Page 31 of Hiding from Hope

“What exactly do I want?” The air in the café grows thicker and I feel like I’m a thousand degrees with no escape.

“That’s the million-dollar question, Casey.” His face sets in an emotion I can’t name, and his eyes snatch to my lips as his voice drops. “What do you want?”

For you to take me against these bookshelves and remind what it’s like to be desired by a man. “Extra chocolate,” I respond and wink at him, swallowing all the unspoken words. Because I can’t. I can’t sit here and want a man that probably, most likely, doesn’t even want me. He shakes his head and lets go of a soft chuckle before he grabs the chocolate shaker and leans to dust the chocolate over my drink. He does so without dropping eye contact, and I take a few steps toward the door. “Well, I should probably get going.” He nods and smiles at me softly, but when I go to pull out a note to cover the coffee he puts his hand over mine and shakes his head, that same soft smile in place.

“Okay,” I whisper. “See you later?” I ask and smile at him from the door.

“Yeah, I’ll see you.” Again, no goodbye, before he turns and busies himself, and I leave the shop.

I leave, feeling both empty and satisfied. Conflicted but content? What on earth does that even mean?

Jessie

I have no idea when I fell asleep, but the only reason I notice I was asleep at all was because of the knocking at my front door.

“Open up, Jay!” Casey’s melodic voice floats through and like a pirate to a siren my heart beats faster, my muscles relax, and I’m stalking for the door without a beat to think about it. I was halfway through the Odyssey when I apparently dozed off. It’s late out, maybe 9pm, my reading lamp the only light on in the dark apartment, every blind open, letting the lights of the city set my small apartment in a glow.

“What on earth are you doing out in the city alone this late at night, Ace?” I grumble at the thought of this walking ray of sunshine skipping through the dangerous streets of the city, completely oblivious to her own fucking safety.

I barely get a chance to greet her as she waltzes on past me, her arms full of grocery bags. It’s nice to see her confident glow back, considering the last time I saw her was Monday when she dropped by, I assume, to suss out the success of my weekend. I did take great pleasure in seeing her get jealous over me with Chloe. Chloe also found it amusing. The moment we got inside, she let go of the painfully loud cackle she was holding on to and just teased me for being ‘a lovesick idiot’ for the rest of the night. I hadn’t admitted anything. Chloe only said the sexual tension was so thick she almost needed a snow plough to make it out–her words, not mine. So fucking dramatic.

The joy in her jealousy settled like a sour pit when I saw the hickey marring her skin. A mix of rage and frustration took over, and I had no idea what to do with it. Why had she come? To rub it in my face? She was jealous of my date, that much was clear. But still went home with someone else? What kind of fucking game is she playing?

Her soft humming on her path into my apartment brings me back and I kick the door shut so I can trail after her, grabbing the heavy bags from her arms as she tries to protest.

“I found the perfect recipe for you date with your mom! I thought I’d grab everything, and we could make it together.” She hits me with the sharpest smile that steals the breath from my lungs as I place the bags on the counter and repeat the same mantra I’ve been trying to beat into my brain since that day I found her crying in her apartment: just friends. Just. Friends.

“This time of night?” I ask, confused why she’d go out of her way to do this. More confusion. More frustration.

She shrugs, but her smile remains. “I couldn’t sleep, anyway, and Elle is going to take my classes tomorrow.”

“Why couldn’t you sleep?”

She purses her lips as her eyes dart around the groceries as she tries to come up with a lie. “Couldn’t stop thinking about this recipe, and I didn’t want you to embarrass yourself with your own mother, soo…” She trails off as she pins me with an amused smile.

“I didn’t need you to come and make it for me. I know my way around a kitchen.” Her smile drops and I try to clarify. “Not that I don’t want your help… I don’t want to put you out. I appreciate it—”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She waves me off and laughs under her breath as she swings her long auburn hair into a knot on her head, baring her slender neck, which makes me need to close my hands into fists, so I don’t grab her. Don’t succumb to this stupid caveman desire to feel my lips on that bare patch of skin. She is oblivious to my internal struggle as she heads to the sink to wash her hands. “This is an old family recipe. I wasn’t going to let you fumble around and ruin it. What kind of a baker would your mom think I am then? No pun intended.” She says it sweetly, and I ignore all the annoying reactions my body is having at her being here as I start unpacking the grocery bags.

“Fine,” I grumble.

Seeing her leave with Lame Lane on the weekend, then finding out she actually did sleep with him–add to that the fucking hickey–I was vibrating with sexual frustration. I was close to wrapping my fist around that strawberry-blonde pony, yanking her to me and wiping any trace of his touch from her. Replacing every mark with one of my own. I don’t, of course. Instead, I try to shake it off and remember: she isn’t mine to possess. I have no right, and this stupid lust-filled obsession needs to stop. Friends, we are friends, and she is damn good at it.

And now she’s here in my kitchen.

“You have a Bluetooth speaker?” I point in the direction of the speaker near the TV and glare at the back of her as she skips toward it.

Her floral scent filling my senses, filling this room.

Taking over my mind, body, and soul.

“We need an epic soundtrack for this one.” She smiles and bites down on her bottom lip as the song she picks starts to play through the room. She skips back over, adore u by Fred Again fills my small apartment, and she looks like the picture of joy as she fills my space with her smile.

I can’t help it. I’m drawn to her. I want to be in whatever space she’s in. I want all those smiles. I want to hear every laugh. I want… her.

“So, what is this recipe?”

“Scottish Macaroons. Was flipping through my mom’s old recipe book and found it. It was actually the first thing Mom let me make on my own when I was a kid.”

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