by Susannah Nix
“Fine,” Esther said. She peeked into the living room at Jonathan. He was typing on his laptop, politely pretending not to listen.
“It’s the right thing to do,” Eric said.
“I know.” She hated having to say no to her mother. She hated even more that her mother was constantly putting her in the position of having to say no. “How’s my nephew?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Mouthy, like his aunt.”
Esther smiled. “Good.”
“I gotta go get his dinner ready. Mom’s gonna be fine. Don’t give in.”
“Okay. Give Gabe a kiss for me.”
“Will do.”
Esther ended the call and deleted the voicemail from her mom unheard. She’d call her back tomorrow, after she’d properly girded herself for it. Something like this came up every few weeks. It was practically the only conversation she ever had with her mother.
“Sorry, that was my brother,” she said, going back into the living room.
Jonathan looked up. “I gathered. Everything okay?”
She flopped onto the couch next to him. “No worse than usual.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Nope.”
His eyes traveled over her face, like he was evaluating her for signs of damage. “Okay,” he said after a moment, and turned back to his computer.
“It’s my mom,” Esther said. Maybe she wanted to talk after all. “She’s not very good at being a grown-up sometimes.”
Jonathan set his laptop aside and turned toward her, resting his elbow on the back of the couch. “You and your brother look out for her?”
“Mostly Eric does. He lives near her in Seattle. I just send money. I’ve got the easy job.”
“Doesn’t sound easy to me.”
Esther looked down at her lap and shrugged. “Mom’s okay. She’s just not very responsible with her money.”
“What about your dad?”
“Divorced. Remarried.” Disinterested. Emotionally unavailable. He’d paid for Eric and Esther to go to college, but after that he’d considered his obligation to them discharged. They only saw him once a year now, on the day after Christmas. They didn’t even rate time on the actual holiday.
Jonathan’s forehead had furrowed in concern. She wanted to reach up and smooth away the crease between his eyes. “Are your parents still together?” she asked him.
He snorted. “Sure, if by together you mean sleeping in separate bedrooms and barely speaking. They both work crazy hours—Mom’s a surgeon and Dad’s a partner in a law firm—so they hardly ever see each other. It’s more like a business arrangement than a marriage.”
“Are you an only child?”
“No, I’m the baby.” He shifted on the couch, propping his feet up on the coffee table, and slouched down next to her. “I’ve got two older sisters, both of them type A’s like my parents. One’s an investment banker and the other’s in med school at Stanford.” His mouth twisted. “I come from a whole family of overachievers.”
“And you’re the sensitive artist?”
He rubbed his thumb over his palm, staring down at his hands. They were sitting close enough that their shoulders were touching. “Or the prodigal disappointment, if you’re my parents.”
“They don’t think that,” Esther said, enjoying the warmth seeping into her arm from his.
“Yeah, they do. They tell me all the time. My dad literally used those words once.”
She’d never seen Jonathan’s face look so hard before. Esther’s parents might have their issues, but they’d never said anything actively hurtful to her like that. “I’m sorry,” she said. “That sucks. At least they’re supporting you through school though.”
“Only grudgingly. They’ll probably be relieved if I get kicked out of the program. Once they get over the embarrassment of having a failure for a son.”
“Hey.” She bumped his leg with her knee. “You’re not a failure, and you’re not going to get kicked out.”
He nodded without meeting her eye.
“If your professor doesn’t give you an A after all this work you’ve put into these scripts, I’ll go down there and kick her ass myself.”
He bumped her leg back and smiled. “Thanks.”
“What are you going to do after you finish your degree though? I mean, screenwriting’s not exactly the kind of job you can just walk right into.”
His shoulders dipped. “I’ll get a job and write in my spare time until I sell a script.”
“Have you ever had a job?”
He shot a defensive sideways look her way. “I have a job now. I’m a TA for one of the professors in the department.”
“Okay, but you can’t keep doing that after you graduate next year.”
“No, but I might be able to get an adjunct teaching position. There’s a lot of competition for those though. I might try background work—you know, being one of the extras walking around in the background on movies and television shows. If you get a regular spot on a TV show, it’s pretty steady work.”
“Really?” She’d never thought about it before. She’d just assumed all those people were actors too. Or wannabe actors.
“Yeah, I’ve got a buddy who does it on a cop show. He might be able to get me in. And if not, there’s always temping. I’ll figure something out.”
“Okay.”
He looked over at her, and the crease between his eyes made a reappearance. She used to hate that crease, but she couldn’t remember why anymore. Now she found it endearing. It was his worry crease. The one he got when he was feeling sad or anxious. It made her want to gather him up and hug him until it went away.
“I can support myself,” he said. “I’ve had jobs before, you know.”
“Like?” She couldn’t picture him working for a living or doing anything other than writing. In her imagination, he was forever hunched over his laptop. As far as she was concerned, he’d been hunched over a laptop since the day he was born and would be until the day he died—most likely from a caffeine overdose.
“I worked at a Trader Joe’s for a while—that’s a pretty good gig. I could go back to that. I was a barista briefly—wasn’t so good at that.”
Esther tried to imagine him restocking organic produce or whipping up Unicorn Frappuccinos. It was like picturing a cat fetching a Frisbee.
“And then there was one particularly excruciating summer I spent grading standardized tests.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.” It was easier to picture him doing something like that than working a retail service job. Grading was part of what he did as TA in grad school.
He snorted. “That’s what I thought, until I started the job. We worked out of an old supermarket that had gone out of business, filled with rows of tables and cheap laptops. They made us sit on folding chairs and work in complete silence all day. No talking to the people around you, no headphones, no nothing. You even had to ask permission to use the bathroom. I spent eight hours a day, every day, reading high school essays about conservation and trying not to lose consciousness. I lasted six whole weeks before quitting, and spent my last day on the job giving every test I graded a perfect score.”
“You didn’t,” Esther said, grinning.
He nodded, smiling a little. “I did.”
“Nice. Way to fight the system.”
He laughed. “Yeah.” His knee fell against hers again, heavy and warm. “Is everything going to be okay with your mom?”
“Yeah, we’ll figure it out. We always do.” One way or another—usually after a lot of stress and anxiety on Esther’s part. She sighed and let her head fall onto Jonathan’s shoulder. His body radiated a reassuring warmth that made her want to snuggle into him.
Esther didn’t get a lot of physical human contact outside of her occasional sexual hookups. She wasn’t much of a hugger or a toucher with her friends. But it was surprisingly easy being close to Jonathan. Comfortable.
More comfortable than it should be. Guilt t
winged in the pit of her stomach, and she lifted her head off his shoulder. He was Jinny’s Jonathan, not hers. Esther had seen to that by fixing them up. It didn’t matter that Jinny didn’t want him anymore, he was still off-limits. You don’t date your BFF’s ex. It was one of the cardinal rules of friendship. Inviolable.
She should move. She shouldn’t be sitting this close to him.
The thing was, though…she didn’t want to.
One of his hands was resting on his thigh, and she imagined taking it in hers, interlacing her fingers with his. She wanted to know what his skin felt like. If it was rough or soft. If his hands were as warm as the rest of him.
“Let’s watch something fun tonight,” he said. “No horror movies.”
“Horror movies are fun.” She was still staring at his hand. She couldn’t take her eyes off it. He had beautiful hands under all the ink stains. Long, slender fingers and neatly trimmed nails with matching half-moons at each cuticle. He could be a hand model. The things he could probably do to a woman with fingers like that…
He nudged her shoulder with his. “I need a laugh tonight. And so do you.”
“Cabin in the Woods?” she suggested, tearing her eyes away from his hands.
“I meant a comedy.”
“That’s a comedy.”
“Satire isn’t the same thing as comedy. And the ending is a total downer.”
“Fine, what do you want to watch?”
“Raising Arizona?”
“Okay.” She didn’t care what they watched, as long as they did it together. She would have agreed to watch The Three Stooges if that was what it took to keep him there.
He leaned across her for the remote. As his body pressed against hers, she closed her eyes and breathed him in. The cigarette smell didn’t bother her as much as it should. For the first time in her life, she actually found it kind of sexy.
Uh oh.
“How long before the chili’s ready?” he asked, turning on the TV and settling back into the couch. He was sitting even closer now, slouched down so that his elbow was resting on her thigh. Warmth from his body seeped into hers like warm butter.
“Another couple hours, probably.” She’d forgotten about the chili. She couldn’t even remember if she’d finished adding in all the spices. Probably. Hopefully. She certainly wasn’t getting up to do it now.
“Tell me you’ve seen this before,” he said as the movie started.
“Yeah, it’s great.” She’d seen it dozens of times. She could practically recite the whole thing from memory.
“It’s my third-favorite Coen brothers film.”
He obviously wanted her to ask what the first two were, so she did.
“Blood Simple and Miller’s Crossing,” he answered with a self-satisfied smirk.
When had his smugness become so adorable? What is happening to me? Had she completely lost her grip on her sanity?
Jonathan settled in to watch the movie, and Esther watched him watch the movie.
After a while, he tilted his head and rested it on her shoulder. “Is this okay?”
“Yeah, it’s fine.”
Her pulse pounded in her ears. She tried to ignore it and concentrate on the movie. His hair was tickling her neck, and all she could think about was how badly she wanted to run her fingers through it. How easy it would be to just reach up—
“Did you know Joel Coen was an assistant editor on The Evil Dead?” Jonathan asked.
“Oh yeah?” she said, trying to sound interested. Her entire consciousness was focused on the places where his body touched hers. There wasn’t room for anything else.
“The push in on Florence Arizona in this scene was a direct homage.”
“Cool.” Her skin felt raw and hypersensitive, like a sunburn. Every little move he made, every place his body came into contact with hers, caused her nerve endings to shriek like a tornado klaxon. Proximity alert! Proximity alert!
She passed the entire movie that way. It was almost a relief when the credits rolled and Jonathan shifted away from her.
“That movie always makes me feel better,” he said.
“Me too.”
He stretched his arms overhead, causing his T-shirt to ride up. Esther glimpsed a tantalizing sliver of abdomen and a faint dark trail disappearing into the waistband of his jeans. “How about that chili?” he said.
She pushed herself to her feet. “Right. Chili. I better go check on it.” It should be ready by now. She went into the kitchen to dish it up.
They ate out of bowls in front the TV while they argued about what movie to watch next. When they were finished eating, Jonathan carried their dishes to the sink and rinsed them. They wound up watching What We Do in the Shadows, which immediately led into a Flight of the Conchords marathon. She kept to her own end of the couch this time, maintaining a safe distance between them.
Two episodes into Conchords, Jonathan fell asleep. He was slumped down on the couch with his legs stretched out in front of him and his head lolling to one side.
Esther’s eyes took a walking tour of his body as he slept, consuming every detail. The cords in his wrists. The tendons snaking up forearms that were as long as her shin. The smooth curve of his biceps. How would it feel to be wrapped up in those arms?
She usually preferred thick, muscular guys. Lumberjack types. She wasn’t exactly petite herself, and she liked men who looked like they could carry her out of a burning building without throwing out their backs. But maybe she was changing her tune. Starting to appreciate the virtues of tall, lanky men.
Yeah, okay, she needed to stop this. Drooling over him while he slept, like a creepy creeper.
She reached over and nudged his shoulder. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty, wake up.”
His eyes snapped open. “Hmmm?”
She smiled at his adorable sleepy-face. “You fell asleep.”
“Oh.” He sat up and stretched. When his T-shirt rode up this time, Esther made herself look away. “What time is it?”
“Almost midnight.” Jinny was coming over tomorrow morning, and Esther would need to clean up before she got there. If there were too many beer bottles in the trash or dishes sitting out, she might ask who Esther had been entertaining.
“Better take myself off to bed before my chariot turns back into a pumpkin.”
“That’s Cinderella.”
“Whatever.” He got to his feet, shouldered the messenger bag containing his laptop, and extended a hand to Esther. “Walk me out?”
Against her better judgment, she let him pull her off the couch. He held on to her hand, tugging her along with him to the door. When they got there, he stopped and faced her. “Tonight was fun.” He held fast to her hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles.
“Yeah. It was.” What she saw in his eyes made her chest felt tight, like she couldn’t get enough air.
A soft smile stole over his face. The way he was looking at her…it was like he wanted something but was afraid to ask. No, not something. Her. He was looking at her like he wanted her.
He leaned closer, and Esther tensed. Flinched, really. Oops.
He halted, his blue eyes locked on hers. Studying her. She couldn’t seem to look away, even when she felt a flush creep up her throat and spread out over her face. His body loomed over hers, as close as they could be without actually touching. Breathing each other’s air. His heat warming the surface of her skin like sunshine.
The silence stretched out between them. She felt like she should say something, but the power of speech had abandoned her.
His hand squeezed hers. Then he bent his head, twisting it to the side, and kissed her cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed as his lips lingered on her skin.
When he straightened, his eyes searched hers again. Evaluating her reaction.
She wondered what he was seeing. Her emotions were a messy, churning stew of relief, disappointment, hope, lust, guilt, and embarrassment. God only knew what that looked like on her face.
A crooked grin spread
over his face. “I’ll see you around,” he said, and let himself out.
When Esther got into bed that night, her face was still tingling where his lips had touched her. If she closed her eyes, she could feel the rasp of his beard on her cheek. His breath hot and sultry on her skin.
Sleep was a long time coming.
Chapter Sixteen
Okay, so maybe Esther wanted to sleep with Jonathan. She was a grown woman, in charge of her own libido. Just because she wanted something didn’t mean she was going to do it. It wasn’t like he was irresistible.
Only, he kind of was. Every time she thought about his stupid cute face with his stupid kind eyes and stupid sexy mouth, her insides started to feel all soft and squishy, like she was full of marshmallows. Then she got distracted imagining what it would be like to kiss that mouth. And after that she started imagining doing other things to him—
Nope. Bad idea. Such a bad idea.
In addition to the Jinny of it all, he was a nice guy. Sweet, thoughtful, sensitive. He deserved someone as nice as he was. Someone who could actually care about him.
Esther didn’t do nice, and she didn’t do relationships. She was both unwilling and incapable. If they slept together, she’d only end up hurting him, which she did not want to do. She liked being friends with him. Throwing that away for one night of sex would be stupid. Even if it was very, very good sex—at least the way she imagined it.
Jonathan was off-limits. No matter how hot he was, Esther needed to keep her libido in check.
“Have you ever been measured for a bra?” Jinny asked. The heat wave had broken, so they were down at the pool for the first time in weeks.
“Why are you asking me that?” Esther peered down at her cleavage and frowned. “Is there something wrong with the bra I’m wearing?”
Jinny licked her thumb and flipped to the next page in her People magazine. “My sister says most women are walking around in an improperly fitted bra, and everyone should get professionally measured at a lingerie boutique. She went and did it last week and says her new bras are so comfortable they cleared her skin and watered her crops.”