Page 51 of Hung Up
Trailing after him, I grip the straps of my bag tightly in one hand, fidgeting with my thumb ring with my other pointer finger. “Thank you for getting my things, but I don’t need your help. My car will do just fine.”
“Oh yeah?” He abruptly stops and turns, almost causing me to collide into his chest. “And where will you brush your teeth and shower in the morning? Where do you plan to change? How do you expect to charge your laptop so you can work tomorrow? Stop being so goddamn stubborn and just stay in my room. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
He’s walking again before I can retort, stopping outside a door at the end of the hall. To my surprise, he pulls out his key card and opens it. So far, none of the riders had been placed on the first floor. Wyatt told me some of them got too rowdy a few years ago and were banned from being on the main floor—he refused to tell me the entire story, though.
Jesse disappears inside, not waiting or looking back to see if I’m following. I take three frantic, quick steps forward to catch the door before it falls shut, a huff slipping past my lips as I slip inside and kick it shut behind me. Resting my bag on the floor near the door and kicking off my tennis shoes—yes, for the first time since covering the riders, I didn’t care too much about how I dressed—I step further into the room and look around.
Somehow, he got lucky with a king-sized bed, a corner booth near the window with a large round table, and a three-person couch on the opposite wall. His television is mounted on the wall rather than sitting on the dresser, and his mini fridge isn’t your standard little one. No, it’s got a full-on freezer with a microwave sitting on top.
His duffle bag rests on the couch, and I see my suitcase sitting beside his. But then my gaze shifts back to the bed, and that’s when I see them: my pajamas folded neatly on the left side of the mattress, my red bonnet sitting on the pillow, my black robe at the foot of the bed, and my white slippers on the floor. My phone charger is already plugged into the nightstand, and my lotion and picture frame are sitting beside it. A lump forms in my throat and my eyes grow glassy, so I spin on my heel and make a beeline for the bathroom before he can see me.
But what I find there makes me even more emotional and confused.
The sink is covered with all my face products in the order I use them. My hair brush and product are on the opposite side of the sink, my microfiber hair towel and shower cap beside them. I grip my hands on either side of the sink as I try to get my emotions under control, but a sob slips out of me before I can stop it.
“Sweetheart?” Jesse knocks softly on the door. I sniff, wiping my hand under my nose before I stand upright. “Are you okay?”
I fling the door open, ready to fight. Wanting to tell him he’s crossed a line and this is too much and tell him we need to remember what this is. That he can’t do these kinds of things that kick my heart into overdrive and confuse me, making me feel things I shouldn’t be feeling.
But instead, what comes out of my mouth is, “Why didn’t you send me any flowers today?”
“What?” He seems genuinely surprised and a little confused.
“Why didn’t you send me flowers?” I repeat, my hands bracing the door frame on either side of me.
Jesse runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “You ignored me all week. I figured you wanted your space and I worried flowers might set you off.”
“And this,” I start, gesturing behind me and toward the room. “You didn’t think this might set me off?”
“Truthfully, yeah, I worried it would. But you know what?” He takes a step closer, invading my space so we’re almost toe-to-toe as he stares down at me. “I figured I would rather do something nice for you and try to distract you from whatever the hell has made you so pissed off rather than feed into it. So if you want to lash out at me for this, if you need to be angry about something, then go ahead, Sweetheart. I can take it.”
I take an aggressive step back and slam the door in his face, my breathing heavy as I brace my hands on my hips and begin to pace the tile floor. How dare he give me a place to sleep rather than letting me slum it in my vehicle for the next two nights? How dare he swoop in and try to save me as if I need saving? And how dare he pay attention to how I lay out my things to try and make me feel more at ease and comfortable with the situation I’ve found myself in?
Yup. I sound like a crazy, ungrateful bitch.
Rubbing my hand down my face, I sigh loudly and reach for the handle to pull it open, ready to step into the room and apologize, no matter how much it hurts me to do so, but I stop dead in my tracks at the sight before me.
Jesse, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall facing the bathroom door, his feet crossed at the ankles as he looks up at me.
We stare at one another for a moment, studying each other. Me, trying to figure out what the hell he’s doing and what he could possibly be up to now, and Jesse, attempting to decipher if I’m going to lash out at him again or not.
“Your makeup remover is in your bag still,” he informs me, gesturing to my small makeup bag that rests near his legs. “I didn’t have time to set that out for you.”
I take a few steps forward, pick up the bag without a word, and slip back into the bathroom, but this time I keep the door open. I turn on the faucet to let the water warm before opening the bag, slipping the wristbands on before my headband. Grabbing a makeup wipe, I slowly begin to remove my mascara and eyeliner before discarding the wipe and reaching for my face wash.
As I work my way through my nightly routine, I feel Jesse’s eyes on me. His insistent stare makes me fumble a few times with a couple of the bottles, the silence between us somehow making me nervous rather than bringing me comfort like it normally does. Is it because of me? Has something truly shifted, and if it has, what is it?
It feels like we’re at a tipping point. On a seesaw in an attempt to try and balance, but in reality, one of us fears falling into the dirt.
And while I know I’m not ready for it to be me, that doesn’t mean I can’t attempt to find an equal ground.
“I don’t know what to say,” I tell him once I put the dropper back in the bottle and slowly begin to rub its contents into my skin.
“Whatever you want to.” He says it like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “I won’t judge you, Sweetheart.”
“I have poured myself into this job,” I start. “I’ve spent nights taking naps in my office to get ahead-on assignments and projects, trying to beat other stations and outlets to stories. It was one of my interviews that skyrocketed Alicia’s viewership four years ago. My only real friend in my life is Rylie, and we met through work. I don’t go out, I don’t make friends, and the only reason I dated the few times I did was thanks to the connection I made with them through work.”
I sigh, staring at myself in the mirror for a moment as I let the water wash away the oil from my hands. “Work hasconsumed my life, and I’ve been on my own for so long. An only child who lost her mother and has a pretty tumultuous relationship with her father. A woman who only has one real friend due to the job that I have. And then I came here.”
