by Neal, Xavier
On my way towards my front door, I overhear the beginning of a lecture about 'unnecessary calls' to the police.
Serves her right. He wasn't looking to steal her Beamer or Prada heels. He probably just wanted something to eat or maybe he was just lingering until I came home. Wow...yeah. Something inside my brain has definitely stopped working.
The homeless man has rolled my trashcan to the garage door and is patiently waiting with his head hung forward.
“Just one second,” I assure and speed up my movements. Hurriedly, I unlock my front door, drop my bags beside it, and rush around the corner to the garage where I open it for him.
He begins to move the trashcan inside just as the officers are slipping back in their vehicle, the sleet slightly increasing. After giving them a wave goodbye, I hit the button to lower it back down.
Once we're officially alone our eyes meet again. Swept away in the glowing shade, my body leans against the door frame.
Is it humanly possible to be this lost just staring into someone's eyes? There's just something there that I can't tear myself away from.
“They're probably going to circle the neighborhood for the next couple hours or so, especially with the way the sleet is picking up. You're going to want to wait here until they've probably gotten a call elsewhere. After that you shouldn't have to worry about seeing them again for a bit. Do you um...have somewhere warm to sleep tonight?”
His body braces itself behind the trashcan. He shakes his head.
My lips press together only briefly hesitating to continue. “Well I have a blow up mattress and there's a helluva space heater out here. My fiancé, um...ex fiancé, used to build model cities out here.” Nonchalantly I point to the covered area. “It was the only hobby he ever had. There were some nights he was up until three in the morning...”
The homeless man's eyebrows twitch.
Realizing I shouldn't have rambled that last part, I draw myself back. “My point was, the space heater actually makes this entire room feel pretty hot. Almost as warm as inside my house. Definitely much warmer than...out there. So....um, what do you think? Wanna sleep here?”
Did my mouth just make a decision before my brain? I'm pretty sure it did because this is crazy. Hell this is beyond crazy. This is insane! There's no way I should invite him to spend the night here! Holy shit! I need to un-invite him. Right now.
My lips refuse to part.
I can't just throw him back out there. No I can't! It would prove to the cops and bitchy Mrs. Prescott that I was lying. Can we say nightmare? Besides, and more importantly, it's starting to basically snow out there. He needs somewhere warm. He needs some sort of actual shelter other than a paper box or whatever he hides in. He could die out there.
For the first time since we've met, he speaks. “Why are you so nice to me?”
Even his voice is sexy. Did I say sexy? I...I...Shh.
In a whisper I counter, “Why not?”
He cocks his head at me. Silence fills the room as he continues to stare at me. My lips press together again while I continue drinking in every precisely orchestrated movement. The way his body is struggling to relax. The way his hands are slightly moving in his pockets like he's contemplating something with his fingers.
No. Not to harm me. He's not that kind of man. Trust me. I know. I've got a feeling...
“You're not afraid of me.”
The statement folds my arms. “Why would I be? My dad's a cop. My mom's a doctor. I could stun you and then carve out your organs to donate them to science.” A small smirk tries to join his face. “Besides, I'm always packing some sort of protection and sleep with a Beretta at my bedside. Maybe it's you who should be afraid of me.”
He chuckles a little. “Maybe...”
The two of us linger in the light laughter, lost to the fact that this moment shouldn't be happening. Lost to the fact we shouldn't be connecting. That we're two strangers living two completely different lifestyles.
Why does that have to be a bad thing? This is the first time since Chris died I've wanted to be around another person for longer than five minutes outside of book club. That means something. Even if it shouldn't. And yes. I really am always packing. Pepper spray. Pocket knife. Gun stays home.
“Have you eaten?” As soon as he shakes his head I offer, “How does lasagna sound? It's not made from scratch or anything, but it's still pretty good. I mean I like it.” He doesn't verbally respond but his smile is a suitable answer for me. “What about a shower? You wanna take a hot shower while I get it in the oven? Then we can get the mattress set up. It's gonna take the space heater a little bit to warm up too.” Suddenly it hits me that while everything I am saying is implying invitation with my words, my tone has already decided that he's going to do these things.
I'm not normally this pushy.
To my surprise he says, “Okay.”
Relieved, my shoulders finally relax. Another fact hits me and I quickly announce, “I'm Jaye Jenkins, by the way.”
Slowly he bridges the gap between us in just a few strikes, extends his hand, and he says, “Archer. Archer Cox.”
Archer
Jaye. Her name is Jaye. Damn...just when I didn't think she could get any more beautiful, she says her name. I swear when said in the right tone, it could easily be a prayer. A beacon of hope. Fuck for me it has been. How the hell do you explain me being here? God....what am I doing? I don't fucking belong here. I don't belong in this fancy ass shower, with this fancy ass shower head, with this fancy ass fucking soap. No. I belong bathing my face with that slightly heated pool water.
The water massages my shoulders firmly, which pulls another groan out of me.
You know, I honestly don't remember the last time I had a hot shower. Might've been a few months ago. Sometimes if you linger around the right motels off the highway, the maids will let you rinse off during their cleaning rounds. Maria Claire was my go to before she got fired for it. I should've just gone a couple times and moved on before any damage could be done. Seems like the only thing I'm good for. Causing damage to people's lives.
Rinsing off the last of the suds, I turn off the water and reach for the fluffy white towel. A small grumble escapes me.
Even the fucking towel is comfortable. Feel this shit. Have you ever had a towel this soft? Is this what staying at a Five star hotel is like? Beats the fuck out of the tattered ones I grab out of the garbage.
Taking my time, I run the cloth across my flesh making sure only the stains from combat, or the ones I paid for are the only things left on my skin before wrapping it around my waist.
Suddenly there's a knock at the door. Without waiting for a reply, it cracks open and Jaye's flawless face appears around it.
It's wrong to wish I could drop my towel and pin her against the door frame, but it's not stopping my dick from twitching at the urge. Every fucking thing about her is stunning. She's not perfectly polished. She's not prim and proper. Hell, she's not even well spoken. You've heard the way she rambles incoherently. But the real question is did you see the way her lips move? Her slightly wide hips sway? The way her gorgeous legs stretched up each stair, just hinting at how they would stretch around me while she clung for dear life as she got ready to come? Whew....it's been a long time since I've had these kinds of thoughts running through my mind. Need to reel 'em in and get the fuck out of this house.
“Um...” her voice trails off while her eyes follow suit across my body.
If she keeps staring at me like that she's gonna end up pressed against that door or the counter against my better judgment.
“Did you need something?”
“Right!” She shuts her eyes and shakes her head. “Um...clothes.” When she doesn't receive an immediate response from me she blurts, “I was thinking that maybe since you had a hot shower that your clothes might need a wash too. I figured you might like some warm, dry clothes for in the morning, so I grabbed some and a toothbrush because I assumed you might wanna brush your teeth. I'm no
t sure the last time you- um...well.”
Absolutely adorable.
Jaye offers me the folded up clothing. “Here.”
Skeptical I ask, “Where'd it come from?”
“They were my finace's.”
A small surge of annoyance runs up the back of my neck. “Are you trying to replace him with me?”
Don't call me a dick. Valid fucking question. If she's some crazy woman waiting for the perfect guy who looks or sounds just like the dick who left her, then I have every right to be concerned. I’d need to get the hell out of here even faster. We're both strangers here...this was a terrible fucking idea. On both our parts.
Her face becomes a solemn as she quietly argues, “No. You're nothing like him.”
Anger replaces the previous emotions. “Why? Because I'm not a prick who wears a power tie and pushes a Porsche?”
Jaye's face harden s . The change of expression fast enough to give a person whiplash. She takes two precise steps in, drops the clean clothes on the counter beside me, and picks up the ones by my feet. Carefully she rises to the tips of her toes, lips temptingly close to my ear lobe, and whispers, “Exactly.”
Feeling my cock twitch at her proximity, I take a step back and watch her exit the bathroom in silence.
Stop calling me a dick. No, I wouldn't prefer asshole. Hey. About that comment she made. Why didn't it feel like a bad thing that I'm not like him?
Swiftly, I close the door trapping the warm air inside. After changing into the designer boxers that still have the eighty dollar price tag on them, I pull on the black work out pants and long sleeve shirt.
Ridiculous. It's fucking ridiculous how good this shit feels. Too good. I can't get used to this bump in the road. No. I know what happens when a guy like me gets used to shit like this. Housewives in the making like her get bored, toss us out and find a new hobby. That's all I am to her, I bet. A passing fucking hobby. Something to help ease her damaged psyche over running over a bunny or some shit I bet.
Downstairs, I'm surprised when I round the corner towards the garage and see Jaye struggling to get something off the top shelf. Her body is stretched out once more, the beautiful shade of brown that's exposed on her lower back even more enticing now than it was before.
Fuck. Think how good it would feel if my hands could...
I shake away the thought. “Need some help?”
She jumps a little as if she forgot she wasn't alone. After regaining her composure she nods. “Please. I'm little vertically challenged.”
“You look like the perfect height to me.”
The comment lifts her eyebrows.
Shit.
Approaching, I clear my throat and ask, “What do you need?”
“The pump is up there.” Seeing a green box with the picture of the object on it, I instantly reach for it. “I've already got the mattress itself out. And sheets. Plus I grabbed you all the pillows from the downstairs guest bed. I hope it's enough. If it's not enough, I could probably grab some more from the upstairs guest bedroom. I'm not really sure how many pillows you need. I typically sleep with two myself. One for my head and one for legs.” She pauses as shock falls on her own face. “I can't believe I just said that to you...”
With the object in my hands, I offer her a smile. “Whatever you give me will be plenty.”
She gives me a bright grin in return.
I might be wrong about her. Maybe I'm not some pathetic outreach hobby. Maybe she sees the man I used to see when I looked in the mirror. The one who would chase chicks with Micah and listen to Seth's bad nerves about having a baby so soon into his marriage. The marriage I stood beside him at. Maybe she sees the man who existed before he had to look his best friend's wife in the eyes and try to apologize for her loss.
The anxiety of those thoughts attempt to throttle my ability to speak. “Everything in the garage?”
“I just have to go get the pillows and the sheets from the couch. I put them down to check on the lasagna.”
“I'll get started on this then.”
Turning away from her, I relocate to the garage where I waste no time hooking up the pump and getting it started. Thankfully she turned the space heater on and the area has already had a chance to warm up.
Talk about a fucking miracle product. It's almost as warm out here as it is in her house. She wasn't fucking joking about that thing kicking ass. I bet it's insulated out here too. She mentioned something about a hobby. Nice house like this? Yeah. Definitely insulated.
While the machine does the hard work, my eyes wander around the space I've been invited into. There are several long tables on the other side of the three car garage all covered with gray sheets.
Cities Trains . She said he liked to build cities trains , that it was his hobby. She also called him her ex. Remind me to ask her what he did to fuck up. Shit. It's none of my business. Forget I even thought it. Distance is key here. We need to keep a distance.
About ten minutes later I'm looking at the first chance to sleep in a bed I've had in the last two years.
Doesn't fucking matter if it's not a 'real’ bed. It's a real fucking bed to me.
Before I have a chance to get caught up in how amazing that fact is, Jaye's sweet voice invades my ears. “These are the sheets. Not a huge fan of white things especially not linens, but it's what I have.” The hint of sadness in her voice turns my body around. “Lasagna’s cooling. It'll be just a couple minutes and I'll cut it up. Do you want bread? I assumed you wanted bread. I made bread, which is cooling too. But you don't have to eat it if you don't want it. Did you want a glass of wine or uh...I have grape juice. And bottled water. I always have bottled water.”
It's like she can't help herself. Her mouth just starts running and all mine wants to do is land on top of it to help slow it down. Fuck. It's been a really long time since I've been bombarded with this many goddamn hard ons.
I scrub away the rising heat in my face and will my cock to get some goddamn rest. “Water is fine.”
She nods and hands me the objects she's clutching. “Alright. I'll see you at the table in just a few minutes then?”
Slightly surprised, I question, “You...you actually want me to eat inside your home? With you?”
All of sudden, the baffled expression is on her face instead. “Why wouldn't I?”
Because I'm the filthy, pathetic homeless man you gave your leftovers to? Because I don't deserve to eat at your table any more than I deserve to sleep on your fucking high thread count sheets? Which of these answers do you think I should lead with?
I remain silent.
Jaye uses that as an invitation to exit.
Probably for the best. There was no reason to be a dick to her a second time.
Once I've made the bed, I join her at the kitchen table, which isn't far from her back door.
The large layout of her home is something I'm only slightly familiar with. When I was a senior in high school, I went to parties at places like this and spent some nights sneaking out before the girl of the month's parents came back from the Opera or wherever it is society’s wealthy go while their teens are off snorting coke and fucking the less fortunate. Bitter about money? Why would I be? I let go of that animosity a long time ago. Well...for the most part.
Sitting across from her at the round wooden table, my stomach immediately grumbles at the smell filling all of my senses.
Just the heat pouring off this thing would normally be enough to send my stomach into overdrive of longing.
“Feel free to eat as much or as little as you want,” Jaye sweetly hums. “It's not my favorite brand, but it's the one I buy.”
I lift my fork, but stop before I have a bite. Knowing the right thing to do, I lower it back down. Politely I nod at her. “Thank you.”
The smile, which I'm learning only gets more intoxicating each time she shows it, grows larger. “You're welcome.”
Wasting no more time, I have a large bite, the food melting on my tongue to the point i
t borderlines sexual.
Didn't we already talk about how food and sex have a lot in common to me?
While my first couple of mouthfuls are in silence, it doesn't take long before she's speaking again. “Can I ask you something?”
I continue to chew.
“Is that a yes?”
This time I nod.
“Why me?”
Unsure of the question, I place my fork down. “What do you mean?”
“Why me? Why my house?”
The anger that I'm used to starts to tingle in my fingertips.
Any time someone assumes that I'm using them. That I need them, rage rushes through me. I don't need anyone. I've made it this fucking far for this fucking long. The only person I need is myself. Relying on others just gets you killed. I can't have any more deaths on my conscious.