Jesse was still speaking, and I brought my mind back to what he was saying.
“My mom called this morning. She’s having some sort of plumbing issue at the house, and she doesn’t trust the guy who did the work. She wants me to come home and look at it.” He held up his hand. “I know, I know. It’s just her way to get me up there. But I promised I’d go.”
“Hey.” I smiled at him. “Don’t worry. I understand.” I set aside the chicken and moved the pot back to the burner, turning it up. “When are you going?”
“I figured I’d leave Friday right after class, spend Saturday with her, and then drive back Sunday morning, so I’ll be home for the game.”
“Okay.” I began picking the meat from the bones, keeping my eye on the stock.
“So see, you should stay tonight.” He came up behind me and slid his hands around my waist. I was helpless to move, my hands covered in chicken grease, and I shivered as he moved his fingers over my ribs.
“Jesse, you’re evil.”
“Hmmm?” He feigned innocence, even as he dipped his head to the side of my neck.
“Big bro!”
Neither of us had heard Desmond come into the kitchen, but there he stood, his hair sticking up and his blanket clutched in one arm. I bit my lip and squirmed away from Jesse, moving to the sink to rinse my hands.
Jesse stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. “You keep working, I got the rug rat.” He turned around and picked him up, spinning the squealing boy in a circle. “So, little dude! I hear you got a new friend. Where’s that kitty?”
Desmond glanced around. “I don’t know. Doolia, where’s Choo Choo?”
“She was here a minute ago. Check in the living room, you two.”
“Let’s go look for her and let Jules cook, okay.” He winked at me over his brother’s shoulder, and I watched them disappear around the corner.
As much as I worried, Danny didn’t even blink when Jesse told him I was staying for dinner.
“Jules cooked us dinner, so I asked her to stay.” He looked up at his father from the floor, where he and Des were building a block labyrinth for the kitten.
Danny nodded. “Cool. I’m going to get changed and then pour some wine.” He sniffed, long and appreciatively. “Julia, that smells divine. Can’t wait to eat it.” He headed up the steps, and Jesse shot me an I-told-you-so look.
I dropped another flat dumpling into the rolling broth and watched it bob to the surface. Outside, dusk was falling, painting the woods a smudgy gray. I listened to the boys laughing as they tried to convince Choo Choo to walk through the narrow path of blocks. All of that, combined with the aroma of dinner cooking and the warmth of the kitchen, gave me an odd pang of familiarity. I hadn’t realized how much I missed home—the feeling of being at home—until that moment.
“Okay, little bro, let’s clean up the blocks before Mommy gets here.” Jesse stood up and came into the kitchen, leaning over my shoulder to see what I was doing.
“Don’t touch,” I warned him, glancing back as I dropped in the last dumpling.
“That’s not what you were saying earlier.” He whispered the words into my ear, but I elbowed him all the same.
“If you don’t behave, I’m not staying for dinner.”
He stepped back, hands raised. “I’ll be the perfect gentleman, I promise.”
“Hmph. We’ll see.”
But he did behave. Sarah came in a few minutes later, just in time to help me finish up dinner. We sat down to eat with the same chaos I’d known growing up: everyone getting drinks, trying to settle Des into his booster seat, moving the plates onto the table and trying to avoid tripping over the kitten, who wanted to be underfoot. Jesse caught my eye and smiled.
It wasn’t a bit uncomfortable. Danny talked about his classes, and Sarah told us funny stories about her clients. Jesse sat next to me, but he kept his hands to himself, except for a few reassuring touches to my leg under the table.
When we finished and I rose to clear the table, Sarah fixed me with narrowed eyes.
“Jules, maybe you didn’t notice, but you’re off the clock. No more work.”
“I don’t mind helping—” I began, but Jesse took my hand.
“You heard the woman. Sit down. I’ll help with the dishes.”
“We’re okay, Jesse. Thanks. Why don’t you both go do something fun?”
He grinned, tugging at my hand. “That sounds like an order. Come on.”
“Where are we going?” I had asked the question twice in the last ten minutes, and each time, Jesse only smiled at me and shook his head.
“It’s a surprise,” he said now, turning onto the highway. “You’re familiar with the concept, right?”
“Yeah, but surprises haven’t worked out so well for me lately,” I muttered under my breath. “I don’t deal well with not being prepared.”
“Don’t you trust me?”
“Mostly.”
He laughed and took the next exit.
“Are you taking me off into the woods to murder me? Because if so, I need to text Ava and let her know. She worries.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m doing. You got me.”
I saw lights ahead, and Jesse glanced sideways at me.
“One of the guys in my motor disorders class told me about this. I thought it would be something different, and fun, too. I hope.” He pulled into the parking lot of a large warehouse building. “How do you feel about ice hockey?”
I raised my eyebrows. “I love it. I don’t watch the games on TV so much, but I like the in-person ones. Is that what we’re doing? But where?”
Jesse opened his door and came around to do the same to mine. “Right here. This is a farm league, or the closest thing the NHL has to them. The Pennsville Flash.”
He took my hand as I slid off the seat into the frigid night. “This is very cool, Jesse. I’m sorry for doubting you.”
He rubbed his thumb over the back of my gloved hand. “I had to think of something to get us out of the house. Because what I really wanted to do was go watch TV in the guest house, and pick up where we left off this afternoon. But I figured if I want a relationship with you, it has to be more than just that.”
I smiled up at him and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “I appreciate that. Not that I wouldn’t have enjoyed your other idea, too. But you’re right. I like spending time with you, no matter what we do.”
The arena was older, and the crowd was sparse, but the action on the ice was just as intense as a professional game. Jesse laughed at my fervor; I was hoarse from yelling by the end of the first period.
“You’re crazy!” he shouted in my ear, over the organ music playing a fight song.
“What’s the point of coming if you’re not going to support your team?”
He pulled me closer and tipped my chin up. “I like your passion.” He dropped his lips onto mine.
“I’m passionate about many things,” I murmured against his mouth.
He grinned, and his dimples flashed. I reached up and touched his cheek.
“Do you know what those dimples do to me? From the first time I met you…I’ve wanted to kiss you there, to run my tongue over those little indents…”
The blue in Jesse’s eyes deepened. “You say things like that, and it makes me regret that we didn’t just stay home tonight.
I smiled sweetly. “Something to look forward to, next time.”
It was after ten when we pulled into the Flemings’ driveway. Jesse pulled his truck up alongside my car.
“Back to your coach, m’lady. Door-to-door service, with a smile.”
“Thank you, kind sir. Not only for the service, but for a good time tonight. You rocked it. Next time you surprise me, I’ll trust you, I promise.”
“Good.” He unlatched his seatbelt. “Then that should earn me a hot good-night kiss, right?”
“That isn’t earned. That’s just a given.” I undid my seatbelt, too, and slid to the middle of the seat. Jesse reached down to
unbutton my coat.
“What are you doing?”
“My hands are cold again.” He slipped them against my side, rubbing up and down. I shivered.
“But now I’m cold,” I complained.
“Well, I guess I should do something about that.” He moved his hands around to my back and pulled me closer. “Shared body heat is the most effective, you know. I thought we covered that this afternoon.”
“Mmmhmm.” I arched my neck to meet his lips. “I’m getting warmer already.”
“I feel that. In fact, I think you’re putting off enough heat for me to take it up a notch.” Before I could protest, his hands were under my shirt against bare skin, and his mouth smothered anything I had to say.
I raked my fingers through his hair and relaxed against his arms, enjoying the lazy interplay of our tongues and feel of his fingers as they teased my spine.
“I should go,” I sighed a few minutes later as his tongue trailed down my neck. “Ava will worry. At least I think she will.”
Jesse raised his head, frowning in the dim light of the truck cab. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. She’s been…funny the last week or so. Like something’s bothering her, but she won’t tell me. She says it’s nothing. Or she avoids me.”
“She’s not upset about us, is she? Didn’t I make a good impression?”
I shook my head. “No, she liked you. I’m not sure what’s going on, but I need to get to the bottom of it.”
“You’ll figure it out. She seems like a reasonable person.”
“She is. She’s been my best friend…almost like another sister. I’d never want to hurt her.”
“Then I guess you really do have to go. Talk to her. Work it out.”
I smiled up at him. “You’re pretty amazing. For a guy.”
“Gee, thanks.” He held the back of my neck and kissed me once more, hard and searing. “That will have to hold us both until Sunday.”
I drew a shaky breath. “Okay then. Text me when you get up to New York?”
“Sure—but I’ll talk to you this week. Before I go.”
He held my door and stood alongside as I climbed into my own car, and when I looked in the rearview mirror at the end of the driveway, he was still standing just outside the house, in the dim porch light, watching me go.
I didn’t talk to Ava that night, because once again, she was asleep when I got home. She had an early class on Tuesdays, but I intentionally set my alarm so that I was awake before she left.
“Hey, what are you doing up?” She stepped out of the bathroom in jeans and a long sleeved thermal shirt, wet hair combed back from her face.
“I was hoping to catch you before you left. I feel like we keep missing each other the last few days.”
“Oh.” Ava rolled up her sweats and socks and tossed them into her laundry basket. “I guess so.”
“Ave, what’s up? I know something is. Can we talk about it? Are you mad at me?”
“No.” She sat down on the edge of her bed and pulled on clean socks. “Of course I’m not.”
“Then what is it?”
She bit the side of her lip. “It’s nothing you did, Jules. It’s me. But can we talk about it this afternoon? I promise. I’ll meet you at Beans after my last class, okay? Like around four?”
“Okay.” I pulled the blankets up around my chin and dozed again until the door closing woke me up.
I only had one class, just after noon, so I had a lazy morning of catching up on homework and updating the blog. I had put up Marcus’ story over the weekend, and it was getting huge response.
Writing my own story was on the agenda for today, but I hesitated. The time I spent with Jesse had taken the edge of my rage against Liam, and maybe I didn’t need to name names. When I sat back and thought about it rationally, all it would do was hurt Liam and make me look like a loser. There wasn’t any winner here.
On impulse, I grabbed my coat, shoved my feet into my shoes and made the short walk over to Dr. Turner’s office. I knew she didn’t have formal open hours on Tuesday mornings, but I took a chance, and happily, she was there.
“Ms. Cole, this is a surprise.” She looked at me over her glasses, but the smile on her face softened the words.
“Do you have a minute, Dr. Turner? I know office hours aren’t until tomorrow, but I had a question.”
“Of course. Close the door, take a seat.”
I shut the glass door, shed my coat and perched on the imitation leather chair across from her desk.
“How’s the project going?”
I made a face. “That’s why I’m here. It’s going well. I mean, we’re getting a lot of response, and people are commenting on our posts. There’s been discussion about the site on the related social media, and most of it is constructive. Some of it isn’t.” I frowned, remembering some of the bashing posts I’d read that morning, both from women hating on the guys and men calling our site ‘loser chick sob story heaven’.
“That doesn’t surprise me at all. What you’re revealing can be painful to both sides, to the victim and the perpetrator, as it were. Plus, you have to take into account point of view. What a sensitive young girl might take as a cruelty might not seem such a big deal to the boy who thinks he’s doing the right thing.”
I nodded. “I’m starting to see that. Lots of the comments are saying we’re only telling one side of the story. And because it’s anonymous, that’s all we can do.” I took a deep breath. “And that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I need to make a decision about publishing a story, and I want to make the right choice.”
“All right.” Dr. Turner smiled and tilted her head. “Shoot.”
“This is a story that’s going to be recognizable to most students on campus. But the submitter wanted us to use names, too. Make it clear exactly who the guy was. Is, I mean. Lose the anonymity.”
“Aha.” She pursed her lips. “Go on. Why does this person want to be open about the names? Keeping it private was one of the conditions of your site, I thought.”
“Well, it is. But she wanted—or needed, maybe—closure, and she thought this might be the way to get it. The guy who did it, who hurt her, he hasn’t ever apologized or even admitted he was wrong. I guess maybe she thought this was a way to show him how she felt. Make him feel her pain.”
“Mmmmhmmm.” Dr. Turner tapped her fingers on the desk. “So we’re talking revenge here.”
I flushed and kept my eyes to the carpet. “I suppose so.”
“Ah.” She sighed, running her hands over the neat bun of black hair at the back of her head. “Well, I don’t think that’s unexpected, given the name of the blog. It was only a matter of time. It’s a fine line between providing a forum for people to share and giving them an outlet for…well, retribution.”
“So do you think I shouldn’t do it?”
“Ms. Cole, I’m not here to be your journalistic conscience. I’m teaching you, or at least I hope I am, to develop your own.” She looked into the distance, over my shoulder. “It’s hard when it’s personal, isn’t it?”
My heart beat a little faster. “Um, I’m sorry?”
She smiled, her eyes full of understanding. “Students tend to think the gossip stays within their own body. But we professors hear a good deal more than you give us credit for. Maybe I’m making a leap, but I know what happened in December. Unless I am far less perceptive than I credit myself, I don’t think you’re discussing someone else’s story here. I think you’re talking about your own.”
I swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, Dr. Turner. I wasn’t trying to lie to you, I just wanted to have a little distance—”
“Then take a look at that distance. If this were in fact another submitter, writing to you with the request that you publish her story complete with names, what would you tell her?”
I took a deep breath. “I guess I would tell her it’s not our policy, and ask her why she felt it was important.”
“Which is what I
asked you. And you mentioned the need for closure.” She rolled her eyes, and my mouth dropped.
“I happen to detest all that psychological babble at times, Ms. Cole. Not that I don’t think some of it has merit, but in this case, as in many others, we use the idea of closing a chapter of our lives to justify questionable action.”
“So you don’t think people should be held accountable for their actions? Even when they hurt others?”
“Of course I do. That’s why I went into journalism, after all. Remember I came of age in the Watergate era. Holding people responsible was our rally cry. But in this case, what’s the best possible result to telling your story with names, for publishing it with Mr. Bailey’s name included?”
“That’s what I was thinking this morning. Liam would be embarrassed, sure, but I don’t think he’d learn anything. And I might hurt friends of ours, put them in the middle.”
“Let’s not ignore the elephant in the room, either. Publishing your own story that way does call your journalistic integrity into question, and it would also jeopardize the reputation of your blog. If getting your own revenge was the only reason you decided to tackle this issue, Ms. Cole—and I don’t think was—you’ve let down your readers.”
I stretched my neck against the back of the chair and sighed. “No. I mean, it gave Kristen and me the initial idea, but it’s not the only reason. And I didn’t even intend to use Liam’s name in my post until last weekend. He made me really mad. Again.”
Dr. Turner shook her head. “Julia, Julia…writing from a place of strong emotion is not the role of the journalist. We write to evoke response, but not out of our own passion. You know better than that.”
“You’re right.” I clinched my eyes shut. “I’m sorry. I just needed to hear it, I guess.”
“Don’t apologize. You did what any good journalist would do when she realized she needed distance: you took it outside you, and you asked for input.” She paused for a beat. “You remind me of myself, but I’m happy to say you are far more mature than I was, even when I was a bit older than you.”
Best Served Cold (Perfect Dish Romances Book 1) Page 15