Well. Isn’t that the most tragic thing you’ve ever heard?
“I guess it would make the commute easier, not that it was ever much of a hike.” She laughs, though her voice is a bit uneasy. “Are you sure?”
The question is honest. Practical. Giving me a way out. Little does she know that I’m already trapped.
I do my best to crack a smile. “As long as you don’t totally butcher this haircut, you can move in as soon as we’re done here.”
Jessa scoffs but a grin sneaks across her lips, the kind of grin I’m desperate to kiss. “I’m already done, you diva. What do you think?”
I really haven’t been paying attention to the haircut, I guess. I’ve been lost in thought, so I take this opportunity to ground myself in the present.
With the sides and back cut down several inches and plenty of length remaining on top to play with, Jessa’s gone and given me a near-professional cut. I’m honestly kind of impressed by the sharp yet roguish man I find in the mirror.
“Not bad.” I smirk, running a hand through the almost dry hair. Damn, that feels better.
“Not bad?” She guffaws. “Seriously? This is the best haircut I’ve ever given, thank you very much.”
I chuckle, grabbing one of her hands and pulling it to my lips to plant a firm kiss on her knuckles. “It does look good. Thank you. I love it.”
“Really?” Jessa asks, that innocent streak shining through all the sass and snark. “You do?”
“Yeah,” I murmur against her fingers.
I spin around on the stool, looping my arms under her knees and hoisting her onto my lap. Her startled gasp quickly dissolves into a fit of giggles as I run my hands up and down the smooth fabric of her leggings, peppering tiny kisses on her neck and collarbones.
“You never answered my question,” I growl into her ear, flicking my tongue against the soft skin just behind it.
She sighs, wrapping her arms around my neck and scooting herself closer into my groin, which is already hardening in record time. My hands find her ass, giving it a good, hard squeeze that earns me a heady moan of approval.
“Which question was that?” she asks, her voice already trembling with desire.
God, I love the way this woman makes me feel, nearly as much as I love the way I make her feel. I trail my fingers up her loose-fitting tee, wandering the expanse of her back and shoulders until finding the thick strap of her sports bra and giving it a needy pull.
“Will you move in with me?”
I pull the sports bra down Jessa’s shoulders with a firm tug before capturing her tits in my hands and pinching her nipples between my fingers. She grinds herself into my lap, one hand braced against the bathroom sink for support, the other playing with my fresh haircut.
“Yes, as soon as they need the room back.” She groans before continuing with a steadier voice. “On one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“We take a shower, immediately.” She chuckles, leaning back to look me in the eye. “Don’t you feel all the tiny hairs on your neck and shoulders? You’re absolutely covered.”
I shrug with a lazy smirk, giving her nipples another pinch, and Jessa gasps, her eyes never leaving mine as her cheeks flush a darker shade of pink. “I’m pretty focused on feeling other things right now.”
“Well,” she murmurs, leaning in to brush my lips with hers. Her tongue slides teasingly across my lower lip. “I also have all your damn little hairs on me, and I’m really itchy.”
I glide my hand behind the back of her slight neck, pulling her mouth to mine for a greedy, sloppy kiss. I lean back, our lips separating with a wet pop. “I guess it’s shower time then.”
With that, I stand, carrying Jessa with me, and open the shower curtain. When I crank the shower knob, she shrieks before clapping a hand over her mouth so she doesn’t wake the baby. In the steamy shower, we peel off our clothes and collide again in a desperate embrace, this time fully naked with nothing left to hide.
But with my little revelation this evening, I am hiding something, aren’t I? It’s all I can think about when I have her pinned against the tile wall, thrusting with her legs locked like a vice around my hips.
It takes everything in me not to blurt it out in rhythm with the sound of her chanting my name as we lose ourselves to a tidal wave of pleasure that leaves us both gasping for air.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
16
* * *
JESSA
My flight is only days away, and it feels like I’ve eaten a three-course meal consisting entirely of rocks. I’ve never been so reluctant to get on a plane in my entire life.
Leaving Chicago now, after the friends I’ve made, the people I’ve met, after Connor? Suddenly, this trip feels insane. Like something someone does when they don’t have anyone or anything. I’m different now. I’m not who I was when I signed up to go. I have people, people who want me here, people who need me.
And goddammit, I need them too.
I’ve already thought through every possible escape route to get out of this trip, but there’s no way. I signed all kinds of waivers and contracts when I signed up. Hell, there was a rigorous application process to get in. This isn’t one of those eat, pray, love things. I agreed to go and help people, and that’s exactly what I have to do. There’s little choice. Even if every minute spent away from Connor and Marley will break my heart into smaller, more jagged pieces.
God, just the thought of it causes an actual pain inside my chest. It’s not as though I’m going away on vacation. I’ll be gone for months and months. Connor is an amazing catch—of course he’ll have found someone else by the time I return. I’ll have lost my shot with him forever.
My phone dings, and a notification flashes on the screen.
PACK!
Ugh. It’s a reminder I set for myself a couple of hours ago, when I felt this dread about leaving creeping over me. So I set the reminder and sprawled out on my bed in my little apartment, letting myself wallow for a bit. I’ve got to get packed so I can move over to Connor’s place for the next few days anyway. And that is something I’m definitely looking forward to.
It’s taken all kinds of willpower not to scroll through pictures of Marley and me on my phone, or through pictures of Connor on his Instagram. There’s only one place that kind of sentimentality will lead, and it’s not anywhere I want to be right now. Not if I can help it. I can’t go there right now, because if I do, I’ll cry. And I have too much to get done to dissolve into tears.
I force myself to sit up, and then I drag my old suitcase down from the shelf in my closet. And a duffel bag. And another suitcase. And a weekend bag, just to be safe. Since I started working for Connor, I’ve put off even thinking about packing, and now I have to figure out how to fit everything I own in two suitcases. Before I left Indiana, I gave away or donated everything I could live without, but I still have too much to take with me on this international trip.
I take a deep breath, push my sadness aside, and start digging through my closet.
Is four bags too much for a mission trip where I’m supposed to be spending my time serving others? I know that everyone always says to travel light, but it’s not like I’m packing my bags full of makeup or hair products. I just can’t think of anything I’m ready to leave behind.