by Brynne Asher
I seriously want my boring and mundane life back.
Not knowing what to say, I ask, “Why are you doing all of this for me?”
Jude’s face softens further and his hand at my head gives me a squeeze. Just when I think it can’t feel any better, it does. When he pulls me closer to his face, all I see are his melty eyes and I feel his breath as he rasps, “I don’t know, sugar, but I’m feeling the need to see this through if you’ll let me. Will you let me do that?”
I sit here looking at him for a beat and all I can think of to say is, “Okay,” because I really want to know what it means for him to see it through. Plus, I’m lulled into a Jude induced coma again.
At my one little word, his mouth slowly grows into a beautiful smile.
“Thanks,” he says. “I don’t want you alone tonight so I’m stayin, I’ll sleep on the couch.”
Um, excuse me?
I feel my eyes go big but before I can express anything out loud, I hear my Uncle Tony and the rest of my uncles come out from my bedroom. “Door’s patched.”
Jude stands and announces with authority, “I’m sleeping on her couch tonight so she won’t be by herself. We just worked it out. She’ll probably have to wait until Monday to get someone to look at the door and that glass will probably have to be special ordered. I work closely with OPD—I’ll hit the office tomorrow, get a read on the latest wire transcripts, and see if anything has been said, then coordinate with the officer. There’s already a warrant on Harper. If they find any of his prints here, we’ll have additional charges on him, as well.”
Tony mutters, “Sounds good to me, I’ll check back in tomorrow, see if there’s anything she needs.” Turning to me, he goes on, “I wasn’t kidding Gabby. I’d like to sleep in. If you could tone it down for the next ten hours, it’d be appreciated.”
I pull in an audible gasp at Tony’s desire for me to tone it down as my Uncle Tony walks into the room and says, “You should get up and go to church instead of sleeping in, son.”
“Ah, yeah. I’ll see about that.” Tony then relays Jude’s plans for all the world to hear. “Jude’s sleeping on Gabby’s couch so she’s good for the night. I told her we’d touch base tomorrow.”
All my uncles have seemingly baptized Jude into the crazy club over Fantasy Football, because no one sees a problem with this.
“Thanks, Jude.”
“Wait a second.” I start talking to the room in general with mock enthusiasm. “I’ll be fine. No one’s going to break in twice in one night, right? And I’ll keep my gun close. Really, I’ll be good.”
“Not gonna happen.” Jude shakes his head with finality.
“Yeah, you’re not stayin’ by yourself, Gabby,” Uncle Nic agrees.
“Ma’am, we’re done here.” One of the police officers comes in, as the others make their way out my front door. “Here’s my card in case you have any more information for us. We’ll contact you if we learn anything new.”
“Oh, thanks.” I mean, what else was there to say? He talks to Jude quietly for a minute and then follows his brethren out the door.
“Try and get some sleep, Gab,” Uncle Tony says as he gives me a big hug and kiss on the head. Gino, Nic and Tony follow suit. We say our goodbyes, Jude shuts and locks my front door before turning to look at me.
Well, now what do I do? I have no idea what to say, so of course I start rambling. “Um…do you need a toothbrush? I have a guestroom—you really don’t need to sleep on the sofa. Can I get you something to drink? Water, a beer….”
“Gabby.” He interrupts me so I stop rambling and comes close—really close. “A toothbrush would be good. But you take the guestroom, you shouldn’t sleep in your room with that door busted. I’ll be good with a pillow and blanket.”
“Okay. You probably wouldn’t like the guest room anyway, I haven’t redecorated it yet. It’s my old room and it’s pink. It’s not very manly with all the stuffed animals. There’re some bad boy band posters on the walls from when I was a teenager. I really should’ve taken those down by now. But that’ll just leave holes in the walls which would be worse than the boy band posters. Well, maybe holes would be better than bad boy band posters…”
He takes another step closing the microscopic distance that was separating us, his chest brushing up against my breasts and one arm snakes around my lower back. He pulls me in the rest of the way, the other hand doing the hair in back of my head thing again. I lift my hands instinctively and place them on his chest. His chest, by the way, that’s rock hard through his thin t-shirt and I can’t help but press my fingers in slightly, fascinated how he feels under my touch. All the while, his latest maneuver brings us to full-on frontal touching. Although this surprises me, I can’t help think about how good it all feels while it’s freaking me out at the same time.
He dips his head closer, pulling me out of my fascination fog, whispering low and raspy, “I don’t know Gabby, I might like to experience your pink room with stuffed animals and boy band posters.”
I gasp again as he pulls me up the rest of the way, tilts his head, and his mouth hits mine—gentle, but completely in control. His lips are full, strong, amazing, and I can’t help but lean into him, giving him my weight. I close my eyes, tilting my head the other way when his tongue sneaking out to swipe my lower lip and I open my mouth instantly. He takes full advantage, dipping his tongue inside. I can’t help but come up on my toes, wrapping one arm around his neck and the other up the back of his head in his hair that’s as lush and thick as I imagined. When his hand at my back lowers to my ass, pulling me in tight, his control starts to ebb and he deepens the kiss. I’m giving whatever he wants to take. This continues for a minute … or thirty. Who’s keeping track? Then, all too soon he slows and his mouth makes his way to my jaw and under my ear, but he doesn’t let me go.
With his face in my hair, he whispers, “Fuck. That was better than I imagined.” He pulls his head back enough to look at me but keeps me tucked tight with me still on my toes. “And I’ve got a real good imagination, sugar.”
“You do?”
He smiles. “Yeah.”
“Wow,” I say, still at a lack for words.
His hand tightens on my ass and he gives me a full body squeeze. “Toothbrush. You need to get to bed. You were wiped earlier.”
“Right, toothbrush,” I repeat, but instead of letting me go, he pulls me up one more time for a quick touch of our lips, then loosens his hold.
I head to the guest bath and linen closet for Jude’s sleepover essentials, still in a fog from my yummy Jude kiss. Trying to get my wits about me, I walk back into the room and start rambling again. “There’s another room down the hall, but the bed was old and I got rid of it thinking I was going to start on these rooms next. I have two more bedrooms in the basement, but I’m sure you won’t want to sleep down there with those fans going all night. I brought you a pillow, sheet and blanket. Oh, and a new toothbrush. There’s toothpaste in the drawer of the guest bath. I feel really bad about you sleeping on the sofa.”
“I don’t mind, Gabby.” A new look comes from his melty eyes. “Go get ready for bed, I’ll be fine.”
“Okay.” I quickly to my room.
I grab some sleep shorts and a cami from my armoire and go to my bathroom to change my clothes. I wash and moisturize my face and brush before brushing my teeth. All through this, thinking about how good Jude’s lips felt on me.
Oh shit, I have to walk back across the house in front of Jude to get to my old room. I go to my closet and grab a short summer robe. Trying to think of anything else besides me in my jammies and Jude’s lips on me, I look into the mirror giving myself a pep talk. “You’re a big girl, Gabby. Just walk across the house.” With no other words of wisdom to offer myself, I move out.
Jude has the cushions removed from the back of the sofa and the sheet spread. He’s standing with his back to me facing my bookshelves that flank the limestone fireplace. Not really knowing what to say now, I ask, �
��Do you need anything else? An extra pillow or blanket?”
What I’m learning quickly is typical Jude fashion, he changes the subject and asks me a question out of the blue, but it comes out as a statement. “You’re close to your grandfather.”
“What?”
“Your grandfather. You seem close to him when you were around him tonight. He’s protective of you.”
“Yeah, but I’m close to all my family. I mean, you witnessed a lot of Carpino madness tonight, did you not?”
“I guess.” He lets out on a small chuckle and continues. “But it seems different with your grandfather.”
“All the Carpinos are close. My grandmother’s been gone for about 5 years now, she had lung cancer even though she never smoked a day in her life, but she grew up around second-hand smoke. When we lost my parents, my Pop was alone and I was renting an apartment at the time, so I moved in with him for a few months. Not that it wasn’t tragic losing my parents, but you never expect to lose a child, no matter what age they are. And my Pop loves all four of his daughters-in-law—it was like he lost a son and a daughter at the same time.” Jude keeps looking at me but doesn’t say anything so I keep on. “I guess you can say we have a bond because we sort of got through that together. I’m probably closer to him than the other grandkids because of it.”
Jude walks over to me again, but barely touching me this time, his hand coming up to my face. “I’m glad you had that Gabby. I’m glad you weren’t alone.” There’s something working in his eyes I can’t put my finger on, but before I can search them out further, he bends, kisses me softly and instructs, “Go set your alarm and get to bed.”
“All right.” I head to the alarm panel, arm the system, and make kissy noises for Mia to follow, which, of course, she does.
“See you in the morning,” Jude calls softly as I head to my childhood bedroom.
“Goodnight, Jude.” Mia and I head to my old double bed and climb in. Mia prances around the bed about three times wondering what’s up with the change in location. “Lay down, baby,” I coo at her and she curls into me instantly.
Thinking there’s no possible way I’ll fall asleep after one of the longest days of my life, a day that ended with Jude kissing me and sleeping in the next room, I snuggle closer to my dog and close my eyes. Minutes later with my mind on all things Jude, sleep takes over.
Chapter Six
Beautiful
“Girl, when I saw you walk into church with that man—whip me with a feather—it shocked the hell out of me. He is lush.”
“Don’t you mean strike me down with a feather, Reagan?” I ask, as I sit on my friend’s kitchen floor prepping her island for its last treatment.
Reagan Ford and I met in college, but we’re pretty sure we were BFF’s at birth and were somehow separated by an evil curse, wandering our hometown of Omaha aimlessly until we found each other again in college. That’s how much we get each other. Reagan is a teacher, but just recently quit to stay home with their first baby, Ben. Two days ago, when I was experiencing my post-sleepover-morning with Jude, I told him I was going to church at ten thirty and he insisted on coming with me. So, when I walked through the front doors of my church with Jude holding my hand—yes, that’s right, holding my hand—well, Reagan saw and flipped out. And she didn’t flip out quietly. She flipped out rather dramatically.
“Stop correcting me, Gab, you know I’m sleep deprived. John was on call all weekend. Between Ben waking up every two hours to nurse because he’s going through a growth spurt and the off-hours service calling, I’m a walking zombie.”
John is Reagan’s husband, a couple years older than us, a pediatrician and all around great guy. He’s an amazing husband to my friend and is proving to be a great dad as well. But he’s recently out of Fellowship, is new to his practice, so he’s on call a lot and works pretty long hours.
Reagan and John have a great house not far from mine, it’s about fifteen years old and we’ve just semi-renovated their kitchen. Reagan has many house projects she wants to tackle so they’re on a budget. We decided to reface the perimeter cabinets, gutting just a couple above the new range to open that area for a super cool stainless-steel hood. Now their old oak cabinets are a warm white with clean lines, showcasing all new cabinet doors and drawer fronts. After the granite was installed, the wood floors were hand scraped and refinished to a warm dark brown.
Now it looks like the entire room has been gutted. Because her kitchen is spacious, we were able to use the dinky island, adding two legs with corbels for support, extending it. This made the island huge and now houses four barstools, providing another area for seating, a place they’ll use daily with their growing family.
The island helped the room look completely transformed, but the paint treatment Reagan wanted was going to be expensive. I knew she had her eye on a new farmhouse kitchen table and I knew how much that table cost. By doing the paint treatment for her and cutting a few corners here and there on the project, she will get her table and the room will be perfect. Early last week, we painted the island a grey but with subtle blue undertones, lightly glazing it with a smoky brown that gives it interest and depth, pulling out the greys and browns from the granite.
“Maybe you should go and take a nap while I’m doing this. I’ll watch Ben and you can catch up on some sleep,” I try, knowing full and well there’s no way Reagan will give up.
“Uh-huh. I cannot believe my best friend in the whole wide world just waltzed into church holding hands with some shit-hot guy and me not know anything about it. How do you think that made me feel?”
“Quit talking so loud, you’re going to scare your son.”
“Gabby,” she warns.
I sigh and decide I owe her some answers. I was her maid of honor after all—there has to be some sort of “know all” stipulation that comes with that.
“I met him Friday at Megan’s. That’s a whole different story altogether that I absolutely cannot get into, so do not ask.” I give her my stern look and she glares in return. “Anyway, he stopped by my house for something Saturday morning right after I found water all over my basement. He helped move furniture, Tony asked him to join the Fantasy Football league, and he insisted on coming with me, which you know what that means.” Reagan gasps, because she gets me and knows my family well. “I know, right? You can imagine how that went and the pile of shit I got from everyone. Jude, on the other hand, seemed to think it was all hunky-dory. Then I got a call my bedroom deck door had been broken into, tripping the alarm. New drama all around and Jude insisted on staying the night so I wouldn't be alone.”
Reagan gasps again. “He spent the night with you?”
“Yes. That’s the thing, I can’t seem to shake this guy or say no to him.”
“Why on God’s Green Earth would you want to say no to him?” she asks, appalled.
“Well, I don’t know. I haven’t been with anyone in forever. Not since James and we both know how well that ended.” Reagan gives her head a knowing tip to the side in agreement.
“So, you met him Friday?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
“And he spent the night Saturday?” Her eyes go big, asking way more than her words.
“On my sofa, Reagan. He made me sleep in my old room since the door was busted out. And he stayed again Sunday night…” I go on and she just glares at me so I continue hesitantly. “And last night, too.”
“Holy shit,” she whispers.
I start working on the island and peek over at Reagan holding her sweet sleeping baby boy as she’s deep in thought. “What are you thinking?”
“What else? He might be sleeping on your sofa, but there’s more, isn’t there?”
My eyes go back to my work on the island. “We’ve eaten dinner together the last two nights. Although he’s being really nice, I’m not sure he eats as much salad as I do. Last night when I started making dinner, he just shook his head.”
“Gabby, a salad is not considered dinner for
99.9% of the population. No one eats as much salad as you do. That man needs some carbohydrates and red meat. Are you trying to scare him away? Plus, that’s crap intel, I’m talkin’ what else?”
My eyes go to my project, but my mind goes back to last night. After we ate taco salads—I did put grilled chicken on them—Jude and I headed to the basement to make some semblance of order since the fans were gone. My insurance company came earlier that day to check out the water damage and the door in my bedroom, killing two birds with one stone.
Lucky me.
I learned that I’ll receive a check for carpet, paint, baseboards, and the glass for my bedroom door. We caught the water soon enough and didn’t have any damage to my furniture. I’m super grateful for this silver lining because some of the pieces are antiques that my mom collected over the years and are sentimental. I also had a glass company come out and ordered glass for my bedroom door that should be in by the end of the week.
I managed to “tone it down” Sunday and Monday, without any further catastrophes or visits from the police, I’m considering this a plus. However, Jude insisted on staying both nights so I wasn’t by myself. He’s worked his way into my life in a weird way, and if I’m honest with myself, this gives me warm fuzzies while scaring the shit out of me. He continues to be sweet and thoughtful but at the same time bossy as hell. How does he pull that off so well?
Last night while moving furniture around, he was asking me more about my family, and that led to me talking about my parents.
“If you and Tony are about the same age, how long has he been practicing law?” Jude asks.
“He joined our practice right after he passed the Bar about two and a half years ago. He interned every summer, too.”
“Our practice?” He looked confused.
“Carpino Law Partners. It’s a habit to say ‘our’ because my dad was a partner. My uncles, Gino and Tony, are now the only partners, they took on Tony as an associate. He’ll make partner someday, and not just because he’s a Carpino. He’s a hard worker, specializes in Business Law and has brought a lot of clients to the firm over the last year. He’s really making a name for himself.” Jude looks at me, so of course I go on. “I guess I’m a silent investor, if you want to call it that. My uncles wanted to sell my dad’s portion of the firm to me after he died, but I wouldn’t let them. I don’t need it, my parents left me plenty but my uncles insisted in drawing up all kinds of papers and whatnots. I guess I’m part something-or-other.”