I shake my head and drop my face into my palms as I replay my embarrassing display. “I’ll probably start looking for other lodging options. It’s not fair for Iris to be uncomfortable in her own home because of me.”
That’s when I realize that I…care. I’m not sure how it happened. Maybe it’s the sadness I always see in her eyes. Or maybe the vicarious guilt I feel about being best friends with the man who must have put it there.
“You’re moving out?” My brother asks, brow raised. He glances my way.
“Yeah, I think I should.” Iris is a goddess and being less than my best self in her presence just doesn’t sit right with me.
“Penny thinks you and Iris have unresolved sexual chemistry. You sure you don’t want to explore that?” He doesn’t ask it with innuendo. He seems genuinely curious.
But I don’t want to have to face that possibility. I roll my eyes. “Trust me—there’s no unresolved sexual chemistry between me and Iris. The woman hates me.”
He watches me sternly. Walker can sniff out my bullshit from a mile away. “Bro…”
“What?” I can practically feel my cells tightening defensively.
“How do you feel?”
The fact remains—Iris is a stunning woman. She has this effortless, classical beauty that I’ve always found sexy. She’s not like those women who spend hours glamming up. That’s not her, and she doesn’t even need to. But I’ve never felt the desire to tell her so. Not before the other night.
I’d rather not analyze that too closely.
“She’s my friend’s ex-wife. Doesn’t that mean anything to you people? Come on, man.” I already betrayed him once, years ago. The guilt of carrying that secret around gnaws at me even today. There’s no way I’m betraying him again by hooking up with his ex.
My brother throws an arm over the back of his chair. “Kirk’s your friend? Because you’ve been back in town for how long now and his ass hasn’t even dropped by with a plate of oatmeal cookies. Doesn’t seem very friendly to me.”
My brother is right but dammit, I don’t want him to be.
Because if he is, that would mean that Kirk doesn’t deserve the loyalty I’ve been paying him. And if that is true…then why the hell have I been keeping my distance from Iris Merlini?
I don’t offer him an answer. Because I don’t have one. So I zip my mouth shut and stare out at the moon-kissed fields.
10
Iris
Jude and I have settled into a weird routine that revolves around avoiding each other as much as possible.
It helps that he tends to stay cooped up in his room most of the day unless he’s at physiotherapy. I carefully time my kitchen visits when I know he’s back upstairs, locked in his room, to avoid the awkwardness. We haven’t said more than a few words since my girlfriends were over for dinner the other night.
Jude’s angry rant made me flush to the tips of my ears. How dare he say those things to me? But it’s his weird backhanded compliment that made me feel too warm the rest of the night.
He finds me beautiful?
I feel like a fool for dwelling on that particular aspect of the conversation, especially given all the other not-so-kind things that were said. I can’t help it, though. My ego clung desperately to the compliment, trying to use it as a building block to reassemble my shattered self-image.
I still don’t know what to make of the interaction. It was so uncharacteristic of the Jude I’ve known all these years. Maybe he’s still on painkillers, and all that tea he’s been drinking must be messing with his head…Or maybe he’s changed.
Of course my girls had wanted to linger in my kitchen and dissect the whole scene, but I had to kick their butts out so I could go to my bedroom and take care of the throbbing ache Jude had ignited between my thighs.
Masturbating to the thought of the arrogant bastard left me hating myself a little but after the mind-twisting orgasm, I had to take a good, long look at myself in the mirror. Jude’s words had been harsh—and embarrassing—and I sure as hell resented him for them. But they stuck with me. Because, deep down, I suspected he was right.
I haven’t changed. Not since college. Not even a little. I still have the same boring straight blonde hair, the same frumpy outfits, the same reclusive personality. Maybe I need a new look? A new attitude? A new freakin’ life?
Or maybe I need to pack the whole interaction away in a box on a shelf that I’m too short to reach…
Anyway, things have been different in my household since that night. Jude’s usually up early for physiotherapy and even though he doesn't drink coffee, he always starts the coffee pot and sets out a mug next to the machine for me.
I respect the little peace offerings, so I extend the same courtesy. When I make dinner every night, I leave a plate out for him. That feels fair, especially with the way he keeps splurging on filling my refrigerator and pantry.
Plus, making his life a little bit easier feels sort of good to me. He may be able to fool the world with that brash grin he’s always throwing around but I can see the pain and turmoil brewing in his dark eyes.
I’ve had to come up with some creative ways to slip vegetables into the meals, though, or else he picks them out with his fork. Big baby. I’m guessing that muscled-up body of his needs as much vitamins and minerals as it can get with all the healing it’s doing. Tonight, a pot of veggie-packed beef chilli simmers on the stove as I work on my quippy coffee mug business idea.
A loud ring from my landline phone sends a jolt through me. I usually let the landline go to the answering machine. This is a number Kirk and I shared before he moved out. Anyone
