Chapter 4

chapter

four

Lucy

I watch Jack walk out of the kitchen. He heads upstairs to the room I offered him as part of the job when I gave him the tour of the house. I’m not quite sure what to make of the kiss or his rejection.

I know he was into it. I felt that thick rod of his arousal press against me when my legs were wrapped around his waist. His hand slid under my shirt, though it barely brushed the skin of my stomach. Was that it? Did he realize in that moment that he’s not attracted to a thick girl?

That doesn’t ring true either. I know plenty of men don’t like a woman with meat on her bones. But when he saw the softness of my belly while I showed him my tattoos, I would have sworn I saw a flash of interest, not disgust.

Maybe I came on too strong. Or maybe touching my skin reminded him of my admission that I used to be a cutter. He could just not want to tangle with a woman who so clearly has mental health issues.

I mean I can take rejection. I’ve lived it my whole life starting first with my mom. Then with friends and towns people after my dad got drunk and smashed head-long into another car, killing those passengers immediately. A married couple who left three children behind, one of which I knew from school. Kids can be cruel, but adults even more so.

My grandmother pulled me from school right after that and I home schooled with her until I graduated high school. My dad eventually drank himself to death and I haven’t seen or heard from my mom since I was little. But Nana was all the family I needed.

For the rest of the day, I throw myself into my work doing my best to forget the feel of his massive muscular body against mine. Try not to remember the way his lips molded to mine and his tongue hungrily chased mine as if it was our last first kiss. Because his participation hadn’t been passive. No, he’d kissed me like a starving man.

Still, I need to do a better job of curbing my instincts. I just met him. He’s likely just passing through my small town. Why would he stay?

I mean I’d consider having a fling while he’s here, but he’s clearly not into that. So I’ll just stick to being friendly and hope he gets some good work done on my house in the meantime.

Sleeping in my house knowing Jack is just a few rooms away proves a little difficult. I keep replaying our kiss. Wanting someone who doesn’t want me in return isn’t new to me. That said, it is annoying.

Eventually I must fall asleep because I wake up feeling groggy and bleary-eyed. I take a quick shower and shave all my bits because I am an eternal optimist. Or a fool. One of the other. Probably both.

Then I’m in my kitchen brewing coffee and scrambling me some eggs. I put on some music, and it instantly lightens my mood. The giant mug of coffee definitely helps.

Nana always played music in here. I remember her so often sitting at this old table snapping beans or peeling potatoes and she’d sing along to the radio. That old radio still works though the stations have definitely changed over the years.

One of my favorite songs comes on, Brown Eyed-Girl by Van Morrison. Nana used to sing this to me and we’d dance through the kitchen. I’d giggle and squeal as she spun me around. I jump up and do my own dance. I miss her fiercely, but my memories are so sweet that I can’t help but smile as I sing along.

I’m doing the jump and then butt-wiggle move when I realize I’m not alone.

Jack is leaning in the doorway looking like sex in a pair of jeans. He’s smiling at me, widely, and he’s so damn handsome he takes my breath away.

I swallow and walk to the radio to turn it off.

“Don’t stop on my account. I was enjoying the show.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you were.” I tug my pink silk kimono more tightly closed, wishing I’d changed into actual clothes before I came out here.

Meanwhile he’s got on this black t-shirt that’s faded and looks so unbelievably soft that I want to touch it. Okay, really I just want to touch him. But the cotton molds to his shoulders and pecs and then hangs past what I know to be washboard abs. His freckled skin looks the picture of health and OMG, Lucy, stop staring at the man.

I turn away from him and move to the sink to do my dishes. “There’s still coffee in the pot if you want some. Did you get breakfast? I can make you some eggs. I can’t do much in the kitchen, but I can scramble eggs. They’re even halfway decent. I mean not at all like the ones you can get at Ruthie’s, but still good.”

His hand comes to my hip and I realize he’s standing right behind me. I’m pretty sure I’m holding my breath.

“Lucy,” he says, his voice deep and throaty.

“Yeah?”

“I want to talk to you about something.”

I spin around, then realize that was the wrong decision because now I’m in between his hard body and my sink. And I’m not wearing a bra. Just my panties and my kimono. I bite my lip and look up at him.

“Okay,” I say.

“I know you think I walked away from our kiss yesterday because I decided I didn’t want you. Or I was rejecting you, something like that. Right?”

I tilt my head. “The thought occurred to me.” As if I’d had any other thoughts since then.

He bends his knees slightly so he can look better into my eyes. “I need you to know that’s not the reason.”

“Sure.”

He shakes his head. “No, you’re not listening to me. You’re an incredibly beautiful woman. So damn sexy.”

“But? There’s always a ‘but.’ I’ve heard it all before, Jack.” I push him away enough to escape and I head to my room.

But he’s hot on my heels.

“I need you to believe me,” he says.

“Alright. I believe you.”

“But you don’t. I can see it all over your face.” He comes to stand in front of me again.

God, he smells good. Like freshly shaved wood and ivory soap.

“Look me in the eyes, Lucy, and tell me you believe I want you. It’s just complicated.”

I look up into his stupid blue eyes—why do they have to be that blue? It seems unnecessary for someone to have eyes so blue they compete with the big Texas sky.

Staring into those incredible eyes, a horrible thought occurs to me. “Are you married?”

He swallows hard. “No, of course not.”

“Girlfriend? Are you gay?”

“It’s none of those things.”

“Then it has to be me. Listen, Jack, I get it, and it’s totally okay. We can have a professional relationship. We can be friends. Whatever. But let’s not do the whole ‘it’s me, not you’ bullshit. It’s okay to not find me attractive.”

I know I’m not everyone’s cup of tea. I’ve spent my whole life being too much for most people. I decided a long time ago that I wasn’t going to beg for anyone’s affection.

If I never begged for my mom’s affection, I sure as hell am not going to beg for Jack’s.

Almost as if he’s staring into my very soul, his blue eyes turn stormy and he steps even closer to me. “It has nothing to do with you and everything to do with me.”

I don’t say anything, but I can feel my cheeks getting hot and my eyes starting to sting. I will not cry in front of him while he’s pretending not to reject me. The last thing I want is rejection with a hot side of pity.

He scrapes his hand across his short hair. “I’m a virgin.”

His words are so low and quiet, I nearly miss them.

I search his face, but he’s not looking at me. “What?”

Then his eyes meet mine and I see nothing but shame. “You heard me. Please don’t make me say it again.”

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I’m twenty-eight fucking years old, Lucy. I’ve been all around the goddamn world with the army and yet here I am.” He motions to his pelvic area. “Untouched like a goddamn Victorian woman.”

“A Victorian woman?” I say and fight the smile because I am one hundred percent not making fun of him.

He glances at me and a chuckle bursts out. “Yeah, I don’t know where that came from.”

“If all the blue-haired old ladies in this town knew the world’s hottest living virgin was in our tiny town, they’d all be clutching their pearls.”

He rolled his eyes.

I cup his face. “I’m sure you have a reason or a story or whatever and I’d love to hear it if and when you want to tell me. But I get it. No further explanation required. But don’t you dare be embarrassed. I was a virgin once before too.”

“Oh yeah? How old were you?”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “Sixteen. I was a wild child. And looking back, that is not how I wish it had happened.”

He nods. “I should probably get the supplies unloaded from the truck and get started.”

Part of me doesn’t want to let him walk away. I want to hear more. To learn how it’s even possible that he’s still a virgin. But I saw the look on his face. He doesn’t want to talk about it. I can understand that. There are plenty of things I don’t want to talk about. Of course, it’s equally true that there are plenty of things I want to do with him that have nothing to do with talking.

But chances are, if he’s waited this long, he may have no interest in jumping into bed with a woman he just met.

I can wait. And hope.

“Let me know if you need any help,” I say and I’m not sure I’m offering to help him unload the truck or … well, helping him unload something else entirely.