Page 29 of Jagger

Vida endedup spending the night that night. It wasn’t intentional so much as we both passed out and were awoken by a hungry Mila around nine the following morning.

Mila was delighted.

Vida, on the other hand, spazzed a little, worried Calla would flip her shit on me when Mila told her she’d met “daddy’s friend.” I assured her I’d handle it if she made it an issue which, knowing Calla, it would be.

She was going to have to get used to it one way or another, especially since Vida wasn’t a random. Not that Calla knew that yet but, in any case, she would soon, and she was going to have to accept Mila would be around her, whether she finally allowed her to start staying the night or not.

Mila made it impossible for Vida to remain in her wary state though. A simple pout of her little lips while she begged her to stay for breakfast was all it took.

Literally.

I’ve never seen someone cave so quickly, other than myself, of course. That pout could melt even the hardest motherfucker.

In the end, Vida stayed. I cooked, they played—it was my own personal domestic heaven. She was a natural with Mila and I could tell Mila was loving it as much as I did.

Made her leave hard on us both. She wanted Vida to play with her all day and I was just being flat-out greedy, knowing I wouldn’t be able to see her again until two weekends out.

Unless she made time for me during the weeks leading up til.

Which brings us to the here and now—a week and a half later.

Vida hasn’t quite been herself these days. She did admit Carl has been more persistent than ever before, but I know there’s more she isn’t telling me. I’ve wanted to ask, have come close it a few times, wondering if our morning with Mila had scared her off, but I decided to wait until we got together.

Wanted to wait until I could feel her our and gauge our interaction.

“If you were trying to ensure you’d hook me forever, you definitely did it now,” I say to Vida, groaning around the last bite of lasagna on my plate. “You’ll never get rid of me now.”

She laughs softly, shaking her head in the same semi-lifeless fashion she’s done all night. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Like it? I’m in looove.”

“Well, there’s plenty for you to take home,” she adds, rising from her seat, her hand outstretched for my plate.

Shooing her away with a playful tap to her wrist, I follow her into the kitchen of her apartment, noting the way she peers at me from over her shoulder.

Yep. Something’s definitely off, and you’re damn sure I’m going to find out.

“What’s up with you lately?” I question as she goes about opening the faucet and squeezing some soap onto a sponge.

“Nothing…”

“Vida—you know that’s not gonna cut it, baby. Tell me,” I hedge, setting my plate in the sink from behind her.

But she shakes her head and waves me off dismissively. “Just ignore me. I swear this is me over-thinking. I’ll get over it.”

“What are you over-thinking?”

“This. Us.”

I still at her back, mentally cursing the fact that I was somewhat right. The way she said it stings, too, though I don’t think that was intentional.

Taking the sudsy sponge from her grasp, I set it back in its little tray, shut off the tap, and spin her around with a quickness. The worry furrowing her brows didn’t go unnoticed. “Why?” I ask and, thankfully, her need to hesitate is short-lived, putting me out of my misery.

“I told you the other night, Jag. This is scary, okay? How did this even happen? When? I mean, all I did was blink and I could never unblink you again. How is what I’m feeling for you normal?”

“Because I feel it too.” I cup her face. “I feel it.”

“Do you though? Do you really? ’Cause I’m over here trying to convince myself that this is real and not some weird convoluted figment of my deprived imagination.”

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