It’s been just about as long since anyone’s watched me playthe piano as it’s been since I’ve played on a real one, but for some reason, the idea of playing for Jesse—like for real, not just through the wall—got stuck in my head.
Because he’s fucking Jesse and he makes me want to share myself in ways that feel too fucking real to be safe.
After straightening up the kitchen, which had included sorting the random pile of utensils back into their organizer and throwing out the empty bread bag I’d found stuffed in the cupboard next to the boring-as-fuck breakfast options of oats and unsweetened bran cereal, I’d taken a pause to go and retrieve something actually worth eating, along with a few other essentials, from my apartment.
And OMFG, I think if I had slept there, I might have actually died. The place is afreezer.
Like an I-was-surprised-my-still-damp-paint-brushes-I’d-left-behind-hadn’t-frozen-solid freezer.
And from the look I got at the roads while Iran—okay, stumbly-skidded—from Jesse’s front door to my own and from mine back to Jesse’s to protect myself from the very real danger of literally freezing my balls off, I don’t think anyone is gonna be coming to fix my heater any time soon.
Looks like sunshine and I are gonna be getting pretty cozy again tonight.
I’m in what I guess you’d call the living room area of Jesse’s apartment now, about to give the floor a good sweeping, all the while doing my very bestnotto think about just how cozy I’m hoping the two of us will get tonight, when Jessefinallygives in and bends me over his bed and fucks my brains out… Okay, so maybenotsucceeding so much at the not thinking about the two of us getting cozy…
This space is by far the most cluttery in the apartment.Along with his piano and the chair he’dclaimedhe’d be able to sleep in last night; a nineteen seventies-looking monstrosity of a trainwreck between a burlap bag and Halloween colored shag carpet that still manages to look about as comfortable as a bus stop bench, Jesse’s got a bookshelf that’s so full that he’s stacked books sideways and on top of other books. Beside that, there’s a huge desk that’s piled over with more books and papers and a laptop that looks like it’s about to fall off the top of the stack it’s balanced on.
Making sure to steer clear ofthathot mess—one, because that’s the sort of pile of stuff that feels distinctly not-my-business to start tidying up, and, two, because I have a full-blown, psychic-style premonition of that laptop of his sliding right off the top of it and smashing on the floor if I so much as breathe on it, I set to work sweeping.
I’ve only just realized that the floor is actually an awful lot cleaner than I’d expected, when my phone vibrates, chiming to life with a sound that makes my skin itchy-prickle and my adrenaline race.
Andnotin a good way.
Not the ringtone I’d set for work—
The one for unknown calls.
Sweat breaks out on my palms and my goddamn stupid hands shake so bad that it takes me two tries to fish the still vibrating, chiming thing out of my pocket.
And what the fuck, really? Getting a call or a text I’m not expecting doesn’t usually get me so bent out of shape. Or at least it hasn’t in months. Not since Josh’s nonstop threats and harassment ended after one last text telling me I’d run out of chances ‘cause he’d replaced my pathetic ass with someone better.
So why am I freaking out now?
Anyway, whoever’s calling me, it’s from a local number, which should make me calm the fuck down.
Butfuck. That only makes my heart pound so hard it makes me dizzy.
Because if itishim and he’s calling from a number here—
17
Jesse
The walk through the snow to Alex’s house does not clear my head like I’d hoped it would. Instead, it turns out to be just long enough for me to succeed in bouncing back and forth between probably obsessive fantasies of what could have happened this morning if I hadn’t had to run straight out the door, and stomach-churning overthinking.
A truly delightful combination.
Tristan is miles out of my league. The truth of it is blatant, cruel, and unavoidable. Last night, after the awkward, abrupt goodbye at his door, I’d been fully, albeit miserably, ready to accept the reality that there was nothing to do other than to forget, move on, and probably find myself a new coffee shop.
Now though? Now there’s a persistent and bright spot of hope in the middle of all my self-doubt. The trouble is, I can’t decide whether that just makes everything worse than ever.
Maybe, after all, I really am nothing more than the source of a warm place to stay until Tristan’s heater is fixed. On the other hand, so much about the way he acted and the things he said last night, and again this morning, keep forcing their way through my natural pessimism to make me wonder.
I’m so caught up in my spiraling thoughts that I don’t evenrealize where I am until two identical cries of, “Uncle Jess!” pull me back to reality.
As always, the sight of Sarah and Mia’s matching expressions of delight is enough to snap me straight out of my own head. Ever since the girls were born, I’ve never stood a chance of telling them apart, a fact that does nothing to diminish how thoroughly the two of them have had me wrapped right around their tiny fingers ever since the first picture Alex texted me of them.
Today, they are especially adorable, bundled up in the snowsuits from this morning’s picture, struggling through the snow toward me. One of them is clinging to Ellie’s hand, while the other, I’m guessing Mia, based on the fierce show of independence, is shoving off Alex’s attempts at help.
