Page 10 of Hiding from Hope
Elle gestures over her shoulder toward said lumberjack.
“Oh, that’s Jessie. He is the owner.”
“I know that much. What’s he to you? You guys seem close?” She bumps my shoulder with hers, her tone teasing as though she knows something I don’t.
“Oh, we kind of grew up together. He is my best friend’s older brother.”
“Girrrrl, that is like the ultimate trope. The hot older brother? I can’t imagine going through my hormonal teenage years with that kind of eye candy. How did you handle it?” It was very difficult. I bite back the retort as I remember being sixteen and standing in the corner of the hallway facing JJ’s room. I wasn’t being a stalker or anything. I had just stepped out of Addy’s room and was on the way to the bathroom. JJ was back from college for the weekend. His room was next to the bathroom, opposite Addy’s room, and he had just gotten out of the shower. His door was ajar, his dirty blonde hair a damp and messy mop on top of his head, with droplets of water dripping down through the ridges of the muscles that lined his abdomen. I was frozen in time, imagining what it’d be like now, as adults. If he caught me, would he open the door wider? Would he drop the towel around his waist and let me lick the droplets from his skin?
Oh my god! I shake my head and snap myself out of that ridiculous sentiment. It is just the little break I’ve had from sex and the lack of meditation this week. My hormones are on fire, and I can feel my cheeks heat as I try to pull myself out of the stupor, coughing to clear my throat, and shrug like I didn’t just have a wet dream while completely awake.
“Oh, no. It was fine. I barely even knew he was around,” I lie and turn to deliver the drinks we just poured to the rest of the group.
The party was a hit, and I finish drying the remaining wine glasses as JJ packs away the chairs to their usual setting. “You know, you didn’t have to stay back and help me clean up,” he says, almost mumbling.
“And you didn’t have to let me host here on such short notice.” I keep the lightness under my tone, despite sleep pulling at my bones. I only managed one glass of wine amongst organizing everyone, making sure they had what they needed, were fed, drinking, and enjoying themselves. Grace, of course, had no qualms settling in for a drink and letting me manage our staff.
“Your staff seem quite happy. They enjoyed themselves. You and Grace are good to them.”
I shrug. “I mean, it’s the least I could do for them. They are the most amazing staff, and Grace and I wouldn’t be where we are without them.”
“You pay them,” he says, as though it answered a question.
“Of course?”
“No, I mean, you pay them, so of course they do their job. You don’t have to…” he turns to me then, waving his hand around the room, “do all of this, too. They’ll keep coming to work without the flare, Case.” Ugh, grump.
I roll my eyes and stifle a laugh.
“What?” he asks, his usual scowl in place.
“What do you mean what?”
“Did I say something funny?” When I look up in his direction, I find his eyes locked on me. Confusion marring his handsome face as though he missed the joke but understands he’s the butt of it.
“You know that you can be kind to people just because?”
He shrugs. “Not everyone deserves kindness,” he says deeply and under his breath. I nod my head and put the last glass away, turning back and walking in his direction.
“No, they don’t. But these girls do.” I walk past him and wander to the bookshelves at his back. I feel him turn; his gaze trained on me.
“Do you think I deserve kindness?” he asks, except it feels like he didn’t mean to, like he hated every word as it left his mouth. The rawness of the question, the vulnerability I haven’t heard from him in a while, has me twirling in his direction with speed. His brows are furrowed, but his eyes hold so much pain it makes my chest clench. I take a step toward him and rest a hand on his chest, reminding him there is a heart in there, even if he refuses to use it.
“Of course. One of the most deserving.” His eyes search mine for a moment, neither of us breathe, both of us aware of where my hand currently warms his chest and I feel his heart beating rapidly under his skin. The zap of energy reminds me that this is Jessie Jenkins, and I am Casey Baker, and this is inappropriate.
Clearing my throat, I give him a gentle smile and go back to the shelves. “Did you find a book for Rosie?” He takes a moment, but he finally answers, the tension in the room dropping, the air cooling slightly.
“Ah… yeah. I couldn’t get any Elle Kennedy that I’d heard of, but I found this other one that was about a different Ice Hockey player, and apparently that sends the girls feral, so I’m hoping my mortification wins me points.” He grunts the words out as he walks to the coffee machine, putting a lot of distance and objects between us.
I laugh softly and turn to him, leaning my back against the shelves. “Dirty one?”
“Apparently so. I refuse to find out for myself.”
“You never know, maybe you’ll learn something.”
His eyes meet mine, but they seem a bit darker. “Nothing I don’t already know, Ace.” And the words skitter across my skin like a dirty promise. I think my eyes bug out of my head and any retort dies on my tongue, brain empty of words and instead replaced by dirty images. Not dissimilar to the awake wet-dream I had earlier today.
He averts his gaze, and thank the Lord, he continues so that I don’t have to, “The Book Club girls said there was something about an Uber and Taylor Swift singing Cruel Summer. That was enough for me to grab it and leave the conversation. I’m sure it’ll do.”