“And what do you enjoy doing?”
The smile on his face fades and he lowers his own container. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m thirty-three now and this is all I know.”
“Humor me then.”
Jesse rakes his teeth over his bottom lip. “Alright. Before getting my business degree and majoring in economics… I was studying a Bachelor of Fine Arts.”
He cringes while waiting for my response. I blink at him and he seems almost confused by my reaction.
“This is strange. I’m not used to silence when that piece of information is shared.”
“What reaction do you normally get?”
“Laughter, mostly.”
Laughter? That’s terrible. “What happened? Why did you change your mind?”
He shakes his head. “I didn’t. My father did.”
Oh yeah. He’s practically in the same boat as me… only he did what his father wanted. Again, that explains his lack of passion—lack of life. Every now and then I can coax it out of him with my banter, but it’s almost completely gone. Strangely, my chest aches for him. I’ve never really bonded with someone over controlling parents before so this is new for me… and now I feel bad for making him do something he really doesn’t want to do. The last thing I want is to be like his father.
“We don’t have to do this thing, if you don’t want to.”
He quirks a brow. “You’re giving me an out?”
I nod, expecting him to take the bait and run. “I know you’re not really into it. I shouldn’t be selfish just because you were horr—uh, not playing your ‘A’ game the night we were together.”
Good save.
Jesse sits forward and places his container on the coffee table. His shirt tightens around his back as he hunches and I don’t even pretend that I don’t notice as he taps his index finger against his enticing lip while he ponders my offer.
“No,” he replies after a small eternity has passed. “I agreed to it so I’ll do it. Besides, it’s a nice change of pace.”
He glances around my apartment, eyeing up the bookshelf I had specifically built to frame my wall mounted TV. I figured if I have time to sit down to watch TV, then I have time to read. And let’s face it, reading is so much better for your eyes.
“You really do like to read…” He pushes off the recliner and crosses the room.
I sit forward and place my container on the coffee table. “Oh yeah.”
“I’ve never heard of these books before…” He runs an index finger along the spines of my books and I squeeze my thighs together. The scene is purely pornographic. Jesse glances over his shoulder. “Fifty Shades of Grey?”
I smirk. “You should read it.”
With a chuckle, he turns back to the books. A Leap of Faith. Fallen Too Far. Welcome to Sugartown… that sounds erotic.”
I’m grinning now as he reads out all of the paperbacks I know are signed. “Bikers.” I tell him. “Very sexy.”
“And Captive in the Dark?”
“It’s about a girl who was kidnapped, but ends up falling in love with the guy who kidnaps her.”
He gives me that look. The look everyone gives me when I recommend the Dark Duet series. “It’s much more profound and artistic than my description states.”
“And you’ve read all of these?”
“These and more.”
He takes a step back and marvels over my hundreds of novels. “Where do you find the time?”
Such an easy question, I’ve answered it a million and one times. “I don’t find time. I make time.”
Jesse turns around, his awed expression now on me and not on my books. Most would find it unnerving—you’d be surprised how many people hate being looked at. Not me. My chest tightens as my nipples harden and strain against the fabric that encloses them. Thrilling. This is thrilling.
“You’re very inspiring.” He states as he steps closer to me.
Soon enough, he lowers himself into the empty space beside me.
“I’m inspiring? Me and my tiny apartment surrounded by books, not-so fresh food, and a Persian cat?”
“Firstly, I’m not convinced Four is a cat and secondly, yes, you are. Not a lot of people have something they really enjoy… it’s nice to see that someone, somewhere, has a passion they never tire of.”
I’ve been slammed for reading so many books. I’ve been teased and taunted for not knowing how to cook and I’ve been ridiculed for taking in a stray cat I found under a Ferris wheel, but I’ve never been called inspiring. It’s such an overload for my brain—all of it—his smell, his warmth and his words. They hit me like a ton of bricks and I react. I launch myself at him and straddle his thighs between my legs. His pants are still damp and it cools my skin.