Before I can wonder any further why the need to take care of this woman is so strong, I turn and head out. My footsteps echo on the concrete stairwell as I take them two floors down. It reeks of piss and the rust red paint is peeling from the walls. I suck in a deep breath of cool air when I reach the street, grateful to be free of the grim apartment block and Jess’s company. I need to get my head on straight. A breeze ruffles my hair and I pull my jacket tight around myself.
It takes me five minutes to get to the deli, Marco’s. I know it because I’ve seen Jess come here. I’ve even eaten here myself when shadowing her. It’s cheap but good. Run by an Italian family, the place looks dilapidated from the outside and the few warped plastic chairs and chipped tile floor don’t do it any favours but it’s clearly popular as there’s a line of people waiting. I join the queue and tap my feet in aggravation. I need to get back to Jess—for the letter not for her. I only glimpsed the writing on the front—an address of some kind, written in careful cursive. Maybe that could be the one clue that unravels everything, solves the mystery that is Jess.
When it’s my turn to order, I’m cautious. I know she likes prosciutto from following her but it’s going to look odd if I order her favourite so I get chorizo and mozzarella—close enough that I think she’ll like it. I order myself a pulled pork sub and hurry back to her flat.
The door is still unlocked so I let myself in. Disappointment knifes through me when I find her in the kitchen, making coffee. Gone are the bare legs and messy hair. She’s wearing black jeans—her signature colour it seems—and a long sleeved purple top. It’s cut out at the shoulders, highlighting her smooth skin. What would it be like to press kisses to that skin? Does it taste as good as it looks?
She turns, a half-smile on her lips and I note all her make-up is in place too. She’s stunning but I don’t like her putting on a front with me. It bothers me for more reasons than it should. Of course, little does she know, make-up can’t hide the truth from me. I know she’s a crook.
I hold up the deli bag and thrust it toward her. “I wasn’t sure what you like,” I lie.
Jess takes the bag, pulls out the sandwiches and unwraps them before putting them on plates. “This is great, thank you. Is this mine?” She holds up the chorizo.
“Yeah. Good guess.” I nod toward the flowers. “You should get those in water.”
“Oh I forgot those. They came this morning while I was still sleeping.”
“Do I need to worry about a jealous boyfriend?” I ask casually, digging for more information.
“Oh no, not at all. I thought… well, no there’s no one. I’m not even sure who they’re from.”
I grab them and feign looking for a label. “Here.” I hand her the card.
The colour drains from her face and her hands tremble marginally. It means something to her. But what?
Jess smiles weakly and flings the card aside. “Weird.” She motions to the couch and grimaces. “I don’t have anywhere to eat but feel free to sit down. Sorry, I don’t really have guests. I know it’s a dump.”
Watching me as I sit, she waits until I begin eating and sits gingerly next to me. The couch sags so much that her weight brings our legs together and lightning streaks through me. I’m galvanized by her touch. Pink slashes of colour sit high in her cheeks and I know she felt it too.
“So, um, thanks for coming, Hunter. I know I was rude last night and—”
“It’s okay, you don’t need to say anything.” I take a mouthful of sandwich and resist groaning. “God, this is good.”
Jess laughs. “Marco’s is the best. Anyway, I just wanted to say thank you… you really didn’t need to—”
“It’s fine, honestly. I’m glad I could help. I was a dick last night. I can’t say I wouldn’t do it again but I understand why you were pissed.”
A relieved smile lights her face and makes me want to kiss those curving lips into submission. “Good.” She nods. “Thanks.”
“Thank me properly later.”
“What?”
I can tell there’s a few dirty thoughts running through her mind. There’s a slight flicker of a pulse at the base of her neck and she draws in a heavy breath.
“I mean you can thank me by going out with me.”
“Oh.”
Is that disappointment I see? ‘Cause God knows I’d happily have her thank me in many other ways. She could thank me on top, or on her knees or—shit. “You don’t want to go out with me?”
“It’s not that, it’s just… it’s not a good idea, okay?”
“Princess, I rarely have good ideas but trust me, a date is an awesome idea.” I place the plate on the arm of the couch and grab her hand. She doesn’t protest when I loop my fingers through hers but nor does she sink into me like I want. “You, me, maybe somewhere secluded.” I lower my voice unintentionally. “That would be a very, very good idea.”