Page 84 of The Unraveling

“I’ve been to New Orleans a few times. Does she like it?”

“She used to. She’s in a memory care center now. She has dementia and rarely remembers me anymore, but I really miss her. Or…I miss who she was.”

My throat tightens with emotion and stress as I think about the house. When I called Joel back to talk about the house sale, it turned out that it didn’t sell for as much as they had hoped.

Even more pressure on me to figure out how to pay for her bills in addition to all of my own.

He looks at me and says, kindly, “That must be very hard.”

“It’s all right.” I shrug. Then, unable to help it, I spill. “Actually, I’m not all right. I’m responsible for her bills and I’m scared shitless. I can’t afford it. I—”

Tears threaten, and I breathe in deeply, trying to steady myself.

“It’s okay. I told you my life story the night I brought you here.”

I relax a little and then he gives me a small smile.

We sit in peaceful silence for a few minutes, both of us eating, the music adding a deep, thrumming intensity to the quiet.

“I know this is something of an inelegant transition,” he says, “but I cannot stop thinking about the night we met.”

This surprises me, and I choke on my wine. “You can’t?”

“No. And I shouldn’t say it out loud. But I…find myself breaking a lot of rules when it comes to you.”

My eyes catch his, and there is something strange and intense there between us.

I cannot think of a word to say.

I grow hot, speechless, and full of pulsing desire.

This is so unlike me. I’m strong. Not the girl who goes weak in the knees over a handsome man with an accent.

His eyes search mine and I get the psychic feeling he’s asking me for some kind of permission.

If this was not my donor, if this was not a married man, then I would find it very hard to resist him.

I don’t know when exactly or how this intense attraction came to be. How, mixed in with all of my rehearsing, all of the strangeness with Arabella, and all of the darkness—how I managed, through all of that, to wind up where I am now.

Staring into the eyes of the one man on the planet that I cannot have and should not want, trying to stop my body from acting on its own volition.

I slide back in my chair, unsure what I’m going to do. Get up? Excuse myself and go to the bathroom? Run away?

His eyes have followed me.

“Jocelyn.” That husky voice.

He pushes his soup away.

I’m delirious with desire. The part of my brain that makes decisions has been cut off from the rest of me. I am simply human for him.

He moves his chair away from the table, so that he’s facing me. “God, you are really doing something to me,” he moans, and runs his hands through his hair.

Instead of running, like I should, I drop slowly to my knees and put my hand on the armrest of his chair.

I spread his legs apart and put my hand on his stomach. It’s hard with muscle and warm to the touch.

I allow my hand to move to his chest.

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