I sigh. He’s right, I know he is. But worrying about that masks the other issues that I’m trying to keep down.
“I’ve just ordered dinner. All we need to do is find the forks. We don’t even need glasses,” he says, grabbing a warm beer from the side, popping the top and handing it to me. “To us and our new house,” he says, holding his own up for me to tap. “We’ve got the rest of our lives to stress about plates, baby. Just enjoy.”
I nod at him, taking a swig and allowing it to wash away some of the stress.
He runs his knuckles down my bare arm until our fingers tangle together and he stares deep into my eyes.
“Talk to me, baby.” His eyes search mine as if he’s trying to read the words that I’m not saying.
He’s not an idiot, he knows what the issues are, but as much as I’m afraid to talk about it, he’s equally as scared to bring it up.
“I’m fine. I just can’t wait to get everything in place.”
He nods, accepting my words although knowing they’re a lie.
He looks up briefly. “I think the plates should go there. It’s near the oven and above the counter that would be great for serving. Then the glasses over there.” He nods and my heart damn near explodes.
He was listening and he does care.
“I love you,” I say softly, closing the space between us, pressing my lips to his.
“Hmmm…” he mumbles against my kiss while awkwardly putting both our bottles down before he takes my face in his hands. “I love you too, Brit.”
He backs me up against the wall and we make out until the doorbell rings once again with the arrival of our dinner.
When he backs away from me, his eyes are almost black and his chest heaving.
“You can’t answer the door like that,” I say, nodding toward his tented trousers.
“Guess it’s your turn then.” Dropping his hand, he makes a show of rearranging himself before I turn away and toward the front door.
We eat our Chinese straight from the boxes crossed-legged on the floor of our living room.
“Couches are overrated, don’t you think?” Jake asks with a laugh.
“I can’t feel my feet,” I complain, shifting my position as I continue stuffing my face.
After abandoning the boxes along with all the other stuff in the kitchen because I’ve no idea where the bin bags are I bought, we head upstairs, me with sheets under my arm and Jake with the air bed that Gran’s loaned us and the TV from his trailer.
We make quick work of setting up a little home for ourselves for the night, and after sharing a shower that doesn’t involve any soap because we’ve yet to find it, we fall into bed together to enjoy our first night in our own home.
It’s long after midnight by the time we turn the TV off and drift off to sleep in each other’s arms. And despite everything I’m feeling right now, I can’t help the smile that plays on my lips.
We’ve got our own house.
Chapter Three
Jake
I know what the problem is with Brit. She’s blaming the stress of the house move but that’s bullshit. There’s been nothing stressful about it. From the moment we found this place, everything’s been smooth sailing, probably because she’s got more money than sense thanks to her parents.
They are the issue, but she’s locking it down and refusing to deal with it.
I desperately want to make her talk, to communicate how she’s really feeling, but at the same time, I’m terrified of making it worse.
My own family might be one big clusterfuck, but on the whole, I’m glad not to spend the holidays with them. The same can’t be said for Brit. She misses them daily, knowing she’s about the spend the holidays without them is killing her.
I’ve tried to do everything to help, I’ve ensured that we’re busy over the holidays in the hope of keeping her occupied and to give her good memories of her first Christmas in Rosewood, but I can’t help feeling like every decision I make is the wrong one.
Today is our housewarming-Christmas Eve party, tomorrow we’ve been invited to Camila and Mason’s and then we’re spending Boxing Day with her gran before going to Ethan’s in the evening.
I just want to give her the Christmas she deserves. This year has been hell for her, not helped by me for a while, and I’m desperate for her to really see this place as her home.
“You look beautiful,” I say, walking into our bedroom, which is now full of furniture as is the rest of the house.
Everything is perfect and exactly as she imagined all the times we visited. I hoped that would help her relax, but now the house is done, she’s more uptight than before.
“Thank you,” she says, looking at me in her mirror. Her eyes hold shadows that I hate.
She’s hurting and there’s nothing I can do about it.
I’m fucking drowning not knowing how to help her right now.
Pushing from the little bench, she turns to me.
She’s wearing a loose-fitting simple back dress that shows the swell of her breast and sits high on her thighs. The perfect kind of dress for all my fantasies.
“Are you wearing any panties under that?” I ask, running my hand up her thigh, intent on finding out.
“No, I thought I’d flash our friends,” she quips.
My palm smooths over the curve of her ass and I find a small pair of lace panties. They’re so small that they may as well not exist.
“Those motherfuckers get one look at what’s mine and I’ll fucking kill them,” I mutter into the soft skin of her neck.
“They’re all taken, I doubt they’d be interested.”
“I don’t give a shit. This,” I say, cupping her over the lace. “Is mine and mine only.”
“Okay, caveman.”
A buzzer sounds from downstairs and Brit jumps from my arms.
“Hey,” I complain.
“No time for that. We’ve got people due any minute.”
“They’ll understand.”
“Don’t care. We’re not fucking up our first party before it’s even started.”
I allow her to go and do her things and listen to her crashing around in the kitchen while I get changed.
I’ve only just hit the bottom step when the doorbell rings. Pulling the door open, I find Mason, Camila, Ethan, and Rae before me.
“Fucking hell, bro. This place is niiiice,” Ethan sings.
“My girl’s got good taste,” I say, giving her the credit she deserves. I might have been involved in house hunting and doing all the things, but the reality is that she was the one who was paying, so she was going to get exactly what she wanted.
I welcome them all in and close the door behind them.
“Where is she?” Camila asks.
“Kitchen.” Lifting my arm, I point her in the right direction.
“How’s she doing?” she asks quietly.
I shrug. “Still won’t talk. I don’t know what to do.”
“Trust her to tell you when she needs you, Jake.”
I nod, knowing that she’s right but hate that I’ve got to wait and continue to watch her fall apart.
“If all else fails, we’ll just get her drunk,” she says with a laugh before disappearing toward the kitchen while I follow the guys into the living area.