by Lisa Suzanne
I knew I had to stop that train of thought in its tracks, but I didn’t know how to.
I thought Jesse was hot the moment I laid eyes on him nearly five years earlier, and we’d built a trusting coworker relationship and friendship over time. I’d always nursed a crush on him.
But I’d never actually been available to act on that crush.
Not that I was now, either. But I was a hell of a lot closer to being available to act on it.
As I watched him eat, I realized that all of our conversations over the past twenty-four hours had been about me. Apart from his summer plans and his penchant for women, I didn’t know all that much about Jesse.
He swallowed his bite of chicken and followed it with a sip of wine. He glanced back up at me, and I averted my eyes to my food, embarrassed about the sexual fantasies currently playing out in my mind and sure he’d be able to see it in my eyes if my eyes met his.
“Alright. I’ll give you that,” he said. He stood up and grabbed the wine bottle off of the counter. He refilled both of our glasses and then sat back down.
“Tell me something about you,” I said, suddenly desperate to know everything.
“Like what?” he asked.
“Favorite wine.”
He pretended to really ponder my question for a moment. “Beer,” he said, and I giggled. “You?”
I took a sip of the Sauvignon Blanc. “This shit’s pretty good,” I said, and it was his turn to laugh.
“Nice that you’re calling my twenty dollar bottle of wine ‘shit,’” he said dryly.
“You can always count on me for choosing just the right words.”
“The perf words?”
I laughed. “Yep. Perf use of ‘perf,’ by the way.”
“Thank you.”
“So then what’s your favorite beer?”
“Whatever’s cold and in my refrigerator.”
“Really? No preference?”
“I’m only picky when it comes to cars and women,” he said with a cheeky grin that melted a little piece of my panties.
I drank some wine to cool down, and much like the vodka the night before, all it served to do was heat me up. I had to be almost through my second glass, but it was hard to tell since Jesse kept topping me off. And, for some reason, wine hit me faster than any other alcohol.
“So, if you’re picky with women, why flavors of the week and not something more permanent?” I asked, knowing my bold statement never would’ve come out of my mouth if I wasn’t already wine drunk.
He shrugged and took a sip of his wine, avoiding eye contact.
“You’re a catch, Jesse. You work with kids. You’re good with wood. You make a mean chicken marsala. You’re hot as hell.”
His eyes snapped sharply up to mine at my last words, and I realized what the hell had slipped out of my mouth just a moment too late.
Fucking wine.
My face was already flushed from the wine, and I think I might’ve turned purple from embarrassment. I could not believe I just said that.
What the hell was I thinking?
This man was kind enough to extend an invitation for me to stay with him, and I just told him I thought he was hot. Or, more specifically, I told him that I thought he was “hot as hell.”
What. The. Fuck.
Something was wrong with me.
Seriously.
Cue mini-freak out number two for this meal, but this time it was because I was actually freaking out.
I played it off by drinking some more wine, pretending like I hadn’t just said that.
But Jesse didn’t let it slide.
“Hot as hell, huh?” he murmured.
Fuck.
I put my elbows on the table and buried my face in my hands.
“Oh my God. I can’t believe I just said that.”
I felt his hands over mine. He forced my hands from my face, and when I opened my eyes, he was sitting in the chair next to me. He had been stealthy; I hadn’t even heard him move, and suddenly we were nearly nose to nose as he held my wrists in his hands.
“Hot as hell?” he repeated one more time, that dangerous, sexy depth back in his low voice.
“Can we just pretend like you didn’t hear that part?” I whispered, nervous with him so damn close to me, his hands wrapped around my wrists.
He shook his head slowly and arched an eyebrow. “Fuck no, we can’t.”
Shit. He was going to ask me to leave, and I couldn’t figure out why my heart dropped into my stomach at the thought of moving out of his house. Surely he wouldn’t want me around now that he knew I thought he was hot. It was going to be awkward just seeing him at work from now on, never mind running into him at home, too.
I took in a sharp breath, bracing myself for his next words.
But instead of telling me he wanted me to move out, he gave me the biggest shock of my life.
“You’re a catch, too, V,” he whispered. I felt his breath against my lips. He was so close to me that I could literally lean forward two inches and my lips would be on his. Every nerve in my body leaned into him, forcing my body a little closer to his as if I had no control over it. My blood was boiling beneath the surface of my skin. “You’re amazing. You’re smart. And you’re so goddamn beautiful that sometimes it hurts to look at you and know that I can’t have you.”
I gasped at his words.
Holy. Shit.
He just called me beautiful.
And did he just say that he couldn’t have me?
Didn’t he know that I felt like I was already his?
I felt my body automatically leaning in toward his lips. As I gazed into his eyes and the space between us disappeared, I saw his eyes flick down to my lips for just a second. I closed my eyes and tilted my head toward his, eagerly anticipating the feel of his lips against mine.
And then the mother fucking son of a bitch oven timer starting beeping.
He dropped my wrists and stood. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath.
I couldn’t agree more.
He turned off the timer and grabbed some oven mitts, and then he pulled what looked like the world’s most perfect pie out of the oven.
“Pie?” I asked stupidly, my voice about three octaves higher than normal.
He nodded, and I gulped down the rest of my wine. Not the smartest move given the fact that I was already tipsy and apparently making drunken confessions.
He took a deep breath as he turned off the oven. “Thought we might want dessert later,” he said easily, not nearly as flustered as I was by our little exchange.
Now that he wasn’t centimeters away from my face anymore, I could look at things a bit more objectively.
And guess what?
I really fucking wanted him to kiss me.
I wanted more than kissing.
I wanted everything.
And it appeared that he wanted me, too.
But, I reminded myself, I was still married.
And I wouldn’t cheat on Richard. No matter how much of an asshole he was, I would wait until I was legally, morally, and ethically available.
All I could do was hope that Jesse would still be available, too.
He sat back down and we finished our meal, chatting about school – a safer subject after the intimacy that passed between us.
I realized just exactly how tipsy I was when I stood up from the table to start cleaning up after our meal. I was slightly unbalanced on my feet as we cleaned up together; I washed the dishes while he dried and did the counters, and then, because of our teamwork, the kitchen was back to its pristine sparkle.
We moved to the couch, each of us with our wineglasses in hand after Jesse topped them off again. We settled into the same seats we had claimed the night before. I curled my legs under me, and Jesse spread the blanket out over us again. He sat with his arm draped over the back of the couch, turned toward me, and I sat facing him, leaning my cheek against the back of the couch.
“So,” he said, reaching t
oward my brown hair that was resting on the couch behind me and twirling a few strands of my hair between his fingertips. “As I said earlier, I’m yours for the night. What would you like to do?” His voice was quiet, and the moment felt intimate between us as we stared at each other.
It was a fair question, but I wasn’t sure how to answer. If I was being honest, I wanted to mount him and take him right there on the couch until we were both shuddering in pleasure.
“I want to know more about Jesse Drake,” I said instead.
“What do you want to know?” he asked, those fantastic eyes pinning me in my place.
“I just feel like we’ve only talked about me for the past twenty-four hours.”
“Not much to tell.” He shrugged modestly. “You know a lot already. I woodwork in my spare time. I like to cook. I’m a high school counselor.”
“Tell me about your family.”
“Good parents. Still married after thirty-five years.”
“Siblings?”
“An older sister. You?” he asked.
“I have two brothers, one older and one younger. Both are married with kids. My parents are great, but, as I already told you, they’re super conservative and quite religious. I was shunned when I moved in with Richard before we got married, so I can only imagine what they’ll do now that I’m getting a divorce. Seriously, growing up, the ‘d’ word was just as bad as saying the ‘f’ word.” I thought about that for a minute, realizing how true it was. We never used the word “divorce” in my house. And then I narrowed my eyes at Jesse. “And I just realized you turned this back on me.”
He smiled. “I like learning new things about you,” he said. “I’ve never been one for talking about myself.”
“Time to start, Drake,” I teased.
“My favorite color is blue.” He raised both eyebrows. “Good?” he asked.
I shook my head. “More.”
“My favorite meal is fish and chips. Good?”
I shook my head again. “More,” I repeated.
He rolled his eyes and I giggled. “I tend to date blondes, but I prefer brunettes,” he said. His eyes glinted wickedly. “Good?”
“I like that one,” I said, “but I still want more.”
“Typical woman always wanting more,” he muttered, and I had a feeling he wasn’t just talking about our conversation. “My favorite movie is The Godfather.”
“Cliché.”
“Cliché?”
“Yeah. That’s every guy’s favorite movie.”
“Fine. Then my favorite movie is Austin Powers.”
“At least that’s honest. More.”
“Not until you answer all of those.”
It was my turn to roll my eyes. “Pink, that chicken marsala we just ate, dark hair, and Pretty Woman.”
“The Godfather is cliché but Pretty Woman isn’t?”
“Correct. Continue, please.”
“Fucking women,” he said. “Impossible to please.”
He gazed at me for a moment, and I saw something change in his eyes. He seemed like he was about to tell me something important, but then he looked away. He was quiet as I wondered where he went for that moment.
“Jesse, what is it?” I asked.
His eyes met mine. “Nothing,” he said. “I, uh, like going to concerts.”
“Best live band?” I asked, trying to pull him back to me.
He thought about it. “Metallica.”
“Really? Like the heavy metal hair band from the eighties?”
He nodded. “Do you like concerts?”
“Of course. But on a teacher’s salary, I don’t make it to too many.”
“We’ll have to change that.”
His promise for the future sent a spark of desire through my veins.
“Sounds perf.”
He grinned. “Let’s watch Austin Powers,” he said out of the blue.
“Put it in,” I said. And then I realized my innuendo. If Quinn was here with us, she definitely would’ve said, “That’s what she said.”
I chuckled at the thought. “What?” he asked, still fingering my hair between his fingertips.
“I just said ‘put it in.’”
He laughed. “Perv.”
“See? I’m not the only one who abbreviates my words.”
“Guess we’re perf together, then.”
He stood up to get the movie, and I flushed as I allowed his words to wrap around me and warm me from the inside out.
We watched the movie together, and, big surprise, I fell asleep on his shoulder again and woke up twelve hours later in the bed in the guest room.
Something about Jesse Drake’s house just allowed me the peace and comfort of uninterrupted rest.
And, apparently, really intense sex dreams.
I felt a dull, achy throb between my legs as snippets of that dream came back to me.
It had been so real.
We were sitting at the kitchen table, and Jesse held my wrists in his hands. That same scene from the night before replayed in my head, but this time, the oven timer hadn’t interrupted us as his lips found mine. His tongue thrust into my mouth as those little tremors of lust exploded everywhere inside of my body, the aching need for him becoming more and more apparent as my fingers dove into that thick, perfect hair of his.
I remembered another snippet of dream, this time with clothes flying off in every direction. For some reason, I couldn’t remember the part of the dream where I saw his completely naked body standing in front of me, but surely I could never dream how perfect it would actually be.
And then there was the piece de resistance of my dream. I remembered the way his body connected with mine, when he positioned himself at my entrance and plunged into me for the very first time. I remembered whispering his name as he pushed me higher and higher and then screaming his name as he sent me over the edge.
I awoke with wet panties, some raging hormones, and a terrible headache.
Fucking wine.
CHAPTER 5
Sunday morning – ahem, afternoon – started in much the same way that Saturday had, except this time I showered first before heading out to find my Jesse. I mean, before I headed out to find Jesse. Just Jesse. No “my” in there.
I sauntered into the kitchen, and the house was quiet. There was another note:
In the garage. Help yourself to anything. Thanks for a great night last night. –J
P.S. I think I have a solution for you.
I melted into a giant puddle of Jesse lust, and then I ate the muffin (bottom first) that he left next to the pad of paper and helped myself to some coffee – which I had to reheat in the microwave because it was already cold. I wondered what time my roommate had gotten up as I glanced at the clock and saw that it was 11:00 already.
I headed out to the garage and was intensely pleased to find Jesse without a shirt, Metallica’s “One” blaring from the stereo as he worked. He was holding some little tool and leaning closely over his work. I watched the muscles move in his back as I imagined them moving under my hands while he thrust into me.
Jesus.
I needed to get some, and soon. I was denying myself what I really needed because of my crumbling marriage. I was horny as hell and it was because of this man walking around without a fucking shirt, and I was more convinced than ever that I had to find a way to get Richard to sign those papers so that I could move on. With Jesse.
I just enjoyed the view for a moment, sipping my coffee and watching as he worked. I could literally sit out there all day and watch him do his thing. He was so engrossed in his work that he didn’t even realize that I was there, and I could see how passionate and what a perfectionist he was. Maybe he held a lot back about himself, but piecing together the puzzle that created the perfect picture standing before me was already a fun adventure, and I couldn’t wait to discover more and fit the next piece into place.
He turned off his tool, which he later informed me was a Dremel, and set it down. He bl
ew away some saw dust.
“Shouldn’t you be wearing protective eyewear?” I asked.
He turned around slowly, giving me another perfect view of his intricate tattoo, and he grinned at me. “I like to live dangerously,” he said, quoting Austin Powers from the night before.
I chuckled. “Well, Jesse Danger Drake, please use caution with those lovely eyes of yours when working with power tools.”
“I’ll give you a power tool,” he said suggestively, and then he wiggled his eyebrows and I just lost it with laughter. I liked the goofy Jesse I woke up to that morning.
“Got plans for the day?” I asked.
“You’re looking at it,” he said. “I need to do a little yard work, too. You?” he asked.
“I’ve got some lesson plans to work on for the week, and I really do have some grading to do. I can help you with the yard work, if you want.”
“I’ve got it covered, but thanks for the offer.”
“Of course. Someone told me that I need to pull my weight around here, so I’m trying.”
He chuckled. “Go do your thing and let’s do lunch in an hour or so.”
“Perf,” I grinned, and he smiled and then turned back to his work.
I was thanking the good Lord that he didn’t feel the need to pull a shirt on over that gorgeous torso for once. Maybe he was becoming more comfortable with having me around after the conversations we’d shared. I felt closer to him as a friend, notwithstanding some of the intimacy that had passed between us the night before. And even though nothing had happened between us, there was the threat of something happening, and that was enough for me for now. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t go beyond that yet.
I gazed at him a few seconds longer than strictly necessary and then went back inside to start my work. I gathered all of my materials and settled in at the kitchen table, facing out the patio doors. I was in the midst of mapping out my week, totally engrossed in what I was doing, when something moved in my peripherals. My head snapped up and I looked out the patio doors, and there was Jesse, still shirtless, bending over and pulling a few weeds that I hadn’t noticed.
“Damn,” I whispered under my breath. I watched him stand up straight and scan the yard, and then I saw him kneel down and mess with one of the plants.
Totally distracted from my work now, I took a moment to study his tattoo from where I sat. The phoenix symbolized rebirth, renewal, and immortality in literature, from the old legend of the bird bursting into flames upon its death and then rising again from the ashes. I wondered what sort of ordeal someone had to live through in order to put that symbol permanently on his body.