Sitting on my feet, tucked into Jake’s overstuffed couch, I stare out the window into darkness. It’s been so hard finding a job with an empty resume. Way harder than I thought. There is always someone more qualified than I am. I’ve submitted online. I’ve walked them in. I’ve even returned to places to make sure they didn’t fire the person they hired instead of me. When I got the call from Likuss that they wanted to see me tomorrow, I almost screamed.
“Daddy, I worked at that sandwich shop in high school.”
“How does that apply?”
“I’m just sayin’ I had a job.”
“Drew…” He trails off and we sit in silence for a minute.
The problem is he’s voicing everything I’m already thinking. I’m terrified to get my hopes up, knowing they’re not going to hire me at Likuss. I don’t have a chance in hell of winning that job over any other applicants. They must have felt sorry for me and called me in as a charity case just to say they’re good people or something. That sounds jaded, but I’m starting to see the world as a harsher place than I did when I lived in Dublin. Back when I thought Edward was faithful to me.
The key turning in our front door makes me fly off the couch. “I have to go, Daddy!”
I have been doing such a good job avoiding the sexy beast I live with. It’s been so hard to keep so distant, but it’s the best way for me to keep this apartment and not throw myself into his muscular arms. I am only human after all. That baby-maker below my belly keeps whispering that Jake Cocker’s eyes would look fabulous on my future son.
My father calmly says, “Tell Bernie I said hello.”
“I will. Bye!” I hang up, running to my room. The door swings open. I have no choice but to freeze and strike a casual pose or look like a crazy person. I manage to do both.
Jake walks in, eying me suspiciously. “Why were you running?”
“I wasn’t runnin’ anywhere.”
“You’re panting.”
Over-chuckling, I make a ridiculous face. “I am most certainly NOT.”
“I could make you pant.”
We stare at each other. My fake-smile disappears. His expression is totally serious…for all of two seconds. A big grin spreads on his face.
“Kidding, Drew.”
“Oh. Ha.” Fiddling absently with my phone, I picture our child running up and calling him, Daddy!
The thing is, it’s been so hard to think of him as too young for me when his voice is as low as it is, he’s built like that, he’s that tall, and he doesn’t act like one. I was expecting him to be up late smoking pot, playing video games, but Jake watches movies I like, shows I need to catch up on, and he’s always in bed on the weeknights by ten o’clock. He’s off to work by seven, Monday thru Friday, and he keeps the house clean. I have yet to see this maid he mentioned to me. I think he secretly cleans the bathroom himself. I’ve watched him clean up his pots and dishes after every meal he’s cooked for himself. And that’s the other thing, he cooks real meals!
“Oh, that smells good.”
“I like to make ribs on Sundays,” he proudly told me.
“Like, it’s a tradition?”
As he slathered on BBQ sauce, he replied with a distracted, “Mmhmm.”
I sat down on the barstool by his kitchen island and watched him cut cauliflower, brussel sprouts, and white onions, throw them into a bowl for cooking when the ribs were ready. Then he licked a thick fingertip and muttered to himself, “Almost forgot the garlic.” He peeled and minced a garlic clove, all the while wearing no shirt and jeans that begged to be ripped off. His ass in those jeans was a poem to the male form.
And the best part about it was that, because he was busy focusing, he didn’t ask me the questions he’s taken to asking me. I was able to just sit with him and not let him get too close. That was the one night where I sat on the couch with him and watched two back-to-back Game of Thrones episodes. And I didn’t try to escape.
Big mistake.
I realized that, later. That lazy, Sunday evening made me want to spend more time with him. It’s been torture to live here, but if you asked me to move out, you’d have to drag me, kicking, screaming and biting your hands. Guess that makes me a masochist.
Clearing my throat, I mutter, “I’m going to bed. Goodnight, Jake.”
“It’s eight-thirty.”
“I have a job interview in the morning.”
His face lights up with genuine interest, and I’m so lonely for company.
“You do? Well, that’s great. What’s it for?”
Painfully, I whisper, “I don’t want to talk about it, if that’s alright.”