Breathe Again (4 page)

“Do you like your job?” I couldn’t really fathom why he would
want to know, why he would care. I almost refused him an answer again, but the
look in his eyes was genuine. Earlier in the conversation, and on Saturday, it
was like he was almost teasing me, but not anymore. Definitely not anymore.

“Not particularly, but I should. I should be grateful for
having a job at all.”

“Why don’t you apply for a job that you would like to do
somewhere else?”

I smiled sadly. “It’s not really that easy,” I said quietly.

“I’m never a fan of doing something you don’t like,” Jackson
said, obviously unconvinced.

I didn’t say anything after that, just finished my glass of
wine, and Jackson let me. Eventually we started talking about everything else:
The party on Saturday, after the cake fiasco. My cream puffs (apparently even
Jackson had tried them). His newest movie, which he was going to Europe to
promote soon.

For some reason, that last fact made me sad. I had no right
to be sad; as it was, I was lucky just be sitting there then. I had no hold on
him, and I shouldn’t have had any expectation that I would see him again. Or
that he would want to see me again.

When the sun started setting, and we’d been sitting together
for over two hours, the waitress stopped by with the check. Even they closed
early on Monday nights.

“How do you like LA so far?” Jackson asked as he pulled the
check toward him. I frowned and reached for my purse. I wasn’t about to let him
pay for my wine. This wasn’t a date. Well, it was supposed to be a date, but
most definitely not with him.

I shrugged, reaching across the table to grab the check, but
he swatted my hand away. I glared at him again, and he just laughed. Again.

Finally, resigned, I leaned back in my seat and crossed my
arms. “Well, it’s not Kansas,” I said, “which is definitely not a bad thing. I
haven’t really had a chance to explore the city yet, but I’m sure I’ll like it
when I do.”

“You’ve been here for seven months and you still haven’t been
to the beach? Or Hollywood? Or Disneyland?” he asked, shocked.

“Not really,” I said, taking the final sip from my glass. “I
typically stay in the general vicinity of my apartment.”

“Which is where?”

I motioned around me. “Right here. I live in the loft above
the bakery.”

“Oh,” he said, surprised. “I mean, it’s a quiet neighborhood,
sure, but it isn’t too far to West Hollywood or Santa Monica. Haven’t you been
to either?”

“Not really. I don’t have a car, which makes travel a bit
more difficult.”

Jackson frowned again. He was doing that a lot today. “Now,
that’s not okay. Let me take you out again. It can be something for you to look
forward to.”

I bit my lip. I knew there was no way I could say yes. Our
little impromptu date (if it could be called that) was fun, but I couldn’t let
it go any further than that. For so many reasons.

“I appreciate the offer Jackson, I really do. But I don’t
think that would be a good idea.”

“And why not?” he asked, unashamed.

“It’s just not a good time for me. I’m sorry,” I lied.

I was surprised at the look of disappointment that came
across his face. I was nothing special, as I’d been told plenty of times in my
life. Why on earth would Jackson Traver want to see me again?

“Well, if you change your mind, I would love to see you
again. Let me give you my phone number. You can call me any time.” I watched as
he wrote his number on the receipt and slid it across the table to me. “I had a
great time today, Mellie.”

I took the piece of paper off the table out of courtesy and
smiled back at him.

I stormed out of the restaurant,
ignoring the calls coming from behind me. It was dramatic, sure, but I was
beyond reason. I was livid. By the time Collin caught up to me, I was already
climbing into a yellow cab that I’d somehow managed to hail.

“Please, Melanie, I didn’t mean it. Come back inside,” he
said desperately, as he tried to hold the taxi door open.

I sat in the back of the cab, my hand on the door handle and
my eyes closed. I willed myself not to lose my composure, though an
uncharacteristically angry Mellie was about to expose herself.

“Collin, let go of the door,” I said quietly.

“No,” he said. “Please, just talk to me.”

“I’m not going to just talk to you,” I spat out furiously.
“That’s exactly what I was doing back there, but apparently that isn’t enough.”

“Of course it’s enough,” he said, desperation clear on his
face. “I’ve loved getting to know you, I just got caught up back there. I was a
complete ass. I’m sorry. But please, let’s just talk about it now.”

I could see the pathetic look in his eyes, but was completely
unaffected. “You’re right. You were a complete ass back there, but you’ve
already said everything I needed to hear. Good-bye,” I said, forcing the door
closed.

I refused to look back as the cab rolled away from the curb,
but I assumed he was still standing there. I’d been called a lot of things in
my twenty-three years of life, most of which was untrue and based purely on
jealousy and unfounded gossip. But this was different. He hadn’t even made a
move to kiss me yet, but I’d convinced myself that wasn’t my own fault. As far
as I was concerned, he didn’t even seem interested.

I hadn’t doubted before that night that he was perfect for
me. He was everything I wanted in a man, or so I thought. He was boring and
unassuming and only slightly attractive. But perfect men didn’t have
conversations regarding their sex lives, or lack thereof, with others. Or maybe
they did. Even having such a conversation could have been forgivable, but I
shouldn’t have to know it had even occurred.

Of course, I wasn’t supposed to know what he’d been saying
about me. I’d made the unlucky mistake of going to the restroom at the exact
moment that one of Collin’s old fraternity brothers had spotted him across the
room. I hadn’t noticed him walking toward our table, but he’d definitely
noticed as I walked away in my new, short skirt.

When I’d returned to the table, both men were faced away from
me, so it was purely an accident when I overheard their conversation. I wasn’t naive
about how masculine and misogynistic relationships between fraternity brothers
can be. I probably wouldn’t have even blamed Collin for having a slightly
offensive conversation with his old friend, if he hadn’t been the one to utter
those severely offensive words.

I looked out the car window, still angry. We were almost to
my apartment.

The driver dropped me off in front of the café, and I handed
him a bill without waiting for my change. Thankfully, the café was open on
Thursday nights, catering to the small crowd that wanted cocktails and a
late-night dinner closer to home than on the weekends. I had no intention of
even heading up to my apartment. I needed something to distract me.

I didn’t bother changing, just set immediately to work,
furiously throwing flour and sugar and butter into the mixer and watching it
all come together. It was therapeutic, and took my mind off the things I so
desperately wanted to forget.

I was in the middle of rolling out the dough for my cinnamon
rolls when I heard the squeak of the swinging door behind me. I barely paused,
not in the mood to make small talk with Darcy or any of the other girls working
that night. They knew better than to interrupt me when I was in a baking mood.

Whoever came into the kitchen didn’t say anything, and for a
second I thought that they’d actually left. But then I felt it, heard his heavy
feet as he made his way closer to me. Collin was thin, tall, and lanky,
completely unassuming. Jackson was solid, nearly twice my size, and there was
no way I couldn’t feel his eyes on me.

I slowed down my rolling, trying to rein in my breathing. I
wasn’t in the mood for anyone tonight, least of all the one man who affected me
like no other. But I couldn’t ignore him; I couldn’t help the shivers that ran
down my spine when I felt him come even nearer. I finally stopped my rolling
completely, but didn’t turn around. I closed my eyes, hoping for the second
time that night that I could maintain my composure, but for a much different
reason this time.

“Can I help?” I heard his rough voice from behind me. It was
nothing like the voice I’d heard in all those movies I watched over the
weekend.

I tensed, but finally looked over my shoulder to where he
stood. Even on my step stool, which I needed because I was too short to get enough
leverage to roll out my dough on the counter without it, he was still a full
foot taller than me.

I didn’t move my gaze from his chest, almost afraid to look
him in the eye. But he didn’t force me to look at him, either. Eventually,
reluctantly, I nodded, and stepped down from the stool and into my high heels.
I stayed silent as I placed one flour-covered hand on my hip, stretching my
other out in front of me with the rolling pin. I finally took a chance and
looked up at his face, and saw a small, playful smile come across his lips. He
took the rolling pin from me and kicked the stool gently out of his way.

“Don’t be too rough with it,” I said, leaning back against
the counter. “It needs to stay cold.”

He worked for a few minutes in silence, concentration evident
on his face. I didn’t even bother trying to avert my eyes while he worked. Even
just rolling out the dough, I could see the muscles in his arms and shoulders
flexing. It did things to my insides that I didn’t expect. I’d never really
experienced anything like it before, that type of attraction. It made my heart
beat loudly, quickly, and for a second I was terrified that he could hear it in
the silence of the kitchen.

“What are we making, anyway?” he asked, not taking his focus
away from the task at hand.

“Cinnamon rolls. For the morning,” I said quietly, watching
his fluid, methodical movements. He made it look natural, simple, though
rolling out dough wasn’t exactly the easiest thing in the world when you weigh
a hundred pounds and had barely any muscle on your body.

“Wow,” he said. “I’m impressed. Though I’m even more
impressed that you’re trusting me with them.”

I finally cracked a smile at that one. I turned around
quickly, hoping he didn’t see, but I could still feel his eyes on me as I
pulled myself away from the counter and toward a cupboard at the other side of
the room. I rummaged on the top shelf until my hand felt what I was looking
for, and grabbed two glasses from the cabinet on the other side of the cupboard
before making my way back to the counter.

I caught him looking at me when I turned, though he didn’t
even try to make his stare inconspicuous. He wasn’t looking at my face this
time, and for the second time that night, I was reminded that I was wearing a
tighter skirt than I normally did. But this time, strangely enough, I wasn’t
upset. I was flattered. He noticed me, enough to come back here, though I had
no idea why.

When I got back to the counter, I poured the bourbon from the
bottle into each of the glasses.

“Am I allowed to stop?” he asked me seriously as I handed him
a glass with the amber-colored liquid in it.

I allowed myself to smile again at that one, then took a sip
from my own glass and nodded. “Sorry, it isn’t the best bourbon in the world. I
usually just use it for baking, when I need it.”

We stayed quiet for a few more moments, both taking in the
strong flavor of the bourbon and watching each other carefully.

Finally, I put my glass down and leaned against the counter.
“Really, Jackson, what are you doing here?” I asked, not entirely sure if I
actually wanted to hear the answer.

He took a long step toward me, taking a draw from his
bourbon. “I just wanted to see you again.”

I tipped my head to one side, trying to understand. “But,
why?” I couldn’t hold it back this time. I needed to know.

If he was nervous, like I was, he didn’t show it. His look
was assertive, but in no way arrogant. He looked like he knew what he wanted,
and from the way his eyes bore into my own, I was the one that he wanted.

“I wanted to see you again from the moment you left on
Saturday, and from the second we had to say good-bye on Monday. I hoped,
desperately, that you would call, but you never did. You’re just so . . .” he
said, apparently trying to find the words. “You’re just so beautiful and introspective
and confident, but so sad. I saw it as soon as I saw you. But you can’t see it,
or believe it. You’re so unsure of yourself, but you have a confidence that
I’ve never seen before. It’s fascinating and heartbreaking, all at the same
time. I just wanted to see you again. I want to see if you were the same.”

I felt a ghost of a smile make its way across my face, though
I knew my eyes were sad. It was impossible to act in front of him. I avoided
looking in his direction and instead focused my gaze on the rack of aprons
behind him. It wasn’t until then that I realized I had never put on an apron
that night. I looked down at my skirt and sighed, the dark fabric covered in
blotches of white. It was a new skirt too.

“You could have picked a better night to surprise me. I’m not
really in the mood to deal with anyone else tonight,” I said finally, too tired
to fight what he had just confessed.

“I’m sure I could have. I noticed from the second I walked in
here that something was wrong. But I couldn’t stay away, Mellie.”

My heart felt so full at what he just said. Collin hadn’t
really broken it earlier that night; it wasn’t his to break. But with Jackson,
I felt that small muscle contract and expand in a way that I just didn’t think
possible. I’d never given myself the opportunity to believe in chemistry or
attraction or lust, or whatever this was. It was too impractical, but here I
was. Jackson was standing in front of me, and I felt the pull, like nothing I’d
ever felt before. I always thought that if I ever did feel anything like it, I
could resist. I could ignore those feelings in my heart and my head, because
they didn’t really mean anything. But this, this was different. This didn’t
feel like what I thought it would, and I knew, right then, that I didn’t have
the strength to ignore it.

I saw the step stool, still next to Jackson, at his feet.
Before I could even comprehend what I was doing, before I could question my
judgment, or even my sanity, I found myself floating to where he stood, and
stepped up those three steps, so that I was almost at eye level with him. He
just watched me with those dark, clear eyes, burning a hole straight through my
heart and into my soul.

I hesitated for only a second, looking him directly in the
eyes, before I pressed my lips against his. He immediately put his hands on my
lower back, pulling me closer, and I found my chest pressed up to him. He
tasted like the most incredible combination of bourbon and mint, his tongue
sneaking its way into my mouth. I let him in, feeling lightheaded from the
sensation of his tongue against mine. I let him lead, groaning into his mouth
when he sucked and licked my bottom lip. We got lost in each other, and I put
my hands on the back of his head, pulling him as close as possible.

He let a moan escape, and I almost lost it right then and
there. I felt myself being lifted off the stool, and wrapped my legs around his
waist, like it was the most natural thing in the world. He sat me on the
counter, and I knew I was sitting in a pile of flour, but I couldn’t care less.
I just ran my fingers through his hair and let the taste of his mouth assault
my senses. I felt him pull the string that held my hair back, then he grabbed
my hair and wrapped his fingers in it. He kissed me back, just as passionately,
and I didn’t know if I could ever stop. Though I was completely breathless, it
was as if I could finally breathe again.

I don’t even know how long we kissed like that, alternating
between light, gentle strokes and rough, almost desperate licking and sucking.
Eventually, finally, I opened my eyes, and saw him staring right at me. His
gaze was smoldering, and I immediately felt liquid pool in my panties. I
scooted closer to the edge and felt him nestle right there. It was almost too
much, and judging by his groan, it was almost too much for him too. I nipped at
his tongue, which he’d let into my mouth once again, and I felt him pull me
even closer. There were layers of clothes and uncertainties between us, but I
felt every part of him.

Eventually he slowed and pulled his mouth away from my own,
but kept his forehead against mine.

“Mellie,” he said.

I just hummed against him, relishing the buzz I felt in every
inch of my body. I still had my hands in his hair, and it stood up straight, as
if we’d just done something far more than just kissing. I wasn’t thinking of
who he was to everyone else then, just who he was to me.

“Mellie,” he said again, his voice hoarse. I didn’t know if I
would ever get enough of the way he said my name; the way he formed the letters
on the tongue he had just assaulted me with. He was breathing deeply, loudly,
as if he were breathing me in.

“Jackson,” I said back, opening my eyes once again. His eyes
were closed this time, and I could almost see his internal struggle underneath
his eyelids. It confused me. “Jackson,” I said again, pulling my forehead away,
but he still didn’t look at me. “Jackson, what’s wrong?” I pulled my hands from
his hair and pressed them against his cheeks. He turned his head to the left
and kissed my palm.