When I was college shopping, my parents were particularly enthusiastic about Birch because of the freshman single-sex dorms and because of the number of churches right off campus. Not that we were a super-religious family, but services on Sunday mornings were part of my weekly routine growing up. So I compromised by committing to going to church once a month at least.
I hadn’t been at all since coming back from winter break, so knowing I’d need a distraction from obsessing about my date with Jesse that afternoon, I decided to bite the bullet and go.
“Hey, Ave, want to go to church?” I nudged her gently on my way to the shower. Although Ava was Catholic and I was Anglican, sometimes we went together. The traditions were just about the same, anyway.
“Hmmm?” She opened one sleepy eye. “Oh. Nah. I went yesterday.”
“You did not.”
She rolled over the pulled the blanket tighter to her shoulder. “Did so. While I was out. Confession and noon mass at St. Anthony’s. Go ‘way and let me sleep.”
“Okay.” I went into the bathroom, frowning. Ava was more devout than me, I knew that. But still, it was unusual for her to go to confession, and even odder for her to go to mass without mentioning it to me.
I put on one of the few dresses I’d brought to school, pairing it with boots and my long coat. The church was close enough to our side of campus that it was just as easy to walk as it was to move the car, so I made sure to pull on gloves and a scarf as well.
It was cold out, definitely, but maybe not quite as biting as the day before. The sun shone down on my back, and I enjoyed the quiet of the early Sunday morning sidewalks. Telling Giff to cool it on the win-Liam-back plan last week had taken a huge weight off my shoulders, and I walked with a lighter step. Aside from the other complications of the week, it had been a relief not to have to hang out with guys I didn’t know. I’d still overheard a few rumors about how I was going off the deep end after getting dumped by the great Liam Bailey, but that would die down soon. Getting past Liam once and for all—or at least heading in that direction--felt good.
St. Thomas’s was a small stone church just beyond Birch’s gates. I smiled at the elderly lady in her long camel coat and small matching hat climbing the steps ahead of me. Two little boys burst out the wooden doors, chasing each other and nearly knocking into the woman before their mom grabbed them by the collars.
I held the door, and hat lady flashed me a thank-you smile. “It’s lovely to see young people at church.”
“Thanks. It’s good to be here.” We both moved down the aisle toward pews.
I breathed in the undercurrent of incense as I sat in the back of the church, going through the motions that were so familiar. Stand, sit, kneel. The sermon was about forgiveness and grace, and a twinge of guilt struck me.
I knew, as I sat there considering it rationally, that writing about Liam and what he’d done to me wasn’t going to make me feel better. At best, it could backfire and ruin my friendship with Giff. At worst...I squirmed a little. What would Jesse think? I hadn’t gone into details with him about Liam, let alone tell him about our public break up.
But I was almost stuck now. The blog was moving along, and every day, Kristen and I got more emails and messages with stories. If I didn’t tell my own story, would I be wimping out? Letting down the people who were opening up to us? Or was that just my own justification for doing something, anything, that would embarrass Liam as much as he’d humiliated me?
The piano began to play again, and I realized the service was ending. I slipped out the back and headed to campus, still no closer to an answer that made me feel better.
The grocery store where I stopped on the way to Jesse’s was crowded with people trying to stock up before the work week began. I flew through, tossing penne, tomatoes and cream into my cart, grabbing a wedge of Parmesan, a half-pound of prosciutto and some fresh basil—along with some very pricey fresh strawberries-before I paid and trundled it all out to the car.
It was weird to be driving to the Flemings’ house on a Sunday, when I wasn’t going to spend time with Desmond. My anticipation of being with Jesse again just about balanced the nerves over the possibility of seeing Sarah and Danny. What would they think?
The house was quiet; I didn’t see any movement through the kitchen windows as I pulled back into the driveway. A porch light burned in the winter afternoon dimness over the back door, but other than that, everything was dark.
The guest house was attached to the garage, its door just a few steps from the main house. I parked to the side of the driveway as I usually did, leaving plenty of room for other cars to get around me.
I climbed out and slung the groceries over my shoulder just as I heard a door open. Jesse jogged over and reached for the canvas bag.
“Hey.” He smiled, his eyes meeting mine. “Any more in there, or is this it?”
“Just the bread.” I leaned back into the backseat and pulled out the long loaf of Italian.
“Cool.” He waited until I stepped beyond the door and slammed it closed. Then, his smile deepening, he moved closer, trapping me between him and my car.
“Hi.” He didn’t whisper, but his voice was still low enough to give shivers that had nothing to do with the dropping temperatures.
“Hi.” I licked my lips without thinking about it, and Jesse’s gaze dropped to them. He leaned toward me, dropping his mouth over mine, just a light welcome kiss. He brought one hand to the side of my face and amped up the intensity, touching my lips with the tip of his tongue until I opened them.
“Jesse.” I half-moaned his name and broke away to glance at the house. “I don’t want Des to look out here and ask what we’re doing.”
He laughed, not moving an inch. “They’re not home. Went to spend the day at Sarah’s parents. Won’t be back until after dinner.”
I arched my neck back to look at him. “Really?”
“Really.” He kissed me once more and ran his hand down to take mine. “Let’s go inside before you freeze to death.”
I had never been inside the guest house. The front door opened into a small sitting area, with a tiny kitchen on the side. Beyond that I could see an open door that I assumed led into the bedroom and bath.
Everything was simple and neat, from the beige carpet to the blue valances over mini-blinds that covered the few windows. It was warm, cozy and inviting.
Jesse dropped the bag onto the kitchen counter and came back over to take my coat.
“I don’t know what goes in the fridge and what doesn’t, so go ahead and make yourself at home.” He tossed my coat over a chair while I emptied the bag.
“I hope you like Italian.” I shelved the cream and cheese in the mostly-empty refrigerator. “This is some of my favorite comfort food, but it’s also slightly trendy.”
“I love Italian. What are you making?” He came up behind me and slid his arms around my waist. My heart stuttered a little, and I bit back a sigh.
“Penne a la vodka. Have you had it?”
“Mmmhmm.” He nuzzled my neck. “It’s one of my favorites.”
I stilled and swallowed hard. Jesse’s hands were low on my stomach, near my hips. I could feel all of him along my back, solid and so tempting. And so clearly wanting me.
He raised one hand to move my hair out of the way and kissed up the column of my neck. I sagged against him, closing my eyes.
“I’m sorry.” He murmured the words into my ear, and I wriggled, shivering. “I know. You just got here, and I’m groping you.”
“Did you hear me complain?” I turned in his arms and ran my hands up his neck, behind his head.
“No.” He rubbed my back. “But I don’t want you to feel like that’s why I invited you over here. I just can’t seem to not touch you.”
I leveraged myself up to kiss him. “Again, no protests here.”
“Mmmm.” Jesse turned and lifted me onto the counter. “Are you sure about that? Because encouraging me is only going to make me worse.�
� He stepped between my knees and ran his hands up my thighs before pulling me into another deep kiss.
His mouth was incredible. He coaxed my lips apart and then swept his tongue inside, tangling with mine. I clung to his neck, my fingers playing with the soft curls there.
Jesse trailed his hands up my sides, brushing his thumbs under my breasts. Teasing, just barely touching me, making my heart pound and my body yearn. I sucked in a breath, and he moved back just a little.
“Sorry.” He kissed down the side of my neck again, his voice not quite steady. “If we don’t cool down a little, we’re not going to get to the movie. Or dinner. Or maybe even class tomorrow.”
“Remind me where that’s a bad thing?”
He laughed. “You’re not helping. Here we go.” He boosted me off the counter and sighed. “Movie wonderfulness awaits us over here.”
I sat on the sofa, and Jesse picked up a remote before he joined me, sitting close enough that our legs touched. He clicked on the television and draped an arm over the back of the couch behind me.
“So what did you decide on?” I shifted a little closer.
“A stroke of genius. We both love Joss, and we need an action movie. Well, I needed an action movie. So...” He hit the play button. “The Avengers.”
I grinned. “One of my favorites. You couldn’t have done any better.”
“Huh.” He fast-forwarded through the previews. “Do I rock or what? But seriously, you’re okay with this one?”
“Umm, Chris Hemsworth, Robert Downey, Jr. and Jeremy Renner? Are you kidding?”
Jesse shook his head. “Nice. Way to make me feel secure in my manliness. So later when I kiss you, you’re going to be imagining I’m Thor? Or Hawkeye?”
“Thor? Really?” I raised one eyebrow in mock skepticism.
“Okay, I see how it is.” He settled back as the movie began. “Don’t forget Scarlett Johansson is in this, too. Black Widow is smokin’.”
I snuggled down as he curved his arm around me. “I’m very secure. It wasn’t Scarlett you had hot on the counter five minutes ago.”
He lifted my chin with one finger, turning my eyes toward him. “I had you hot?”
“Shhh, I like the beginning.”
“How badass was Iron Man in that movie?” I dug through a drawer in the kitchen. “Hey, do you have measuring spoons?”
Jesse shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe? Sarah put the bare essentials in here. I don’t cook, so who knows?”
I gave up. “I’ll make do. Can you grab me the cream from the fridge?”
“That I can do.” Jesse pushed off the counter where he’d been leaning to watch me cook and retrieve the container. He set it down next the stove. “So you really think Ironman is the leader of the Avengers?”
I nodded. “No question. I mean, Hulk, he’s got the brute strength, but not so much with the reasoning skills, right? Captain America is hot in a clean-cut retro way, but he’s still getting up to speed on the twenty-first century stuff. Thor’s just a visitor. He’s not from earth. And Hawkeye and Black Widow...well, they have potential, but not the whole package. Yet.” I eyeballed what I hoped was a tablespoon of tomato paste and added it to the pan.
“You’ve obviously given this a lot of thought.” Jesse stood with his arms crossed on his chest.
I grinned at him. “I never thought I was a geek. I don’t love comic books or anything, but I have to admit, I’m a sucker for superhero movies.”
“What about Spiderman?”
I raised my eyebrows. “Oh, yeah.”
“Which one? New or old?”
I checked the pasta. The penne was still a little too al dente. “New. I don’t have anything against Toby, but Andrew Garfield and Emma Stone?” I fanned myself. “Yeah. Definite chemistry.” I cut off a chunk of Parmesan cheese. “I guess there’s no chance you have a grater?”
Jesse smiled. “That I do have. The one meal I can make is nachos, and I like to shred my own cheese.” He dug into a drawer and handed me the flat grater.
“Thanks. But just so we’re clear, nachos are not a meal. They’re a snack.” I grated the cheese over the sauce.
“Oh, come on, they have all the major food groups.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “You got your corn in the chips, that’s vegetables. You got your cheese, that’s dairy. Toss on some chili from the can, that’s protein, right? Perfect meal.”
I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. Do you have a colander?” At his look of complete ignorance, I elaborated. “You know. To drain the pasta. Like a bowl with little holes in it?”
“Pretty sure I don’t.”
“Okay, then, do me a favor. I’m going to pour the water out into the sink, and I need you to hold the lid on the pot so the penne stays in. Got that?”
“I think I can manage it.” He stepped closer to me, and I breathed in his scent—a slight undertone of cologne, his shampoo and something that was uniquely Jesse. I bit my lip and focused on not burning either of us with the steaming water.
He watched me add the pasta to the saucepan, toss them together and lift the whole thing from the stove.
“I never knew cooking could be such a turn-on to me.”
I shook my head at him, smiling. “Jesse, what isn’t a turn-on to you?”
He considered. “About you, nothing. At least nothing I’ve seen so far.”
“Well, then, get ready...” I dropped my voice into a seductive whisper. “Dinner is served.”
We sat at the counter, and I scooped out servings onto the white plates I’d found in the cabinet. Jesse speared some penne and took a bite.
“Oh, my God.” He closed his eyes. “I totally renounce nachos as a meal. This is incredible. I’m sorry, I think I’m going to have to keep you here to cook for me forever.”
“Hey.” I bumped my shoulder against his as I ate. “What is this, 1950? If you want to keep me in the kitchen, you need to offer some incentive.”
“I provided the movie. What else do you want?”
I raised one eyebrow. “Use your imagination. Again.”
Jesse was quiet as he ate, and I wondered if I’d said something wrong. Before I could get up the courage to ask, he spoke.
“I do use my imagination. Probably too much.” He flashed me a quick smile. “But I wanted to tell you, this isn’t normal for me. I know this is going to sound like a line—yeah, again--but it isn’t. I’ve dated girls, like I told you. But I haven’t had anything I’d call a serious relationship, you know? And I’m not usually, like...” He reached out and touched the side of my face, just the barest skim of fingers on skin. “Like I am with you. If I’m not touching you, I’m thinking about when I can touch you. It’s crazy.”
I stabbed a noodle and ran it around the edge of the plate, keeping my eyes down. “I’m not like this, either. And full disclosure, you know that kind of long-term relationship I talked about the other night? It was my first.”
“Your first...?” There was question in his tone, although I wasn’t sure exactly what he was asking.
“My first everything.” I swallowed, still not able to look at him “In high school, I had a group of friends, and we all hung out. If there were big dances, we just went with each other. I liked guys, but they never liked me back. The ones who did like me, I only liked as friends.” I lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “So I never ended up having a real first date, a first kiss...I know, loser, right?”
“No.” Jesse reached across and captured my fork-free hand. “The girls I dated in high school didn’t like me as more than friends, and I felt the same way toward them. I had a huge crush on someone who didn’t know I existed. She was dating a guy who was in college, but in my fantasy world, she suddenly saw me and realized I was the one she really wanted.” He grinned. “I spent way too many Saturday nights trying to get up the nerve to call her.”
“It was her loss.” I turned my hand over and laced my fingers into his. “What about in college?”
Jesse grimaced and
looked away. “I’d like to say I was totally focused on academics, but I went a little crazy. My dad and Sarah got married right before I graduated from high school, and even though my parents had been divorced forever, I hated that he had a new family. I was living on my own for the first time, and I partied pretty much all the time. I met girls who didn’t care that I wasn’t on the football team or popular, and I, um, dated a lot of them.”
“And by ‘um, dated’, you mean--”
“I mean one-night...dates. I’m not proud of it.”
I squeezed his hand. “You went off the deep end.”
“You might say. By winter break of sophomore year, I was failing three classes, my GPA had tanked and my dad came to visit. He wanted to tell me in person that Sarah was pregnant, and that I needed to get my shit together, because I was acting like a spoiled brat.”
“Really?” I always saw Danny as a soft touch. He didn’t let Desmond get away with everything, but he was definitely the more permissive parent.
“Oh, yeah. It was good timing, because I was sick of it all anyway. So that spring, I had an insane class schedule. I brought up my grades, and I figured out my major. And I stopped, um, dating so much.”
I pushed away my almost-empty plate. “Why did you ask me out? Did you think I was going to be one of those girls you ‘um, dated’?”
Jesse smiled. “I’m not going to lie, that first day I saw you, ‘um, dating’ was definitely on my mind. You were on the sofa, looking all sleepy and soft. I was like...” He sucked in a deep breath. “Like, who is this? And then Dad and Sarah said how great you are. Des never stops talking about you. But I didn’t want to get back into the party spiral in grad school. I promised my dad I’d be focused on my classes here, and I didn’t want him to think I wasn’t.”
“What changed your mind?”
He tugged my hand until I slipped off the stool and braced my feet on the floor, closer to him but still leaning on my own chair. “It was three things.” He held up one finger. “First, you can cook. I’ve never met a girl who can do that. Or at least a girl who’s as gorgeous as you and can cook.” He let go of my hand and snaked an arm around my waist. “Two, you love Joss Whedon. That shows excellent taste.” He leaned just a smidge closer to touch his lips to mine. “And last, every time I saw you, I wanted to touch you. To kiss you, or hold your hand, or even just brush past you. It was getting overwhelming. I was either going to ask you out or grab you while you were here taking care of Des. The going out seemed like a better idea.”
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