‘Hey . . . uh, so Jesse, right?’ His voice was deep, a different accent entirely to Lottie’s or Hestia’s. Possibly London, but undeniably British. ‘It’s Cal. Hestia’s . . . ex. Look, man, I know I don’t know you and there’s no reason why you’d believe me, but . . .’ He stopped, sighing, cursing under his breath. ‘Me and Hestia . . . we’re not a thing, not together. The whole situation on your call with her the other day was all me, okay? We’re not fucking, I swear it – I mean, we’re not evenspeaking, for fuck’s sake. Especially not afterthat.’
He paused again, taking a breath to steady himself.
‘But . . . I do love her though, you know? I know we’re over and just not right for each other – I mean, she seems to know that on a way deeper level than me now, and I guess that’s because of you. And look, I don’t blame you if you think this is all bullshit, but I just wanted you to know, for what it’s worth, that I just want her to be happy. Like,really happy, with someone that can help her get through all the shit she’s been through. She’s . . . well, I’m sure you’ve seen the fire under the surface andfuck me, she’s got a bastard of a right hook . . . but the way we are together brings it out – and not in a good way. And that’s what we’ve done to each other, for years. Under all that, she’s one of the best people I’ve ever known.’
I swallowed a surge of emotion as his voice caught: a recognition that he was on the other side of what I’d felt, knowing she was gone.
‘Don’t judge her on what I’ve done, okay? She deserves better than that. Way more than that.’
The message ended, the voicemail cutting him off.
I almost felt sorry for the guy, despite what he’d done since Hestia had been away – all the shit since she’d returned to London, all explained in a long call a few nights ago. It was easy to take the wrong path, for shit to get messed up. I’d always known that, but seeing it first hand, living it through someone I loved . . . it hit different.
Shifting on the bed, I felt the familiar ache in my shoulder restart as I moved, cutting through the painkillers. Clenching my teeth to it, I started unbuttoning my shirt, frustratingly slow with just one hand. But given I couldn’t do T-shirts yet with the sling, I would just have to get really good at it.
My phone rang, startling in the silence as I finished the last button. My heart leapt at the screen, a wave of feeling crashing into me.
‘Jessica,’ I said, opening FaceTime and catching the way her lips curved in response.
‘Hey, you,’ she breathed, her face unbearably beautiful in my palm. She’d taken off any trace of make-up, had her hair up in a high ponytail, just her tats and a small smile. My heart squeezed at her willingness to do this now – to be entirely herself with me. I felt so fucking honoured that she trusted me in that way.
‘I miss you,’ I murmured, lost somewhere between those incredible ocean eyes, down to the definition of her delicate collarbones, where the flames sprang from the forest canopy of the Sleepy Hollow scene. ‘Fuck, I want to touch you.’
Her smile broadened for a moment as she glanced down, then back up, a mischievous thread winding through her expression.
‘Where?’ she asked, biting her lip as I groaned, feeling the inevitable sensation of my dick responding to her voice.
‘I’d take a fucking handshake right now,’ I admitted, setting the phone on the nightstand while I finished shrugging off the shirt.
‘Oh . . . are you . . .? Okaaay,’ she said, putting a hand to her neck as I sat back down, her eyes tracing my abs.
‘You all right there, honey?’ I chuckled, secretly pleased that my lack of shirt had an effect on her. Somehow it evened up the balance between us, of the constant undercurrent of attraction charging my body day and night.
‘Fuck, yeah,’ she sighed, leaning on her side, hand propping up her head. ‘I want you too. There’s only so much I can do by myself.’
We stared at each other through the screen, knowing exactly where this would be going if we were together. The thought of it, the memories of all the times before, the last time, over a month ago . . .
‘Will you show me?’ I asked before I could stop myself – but instantly regretted it, knowing how tired she likely was, how hard she was working. I didn’t want to take more than she had to give.
But . . . this was Hestia.
‘Depends,’ she replied, her eyebrow raising as her smile deepened with mine. ‘You going to give me some inspiration to get going?’
‘Holy fucking hell,’ I hissed, my dick now so hard it almost hurt.
Godfuckingdamn, I loved this woman.
She just laughed, propping her phone up against the footboard of her bed, crossing her arms in front of herself and peeling off her T-shirt in one smooth motion.
There was nothing underneath, just her bare breasts, nipples hardening even as I stared.
She was going to be the end of me, the absolute fucking undoing – and I wanted it, wanted her, more than I wanted anything else this world had to offer.
‘So why were you taking your shirt off before?’ she breathed, fingers inching into the top of her pyjama shorts.
‘I was gonna take a shower,’ I admitted, my words stilted as my focus faltered, unable to process anything other than her breasts, the slow descent of her hand inside the waistband.
‘Well . . .’ she began, breath hitching a little as her hand sank low enough, clearly touching herself, her mouth parting slightly as she let out a breath. ‘Why don’t we combine the two? You take your phone into the bathroom and . . . I’ll watch you if you watch me.’
