by Kendall Duke
“This is where you live? By yourself?” I tried to look through the windshield and see the old place the way she would: the big magnolia out back on the edge of the woods, the giant garden gone to seed wrapping around the huge porch, the curtains my mom made years ago fluttering in an open window upstairs. “This is huge, Jordan. This is practically a mansion.” She looked back at me with wide eyes.
“This is a farm, Jessica,” I said, and she laughed at my smart-ass response. “Seriously, though. We haven’t worked it as one since I was a kid, when my dad started to get sick, but it’s just a big farm house.” I watched her expression of wonder as she opened her door and hopped down; it took me a second to realize that this was the first time she hadn’t reached out for me in about two hours. I swallowed the guilty lump in my throat when I noticed that bothered me and followed suit. She should feel better. This was a good thing.
So I kept myself from grabbing her hand again… But just barely.
Jessica walked in the moonlight towards the house. It did look pretty lovely at the moment, I had to admit. My mom’s climbing roses still rambled all along the big porch, giving the air a heady scent, and the stars sparkled above us. I kept the house in good shape, being pretty handy, and my grandfather built it in the thirties. He was an excellent carpenter. We stepped up onto the porch together, and then I went ahead and opened the door. We walked down the long hallway, passed the formal living room and dining room, and moved into the kitchen. It was a huge room, spanning the entire width of the house, and where we’d spent most of our time as a family when I was growing up. I flipped the light switch and watched Jessica’s face.
She had the cutest expression.
She looked a little bit like a kid on Christmas morning—her eyes were so huge and round and that perfect red mouth was shaped like an ‘oh.’ I was really enjoying the view.
But I also had to wonder… This was just a house. It wasn’t a new house, or anything really special.
How long had she been sleeping in that shelter?
~~~
Jessica
I couldn’t believe how gorgeous this place was.
It looked like something out of a story book—beautiful, giant wooden farmhouse, beautiful giant old trees, flowers everywhere, literally everywhere, and a beautiful, giant moon shining down on it all.
If I lived here I wasn’t sure I’d want to share it with anyone else.
If I lived here I wasn’t sure I’d ever want to leave!
Jordan opened the front door for me and let me walk through, and the inside was just as nice—a little dustier, until we got to the kitchen in the back. He flipped the light and I felt like I’d just landed in a commercial for cookie dough or something. The kitchen was so big it stretched all the way across the whole house—there were two stairways leading away from it, plus the hall we’d just walked down. A solid round table with six chairs sat towards one side, while the other had a really nice kitchen island and countertops all over the place and even a little pantry, I could see, off to the side. It was just a really nice kitchen, in a really nice house. Older, sure—I could see Jordan giving me a look like I was a little crazy, but I could see it wasn’t exactly perfect… Except that it kind of was.
It was perfect for me.
“How much do you want?” He looked genuinely confused. “For the rent?” I would pay just about anything, I realized. I’d definitely fallen in love with the house, and that wasn’t only because of all the bizarre things that had happened that night; I was still trying to talk myself out of whatever panicked attachment I had to Jordan, because I knew it couldn’t be healthy. But this? This was just a house. I could love it as much as I wanted.
“Um…” Jordan pulled a chair out from the table and scratched his chin. It was maddeningly cute for some reason. He blew out a long breath, clearly thinking over how much he should get for a room in such a great place versus how much pity he felt for the weirdo that had latched on to him. “Why don’t we just try it out for a few days, and see what you think it’s worth?”
“Or you could just pick a number now and we could haggle,” I said, sliding into the chair beside his. I tried to push aside the familiar feel of rejection; maybe he didn’t really want me living here. He might just feel sad about my living situation, and was giving me a safe place to stay until the dust settled. Or maybe—suddenly our knees touched, and I saw him glance down before backing up just a little bit. I wished he wouldn’t.
“I don’t like to haggle,” he said, but there was a tiny quirk in the corner of his mouth, as if he were trying to smile but didn’t want to.
“I do,” I said, and waggled my eyebrows at him. He laughed, and it almost sounded rusty, like he might have to cough afterward. He wasn’t laughing often enough, I guess. “I used to love going to flea markets with one of my foster families—they had a booth where they sold all kinds of stuff. It was so much fun.”
“Really.” He said it in that flat, matter-of-fact way he had, where it wasn’t actually a question.
“Yes, really!” I grinned at him, and he blinked and looked down at his lap for a second. “Come on, Jordan—haggle with me. It’ll be fun.”
He was quiet for a solid minute. I could hear the frogs in the woods behind the house. I was willing to bet that even with the horror of what had happened tonight, I was going to get the best sleep I’d had in years.
“What about a trade?” He leaned back and rubbed his chin again, then looked around the room. “Can you cook?”
“I have no idea,” I said, and he laughed again. I loved making him laugh. It made me happier than it should have. “I’ve never really had the opportunity to learn.” I shouldn’t have told him the truth, though, because that made him look a little sad. And when he was a little sad, he bit his lip.
Now, I have had boy-friends before. Sure, I have kissed some of them and did a little more with some of them and maybe I wanted to do even more, but then had to move or whatever… But there was just something about the sight of his teeth sinking in to that sexy bottom lip that made my panties damp. Just like that. I’d been fighting off how he made me feel all night but there was no denying my body’s response any more. And I wanted him more than I’d ever wanted anyone.
I didn’t just want him because he was my hero.
I didn’t just want him because I was alone.
I didn’t just want him because I was afraid.
I wanted him because of the way he looked when he bit his lip—I wanted that mouth doing the same thing to me, everywhere. I wanted him for a very simple reason: he was hot as hell.
“What are you thinking?” Jordan snapped me back to reality with his quiet question, but I had no way to answer him.
“I was thinking…” I stared at him, at those incredible turquoise eyes and his broad shoulders and that full mouth… If I stayed here, he didn’t need some idiot he rescued fawning all over him. He didn’t need a girl he couldn’t be sure wasn’t just using him for a place to stay. He deserved someone who would treat him like I was sure he treated his girl-friends, someone who was kind and good and smart.
I had to wait.
I had to prove I was those things.
Because I wasn’t going to turn this into a one-night stand—hell, I didn’t even really know how, given my lack of experience. If the fates or whoever decided to hand me the love of my life on the worst night of my life, I wasn’t going to blow it. I was going to make him realize I was the right one for him.
“I was just wondering what else we could do for a trade?” A million thoughts ran through my head, some of them downright dirty, but I pushed them aside. “Yard work? I can clean. I can do the books, too, believe it or not, I know I wasn’t too good with the cash register—” My voice died in my throat, and I forced myself to swallow and continue. “But I’m fine with a calculator.” Jordan wasn’t fooled. His eyes tracked over my face and then he reached over and took my hand in his. It made me smile. “I’m alright, I promise. I can…”
I looked around the kitchen, and then up at his handsome face. “I can make a mean cup of coffee. Do you want one?”
“It’s three am. Do you want one?” He raised a quizzical eyebrow at me, but I just grinned and flipped his hand over, tracing the lines with my finger.
“I do. I’ll make one in a minute.” It was my turn to give him a quizzical look, which rewarded me with another deep chuckle. “I can read your palm. I had a foster-sister that taught me how.”
“That’s probably worth a cup of coffee,” he said, and I almost whined when he pulled his hand away and stood up. I really wasn’t ready to go to sleep, even though I was very tired. I just had so much going on in my head. But to my surprise he headed over to the coffee machine and started up a pot. When he pulled some bread down from the counter and went to open the refrigerator, I got up and joined him.
“Let me do it,” I said, and gently butted in front of him to get at the fridge. I felt him freeze as his front briefly came into contact with my back, and then he stayed right where he was just long enough for me to feel my nipples harden against the fabric of my bra. He was so startled, I guess, he just didn’t move quickly. So for a half of a second that felt like eternity, his hard abdomen touched my upper back, and I couldn’t help but think of him bending down, gripping my throat with his teeth the way he’d bitten his lip, and sliding his hands around my waist, then down, down further…
“I like turkey,” his voice said, husky and low. And then he leaned over to point to where it was in the fridge, and his chest was pushed against my back, and I had to stop myself from gasping when we made contact. “The mustard’s on the shelf. I’ll grab the toaster, too.”
My body felt out of control—I almost felt a little dizzy when we touched. It was ridiculous. And when I heard him walking towards the counter, I had to reach out and hold on to the fridge for a second to collect myself.
This had to be the shock. Right?
I mean, I knew I wanted him and I loved how he moved and his body was probably perfect under all that flannel but damn! Seriously? Why did I feel like I’d been struck by a thunderbolt?
~~~
Jordan
This was out of hand.
I’d been awake for almost twenty-four hours, which for me was not a big deal, really, in the general sense, as I’d been awake for a lot longer when I was in Afghanistan, but it made me question my judgment.
And this was a girl that up until a half hour ago was sleeping in a dog shelter and almost got shot by a meth-head on her first night at work.
I did not need to make this worse.
I did not need to bend her over the kitchen table, lick her pussy until she begged for it, and plant myself so deep inside of her that she would have my baby.
I did not need to tell her that she’d made me laugh more than I had in a year. Or that her smile made my heart gallop. Or that she didn’t have to pay rent, because I’d probably pay her to live here, even if she just walked by and waved at me once in a while, and this was the most time we ever spent together. I did not need to do that.
But goddamn did I want to.
When she darted in front of me as I opened the fridge, our bodies touched each other in the smallest, most innocent way, and it still rocked through me like a bolt of lightning. I could feel where we’d made contact, the brush of her skin—even through fabric—against mine as clear as if she’d burned me.
And then I had to have another taste, and I leaned over her, and I just… I couldn’t help it, I was doing my best not to wrap my arms around her and grind myself into the plump, perfect swell of her ass while I sucked on her earlobe, I just let myself touch her again and then I had to walk away because my hard-on might have actually reached through my goddamn jeans and grabbed her otherwise.
I have never felt so out of control
Never.
This was trouble.
There was no way I was going to sleep tonight. Or the next night, probably, or any night, if she was in my house, sleeping in my bed. I was going to lay there, awake, staring at the ceiling until my eyes bled, thinking more crazy shit like I was right now.
I needed to calm down.
But I couldn’t. All I could do was finish making a pot of coffee, pray we didn’t bump into each other when we were making sandwiches, and try to think of a way to live with her in this house that didn’t involve fucking her so hard she saw stars.
~~~
Jessica
I would’ve given almost anything to know what he was thinking.
Was it possible to actually love someone if you just met them—not even getting in to all of the savior stuff that I was probably going through? I felt the strongest emotion… but I didn’t recognize it.
I must be going crazy.
Gotta be the shock.
Gotta be.
I popped the bread in the toaster and brought the mustard over to the table, found a cutting board and then went rifling in the fridge for some cheese to join the turkey. I pulled two plates down from the tidy stack in the cupboard and put them down in front of him. When the bread was toasted I plopped it on one final plate and carried them over, then sat down myself. He’d already poured the coffee.
I still felt like I was reverberating all over, as if thunder were billowing through me from the inside out.
But you can’t say a thing like that, not even to people you’d known a long time, and I really didn’t want to freak him out any more than I probably already had. I wanted to convince him that I was normal. Ish. That was probably the closest I could get.
“This is exactly what I needed,” I said, breaking the silence. “I can’t remember when I ate today, although I know I must have.”
“Shock’ll do that to you,” he said, and took another bite of his sandwich.
“I don’t think I’m in shock,” I said, and I wasn’t really talking about my appetite. Well, not my appetite for food. I could feel myself blushing and rushed ahead. “I was really upset, but I don’t think that’s strange. I imagine I had some shock, too, but… I don’t know. This was awful, but it was over quick.”
“It’ll hit you later,” he said softly, and something in the tone of his voice made me put my sandwich down and look at him.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean just that,” he said, and shook his head as if he were coming back to the room. “It kind of ebbs and flows. You’ll wake up screaming a couple nights in a row and then you’ll start to kind of go back to normal. But then you’ll see someone that looks like… Like that guy, or someone who looks like the kid who got shot.” His beautiful eyes were impossibly sad. He refused to meet my gaze. “And then it’ll hit you again. But it goes away more and more with time. You’ll be fine.” Now he locked eyes with me. “Don’t feel bad for feeling bad, Jessica. Just remember that last part: you’ll be fine.”
See what I mean?
Was it possible to fall in love that fast?
Was it crazy if you did? Doomed? Did that matter, if you could practically feel your heart surrendering to the inevitable and you just did not care?
I snapped back to the moment. “How do you know?”
“I…” He swallowed, set down the rest of his sandwich, and pushed his plate away as if he couldn’t eat. “I served two tours in Afghanistan. I’m pretty familiar.”
“Oh,” I said, and it took literally everything I had not to crawl into his lap. I don’t even know if that would comfort him, or just give him another thing to worry about, but… The pain on his face just made me want to be close to him, to at least try and be there for him. He looked… Alone. Completely alone.
It was a feeling I recognized.
I put down my coffee and thought for a minute. “Listen. You don’t have to let me stay here, if you don’t want to. I don’t want to be a burden.” His eyes flicked up to mine. “But if you let me, I will be your friend. I don’t know anything about Afghanistan… Although, considering what you did tonight, that makes a lot more sense. But I
know a lot about feeling like crap. And I can tell from your face you do too.” I reached over and took his hand the way I had earlier, pushing my fingers between his so that they interlaced, and squeezed with all my might. It was the best I could do, since I didn’t want to freak him out by hugging him. “What do you say? Friends?” He was silent, staring at me. “Please?”
~~~
Jordan
Friends.
Sure. Just friends.
I looked down at the way she was holding my hand between her two little ones, those strong, hard-working little hands, and I did not want to be friends.
I don’t know what came over me. I never talk about Afghanistan, or shock, or anything similar. Comes dangerously close to mentioning PTSD, which I never, ever talk about. Not to anyone, not under any circumstances.
But I could tell I was about to.
I kept staring down at her hand. “There’s… There’s something you should know, if you really want to stay.”
“I definitely do,” she said.
“I have… What I just told you, I know because I get nightmares, sometimes.” I swallowed, the words hard to get out. “I can… Sometimes I’m loud.”
“That’s alright,” she said, and then she squeezed my hand again, so tenderly that I swallowed again because it had been such a long time since someone had done that for me—since I’d let someone be that kind to me. “I get nightmares too. Already. My mom and dad died in a car wreck.” She blew out a breath, and I glanced up at her face. “Really sucked.” She gave me a practiced smile, then let it falter. “And most of my foster families were really nice, but my dad—my adoptive dad—” She stopped short, staring at my face, or maybe into the distance, remembering something she’d rather not. “He wasn’t too nice, is all.”