Never Again(45)
“The day of the accident he wanted me to come with him.” Jake shudders under me and exhales deeply. “But I had my massage exams that day. I probably wouldn’t want to go with him anyway because I gave motorcycles a wide berth. I hate them, period. So, instead of being one of the happiest days because I passed my exams, it turned into a nightmare.” I can’t hold in my emotions anymore, so I sit up and cover my face with my hands as I sob quietly. “Now you know why I kept rejecting you. I’m afraid to let someone new in my heart. I don’t want to lose anyone else. Josh took a big piece of my heart with him. I haven’t had a boyfriend since his death. I pushed everybody away.”
“Ella,” Jake says softly, and tilts my chin up with his hand. I look at him and wipe at my tears. “I’m truly sorry for everything you’ve been through. I can’t imagine how horrible you must have felt, but I’m glad you didn’t sit on the bike that day. I’m sure Josh was a good man, and I’m honored you let me in.” He hugs me again, and then lays us both down on the sofa.
When I open my eyes the next time, I’m surrounded by darkness. It’s already dark outside. I move around in bed. The bedding is so soft, I’d want to stay in bed whole day, wrapped in it. When I realize I’m not in my own bed, I quickly sit up. Where the hell am I? I remember I was at Jake’s house earlier. I obviously fell asleep on his sofa, but this isn’t the sofa. I look around the room, jump out of bed, and look for a light switch. I realize I’m in one of the guest rooms. Still dressed in my clothes, I scan the room for my cell phone, but I don’t see it. I quickly use the toilet, and open the door of the room. As I step outside, a wonderful smell hits me. Someone’s in the kitchen, so that’s where I’m headed. I don’t know where my shoes are so I skip down the stairs barefoot. I poke my head into the kitchen and see Jake standing by the stove, making pancakes. I smile softly; I didn’t think he knew how to cook. He’s wearing only sweats, showing off his perfectly sculptured body, and the ends of his hair are still wet. I gulp and discreetly wipe the drool out of my mouth. I’m salivating, but not because of the food he’s making. Clearing my throat to announce my presence, I enter the kitchen.
“Hey.” Leaning against the kitchen counter, I smile gently at him. “Need any help?”
He’s trying to make a new batch of pancakes, but there’s more flour on the floor than in the bowl. He nods, sighing, and turns to me, flashing me his signature grin. The air gets sucked out of my lungs when he starts walking toward me. The result of his hard work in the gym is impressive. There’s not an ounce of fat on his stomach, and I could swear every muscle on his body has a muscle. I’ve never seen a body as magnificent as Jake’s in my life. I openly admire the tattoo on the side on his ribs that disappears into the waistband of his sweats.
“I thought you’d never ask.” He wipes the sweat off his forehead with the back of his palm. “I wanted to surprise you with a dinner, but as you can see I’m not a very skilled chef. You like pancakes, right?” I chuckle and nod. I don’t care if it’s pancakes or a sandwich; it means a lot to me he made an effort.
“Thank you. You didn’t have to do this. I don’t want to be in your way if you have somewhere else to be.” Jake waves his hand, and sets a plate on the table with the other one.
“On the contrary, I’m exactly where I want to be.”
I smile brightly. I take a few deep breaths and then inspect the damage. I stir the pancake batter, which it’s way too runny.
“Pass the flour, please,” I tell him. I add some into the bowl. Closing the flour bag, I hand it back to Jake. I stir the batter again. Much better. I move the stray strand of hair off my face with two fingers and move to the stove. The pan is already hot and oily, so I pour some pancake batter onto it. Jake is watching me intently the whole time, so I turn to him as I put the baked pancake on the plate.
“You’re all covered in flour,” he says and I quickly look down at my clothes.
“Where? I don’t see anything.”
I see him drop a fistful of flour onto my head. I squeal and run away from him. “Ooh, you’re so going to pay for this, Mister,” I threaten him, giggling, while I try to dust the flour off my hair and clothes. “I’m gonna get you!”
Jake’s laughter echoes through the kitchen. “I’m so ready for you.”
I run to the counter to grab some flour and throw it at him. My aiming sucks, it only lands on his sweats. Jake uses this opportunity to spill some more flour over my head, so I run back to the bag of flour to return the favor. As I’m opening the bag, Jake reaches me, snatches it out of my hand, and throws it on the floor. Putting his hands on each side of the counter, and leaning into my back, he has me trapped between the counter and his hard body. I slowly turn around. He doesn’t know I managed to hold onto some of the flour. He’s grinning like a cat that got the cream and unlike me, he doesn’t have any flour on him.