Separation Anxiety (4 page)

When he led me into
his bedroom, I couldn’t tear my eyes from his bed. Even the plush carpet that my shoes literally sank into didn’t distract my attention from that bed. It was unlike anything I had ever seen.

The bed frame was all gorgeous intricately carved wood, and I knew immediately that he had built it without him even having to tell me. The bed looked larger than a king, and it was covered in
a gray comforter that looked soft and inviting. The pillows stacked by the headboard looked like those perfect feather pillows you only ever find at the nicest hotels. I had the sudden urge to throw the man next to me down on the bed, but I restrained myself. Unfortunately, nothing seemed appropriate about me jumping him while I was still married and he’d simply invited me over to lend a friendly ear.

I walked toward the
bed and ran my fingertips along the wood of the headboard that was connected to a matching wooden frame and footboard. It was beautiful, simple elegance with its intricate arabesque design.

I heard his sharp intake of breath as we both stared at the bed, and his breathing then became labored. “Is this where the magic happens?” I teased, and he glanced over at me, brow furrowed.

“What, exactly, do you think I do in my spare time?” he asked. I couldn’t put my finger on his tone, but he didn’t seem pleased that I thought he was a player.

The vodka did the answering for me. “I’ve just heard that you like the ladies.”

“I do like the ladies,” he said. “But I don’t bring them here.”

What?

“What?” I voiced that same damn question in my head as earlier. This man was certainly full of surprises.

“My home is
mine. I don’t bring women here.”

I
gazed at that bed that looked like absolute heaven. “So you’re saying it’s never happened in here?”

He
looked at the bed, too. “You’re the first woman aside from my mother who has ever even seen my bed.”

I looked at him with wide eyes. “Seriously?”

His eyes moved slowly from the bed to meet mine. “Seriously.”

Well.

I swallowed loudly.

“Why?” I squeaked.

“Why what?”

“Why hasn’t a woman seen this before?”

“I told you. I don’t bring women here. I’m not saying that I haven’t had my fun, but I go where the fun is. You feel me?”

Oh, I certainly wanted to feel him.

I nodded.

He broke the awkwardness by walking toward the bathroom. Again, I swore I saw him readjust himself in his pants, and he shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other.

“Here’s the master bathroom,” he said, and I followed him into another impressive room. This one had countertops that matched the travertine on the floor, a snail shower, and a huge soaker tub that I could spend days in.

The tour ended in one of the guest rooms, the one closest to the master bedroom. “This will be your room tonight,” he said. The
queen bed looked comfortable, and I saw more wooden furniture in this room. It wasn’t much of a stretch to assume he’d created all of the pieces himself. He really was talented.

“Perfect,” I said. “Thank you.”

“Let’s hang on the couch for awhile. Let me just change out of my Central shirt. What do you want to sleep in?” he asked, gesturing to my clothes, and I suddenly remembered that this hadn’t been a planned sleepover and all I had with me was my purse and the clothes on my back.

I shivered, and I wasn’t sure if it was because I was cold or if it was because I was standing in Jesse Drake’s house.

“Pajama pants are fine, and a t-shirt. Long-sleeved if you’ve got one.”

“Coming right up,” he said with a smile.

We walked together to the kitchen, and I waited there while he went and grabbed my requested clothes for me.

He came back a moment later, still in his jeans and school
polo shirt, and handed me the clothes. “Thanks,” I said.

“Go change and I’ll meet you back here.”

I followed his directions, and I took my time. I went into the bathroom and inspected my face. The four drinks I had consumed had left me somewhat flushed, but, then again, it could have just been because I was in Jesse’s house. Even though we were apparently getting ready for bed, I freshened my make-up. If I was going to spend time in Jesse’s house, he deserved for me to look my best.

I changed into the navy blue pajama pants
and the t-shirt he had given me that were both far too large for me. I breathed in as I pulled the shirt over my head, and it smelled like Jesse. I took a moment to savor his manly and piney and Christmasy scent. I was wrapped up in his scent as I wrapped my arms around myself in a giddy little hug.

I took a deep breath and headed out to the kitchen. I found him on his couch, his feet propped up on his coffee table. I realized I’d never seen his
bare feet before. I wasn’t a foot person by any stretch of the imagination, but his feet were damn near perfect. My eyes traveled up his firm, well-shaped calves to see he was dressed in black mesh basketball shorts and a white t-shirt. I paused for a moment to admire the view. He had opened another beer, and he held the bottle in the air when he spotted me. “Can I get you anything?” he asked with that saucy grin of his. I swore I saw his eyes heat when he gazed at me in his clothes, but I figured it was just me hoping.

I forced myself to stop staring. “I’d love some water,” I said, knowing more alcohol was a terrible idea.

“Help yourself,” he said. “Bottles are in the fridge.”

I opened the massive
(and somewhat intimidating) refrigerator and saw that his OCD neatness extended to the inside of his fridge. Every bottle and every can had the label facing me, and the shelves were stocked full with every type of soda, beer, and wine that I could imagine. There was even a variety of water: regular old Evian bottles, Vitamin Water, Sobe Lifewater.

I helped myself to a Sobe and headed over to the couch, surveying the huge sectional and debating which
cushion to sit on. Sitting too close to him would be too forward, but I wanted to be close to him. He made my decision for me when he patted the cushion next to him. I sat, and he leaned in closer so our shoulders were touching. He grabbed a blanket that was nestled beside him and handed me one side. We unfolded it and spread it out over our legs.

Sharing a blanket with Jesse Drake. Check it off the bucket list.

I stared straight ahead, afraid to look over at him, afraid to be mesmerized by those gorgeous eyes, afraid of wanting what I knew I couldn’t have but still wanting to live in this moment and enjoy every single second.

“So talk to me,” he said, breaking the silence.

I took a sip of my Sobe. “About what?” I asked.

“Why didn’t you want to go home?”

“I never said that I didn’t.” I knew my answer was rude, but I didn’t know where he was going with this.

“You didn’t have to. You
started crying when I was ready to take you there. What’s going on?”

“Have you ever lived in a house with someone and not said a single word to that person in over a week?”

He shook his head. “No. But I can imagine that it would suck.”

“It more than sucks. It doesn’t feel like home anymore. Home should feel safe. Home should be where you want to go at the end of the day. Instead, I find myself inventing reasons to stay late at work. I find myself volunteering to run the clock or take tickets at sporting events just so I don’t have to go home. I assign extra essays to my students so I have a reason to stay late grading. It’s become ridiculous.”

Whoa. I wasn’t sure where these deep confessions were coming from, but he was just so easy to talk to.

“
So move out,” he said.

“You make it sound like it’s so easy.”

“Because it is, V. The answer is pretty simple.”

“The answer is, but the actual act of moving? Not so simple.”

“Why not?”

“Because it means admitting that we failed. It means telling people that we’re separated and getting sympathetic looks and knowing that they’re whispering behind our backs with gossipy assumptions that are assuredly inaccurate. It means actually going through with a divorce and splitting assets and splitting lives and splitting up.”

He turned toward me and grabbed my hand in his. I felt that same flutter and electrical current as earlier. Damn that fucking flutter.

“I think it’s time to admit you failed so you can move on.” His eyes were dark and sincere as they bored into mine. He squeezed my hand and then let it go.

I nodded. “I know.”

“
Maybe it’s time to start telling people, Veronica,” he said. “You told me. Was that so hard?”

I shook my head. “Not everyone is as easy to talk to as you, though,” I said.

He grinned and winked. “I’ll give you that,” he said. “And you can’t worry about the gossips. They’ll be there whether or not you’re happy, and ultimately, you only live once. If you’re in a position to get out of a bad situation, you have to take it.”

“Am I in that position, though?” I asked.

Jesse sighed and took a long drag of his beer.

“I’m in the middle of the school year
,” I continued. “I had planned to wait until summer and then move out when I have the time.”

“
Copout. Stop inventing shit to do to keep yourself busy and focus on getting out of your situation, out of your marriage, out of your house.”

He was right
, of course. I’d already admitted to taking on extra work just so I didn’t have to go home. If I put half as much energy into actually getting out of the house, I’d already be divorced and moved out. But that didn’t make it any less difficult to end it. “I don’t have anywhere to go, Jesse.”

He sighed again, deeply this time, as if contemplating how to solve the problem of world peace. He gazed at me sideways, and I glanced over and locked eyes with him.

“Stay here,” he whispered.

“What?” I screeched, much louder than I had intended.

“I’ve got two extra bedrooms. I’ve got space. I just want to help a friend,” he said. He emphasized that last word, and the illogical side of my brain wondered if he wanted us to be more than friends. Of course he didn’t; he was way out of my league, and besides, if he wanted me, he never would’ve taken me home. He’d admitted that much to me earlier when he had told me he never took his ladies back to his place.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t just barge in and interrupt your life.”

“I like having you here,” he said, his voice low and quiet and dangerously thrilling.

I had to admit, I liked being there, too. But it was too dangerous. Moving in with the guy who I was seriously crushing on? That would be such a huge mistake. It would be dangling temptation in my face on a daily basis.

“I like being here,” I said, my voice a whisper.

“Think about it. You don’t have to rush
, but you’re welcome to crash.”

I nodded. “Thank you, Jesse.”

“I just want to see you happy. I knew something was up with you. You’re always smiling, and the past couple of months, I haven’t seen that gorgeous smile.”

He stopped his sentence short, as if he’d said more than he had intended to, but I barely noticed because I was once again blushing from head to toe. I stared straight ahead, embarrassed and delighted at the same time. He thought my smile was gorgeous? The chant was back in my head:
“Holy fuck! He likes my smile! Holy fuck! He likes my smile!”

“It’s strange that my closest friends haven’t noticed, but you have,” I said, sidestepping the
“gorgeous” comment even though I didn’t want to.

“I’m trained to look for signs of depression.”

“You think I’m depressed?” I asked.

He ran a hand through his hair. “No,” he said. “I just meant that I knew you weren’t yourself, and I am always on the lookout for ways I can help people.”

“That’s really sweet,” I said, still refusing to look over at him. I leaned my head back on the couch and stared up at the ceiling. At least this way I didn’t have to look at him and feel that buzz in my head that came with his masculine attractiveness.

“That’s me,” he said, leaning back and staring at the ceiling with me. “Anything interesting up there?” he asked.

I chuckled.

“Enough talking?” he asked.

“For tonight, I think so. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. I’m glad to help a friend.”
Again I noticed how he pronounced that last word. There was a definite emphasis there, and I just wondered if it was for his benefit or my own.

He flicked on that enormous flat screen television of his that was anchored to the wall, and he downed the rest of his beer. He set the empty bottle on the coffee table and then proceeded to let out a giant, ripe, completely disgusting belch.

He looked over at me and smiled sheepishly. “Sorry.” He waved his hand in front of his face as if to get rid of the stench, but the nastiness had already invaded my nostrils.