Page 62 of Hiding from Hope

“What about Jenny?” I ask, knowing it was delivered with a knife, but it gets me the space we need while we talk about this because he takes a step back. I hate the way he looks at me, like I just slapped him.

“What about her?” That sexy lumberjack frown is back, and I want to trace the lines between his strong brow until they disappear. Like he does for me. Instead, I settle for twisting the ring of his that rests on my thumb. He tracks the movement, and I watch his jaw clench before he shifts on his feet and looks back to me.

“You’ve been hung up on Jenny for years, but suddenly you’re not?” I smile gently and shrug, but continue. “It wasn’t that long ago, Jessie, when you were drunk and you asked me to call her and tell her how great you are so she’d take you back.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head, his eyes scrunched tight and his shoulders tense.

“Wait a damned minute. You thin—I am not in love with Jenny, Casey. That was years ago. I was hurt, but I’m not fucking hung up on her,.” he throws back at me, and finally his back is up. Good. If he’s angry at me, this will be easier. I can put some distance between us and get over this crush before it crushes me back.

“It’s okay, Jessie, really. Maybe we shou—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” he growls and then he is in my face again. “Don’t you dare say you regret last night in order to push me away. Not unless that’s how you feel. Do you regret being with me last night?” His angry eyes burn holes right through me. The hunger gone and in their place is the cold green fury of the Jenkins family. I don’t hesitate; I shake my head. I don’t regret our time. I couldn’t if I tried. I just regret crossing a line we now can’t take back.

“Good.” His face softens, and he places a hand on each of my cheeks, ensuring my eyes can never leave his. “Then let me make myself perfectly clear.” That bedroom voice from last night is back, and I have to physically restrain myself from gripping his shirt and settle instead for curling my toes.

“I. Want. You.” I swallow, but can’t seem to find words.

“I haven’t thought about Jenny in a long while. Not until you just said her name. You are all I can think about, Casey. And after last night, you’re all I taste. In my sheets, you are all I can smell. I see only your warm smile and soft freckles when I close my eyes, and when I dream, it’s of oceans as blue as your eyes.” Oh no.

I’m… oh god, this broody grump is going to make me fall in love with him.

“Was that clear enough for you?” I nod, but still can’t bring myself to speak. I just… I can’t… I don’t know how to…

“Good. I don’t know what this is, what any of it means, Casey. I just know that this is more than attraction. It simply is just… more.”

“Okay,” I whisper, biting back the greatest fear that has lodged itself firmly in my throat. That I’m falling too deep too quickly, and I don’t want to have my heart torn from my chest when he bails. He analyzes me through fierce eyes before he breathes a sigh and plants a soft kiss to my lips.

“Slow,” he says quietly.

“Slow,” I repeat. The weight of all that is left unsaid sits heavy on my chest, but I smile gratefully, which he returns.

“Was I right?” His lips tip at the corner, and I tilt my head in confusion.

“About?”

“You didn’t eat dinner, did you?” I roll my eyes and peel myself from his embrace as he chuckles.

“No, I didn’t. But I made Mom’s apple slices.”

“Well, anything that is a Momma Baker recipe is bound to be delicious.” I level him with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, which makes his smile beam as he laughs.

“Your recipes are just as exquisite, sunshine.” His deep voice covers my skin in warmth, and I want him to wrap me up again and never let me go. But… space, time, slow. I really, desperately need to slow my heart down.

The apple slices are promptly pulled from the oven when the timer dings, Jessie grabs water from the fridge, and I plate up the slices with a scoop of ice cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon sugar before we are cuddled on the couch, once again. When I think about switching the TV on, he throws the remote and pulls my legs into his lap, his plate balanced on his knee as he uses one hand to massage my feet and the other to feed himself.

“How was the studio today?” he asks and the domesticity of this has me shaking my head to regain normal enough thoughts to answer him.

“Uh, good. Long day. I think I need another instructor. I’m wrecked.”

“Did you ever end up doing those self-defense classes?” he queries, and it suddenly hits me why my brain is foggy, and confusion has me feeling fuzzy. Jessie is asking about my day. Like, bare minimum, but he is looking at me like my answers are important and if I told him I had a problem or was upset, he’d jump to my rescue.

Connor never did that. Ever. It’s the sudden and depressing realization that, unless the girl’s schedules line up with mine, which is rare these days, I have no one to talk to about my day. About the simple and mundane things.

But JJ looks at me with every ounce of his attention, like my answer matters, and like nothing else does.

“Honestly, I haven’t had any time to really work out the details. I want to. But I might just wait until all of this stuff with Grace blows over.” He nods but looks me over, assessing, always searching my face.

“And how is she doing?” Another shrug, and this time I can’t bear to look him in the eyes. Biting into a bit of my slice, he does the same, settling further into the couch as he does. His attention is all mine, but he doesn’t rush me.

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