Page 130 of Jaded

Why does that make my heart flip over in my chest, my stomach fizz like I just swallowed a bunch of pop and Mentos? I want him to stay. I want to have dinner with him, study the lines of his face, the curve of his smile, want to ask him things, like why the hell he’s still here.

I shove through the door and into the house. “Don’t you have to get home to Syd?”

“Yeah, eventually.” He trails me into the house. “We have a shit-ton of leftovers, though, so she'll be okay.”

Ifeelhim taking it all in, my little house, my . . .homeisn’t quite the right word, because I haven’t been here long enough for it to feel like that, but my place. The place I’ve weirdly started to think of as home.

“You really like plants, huh?” He drifts towards the big bay window at the front of the open room, the rows and rows of little pots lined up inside. “All cactus though?”

“Succulents.” I kick my boots off onto the mat. “Not going for a southwestern vibe. Just don’t want to risk death by dehydration during away games.”

His brows furrow in confusion for a hot second before he gets it. “You don’t have anyone to water your plants?”

“Why would I?” I shrug out of my coat, toss it into the coat tree. “I just moved here. So, if you like Chinese, the place down the street is really good. But since you’re like, a native, you probably have a million recommendations for better spots.”

“Avery could water your plants.”

I turn away from the coat tree to find him examining Tabitha. “What?”

“He’d be ecstatic to be helping out the great Olli James.” He flashes me a grin. “Plus, having a job might keep him out of trouble for a few minutes.”

“You think?” I pad across the room to the kitchen to unearth some glasses.

“Yeah. Trust me. I know.”

Suddenly I get it. “He’s you, isn’t he? When you were a kid.”

For a moment, there’s only the low thrum of water splooshing into glasses. Then Nat chuckles. “I’ll never understand how you do that. But yeah. He is.”

Suddenly, he’s at my side, arm brushing mine as he swipes a glass from my fingers. His breath whispers against my cheek. “He definitely has star-eyes for you.”

I turn, keeping my butt against the counter so my body angles towards his. We almost touch, but not quite. Like the sweetest temptation, the narrowest gap every cell and nerve in my body wants to eliminate. “Aww, two boys like me.”

“Nah.” Nat laughs, and I swear it makes me all melty and mushy inside. “It’s more like hero worship for him.”

“Hero worship!” I laugh and slide past him to the couch. Flop down, smack a hand against the cushions to invite him to roost with me. “Howin the hell would he have hero worship for me when he sees you all the time?”

Nat plops down beside me, leaving half a cushion between us. “Um . . . because I’m his girlfriend’s father? Which by default makes me uncool. Also, have you met me? I’m a mess.”

“I don’t know about mess . . .” I wriggle my eyebrows.

“Oh, c’mon. I’m a disaster.” He’s grinning, joking, but there’s truth to those words, or at least a truth he believes. I don’t know what to believe, honestly.

I also don’t know whether to be grateful or disappointed for the space between us. On the one hand, it gives us room to be friends, to open up without the distraction of touch.

On the other hand, I’m now gonna overthink to the extreme abouthisreasons for leaving that space, like is he regretting everything, has he changed his mind, oh my God does he hate me—

Stop it, Olls.

He sat on the couch where there was space because wearefriends, first and foremost. And frankly, I don’t want to be one of those guys who just wants to cuddle and touch and nevertalk.

“How about we order some food?” I slide my phone out, because I am actually starving, and because I need something to do with my hands and my brain and just . . . Overthinking, Olls. Stop it. “Chinese? Or you gonna give me a rec?”

“Chinese is good.” Nat scooches closer and leans in to peer over the screen of my phone.

The soft press of his shoulder might make me forget how to breathe or read or . . . what am I doing? Chinese food. Right? Menu, yes, that’s it.

“What’s good?” His words whisper across my cheek and I pretend like I don’t notice, like it doesn’t make all the wiring in my brain tangle up, all my nerves tingle, every cell stand at rapt attention like good little soldiers awaiting orders.

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