“I have resource materials if he needs them.”
I grinned, shaking my head. “No. No he doesn’t need them. I just—you’re right about everything. I know he wants me—”
She snorted. “Yes. He wants you. Never doubt that, mi hermosa. He would be a sexless idiot if he did not.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s the truth. You are very hot. Just like your mother.”
I shook my head and giggled. “I will speak to him.”
“If he is as you describe, if he is thoughtful and kind, then he will do something about your feelings. He will want to make things right for you, even if it makes things difficult for him.”
I frowned at this. “What do you mean?”
“Put the pieces together, mija. He feels for you. He is a gentleman. He doesn’t want to break his vow, but he wants you fiercely. It sounds like he avoids situations that place him in temptation—dinner with his family, late night movies so you’ll be tired after, or leaving you at home early after a picnic. You are a very big temptation.”
“So . . . should I not tempt him?”
“Of course you should tempt him,” she contradicted, then added in a sly tone, “it’s good for a man’s soul to be tortured in this way.”
I frowned, not understanding how torturing Jethro was good for him.
As though reading my mind, she huffed impatiently. “Trust me. I am your mother. I know what’s best.”
Armed with my mother’s advice, I waited.
I didn’t confront him.
I just waited.
Like a coward.
I’d never been a coward before. It was an odd and unpleasant state of being. But it was also safe.
Jethro didn’t make me a coward. I made me a coward, more precisely, my feelings for him did. Every day, every moment we spent together, they grew bigger, and I grew quieter. I felt myself retreating, but didn’t know what to do about it. Saying nothing felt so much safer than admitting the truth and risk pushing him away.
And so, there we were, after our third midnight movie, sitting silently in his truck. We had time because Jethro only arranged for midnight movies on evenings when I didn’t need to be up early the next day and he had the day off.
I wasn’t nearly as tired as the last two middle-of-the-night showings. Upon Dave and Susie’s urging, I’d taken a nap in the afternoon. Jethro didn’t appear to be tired either. He seemed wired, on edge. He’d kept shifting in his seat during the movie, especially when Humphrey Bogart grabbed Ingrid Bergman and kissed the hell out of her.
Now the movie was over. We were both wide awake, staring out of the windshield of his truck.
Completely alone and nowhere to go.
And I was hot. Thick, twisting tension coiled in my belly. I wanted him to touch me. But the celibacy elephant and three weeks of just kissing had me wondering how to ask.
Or should I just touch him?
Or what the hell was I supposed to do?
It was the same debate I’d been having since the Daisy Doughnut Dalliance.
“Hey,” Jethro said, making me jump. He laughed lightly at my reaction, grinning at his steering wheel. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
I smiled at him, trying to swallow past these random nerves. Being awake and alone with him and not having someplace to be felt significant, foreboding. I wanted to make a joke, but I also didn’t want to make a joke.
“So, hey,” he started again, his voice quieter. “Are you tired?”
“No. Nope. Not tired.” I shook my head more vehemently than necessary, as though I were denying an accusation of murder rather than sleepiness.
His grin grew. “You want to do something else?”
I nodded resolutely. “Yes.” But again said nothing else, because I didn’t want to start bartering for physical affection.
This something else, will we be alone?
Can we make out?
What will it take for you to put your hand up my skirt?
I’ll make you a cake if you touch my boob.
I bit my lip to keep from offering baked goods in exchange for intimacy.
Jethro studied me, his eyes narrowing, his knuckles growing white where he gripped the steering wheel too tight.
“Shall we?” he asked, his voice like gravel.
I nodded, my heart fluttering. “Yes,” I whispered.
He frowned, his eyes dropping to my mouth and growing unmistakably heated. I held my breath and watched him. The air heavy between us, saturated with things unsaid.
Breaking the moment, Jethro breathed out forcefully and suddenly, tearing his gaze away. He gritted his teeth and started the truck.
We drove in silence. We drove in complete silence for a very long time. Complete silence, being an unnatural state for us, only perpetuated the tension. Despite not wanting to make a joke, my desire to break the tension with levity grew and grew until I could contain it no longer.