Millie tugs the robe tighter around her, feeling self-conscious, and points into the bathroom behind her. “Once again, I am so sorry.”
I glance at the disaster zone behind her and shrug my shoulders. It’s just water and a curtain rod. Nothing is damaged. I look at her face again, and I have to keep myself from laughing at her grumpy expression.
My mouth twitches, and she immediately catches me. “I can tell you want to laugh. Just let it out, big guy. This night couldn’t get any worse if I tried.”
“What are you talking about? There’s nothing funny going on here,” I say. But then she crosses her arms and rolls her eyes, and I can’t hold it in any longer. I’m doubled over, trying to contain my laughter.
“It’s kinda your fault. I was getting out of the tub, and you startled me. I slipped, and well, the shower curtain was not the best thing to grab onto to stop my fall,” she explains, which just makes me laugh even harder. “You’re not being very gentlemanly. I hurt my hip really bad when I landed,” she says and rubs the offended hip.
I want to kiss her so badly right now it hurts. I settle for smoothing the wet hair away from her flushed face. Her skin is still wet and warm from her bath, and breathing instantly becomes harder when my fingers touch her cheek. I take a look at her full lips and watch them part. I glance up at her eyes to see that they’re watching my mouth.
I inch closer to her and wrap my arm around her waist to pull her toward me, and surprisingly, she doesn’t resist. A voice in my head tells me that this is dangerous territory, but I ignore it. She’s too tempting, standing in front of me in my robe. Our mouths grow ever closer; they’re mere centimeters away from each other. The most miniscule movement would bring them together.
Just when I’m about to close the gap between us, Lo appears in the doorway, asking if it’s her turn to bathe. Millie and I jolt apart, and Millie grabs her clean clothes from the counter and rushes from the room. If I’m hearing correctly, she ran right into my room. My fault, really, since I never showed her which rooms she and Lo could take for the rest of the night.
“Well, this is terribly awkward…” Lo says.
Chapter Seventeen
Millie
Last night’s events really put a kink in Lo’s and my plans for today. We were going to go grab coffee this morning and then go dress shopping for the upcoming dance. Instead, I’m following Jameson over to Eilleen’s house. I love Jameson’s nana and pops—they’re kind and funny—but I’d have loved not having to stay in their house for this reason.
We’re going to spend the day washing every bit of fabric we have in the house since the skunk stench has permeated the fibers of everything I own. Actually, everything in a ten-mile radius smells like it. As we were leaving, I saw the family down the street holding their noses and gagging as they walked to their car. If they think that’s bad, they should go smell my house.
Jameson called a bunch of people this morning and was able to track down a few air purifiers. We left all of the windows in the house open and turned on all of the fans. Eilleen told me to bring all of our clothes and bedding with us so we can wash them all before heading back home. They’re not too awful… Okay, who am I kidding? They’re repulsive. I put them all in doubled-up garbage bags to trap the smell in. Lo and I have zero non-stinky clothes to wear, so we’re wearing Jameson’s massive t-shirts and gym shorts that are rolled up a trillion times. We look ridiculous.
I think I would cry if Jameson wasn’t here to help me. I hate that I need him so much. I wanted so badly to prove to myself and to Lo that I can stand on my own two feet and take care of her, but I haven’t been doing the best job. Sure, we have food on the table and a comfortable home, but it seems like every time I turn around, something outrageous happens. I feel like I’ve been living in The Twilight Zone since moving to Waverly.
We pull up in front of Jameson’s grandparents’ home, and it’s just as quaint as I remembered it being the first time I saw it. Green plants, that probably burst with color in the spring, wrap around the house. Eilleen stands on the porch, waiting for us with an amused smile on her face.
“Eilleen, I gotta know. Did you put a hex on that house before I moved in?”
She just laughs and says, “Come on, come on,” as she waves us toward her.
“You did, didn’t you?”
She wraps me in a warm hug that feels surprisingly motherly. I don’t remember what it felt like when my mom hugged me, but I doubt it felt as good as Eilleen’s hugs. “The washing machine is empty and waiting for you. I’ve already warned the poor thing it’ll be working overtime for the next few days. I also bought a ton of vinegar and baking soda to help with the smell.” She leans over and sniffs Jameson who got the worst of the skunk’s spray. “I think you need another good soak with the baking soda, young man.”
I laugh at his disgruntled look, and he says to me, “Hey, you’re not exactly smelling like roses yourself.”
Eilleen smacks his arm and says, “You never tell a lady she smells bad. I taught you better manners than that.” She looks at me and continues, “However, he is right. You should soak again too.”
I grab a chunk of my hair and sniff it. She’s right. The skunk smell is permanently seared into my hair and skin. It’ll follow me around for the rest of my life. Everywhere I go, people will run from me. I’ll forever be known as Skunk Girl, forced to live a life of isolation.
“Stop worrying. The smell will be gone soon,” Jameson says as he places his warm hand on the small of my back and ushers me inside the cute little farm house. My brain is going haywire. It’s short-circuiting. I can’t think of anything but how good it feels to have Jameson’s hands on me. I don’t even remember where he’s leading me.
He bends down and talks quietly in my ear. “Millicent?” he asks with a small chuckle. I stop moving and turn my head to him to inspect his face and see if he’s being serious. How could he think my name is Millicent? My name is truly awful, but it’s not that awful. At least, I don’t think so, anyway. He sees the look of shock on my face and misinterprets it. “It is? Oh my gosh,” he says.
“No! Of course not!” I say in outrage.
“Oh, thank goodness. Please, just tell me what Millie is short for. Put me out of my misery,” he begs and pleads. I’m tempted to tell him, but judging from that reaction, I know that he’ll dislike my actual name almost as much. I don’t think I could bear it.
“Absolutely not.”
“Thanks for all the help with the bags, you lazy bums,” Lo says as she walks in dragging two giant trash bags full of clothes. She’s breathing hard like she just ran a 5K in the middle of summer. “The rest of the bags are out on the porch. I didn’t want to bring them all in. You can still smell the skunk even though they’re double-bagged.”
“Come on, Stinky,” Jameson says, and he puts his hands on my shoulders and leads me to the guest bathroom where Eilleen has already laid out some clean clothes for me that will fit much better than Jameson’s giant-sized clothes. There’s a box of baking soda on the counter too.
“Such a charmer. Did you come up with that nickname all on your own, Hot Shot?”
He chuckles and turns his head away from me, but I don’t miss the twinkle in his eye or the way my insides turn to mush every time I hear his laugh. It’s the most perfect sound in the world. It’s deep and resonating. And his smile…don’t even get me started on it.
Too late. I’m already looking at it. His whole face lights up when he smiles, and there’s that adorable dimple on his left cheek. I’m sorely tempted to go up on my tippy toes and kiss it, but considering we’re only friends—and will never be more than that—kissing dimples is off limits. But man, I wish it wasn’t.
Speaking of kissing… What was that in his bathroom last night? I’ve done my level best to ignore it, keep it out of my mind, pretend like it didn’t happen. If Lo hadn’t interrupted us, we would have kissed. I would have been a goner. He would have held my heart in his hands to sm
ash it to bits or do whatever he wanted.
That’s my biggest problem here: I walk such a fine line with Jameson. He is the man of my dreams—if I dreamt of having a man of my own, that is. And at any given point of the day, all I want to do is hug him, squeeze him, kiss him all over his face. Which means I should run in the opposite direction. I can’t do it, though.
Every time I have resolved to stay away from him, something happens, and I need his help. Or he works out in his driveway with no shirt. Why does he insist on doing that? I’d be willing to bet an entire month’s salary that the eighty-year-old woman across the street stands at her front window, watching him. She probably has to have a fan blowing on her to keep from overheating. We have that in common.
Truly, the man is sabotaging my plan to stay friends. With each interaction, I feel my resolve crumbling more and more. He could come to talk to me about wet cement, and I would hang on every word and focus really, really hard on keeping my hands all to myself. Cement is a very sexy topic of conversation, after all.
How am I supposed to do this when I’m already in so deep after just a few months? I’m only going to like him more and fall even harder as time goes on. We’ve already tried avoidance, and that worked for all of a day. I can’t resist when I know he’s right next door. I could move…but I have ten more months on my lease.
Jameson reaches a hand up to my arm and rubs slowly with his thumb. All of the nerves in my body explode. I feel everything. “What are you thinking about so intently?” he asks as his brows scrunch together in concern.
I shake my head and back away from him. I have to put some space between us. We can’t go back down the road from last night. There might not be an interruption this time, and I’d be lost to him. I’m a brick wall against his storm.
I see the disappointment in his face, and I despise myself for putting it there. I hate that he hopes for something that I can never give him. I wish I didn’t know he’s feeling this too. It would make it easier to ignore, to pretend that this is all in my head. I wish he didn’t have these feelings at all.
It doesn’t make sense. He could have any woman he wants. Why has he decided that I’m the one he wants?
“Okay,” he says. “I’ll leave you to it.” He backs out of the bathroom, and I immediately miss his presence. I want to drag him back in here and throw myself at him.
No, no. This is unacceptable. You’re a brick wall, remember?
I turn on the warm water, dump a ton of baking soda into the running water, and climb into the tub.
I try to think about anything and everything other than Jameson: storytime ideas for the library, dress styles that would look cute for Lo’s dance, plot ideas for my book. The task proves to be impossible because I’m in his childhood home. I’m sitting in the bathtub that he probably bathed in thousands of times when he was a stinky little boy. And that thought brings a whole slew of images of adorable little Jamesons running around, which makes me think of how cute his babies will be someday, which leads me to pondering what our children would look like, and on and on...
I’m supposed to soak for at least fifteen minutes, but my restless energy has me getting out after ten. There’s too much to do to spend the day sitting in a bathtub, daydreaming about things that will never be.
After calling every carpet-cleaning company in the area and finding the best price (hello, I’m on a budget here!), I’ve scheduled for a company to come out tomorrow and clean the carpets and all the upholstery left in my house. It’s costing more than I can afford at the moment, but it’s a must.
I’ll have to lower the budget for Lo’s homecoming dress. I’m scared to tell her, even though I know she’ll pretend like she’s fine with it. It’s her first formal at her new school, and I know she’s excited about it. I don’t know what kind of dress we’ll be able to find with a hundred bucks. I’d really like to lower it even more, but I want to spoil her. We’re already doing this so last minute, and she swears all of the good dresses are taken. I can’t bring myself to take any more away from her.
Lo and I load up into her car—she insisted on driving—and head to the mall a few towns over for a day of dress and shoe shopping. She’s bursting with excitement, and it reminds me of all the dances I got to attend. Daddy would insist on taking hundreds of pictures standing in the living room with all of its horrible lighting.
You better believe that I’ll be doing the same thing to Lo next weekend. And I’ll be so disappointed if she doesn’t grumble and groan about it between every picture. We need the full experience here.
Four hours later, we pull back in front of Nana and Pops’ house, and Lo runs into the house, carrying her dress, shoes, and jewelry she was able to snag at the mall. She ended up buying her own shoes and jewelry with money she earned at work, which helped a ton.
“Eilleen!” I hear her squeal when I walk through the front door. They’re in the kitchen where Eilleen is baking cookies. “Look at the dress I got for the dance!”
Eilleen stops what she’s doing, and Jameson comes in from the back room where he and Pops have been hanging out. I thought he would be out enjoying his Saturday with friends since he’s not working this weekend. I didn’t think I’d have to spend all day looking at him. It’s a chore having to work this hard to avoid staring at that handsome face.
I turn my attention to Lo as she takes her light-blue dress out of the garment bag. The bottom half of the dress is a flowy chiffon material, but the bodice is the truly stunning part. It’s bedazzled with a floral pattern, and it has adorable cap sleeves. The back is low cut, giving it a little unexpected edge.
Jameson oohs and ahhs, sounding like the audience of a cheesy game show. I turn to watch him as he watches his nana gush over Lo and her dress. His eyes soften as the two interact. I look toward Eilleen and Lo and see the tenderness between them. Lo has never had a mother or a grandmother figure in her life. She’s told me over and over that I have been more than enough for her, but I’m only ten years older. I could never give her the wisdom that someone like Eilleen can.
“Do you have someone to do your hair and makeup?” Jameson asks, and I’m truly surprised that he knows that’s something girls do before school dances.
Lo shakes her head and says, “I’ll probably just do it myself.” She shrugs her shoulders like it’s no big deal, but I see the look of disappointment and resignation on her face. She’s trying her best to be okay with our circumstances, and I love her for it. A lot of teenage girls would complain, but not my Lo.
“I bet my mom could come over and do it for you after she’s finished with her other clients for the day,” Jameson says.
My lungs ratchet up into my throat. He can’t say things like this and get Lo’s hopes up. I’ll never be able to afford to pay someone to do her hair and makeup right now. He sees the panic written all over my face, and says, “I doubt my mom would charge you.”
Why wouldn’t she charge us? I’ve only met her a handful of times. I barely know her. I doubt she goes around doing work for free for desperate older sisters all the time. She wouldn’t be able to pay her bills if that were the case. I can’t allow her to do that for us. And I can’t let Jameson think that he and I have the kind of relationship where he can suggest something like that.
“I’m sure she’ll be too busy with all the other girls in town. It’s really okay. I’m decent at doing hair,” I argue to get him off my scent.
Eilleen convinces Lo to model the dress for us, and the hair and makeup is dropped for now. I sit on the couch beside Jameson while we wait for Lo to get changed. He nudges me with his shoulder and asks, “What’s going on? Why won’t you look at me?” I stare at the pictures on the wall in front of me. Jameson in a baseball uniform, Jameson in a tux with an adorable girl in a poofy pink dress, Jameson graduating from high school, Jameson graduating from college. No matter what I do, I can’t get away from his face.
He is the center of his grandparents’ and mom’s universe, and I can see ho
w easily I could make him the center of mine. I never want a man to consume me in that way, because I don’t want to feel like my world is crumbling when the relationship inevitably ends. He can preach to me about true, lasting love all he wants, but I’ve seen enough to know that all relationships end in heartbreak whether they last six months or sixty years. Someone is going to be left crying, and that is something I will avoid at all costs.
He nudges me again to get my attention. “Talk to me, Millie,” he says in a deep, sultry tone. I shake my head and try to scoot away from him, but he wraps his arms around me and pulls me into his chest. I’m tense and evaluating my fight-or-flight reaction, but then he goes and rubs my back, knowing full well how his touch affects me.
His cheek is resting on top of my head when he says, “You know I care about you. I wish you would confide in me.” He places a kiss on the top of my head and then releases me. I take longer than I should putting space between our bodies.
“I care about you too,” I admit, wishing it weren’t true. “More than I should.” I cover my face with my hands and groan. I don’t want to have this conversation, especially not here in his grandparents’ home.
I want to keep pretending like my feelings are not real until Jameson decides he’s done waiting for me and finds another woman to love. They’ll get married, and it’ll be the talk of the town. I’ll have to endure never-ending conversations about how Jameson’s eyes radiated love and joy as he watched his perfect bride walk down the aisle. She’ll move in with him, and I’ll be forced to watch their wedded bliss as I glare at them through my front window. I’ll grow old and haggard and bitter while he forgets I exist and has beautiful babies.
The Nice Guy Next Door Page 15