Page 68 of Love JD

The real Isla was a mess. A horrible, weak, pathetic mess. “Nothing,” I said brightly, smiling as I went to the fridge for a drink.

“That was the worst fake smile I’ve ever seen.” Zev folded his arms and leaned against the kitchen island. “And I work with lawyers.” His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he silenced it without looking away from me.

I shut the fridge and rested the back of my head against the cool surface. I traced my finger along the outside of the drink cap. “Sorry. It’s nothing you did.”

“You feeling sheepish about the goat thing?” he grinned.

I rolled my eyes up to him. “Wow.”

“Come on, cute stuff.” He held out his arms and tugged me close to him. “We all have little… glitches that mess with our heads. It’s no big deal.”

I melted into his embrace, my hands still on my drink but my head resting against his shoulder. “It feels like a big deal. I’m tired of being this way. And there’s a good chance I’ll always be this way, and that feels—” I swallowed. “It’s not fair to anyone around me, either.”

“Hey.” Zev squeezed me tight to him, resting his bristly cheek against the top of my head. “Of course that feels like a big deal. But it’s not a big deal for the people around you. Not the ones who matter, anyway. You think it’s some big trial for me to hold you?” He gave me another pointed squeeze. “Woe is me, having to catch you in my arms sometimes. Stop worrying how your illness affects other people and put your energy into your own well-being.”

I relaxed into his hold, grateful that he was so bear-like and able to enclose me like he was keeping all those little shards of myself together. “You don’t have glitches,” I pointed out.

His laugh rumbled through me like the gentle roll of a summer thunderstorm. “Isla, I have so many glitches, it’s a wonder I’m not a babbling mess. Did I tell you my mom died?”

I shook my head. “Azura never talks about your parents.”

“Our dad lives in California, but we don’t talk much. He was… unkind to us. And after our mom died when I was thirteen, he was impossible. He drank until he became a bitter slob, and he hasn’t come out of it.”

I pulled away, looking up at him in shock. “She died when you were that young?”

He nodded, blue eyes bright under his dark brows. “Azura and Amos were older—I’m not saying it hurt them any less, but my mom and I were close.” His throat bobbed, and his gaze strayed. “I didn’t take it well. My twenties are a giant blur of alcohol and parties, honestly. I relied on my intelligence to get me far in my profession, but my personal life was a complete disaster.”

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered. I set my drink on the island and turned in his arms, framing his strong jaw with my hands. His beard tickled under my palms, and I stroked my thumbs along his cheeks. “That’s awful Zev. I feel like a total jerk for complaining.”

“That wasn’t why I told you,” he chided gently. “I told you so you know you’re not the only one who feels a little broken up sometimes. Do you like me any less because my dad is an asshole or because my mom died?”

“Of course not,” I replied swiftly, almost offended. Actually, I think I love you. Shit. “Nothing you tell me could make me think that.”

“Then stop worrying so much.” He caught one of my hands and pressed a kiss to my palm. “Whatever we’ve been through already, it doesn’t make either of us less worthy of happiness. It’s in the past. That’s why I’m making a garden when it’s pretty clear that I’m not exactly a garden person. My mom had one growing up.”

I gave him a small smile. “That’s really sweet. And for the record, you are definitely a garden person. Yetis belong in nature, I think.”

“Good thing I know a future ecologist,” he smiled back. “Speaking of which, shouldn’t you be studying for a test?”

I scoffed softly. “I could pass that ecology test in the middle of a rave with my arms tied behind my back. I’ve got this one… Professor.”

Zev got a dark glint to his eyes. “Oh, really?”

I faltered, wondering what I’d walked myself into. “Yeah?”

“Drink that and have a seat, then, Ms. Valehart.”

“Oh boy,” I muttered. I drank the sports drink while Zev disappeared into his bedroom. He came back with his laptop and a printed test and set them on the table with a pencil. Then he took a leisurely seat in a padded dining room chair, and I noticed that he’d changed into a pair of maroon joggers and a fresh white T-shirt, and he looked—as my favorite British baking show often said—scrummy.

I set the drink aside and approached him suspiciously. I wore one of my new dresses, which was lightweight and long-sleeved, and the dark, floral skirt ended mid-thigh. It swished around my legs as I took a seat catty-corner to him at the table. “You look schemey.”

He leaned his chin on his interlaced fingers and quirked a brow my way. “Do I? You said you could take this test no matter what the distraction, didn’t you?”

That wasn’t exactly what I’d said, but I knew a game when I saw it. “Definitely,” I replied primly as I picked up my pencil.

“And I have a five-minute pass, right?” he prompted.

I suddenly remembered the make-believe “pass” I’d given him for his bad manners the other night. Five minutes of me. Giddy apprehension pulled my nerves taut. “Yeah.”

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