Page 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

KENDRA

I ’m curled up on Jack’s couch, watching reruns of Friends , when the apartment door opens, and Jack appears in his postgame suit, carrying his suitcase in one hand.

I’m not sure if he sees me buried beneath the blankets when he sets the suitcase down and pulls off his shoes before making his way into the kitchen and opening the fridge.

He unscrews the cap on a bottle of water and takes a couple of sips before bracing his palms on the counter in front of him.

My initial reaction was to say hi, but my gut tells me he’s having some kind of private moment as he squeezes his eyes shut and whispers something inaudible under his breath.

A few more beats pass before I sit up and clearly scare the living shit out of him. “Everything all right?”

“Fuck. I thought you’d gone to bed and left the TV on or something.” He brings a palm to his chest.

“I was falling asleep but …” I reach across the couch and check my phone for the time, a message from Tyler lighting up the screen.

Tyler

See you tomorrow at one. I miss you. x

“I could ask you the same thing,” Jack says, pushing off the island and coming to sit on an empty chair opposite me. “Everything all right?” He points at my cell.

“Message from Tyler. I took your advice, and I’m meeting him tomorrow. He says he wants to clear the air between us. I’m happy to hear him out, but my main objective is getting his stuff back to him and closing this chapter of my life.”

Maybe it could be described as relief on Jack’s face. Whatever it is, I can tell he thinks I’m making the right decision.

“You hungry?” I ask.

“Starving.”

I thumb over my shoulder to the kitchen. “I’m not exactly Chef Ramsay, but I made a chili earlier and set some aside for you. Just needs to be reheated. That is, if chili is your thing? Because I personally love it.”

A smile I’m starting to become familiar with spreads across Jack’s face. “I love chili.”

I rise from the couch and pad toward the kitchen, pulling down my long T-shirt, which falls just below my sleep shorts.

When I turn around to ask about sides, Jack’s head is bent over and between his shoulders.

“Are you sure you’re good?”

He keeps his head down and nods once. “Yep. I just have a headache coming on. Probably because I’m hungry.”

“Well, I can definitely help with that,” I say turning to the burner and firing it up. “And I’m sorry if it’s shit,” I shout.

“Whoa, okay. Now I’m deaf as well as starved,” Jack muses from behind me as he peers over my shoulder and into the pan.

From the second I started living with him, I haven’t been able to figure out the earthy scent filling his apartment, but from this proximity, I realize it’s his cologne.

My senses tingle as I grab a ladle and stir the chili .

“Can you cook?” I ask.

He pulls off his jacket and throws it over a barstool, then spins around and opens a top cupboard, fetching out a bowl.

“I’m not bad. My mum, Felicity, and Jon are insanely good in the kitchen, and a lot of their relationship revolves around cooking and going out for meals. Jon’s in the process of buying an Italian restaurant in Seattle. It came up for sale a few months back, and it’s always been a popular hangout for him and his friends. I guess their passion has rubbed off on me and Darce.”

When the chili starts to bubble, I spoon it into the bowl, and Jack adds corn chips and sour cream.

“I think I might like your sister; she sounds like my kind of girl with a love for food and candles.”

With the ladle still in my hand, I look up and find Jack hovering over me. At six-four, he’s a similar height to Tyler, but something about Jack’s presence feels way more dominant. And not in a bad way.

“Chili’s ready,” I whisper.

Jack holds his bowl in a vise grip, and his voice is gravelly as he says, “I’ll have to cook for you sometime.”

We’re only inches apart as I stand motionless, the ladle still in my hand, hovering midair.

“What kinds of things do you like? I’m thinking a British classic,” I say, trying to summon my best accent.

He grins playfully. “Well, we’ve established that you don’t mind scones, so maybe we’ll switch it up and try something savory. Shepherd’s pie maybe.”

My eyes flick over to the TV, Friends still playing in the background. “That’s probably my favorite episode—the one where Rachel gets the pages stuck together and mixes a pie with some random jelly dessert.”

Jack continues to smile down at me as his breath fans my face. “Trifle, Hart. She makes half a trifle and half a shepherd’s pie. ”

Every part of me feels like jelly as Jack’s usually bright blue eyes turn darker.

As if checking himself, he shakes his head briefly and refocuses on the bowl still in his hand. “What time are you meeting Tyler tomorrow?”

I feel some kind of way when he pulls back from me and takes a seat at the island, immediately digging into his food.

“One p.m. at Rise U p. I’m dreading it, to be honest.”

With a mouthful, he nods. “What have you got planned this weekend? No games, right?”

I pull at my messy bun, and as hair cascades around my shoulders, Jack’s eyes track the movement. At least, these days, it’s not all falling out, like it was.

“I have practice first thing on Saturday morning and then nothing until Monday. My plan is to binge-watch TV, if you wanna join me?”

He sets his spoon down, and I take a second to process the speed in which he just finished his chili.

“Did you drop that or something?” I say, leaning down and checking the floor beneath him.

A rogue grin tips up Jack’s lips. “I wasn’t lying when I said I was hungry, and that was fucking good.” He points to the empty bowl, and I feel a flush of pride paint my cheeks.

“I’m down for bingeing Friends with you.” He leans forward and picks up his water bottle. “But I did want to ask you something.”

My stomach swirls at his question, and I press my ass into the granite countertop. “What’s that?”

“I don’t know if you ever looked it up, but this Sunday is my birthday, and yours is a week after. Since neither of us seems to have any plans, I wondered if you wanted to”—he pauses and swallows thickly—“head out for something to eat or maybe catch a movie?”

I open my mouth, but Jack speaks again .

“As friends, obviously.” He blows out an awkward laugh. “Just feels like a shame not to do something.”

“I’m sorry,” I start.

Jack holds up a quick hand, his face twisting with unease. “It’s fine. I get it. It’s weird.”

I shake my head at him, and my stomach continues to swirl. “No, no. I wasn’t going to say that I couldn’t or didn’t want to. I was going to say that I’m sorry I didn’t realize your birthday was coming up.”

Jack’s dimple pops. “So then, you’re up for doing something?”

“Yeah, absolutely.”

When I pull out a stool and sit opposite him, I find myself fidgeting again with my hair.

Jack motions to my head. “Your hair looks good either way, but down is really pretty.”

“You think?” I ask. “It needs a cut, and normally, when it grows to this length, it becomes unmanageable. So, that’s when I start piling it on top of my head and get it out of the way.”

I swear I see Jack’s cheeks flush slightly, but then it could also be the way he just nailed an entire bowl of spicy chili.

“I never really saw you with your hair down at college. It was either in ponytails for football and the gym or like you wear it around the apartment.” He reaches up and circles the top of his head. “All casual but with pieces that frame your face. It’s nice but also different when it’s down.”

With my elbows braced on the counter, I lean forward, eyes narrowing in his direction. “Soccer,” I say, flicking my long hair over my right shoulder for effect.

He doesn’t say anything as he pushes the stool back and rounds the island with his bowl. Coming to stand by my side, he swivels my chair around to face him.

“I like having you around the place, Hart, especially when you make chili like that. But there are certain boundaries I said you couldn’t cross. ”

The tension between us is thick as I start to wonder if this conversation is really about the name of my occupation.

“Okay, noted. But I can’t promise my compliance.”

His jaw clenches as he reaches across and sets the bowl down by the sink, the clatter of his spoon against the ceramic echoing around the apartment.

“What are the other boundaries?” I ask, unable to stop myself.

Jack runs a hand through his hair, his biceps straining against his white dress shirt.

On a long-drawn-out breath, he slaps his hand against his thigh, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Nothing that you need to be concerned about, Kendra.”