He’s wearing nothing but boxer briefs and a white tee so tight and thin that he might as well be shirtless. Even after weeks of screwing around, this man’s body takes my breath away.
Jonah gives me a sidelong look. “Feeling okay?”
“Yeah, sure.” I take a sip of the OJ he’s poured into a sleek glass tumbler. “I only had one glass of wine last night.”
“That’s not what I meant.” His hand finds mine, and I watch him examine my wrists, looking for burns from the leather he strapped around them last night. But there’s only one small bruise, no larger than a fingertip.
I meet his eyes evenly. “When you go too far for me, I’ll tell you.” After a moment, he nods.
I only wish I knew just how far “too far” would be.
When we sit at the table, I have a good view of my etching, which hangs on the brick inner wall. Jonah catches me looking at it and smiles. “Is that the right place for it?”
This is your apartment, I want to say, hang it wherever you want—but the truth is, as an artist, I kind of do care about where my work ends up. “That spot is perfect, actually. You get enough light to see it clearly, without so much sunshine that the inks could fade.” It’s in a place of pride, too, which is always an enormous compliment.
Jonah uses his fork to push his eggs around his plate. “I’d like to ask you a question. Feel free not to answer.”
“Um, okay.”
“What else did you read?” He can’t meet my eyes. “From the stuff Kip gave you.”
“I learned you ran track. That your house is supposed to be haunted. And—and I learned that your family’s having a tough time.” That seems like the most tactful way to put it. He’ll have to realize how much I know; the guy can’t be blind to the way the press seizes on his family’s troubles.
Jonah finally looks up at me. Once again, I see a sliver of that deep-buried vulnerability. “What the media reports—that’s not the whole story.”
“I never figured it was.” I rest my hand on Jonah’s forearm. “You can tell me what you want, when you want. I’m not going to pry. I shouldn’t even have read the stuff Kip gave me.”
“No. If it’s in the papers, it’s fair game.”
“Well, I haven’t pried any further than that, and I won’t.”
He nods, but I can tell he doesn’t entirely believe me. At first I’m offended—but then I wonder whether anyone has ever respected Jonah’s privacy. He can’t believe anyone would willingly give him space and solitude, because he was denied it before. I remember the news stories about a mad mother—my own theories about his anger with her—and feel a pang deep inside as I realize how long Jonah’s been building these walls around his heart.
Can those walls ever be torn down?
Not by anyone hiding behind walls of her own.
We eat breakfast in silence, lovers who have told each other everything and nothing.
Jonah drives me back home, kisses me gently before I get out of the car. We’re all right—at least, as close to it as we ever were.
Time to figure out what all this means later. Right now, I need rest.
So I nap for a while longer, take a long, hot shower, and change into jeans and a sweater. A party as epic as Arturo and Shay’s would need a volunteer cleanup crew the next morning even if Shay could help. Since she can’t, the earlier I get over there, the better. Tidying up will take my mind off the tangle of emotions between Jonah and me.
When I pull up in front of the town house, Carmen’s car is already parked out front. I expect to get teased about sleeping in—and then maybe about who I slept in with. So I brace myself to face the inquisition.
I’m not prepared for what I find instead.
Arturo opens the door without even looking at me. “What business is it of yours?”
“If you get evicted, who else are you going to move in with?” Carmen’s voice is shrill and sharp—unlike her. “That makes it my business!”
“We’re not going to get evicted!” Arturo’s face is flushed. This argument has been going on for a while.
“You spent almost a hundred dollars on beer,” Carmen says as she stomps through the living room, grabbing cans and tossing them in a trash bag she has clenched in one fist. “With a baby on the way! That’s irresponsible!”
It’s a measure of how close I am to Carmen and Arturo that they think nothing of letting me in while they’re having a bitter argument. Doesn’t make it any less awkward for me. “I’m going to check on Shay,” I say, before hurrying up the stairs. The sounds of their squabbling follow me the whole way.