There goes my career, Josh thought as he tossed the paper into the first trash can he found in the parking lot.
chapter fifteen
WHEN SHE CAME home to find Josh in a terrible mood, Clara immediately suggested they open a bottle of wine and watch Die Hard. She’d never seen her new roommate frown so much. His face seemed to resent the expression. She wanted to ask what had happened while she spent the day at her aunt’s firm, but at the same time, she didn’t want to pry.
Clara had a funny feeling action movies were becoming a bridge between her and Josh. A mutual appreciation that gave them something to talk about, or at the very least allowed them to both occupy the living room with minimal awkwardness.
“Hey. Would you want to go to a Rocky marathon in Silver Lake with me at the beginning of August?” She took a casual sip of her Cab. “I saw a poster at this coffee shop near work and I love Rocky and obviously I can just go alone unless you think you might—”
“You can stop rambling.” Josh patted her foot where it rested near his thigh on the couch. “I’d like to go with you. I’ve never seen Rocky.”
“Oh. Good. Well, I’ll get the tickets then. To pay you back for all the driving lessons.”
Clara exhaled. It’s not a date. Of course it’s not a date. I don’t need to clarify because there’s no way he’d ever consider it a date. They might not have much in common, but at the very minimum, they both appreciated a movie where the lead actor sweated profusely.
Unfortunately, her brilliant plan to turn around Josh’s surliness met an almost immediate obstacle. John McClane had barely arrived at Nakatomi Plaza when the power in the house cut out like a blink held too long. For a few seconds, neither Josh nor Clara said anything. Nobody moved.
“Do you have a flashlight?” She spoke toward the end of the sofa where Josh had been sitting before the world plunged into darkness.
“If one of us had a flashlight, it would be you.”
“Right.” Clara fumbled for her phone on the side table. “I suppose we can make do with these.”
Josh followed suit. “I’ll go check the breaker.”
Clara opened the drapes and peered down the street. “Don’t bother. The whole block is out.” A summer storm raged across the sky in a rare bout of L.A. weather, making Clara jump.
She navigated her way to the bookshelf where she kept a few scented candles. “I’ll light these, I guess.”
“Great. Now the entire house is gonna smell like the inside of a pumpkin pie,” he teased before helping her arrange the candles around the living room so that the space took on a cozy glow. The claps of lightning and booms of thunder mingled to form a malevolent orchestra.
“Wow. This is kind of ro—”
“Spooky.” Clara finished Josh’s sentence on the off chance he’d been about to voice the same forbidden word she’d thought watching the candlelight dance across his features.
“Right, yes.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “That’s exactly what I was going to say. Hey, the stove still works during a blackout, right?”
“Yeah. It’s gas so you should be able to light it with a match. Here.” She grabbed the box where she’d abandoned it on the coffee table and offered it to him.
His fingers brushed the tender skin on the inside of her wrist and she gulped. No matter how hard she tried, she didn’t seem to be able to avoid touching him, and every time they touched, a feverish wanting threatened to consume her.
“Cool. Thanks.” Josh’s voice came out lower than normal. “I’m gonna make popcorn.” He hurried into the kitchen.
Clara took a moment to collect herself. He’s not being sexy on purpose. Stop fetishizing him.
She took advantage of the fact that Josh had left the room and tugged at the underwire of her bra where it dug into her rib cage. Clara wasn’t one of those women with a manageable bust size where you could hardly tell if they went au naturel. You could definitely tell. So she kept everything locked down instead of flinging off her unwieldy undergarments the moment she got home from work the way she longed to and certainly would have if she lived alone. She didn’t need Josh’s pupils growing dark and urgent again the way they had when he’d walked in on her in nothing but her stupid, reckless nightgown.
“Ta-da.” He returned from the kitchen a while later with a giant bowl of popcorn, held out for her inspection.
She only had to inhale to know he’d loaded up the stove-top-popped kernels with a pound of Parmesan, red pepper flakes, and olive oil. He considered this a “healthy snack” and she didn’t have the heart to correct him.
They settled back into their designated seats on the sofa, Clara on the left, Josh on the right, with the middle cushion as a buffer. Rigid respect for the buffer usually lasted for about half an hour. They each tended to unfurl their bodies as they got comfortable.
When Josh tried to inconspicuously wipe his hands on the back of the throw pillow, she unthinkingly grabbed his forearm. Normally she wouldn’t touch anyone without an explicit invitation, but Josh didn’t seem to live by normal rules of personal space, and so sometimes she forgot too. For a moment, she imagined leaning forward and running her tongue across his palm. Imagined slipping his index finger into her mouth and savoring the way butter and salt seasoned his skin. Her face overheated. Stop acting like a pervert. She marched into the kitchen for paper towels.
“Do you wanna play a game?” Josh held up a deck of cards when she returned. He’d repositioned himself on the very edge of his side of the couch. Either he wanted to escape her lustful gaze or—she clenched her thighs—the dark was getting to him too.
“What kind of game?” Clara choked on her tongue. Surely he wouldn’t, couldn’t, suggest strip poker.
“I thought I could teach you Slap Jack,” he said, the picture of innocence.
A few hands in, Clara knew Josh was cheating, but she didn’t know how.
She pouted into her glass of wine. She had not expected Josh to roundly trounce her. “Are you hiding cards under your butt?”
“That statement is incredibly offensive. First of all, a Conners never cheats. We’re incredibly honest and upstanding. Second of all, and more importantly, there’s no way my ass is big enough to hide cards. I’ve put in hundreds of hours of rigorous thrusting to get these tight buns.”
Clara licked a drop of wine off her lips. She had a hard enough time sitting on this couch, in the candlelight, facing Josh, their knees almost touching, without him mentioning sex. Or his tight ass for that matter.
She reminded herself that Josh wasn’t Everett. Like at all. Somewhere around sophomore year, Everett had decided that big emotions weren’t cool. He committed himself to a “mellow way of life.” He never cried at movies or laughed so hard that beer came out of his nose. Josh, on the other hand, seemed to naturally suck all the juice out of every moment. When Josh ate something that tasted good, he threw his head back, closed his eyes, and groaned. Clara bit her lip thinking about it. “Just deal the cards.”