By the time I emerged from the bathroom ready for bed though, I’d already convinced myself itwasn’ta date. It was a hang out and it was sex, but really, didn’t both people have to actually be interested in at least thepossibilityof some kind of future with the other person to consider it a date?
I heard Jesse on the phone with someone in the bedroom, and even though his voice wasn’t raised I could tell he was upset. Angry even.
“So you’re not coming to the show? I told you, it’s on the twenty-ninth.”
I walked in and tried not to eavesdrop, but it was kind of hard not to notice that the voice coming through his cell was the voice of a woman. I couldn’t tell what she was saying, but the twenty-ninth was in a week; we’d be in L.A…. and all I could think was,Elle lives in L.A..
He was upset because she wasn’t coming to his show?
“Fine. I’ll call you when I get in,” he said, and he sounded distinctly unhappy. Then he hung up. I thought he’d turn to me, but it didn’t happen. He just sat there on the edge of the bed looking lost, staring at the carpet.
For way too fucking long.
“Hey,” I said softly.
He looked up and his face brightened when he saw me.
“Hey.” He tossed his cell aside and reached for me, but I didn’t go to him. It still felt weird to me, the idea that we’d maybe just been on a date, but maybe we hadn’t, and I didn’t even know. What I did know was that he was paying me for our time together, and he’d maybe just had an argument with his ex-girlfriend that had left him looking really fucking sad, and I’d never felt so jealous in my life.
Was he still in love with her?
What if he was still in love with her?
Was I about to have sex with a guy while he was actually in love with someone else?
Maybe.
But even so, what really mattered was that hewasn’tin love with me. And I was definitely developing feelings for him.
Okay. Who the hell did I think I was kidding? Myself?
I turned my back to him so I could get my shit together without him staring at me.
The truth was I’d had feelings for Jesse Mayes since about the time he showed up at my apartment unannounced and made me bacon and eggs.
Or since he showed up at my place of work and asked me to come on tour.
Or since way before that.
I was trying to pinpoint the exact moment when my stomach had started doing the drunken butterfly dance in his presence, when he came up behind me and kissed my neck, and I blurted it out.
“Maybe we shouldn’t have sex anymore.”
He stopped kissing me.
“I mean, it just feels wrong, you know? Since you’re paying me.”
He let me go. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”
I was unprepared for his response. I’d expected some kind of argument, but he just walked back over to the bed. “No more sex.” He turned to face me and stripped off his shirt, tossing it on the floor.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “That’s not cool.”
He undid his belt, slowly, exaggerating the movements as he pulled the buckle back and slid the leather end through. He undid the button of his jeans too. “Not forcing you to look.”
I looked away, crossing my arms over my chest. Then he made a move toward me and my gaze snapped back to him before I could stop it.
He prowled up and took hold of my hands, lifting them over my head. He backed me up against the wall and pinned me there, but he really didn’t have to hold me very hard. I was an incredibly willing captive, my body doing the exact opposite of what I meant it to.
