Stay With Me (27 page)

“It’s four thirty,” he said with a yawn. “Go back to sleep.”

“I should get back,” I said, finally locating the leather band of my watch with an “Aha!” I peered at the quartz face for a moment, only to realize his guess was accurate. “I have work in the morning.”

“Anything you can blow off? I have a meeting in the morning, but we could meet for lunch.”

“You were the bad kid in class, weren’t you? The one who would stage a walkout if the professor was three minutes late?”

“Five minutes, Mac. It’s only polite. How can you mold young minds if you can’t be on time?” He rolled to the side, facing me, and propped up on an elbow. “So? How about it?”

Faced with the sight of all that deliciousness, I almost forgot my own name, much less that I should say no. “I have to go in, but I can meet you for lunch. Somewhere near the beach.”

He grinned. “You surfing or working? Don’t make me call Drew.”

“I’m meeting a prospect at their board shop. Call it a little of both,” I said with a wink. “And don’t you dare.”

“Don’t worry. I need you alive for dinner. And after.”

“Oh, we’re doing dinner too?” My eyebrows went up. “I have to keep my other men happy, darling. How’s a guy supposed to retain his other relationships?”

“You’re not.” He leaned over and kissed me thoroughly, one hand anchored in my hair. “I think I could bear to have you here for a little while. What do you think?”

I thought I really liked his hand in my hair, massaging my scalp. I thought I really liked lying in his bed, talking in the dark. I thought I really liked waking up to him in bed beside me. I thought I really didn’t want this to end.

Tell him. Tell him how he makes you feel.

“I… I….”

His piercing gaze halted the words before they made their final journey, and they huddled together in my mouth. The truth of the matter was I wasn’t sure enough about us to confess something like that. I was a chicken. Even though part of me knew that love was never guaranteed, I needed to know Jordan was
all in
before I laid my cards on the table.

“You what?”

“I—I want food,” I blurted. “All this work has made me hungry.”

He stared at me for a moment, and I wondered if he would call me on the lie. His mouth quirked, and I knew he wouldn’t press the issue. Sure enough, he swung his long legs over the side of the bed with a groan.

“What work?” He stretched, and I admired the pull and play of the muscles in his long limbs. “I was the one working up a sweat.”

I squawked. “I’ll have you know I’m a fantastic fuck, J.”

He paused in the doorway and gave me a curious look. “You’re more than that. I didn’t think I had to tell you that by now.”

That and a million other things. A million times over.
I decided to remain mute on what, exactly, he was going to have to do to make me believe this was real and followed him to the granite and stainless steel mausoleum he called a kitchen.

We ate cereal in his bed, because that’s what you do when sex is too new to bother with clothes or eat real food. I stirred my Cheerios gratefully, glad he had caved and put sugar in them at least. I had been dismayed to learn that Jordan’s tastes only ran to Mueslix, Raisin Bran, or plain Cheerios when he felt festive. Plain. I slid my gaze to him sitting beside me, cross-legged, with his bowl of Cheerios, the light of the television flickering on his glasses. It made me concerned for his mental state, frankly. I mean, they had like five different flavors of Cheerios nowadays.

He looked over at me. “What?”

I pointed my spoon in his direction. “You should try these with sugar.”

His nose scrunched adorably. “I tried your Pop-Tarts, but I have my limits.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing.”

His eyes twinkled. “Cavities, empty calories, and early death?”

“Sweet goodness. And it’s my turn to choose a show.”

He snatched the remote from the covers before I could reach it, squawking when I dived for him. He held his bowl aloft as I leaned and reached around him.

“We’re going to need to reach an agreement before I acquiesce,” he announced.

“What kind of agreement?”

“No housewives. Of any county. No Bridezilla. No…”

“Anything but crime shows?” I finished, giving him a poke in the ribs.

His mouth twitched. “I watch other things.”

“Please. Name one of your shows that don’t begin with a gruesome description of where they found the body.”

“
Dateline ID
,” he said triumphantly. “They work their way
up
to the body. And that’s if they found it at all.”

I stared at him. And pulled up an
On Demand
episode of a show on his impromptu no-no list. He groaned and fell back on the bed.

“Drama queen,” I said, rescuing his empty bowl and putting it on the nightstand. “Compromise. By one party. Suffering through a show you hate is what relationships are all about. It means you care.”

When I looked back over at him, he wasn’t smiling like I’d intended. His expression was serious. Intent. “Is that what this is?” he asked. “A relationship?”

“Isn’t it?” I asked casually.

It was probably only a second before he answered me, but it felt like four hours. His answer, when it came, was simpler than I expected.

“I guess it is.” He rested his head on my thigh in order to get a better vantage point for the show he hated. “I guess it is.”

JD
IZZLE
:
I’
M
getting home early, so I’ll start dinner. What sounds good?

McMoney:
U starting and finishing dinner.

JDizzle:
Cute. There’s an apron waiting for you. I need a sous-chef.

McMoney:
Fine. Then I want carbonara.

JDizzle:
Oddball.

McMoney:
U asked.

JDizzle:
We need eggs for that.

McMoney:
Then someone needs 2 go 2 the store.

JDizzle:
I’m guessing you’re talking about me.

McMoney:
Well, u
are
off, JDizzle.

JDizzle:
I’ve asked you not to call me that.

I
SNICKERED
at Jordan’s text. Wait until he saw how I’d programmed him in my phone. I had my fingers poised to respond when Drew elbowed me.

“Pay attention,” he murmured out of the corner of his mouth.

I sighed, pocketing my phone. I didn’t know why
I
had to pay attention. We were holding interviews for Jennie’s assistant—this was her show, and if her business suit was anything to go by, she didn’t mind letting them know it. Generally, we were a little more casual here. As long as she was happy with the candidate, what did I care?

Jordan was in the middle of a big case, and time with him,
not
working, was becoming rare. I could be home right now. I frowned. Home nowadays could be his place just as much as mine. I wasn’t quite sure how that had happened. Just humans being human, I guessed. We started out meeting at a particular place for dinner, and then it just seemed silly to waste all that gas. All of a sudden, we were driving places together. After having sex, neither one of us wanted to get up and drive home at the crack of dawn, so suddenly I was staying the night. But then I had work in the morning, and going home to change was such a bother. So I started bringing a bag. But keeping up with that bag was like living out of a suitcase. Then I started leaving things at his place.

I sighed.
My, what a tangled web we weave… when you play house with your boyfriend.
That’s what he was, wasn’t he? I was hesitant to put labels on something still in its infancy—we’d only been seeing each other for two months. Two months to get to know each other’s likes and dislikes, routines and patterns, thoughts… dreams, hopes….

I couldn’t lie; I liked this getting-to-know-you stuff. I knew that he was a freaking morning person (which, frankly, had almost been a deal breaker), and had a serious problem with caffeine. He talked on the phone when driving
most of the time
(
he wouldn’t admit it) to “kill two birds with one stone.” He worked too much and crashed on the weekends and only had a passing acquaintance with the word “relax.” I wasn’t even sure if he
knew
the word. And he liked me.

Cue schoolgirl blush. But he did. Sometimes I even caught him staring when we were supposed to be working at home. (Bad idea, we always wound up fucking.) And when I caught him looking at me with that
look
, I almost imagined this was real. That I wouldn’t come home one day and he would be gone.

Shouldn’t spending all the time with each other lessen the need to hear his voice? See his face? And there in the interview, right in the middle of Bella answering a question, it hit me smack dab in the face. I sat up straight. Breathed in sharply. I was in fucking love.
No.
Fuck love. Love was for suckers.
Jump in a wrapper, darlin’, and call yourself a lollipop.
My mouth twisted bitterly. Fool. Even I couldn’t muster up the level of denial I’d need to deny it. My arms weren’t strong enough to shovel that much bullshit.

“Oh, man,” I whispered.

This had so not been a part of the plan. I started to drop my head in my hands and remembered my audience just in time. Varying degrees of confusion and annoyance graced Drew’s and Jennie’s faces. I smiled weakly at the only person smiling back at me—Bella, our hopeful candidate.

“Oh, man, are you qualified,” I ad-libbed poorly.

Drew rolled his eyes so hard I’m surprised they didn’t land on the table. “Go on, Bella,” he encouraged. “You were talking about your organizational strengths and weaknesses?”

Bella beamed and continued talking about her unique filing system, while I tried to breathe normally while thinking about… you know, love and crap. The stupid part of my heart ached to celebrate—my brain had finally received its messenger hawk and the note in his beak. I wanted to enjoy it and not be filled with this crazy, irrational fear that it would all end any minute. But it wasn’t a crazy fear, was it? People left all the time, even when they claimed to love you.

My jaw firmed. I guessed I would just have to enjoy him while it lasted.

“Well, Bella, if you have any more questions, you should feel free to e-mail or call me.” Jennie’s voice filtered through my musings, and I sat up straight.
Finally.
“Do you have any questions for me?”

“No,” Bella said, shaking her head obediently.

I sighed and half stood—but she wasn’t quite done.

“I would like to say something more about my qualifications. I like to consider myself the full package, the A to Z in assistants.” She smiled confidently as I eased back down in my chair. “I actually have qualifications to match that A-to-Z package. A is for my attitude, which is always helpful and team-oriented. B is for….”

Oh, jeez
. I wriggled in my seat, hoping someone would stop her. But Jennie’s crossed leg only twitched before settling back into a routine, swinging back and forth, and Drew’s fingers steepled. That was the only reaction from my fellow interviewers. I wanted to run screaming into the night. Or midafternoon. Surely it was midafternoon by now? Surely the apocalypse had come and gone? I prayed she would forget the rest of the alphabet.

After ten more minutes, I couldn’t take it anymore. I excused myself as Drew shot me daggers, and I was in my car before Bella got to “F is for fidelity.”
F is for fuck this shit.

I owed him big for this. But I couldn’t wait another second to… to what?
If you tell him you love him, you’ll ruin it.
No, I wouldn’t tell him. But I wanted to be with him, and that was enough.

By the time I finally kicked the front door shut with my foot, it was nearing six o’clock. Traffic had fried my patience thoroughly. People who had apparently received their license in the mail today had managed to turn a thirty-minute drive into an hour plus. I dropped my keys in the bowl Jordan kept near the door and toed off my shoes. I was seriously debating sneaking a cigarette in the bathroom when the smell of garlic wafted by my nose.
Ah, my siren song.
I gave up the image of me crouched on a toilet lid, chain-smoking with a hand fan and a can of Glade, and headed for the kitchen.

He was on his phone, tucked between his shoulder and his ear, stirring something on the stove. He seemed to be doing more listening than talking, I noted with amusement, punctuated by his stock “I’m not paying you any attention” responses. Mmhmm, uh-huh, and yeah are some of his all-time favorites.

“Uh-huh,” he said, reaching for the pepper, and I had to grin.

I took a minute just to enjoy the sight of that damned fine man. He hadn’t changed yet from his work clothes, had just discarded the dress shirt to reveal the undershirt beneath. His feet were bare as he padded across the hardwood floor, and I thought maybe I could watch him like this endlessly. But then he turned, and my free peep show was over. He smiled, cheeks flushed from the steam. His finger went up in the universal “give me a second” gesture, and I waved him on.

“Yeah, I completely understand, Mom. Mmhmm.” He held the phone away. “How long have you been there?” he asked me in a whisper.

“Long enough.”

I pushed off the doorjamb and decided to make myself useful. “What can I do?”

“Salad?” he suggested. “No, not you,” he said into the phone, turning back to the stove. “I’m talking to Mackenzie. Just a friend, Ma, jeez.”

I washed my hands with Dawn, spurning the hand soap in the fancy glass jar. I wished it could wash away discontent as easily as grease. His “just a friend” comment had sent my blood pressure into the stratosphere, but I gritted my teeth and resolved to just make the damn salad. I poked around the kitchen, gathering ingredients in a bowl. I set the bowl on the cutting board and whisked the cutting board to the center island. A crisp head of lettuce and juicy ripe tomatoes joined a sharp knife from the knife block.