One of These Nights (19 page)

Her happy plans for the day evaporated like so much smoke. All she wanted was a dark room, the absence of Molly Evans, and for Jason to buy some new sweatpants. And not necessarily in that order.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“No, actually,” Zoe said. “I was going to drag you out for some shopping and a haircut and maybe an early dinner before this bonfire tonight. But you know what? I think I'm going to go home and lie down.”

“Maybe you should come in instead,” Jason said. “You don't look so good.”

She glared up at him. “Thanks, but I think I'll just—”

“Come in,” he said, his expression hardening. He opened the door, and Rosie bounced out to dance around her feet. “I mean it.”

“Jason, I just told your mother that I think she is, in essence, a complete asshole. You really want me in your house right now?”

He seemed unfazed. “Zoe, I love her, but I know what she is. Now, come inside before I try to throw you over my shoulder and break the other leg.”

She hesitated, torn between retreating into her own comfort zone and giving in to the concern she heard in Jason's gruff voice. The bright pain beginning to radiate through her eye, however, made the decision for her. She didn't want to drive like this.

“Fine,” she said, and skulked past him, dropping her purse on the dining room table and then digging through it to find the Ziploc baggie containing two pills she'd been carrying all week, just in case. She jumped when Jason deposited a water bottle on the table next to her.

“For the meds,” he said.

“Thanks,” Zoe replied, reminded of how fast he could be when he wanted to, even when impeded by crutches. She unscrewed the cap, popped one pill in her mouth, and took a swig.

“You didn't mention you had migraines,” he said.

She looked at him wearily. “Yeah, well, you didn't ask. I'm going to need to lie down for a few.”

He nodded, and his concern penetrated the thickening fog of pain enough that she could manage a small, strained smile for him.

“Back there.” He pointed. “The downstairs bedroom. I've been sleeping in it so I don't have to do too many stairs with this stupid cast, but it's neat enough. Get comfortable, okay? I'll be out here if you need me.”

She nodded, knowing she needed to lie down ASAP and close her eyes so the medicine could work. “Thanks.” There was nothing else to say. She meant it, though, and he seemed to understand.

“Anytime.”

She headed for the bedroom, feeling his eyes on her as she left. The house was full of competing smells. Under other circumstances, her mouth would probably have been watering, but at the moment all it produced in her was a slow roll of nausea. Zoe stumbled into the bedroom to find a neatly arranged bed with the covers turned down, the dresser and nightstand each with a scatter of things that belonged to Jason. She shut the door behind her and then hurried to close the curtains before kicking off her shoes and crawling into the bed.

There was no sound but the quiet whir of the ceiling fan, and she found herself enveloped by his scent. It was pine and rain, clean and subtle, and far from making her nausea worse, it soothed her. She breathed it in, curling into herself and closing her eyes. Somewhere in the distance, the phone rang. She heard him answer it, his deep voice making for comforting background noise while she began to drift. It was strange not being on her own to nurse herself through a bad headache, but here, with Jason, she liked knowing she wasn't alone. He made her feel safe.

The realization would have had more impact if she'd felt better, but all she managed was a small frown before she escaped into sleep, hoping that when she woke up, the meds would have worked and she'd be ready to deal with the aftermath of what she'd done. There would be trouble, she knew. But what form it would take was a mystery to her. And then there was the bonfire. Would Molly still be coming? How could she navigate that without a scene?

Worried but exhausted, Zoe gave up thinking and just listened to the pleasant buzz of Jason's voice down the hall, depending on its slow and steady rhythm to center her until her body relented and let her slide into sleep.

S
he opened her eyes in the dark.

Zoe awoke slowly, her mind fuzzy in the way only her migraine meds could produce. The bed beneath her was soft and comfortable, and there was a wonderful warmth curled like a ball against her stomach. For a few seconds, she thought she was home. But the door was in the wrong place, a gold rectangle of light in the dark, and the soft sounds coming from beyond the door weren't home sounds. They weren't
bad
sounds, just different. Where was she, again?

She caught a faint and lovely whiff of pine and blinked, disoriented. After a moment, though, it came back to her. For a few brief and wonderful seconds, she relaxed into the bed, content. Then she remembered the rest of it, and the contentment vanished.

She breathed in deeply, pausing when she heard a soft snore. Zoe frowned, then realized that the warmth curled against her stomach was coming from a small, sleeping ball of fur. Rosie had joined her while she slept. Jason must have let her in, she thought, and smiled. There really was nothing like a sweet, soft dog when you didn't feel well. The vise grip at her temples, however, had vanished, leaving her with the tired, slightly wrung-out feeling she always had after a migraine. At least she'd caught it early. She probably wouldn't need that second pill, though if the evening went south, all bets were off. Laying low for the rest of the day, or night—whatever time it might be outside—was a must if she didn't want to head right back down Stab Me in the Face Trail.

Zoe lay there a few minutes longer, allowing herself to wake up fully, and then eased herself away from Rosie to slide off the other side of the bed. She couldn't stay in here forever, and hiding from problems wasn't her style. She and Jason were going to have to sort some things out, whether or not he'd decided to be angry with her after all. All she hoped was that they got to do it on their own. Molly would have to come back eventually . . . if she hadn't already.

Her head gave a painful twinge at the thought, and she decided it might not be a bad idea to take the second pill anyway, just in case.

She stood slowly, waited to make sure the headache was going to stay gone, and then went to the door. There was nothing but a soft snort behind her, indicating that Rosie had decided it was perfectly comfortable right where she was. Zoe couldn't disagree. And later on she would no doubt spend plenty of time thinking about the fact that she'd just spent at least a couple of hours in Jason's bed. For now, though, she needed to keep moving before she thought
too
much.

Zoe opened the door, hearing the soft sounds of the television. She could finally appreciate the way the house smelled, though she didn't have much of an appetite right now. There was both savory and sweet in the air, a homey smell, and layered beneath it the faint scent of Jason's cologne—or maybe it wasn't cologne. Maybe it was just him. Either way, she liked it. She was cautious when she stepped out into the great room, uncertain about who might be waiting for her. But the only one she saw was Jason, sprawled on the couch, his foot propped up on a pillow on the coffee table. He looked perfectly content with a PlayStation controller in his hand, staring at the screen and talking softly to himself. Zoe stopped, letting herself enjoy the view before he noticed her. Despite everything, he actually looked relaxed and happy.

“Just a little closer . . . just a little closer . . .
yessss!
” He bit his lip, lifted the controller, and pressed buttons furiously while leaning quickly to the side, as though that would have some sort of effect on whatever was happening on-screen. He gave a convincingly evil laugh. “Suck it, you f— Oh, hey, Zoe.”

His eyes widened a little when he spotted her. Then he leaned back slowly, trying, Zoe suspected, to look like he'd only been mildly interested in his game. He was too cute for his own good sometimes, she thought. Even though nobody seemed to see it but her.

“Hey,” she replied, walking toward him. She glanced at the TV and at the game he'd paused. “What are you playing?
Deep Space 4
?”

“Yeah.” He looked between the screen and her with a small, puzzled smile. “How'd you know?”

“I have five brothers,” she replied. “When we talk, which is fairly often, I get to hear about what they're doing. Right now, three of them are obsessed with this game. I know more about the continuing saga of Commander Aegis than I ever wanted to. The space guns. The scantily clad alien warriors who love him. The upcoming DLC maps for multiplayer. I could write a manual.”

His brows lifted. “Maybe you should.”

“Nah. I think my inherent dislike of shooters would bleed through. Sam's the shooter queen. If I can't be a warrior woman with pointy ears and a big sword, it's probably not for me.”

That seemed to take him aback, which she'd known it would. “You like RPGs?”

“Sometimes,” she replied.

“Why didn't I know that?”

“Because you didn't ask. I feel like I give you this answer a lot for some reason.” She stopped when she was next to the couch and looked around, eyes lingering on the loft above. It was still and silent, but she knew that was no guarantee.

“She's gone,” Jason said, saving his game and turning off the system. “Staying at a friend's.”

“Ah.” Zoe winced, putting her hands on her hips and looking around the room. Anywhere but at Jason. “Her idea?”

“Mine, actually,” he said, and she felt the first twinges of guilt after all. Some amazing fake girlfriend she'd turned out to be. She was supposed to
wow
his mother into leaving, not yell at her until she took off. “You don't have to look so worried, Zoe. A week is about all we ever manage before she and I get into it. We were almost there.”

“Oh? She usually take off and sleep elsewhere when that happens?”

“No. I usually start spending a lot of time at work until she's ready to go. She's easily bored. Never takes long. I just couldn't vanish this time.”

“Which is where I was supposed to come in,” Zoe said, and then sighed, exasperated with herself. “I'm sorry, Jason. I should have kept my cool with her. She just started
talking
, and there were pictures of Tommy and all this garbage about you and your brother, how different you are.”

“It's nothing I haven't heard before,” he said. “I'm the older brother, but she locked in our roles pretty early on. I was always kind of quiet, I guess. Tommy wasn't.” He shrugged. “Little late to do anything about it now.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “I guess. Don't you get bitter?” He sounded preternaturally calm. She'd be on the ceiling somewhere, shrieking.

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “Doesn't change much. I have Aunt Moira, though, and when my grandparents were around I had them. Mom was so busy trying to be involved in everything—town committees, team mom for every sport Tommy played. She wasn't actually around much. Not for me, anyway. I was with Nanny and Pops a lot. Her parents. They didn't understand her, either. I think they finally just decided to do what they could with damage control.”

“Oh,” Zoe said.

One corner of his mouth quirked up. “Don't look so sad about it. It wasn't all bad. They love me. They're just not that interested.” He paused, tilting his head a little. “You want to sit for a while? You don't have to leave. Going to be a quiet night.”

It suddenly dawned on her that it was still Friday. “Oh God! The bonfire!”

“I made some phone calls. I have a sick girlfriend who needs somebody to take care of her. People tend to understand that.”

His voice gave away no hint of whether he was teasing her or not, and there was something in the way he watched her—steadily, carefully, as though he was gauging her reaction—that left her feeling off-balance. She wasn't quite sure how to respond.

“Well . . . I'm glad the whole girlfriend thing was useful once, at least,” she finally said.

“Useful or not, I liked saying it,” Jason replied. “The girlfriend part. Not the sick part.” Then he smiled, and it was sweet and just a little bashful and Zoe knew she was in trouble. How he'd gone from the surly Treebeard who stomped in and out of her life at random times to the rumpled sex god flopped on his couch smiling at her was one of her life's great mysteries. It was hard to complain, even if he'd amped the drama in her life up to eleven. She hated drama. But she really, really liked him. And the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. And how he'd—

“You shaved!” she exclaimed. “When did that happen?” The man almost always had some kind of five-o'clock shadow going on, but right now his jaw was smooth and clean, without a bit of stubble to mar it. The angular lines of his jaw were even sharper this way, the hard, inviting line of his mouth even more tempting.

“While you were out cold,” he said. “I thought you might appreciate the effort.” He swept a hand across his legs, now clad in a reasonably new-looking pair of cargo shorts. “You didn't even notice the rest of it. I'm hurt. I'll just go get my sweats back on.”

“No!” Zoe yelped, and when he grinned at her again, that bright and mischievous smile, she knew he was playing with her. Jason Evans, playing. She wouldn't have believed it unless she'd seen it herself. And in the back of her mind, she continued turning over what he'd said about enjoying calling her his girlfriend. Despite the sudden flurry of butterflies in her stomach, she couldn't say it bothered her, either. What that meant going forward remained to be seen . . . because they were still the same people who'd spent the last two years arguing over dirt, and she needed to remember that.

His smile faded into concern. “How are you feeling, anyways? Better? My friend Rich at work gets them. He pukes, but you didn't seem to have that problem, unless there's a surprise in my room I don't want to know about.”

“Sometimes nausea, rarely puking, definite excruciating pain, but I caught this one before it went nuclear. And I'm doing better, thanks.” The concern in his eyes was doing things to her, making her want things she hadn't allowed herself in a very long time. Being vulnerable wasn't something she enjoyed, but when she wasn't feeling quite right, the only thing she wanted was a pair of strong arms around her. She knew she could be okay on her own. She always was. But that didn't mean she always wanted to be.

“You still look tired,” Jason said. She gave a soft laugh and rolled her eyes.
Typical Jason.

“Thanks,” she said.

“Oh, come on. You know you're beautiful, Zoe.”

She blushed at the compliment, given so matter-of-factly. She took care of herself, but as far as being beautiful, she knew no such thing. “I'm all right,” she said. “I'm sure I do look tired. I
am
.”

“You're a lot better than all right. And what I meant was, you don't need to take off. Stay awhile. It's just me.”
Just him.
He had no idea how not “just” anything that was. But looking at him sitting there like an overgrown teenager, alone with his video game and waiting with an expression that couldn't be mistaken for anything but hopeful, Zoe couldn't think of a good reason to say no. He was different tonight. More open, she realized. Less combative. And he'd had a rough day, too. Her natural inclination to retreat to the safety of home receded surprisingly fast.

Maybe she wasn't the only one who needed somebody tonight.

“Okay. But if you think we're going to watch sports and grunt and drink beer while making manly noises, I'm going to have to draw the line,” she informed him, walking to the couch.

“Can we negotiate on the beer and manly noises?”

“Maybe.”

He scooted over a little to make room for her, and she sat down, giving up any sort of decorum after the first few seconds. There was no way to arrange herself in a ladylike manner on this big, soft couch that felt like it already had a Jason-sized divot in the middle, whether or not he was physically present. She sank back into the cushions, put her feet on the coffee table, and heaved a sigh. There was no way to avoid being smashed up against his side, so she didn't bother trying, though the feel of him next to her was the only thing about her position that
wasn't
comfortable. Nice, but not comfortable. He was big and wonderfully warm, and the urge to snuggle in closer was tough to ignore.

Jason turned his head to study her, one eyebrow raised. “I'd tell you to make yourself at home but I guess I don't need to.”

“I've been paying attention. This is how one sits in the House of Treebeard.”

He chuckled. “I'm never getting a new nickname, am I?”

She tipped her head back and forth, pretending to consider before giving up the pretense. “If it really bothers you, I'll stop.”

“Actually, I rewatched his parts on YouTube the other night. I still don't see the resemblance, but he did kick a wizard's ass, so I guess I'll accept it.”

Zoe laughed. “You researched it? No, you know what, don't even answer. I'm sure you did. Glad it meets with your approval.”

“
Acceptance.
You started calling me that because I reminded you of a tree. That means it takes a little longer to get to actual approval.”

“As the woman whose place of business has been the recipient of your traveling deposits of earth more times than I can count, I assure you, I know the feeling.”

They grinned at each other, and Zoe could feel the remaining barriers between them shift and give way, crumbling into dust. She couldn't keep any kind of emotional distance when they were this close physically, his heat keeping her warm, his breathing keeping time with hers. For all that she'd prided herself on staying rational about this, her defenses were low right now.

He wanted her here. She wanted to be here. Those two simple facts were enough to have her temperature rising. The longer he looked at her, the less she knew what to say. Zoe cast around for something to break the intimate, awkward silence.