Page 62 of Love JD

“It’s not a fungus,” I retorted in exasperation. “It’s an organism that consists of a fungus and an algae or cyanobacterium that work together in symbiosis. It’s nature’s perfect partnership.”

“Partnership, huh?” Zev mused. “Mother nature’s romance novel. Do they do the deed?”

I coughed. “I suppose they do… procreate.”

“Smutty,” he said gravely.

I clicked my tongue and pushed him off the path.

By the time we made it back home, I was feeling weirdly light. I had expected to feel tired or get a headache, but Zev kept me eating beef jerky and pretzels at regular intervals, and I sipped on electrolyte drinks throughout the day. They had helped. Then again, being around Zev helped most of all. I felt safe with him. Comfortable.

But he only saw me as a flirtatious obligation. Maybe. I slid him a side eye as we entered his house, both of us carrying bags of my clothing and shoes that had felt more than frivolous when I’d bought them. For some reason, my wardrobe bothered Zev, but I didn’t get the feeling it was because he judged me for wearing them, exactly. Maybe it irked him that I had gotten my inheritance and didn’t want to use it.

And in that case, I thought, I probably shouldn’t tell him that I had already donated most of it to a non-profit in Sweden trying to battle air pollution. I couldn’t help but feel that every mass-produced shoe, shirt, and cute dress had come at a cost to our environment. Which was why I usually preferred secondhand stores. But I also knew, in the long run, buying a long-lasting wardrobe of clothing that looked appropriate in business settings wasn’t a bad idea, either. If there was anything I had learned from lichen, it was that living here on earth had a lot to do with balance. I could only do my best.

We deposited everything in my room, and with my mind on oxygen-giving sea creatures and adaptive lichen, I went through the motions of emptying the bags.

Zev gently guided me to sit on the bed and unloaded the crackling bags by folding and hanging up each item in the guest closet. I folded my arms, my mouth scrunching to the side. “Yeti, you better not be coddling me, too. Everyone does that, and it gets old fast.”

“I’m not coddling you,” he replied coolly as he plucked the paper out of a pair of sneakers. “I’m pampering you. There’s a difference.”

“And why are you pampering me?” I asked, leaning against my pillows.

“I do this for every—” he halted, his fingers freezing around the shoes. He cleared his throat. “Everyone.”

“Everyone?” I challenged. I sat up again and cocked my head. “You do this for Amos? You gently guide him to the bed,” I narrated, letting my hands drift out in front of me romantically, “and settle him back against a fluffy mountain of pillo—”

“Women,” he said, clearly testy. “I meant women.”

“Oh, you do this for all your kept women, do you?” I went on savagely. It wasn’t often I got the upper hand on Zev.

He tossed the shoe to my bed and faced me with his hands low on his hips. “Do you want to be my kept woman, Isla?”

Swoop. There went my upper hand. I swallowed tightly, my back going rigid. I could deny it. I could blush and stammer and swat his arm for making dirty jokes so lightly. But I didn’t. I stood, meeting his challenge with a calm mask of indifference. “Maybe I do.”

“Oh,” he chuckled darkly, closing the distance between us. “Do you?”

I had to crane my neck back to keep eye contact, but I didn’t break. I’d already asked and been turned down, so I didn’t know where my brazen confidence came from, but there seemed to be only one fact I could grasp: I wanted Zev Brady more than I wanted my next breath.

Zev regarded me with calm, blue eyes like a mirror lake. His index finger traced a tingling line from the collar of my baseball tee, up my neck and under my chin until I had to lift it. “Do you know what you’re asking for?”

I swallowed hard. “I already asked once.”

He leaned down so his breath skimmed over my parted lips. “Say it again.”

“I want you to… teach me,” I replied, finally letting some of my apprehension slip through.

“Teach you what?” he whispered ruthlessly.

I leaned into him, and the firm heat from his body imbued me with confidence. “I want you to teach me how to have sex.”

He hummed, licking my lower lip in a way that sent a cascade of goosebumps down my arms. “Okay, but if you talk about symbiotic procreating while I’m fucking you, I’m canceling.”

I started to laugh, but he covered it with a kiss so scorching, I lost myself in the heat of it. His hands bracketed my face, angling me so he could delve into the kiss, and it felt different from the first three times we had kissed. It prompted me to tangle my fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and press myself desperately against him. It felt wild. Reckless.

“Fuck,” he whispered harshly. He’d fitted himself against the length of me, and I felt his erection against my lower belly. I pushed against him, and it pulled a groan from his chest. He rested his forehead against mine, holding me against him tightly. “Isla, if at any point you feel like you want to stop, just tell me. And because I doubt you’ll think to ask, I get tested regularly, and I’m clean.”

“You’re right,” I admitted with some chagrin. “I wouldn’t have asked. I’m on birth control, though. So, there’s that.”

---