It’s been so long since I’ve been kissed—and NEVER have I been kissed by a man like Jake. I want to fist the front of his shirt and drag his mouth to mine as quick as possible, but I’m being a lady about it and letting him come to me. No one wants to look desperate.
And then, I close my eyes and finally feel his warm lips press against mine in the lightest, most feather-soft motion. I inhale deeply and skim my hands up his shoulders to tentatively rest them on the back of his neck. I want to sink in and live inside this kiss for the rest of my life, but I can’t because suddenly there’s a KNOCK KNOCK at my door, and I swear I’m going to murder whoever is on the other side.
Jake and I both forget we are grown adults and catapult apart on my loveseat so fast you would think we just got caught making out in a closet during a Sunday school class.
Chapter Seventeen
JAKE
While Evie is walking to answer the door, I lean over to rest my elbows on my knees and scrape my hands through my hair. What the heck was I thinking kissing her tonight? I know it looks bad, but that’s definitely not why I came over here. I was really only intending to give her the invitation and run. Just your friendly neighborhood postman.