Page 42 of The Jilted Lovers Club
Jordy walks in the door, wobbling slightly as she closes it behind her. I know that walk all too well, and even though I’m pissed at her for driving when she’s obviously had way too much to drink, I’m even more pissed at myself for not thinking of being her designated driver when I knew she was going out with Michael and Grace.
Paint nights are never a sober affair.
“Did you seriously drive home that way?”
She shoots me a sloppy grin, then holds up the painting in her hand. It’s a purple blob with strings painted all over it, surrounded by murky blue.
“Look, I painted a jellyfish,” she slurs, then stumbles again as she tries to take her shoes off.
“Is that what that is?’
Fuck, it’s hard to be mad at her. I get up off the couch, moving to her side so that she has someone to balance on while she slips off her … Vans? I’ve never seen her in any shoes except for high heels and Sasha’s flip flops. Stepping back, I get a good look at her, and fucking hell. Her pencil skirts and stilettos are cute, but they have nothing on Jordy in jeans and a t-shirt. It makes me want to wrap my arms around her and fold her in tight, fitting every one of her curves against me.
“We should hang this,” she says, pushing it toward me.
I take it, chuckling lightly. “Seriously, you could have called me. You shouldn’t be on the road like this. You could have been hurt.”
She scoffs. “I didn’t drive, Mabel did. She picked us all up and brought me home.”
Relief floods through me, so much that I wrap an arm around Jordy’s waist and pull her to me for a hug. Her head rests under my chin, and I have the strongest urge to lean down and kiss the top of it. The yearning takes my breath away. But not before I inhale the scent of her skin, the lilac of her shampoo, the pheromones that rush at me while my defenses are down.
I let go of her, taking two steps back. Then I pretend to be very interested in her painting. “A jellyfish, huh?”
She laughs. “Okay fine, it’s not my best work. But that was after two very big glasses of wine. You’re lucky the paint even made it on the canvas.” She looks around the room then points at the wall in the living room. “It would fit perfectly there.”
I don’t even argue. She could’ve painted a giant dick and I’d still hang it, just because she painted it. What that says about me, I don’t know. Even if she returns my feelings, it’s not like we can do anything about it. I’ve experienced enough hard goodbyes in my life. I don’t need to open myself to another.
Jordy holds the painting while I take a pencil and mark the corners of it on the wall. I pound in the nail, and she—with unsteady hands—moves to hang it. She almost makes it. The painting crashes to the floor, having missed its mark, and Jordy pitches to the side as her hands scramble for purchase. I grab her, pulling her tight against me until she finds her legs. Then we linger there like that for a moment.
Goddamn, she’s beautiful—and so fucking close. She’s looking at me, her eyes half lids as she keeps glancing at my lips. That subtle move makes me feel insane. Feral. I want to throw away all my inhibitions, every single reason why this shouldn’t happen, and show her everything I’ve thought of doing to her since the day she arrived in this town.
“We keep finding ourselves like this, Oregon,” she murmurs.
I close my eyes, breathing in the scent of her wine that mingles with everything feminine about her. I just know this woman would taste better than she smells.
But I know if I give in, there’s no going back. Because I won’t be able to stop.
“That’s what happens when you drink too much,” I tease, releasing her with every ounce of strength I have. I turn, but not before I see a flash of disappointment cross her face. I can’t take it seriously, though. She’s only tipsy, but it’s enough. By morning time, we’ll just be friends again—temporary roommates until she’s back on a plane to New York.
“I was wondering,” Jordy says, playing with the hem of her t-shirt. “Tomorrow when you go to work, what if you left Lottie with me?”
I search her face, then shake my head. “You don’t have to do that,” I say.
“Not because I have to,” she says, then sits on the couch. Right near my pillow. Right where I will smell her all night long.
Fuuuuck.
I sit on the other side, and she folds her legs underneath her. “I mean, yes. It would kind of be a way to pay you back for everything you’ve done for me so far.”
I start to interject, but she puts a hand up.
“Let me finish. It’s not just that. It’s more like, I need to get over this whole fear of kids thing.”
“So, you’re going to tackle your fears by using my kid as a guinea pig?”
She winces. “Damn, that sounds bad. That’s not exactly what I mean, and it’s also totally what I mean.” She wrinkles her nose, looking at me. “It’s just that, I know if it’s too overwhelming, Bec is just across the way. So it kind of makes it feel safe. Also, Lottie isn’t some helpless baby, she’s a tough toddler. And I’ve watched her. That kid is not going to break easy.”
“She’s an Elliot,” I agree, flexing my bicep. “We’re sturdy folk.” I meant it as a joke, but her eyes linger on my arm, even after I lower it. She does this slight little tongue thing, just a flick across her lower lip, and my damn dick springs to attention like she’s called its name.
