Chapter 14
Sloan
♪ Maybe You’re the Reason | The Japanese House
I woke up wishing I had died in my sleep. My head felt like a tomato that had been dropped from a second-story building.
I felt blindly along my nightstand for my phone to check the time. My eyes were puffy from crying, and my fingers knocked into a glass of water. I cracked an eye open.
Two Advils sat on the nightstand. My phone was on the charger at 100 percent. A bucket was on the floor next to the bed.
I prayed it had been Kristen. I scoured my blank, foggy, hungover memory for a drunken call to Kristen. Hell, I’d even settle for Josh. But then I saw Tucker curled up on the other side of the bed and I groaned. I looked at my last call, squinting at the impossibly bright screen. I’d drunk dialed Jason.
I. Drunk. Dialed. Jason.
I leaned back onto my pillow and put an arm over my face.
He wouldn’t have left his dog here. At least I didn’t think he would have since he’d just gotten him back, so I was pretty sure Jason was somewhere in the house.
I sat up gingerly, trying not to jostle my head. I downed the water and the pills, holding the glass with both hands. Then I stumbled to the bathroom and took the longest pee of my life. I brushed my teeth three times, practically drank mouthwash, and turned on the shower. When I went to pull my hair from its ponytail, I realized with horror that it was damp.
Someone had washed my hair.
Jason had washed my hair.
Sweet Jesus, just let me die.
After I’d showered, just to prolong the inevitable awkward first encounter with Jason since the hair washing, I turned on the faucet and ran a bubble bath.
Thank God for my new water heater.
I folded a cold wet washcloth over my eyes and sat in the tub with Tucker curled up on the shaggy bathroom mat.
Someone tapped on the door.
“Sloan? Mind if I come in? I have your coffee.”
Jason.
The lock on my bathroom door was broken, like every other stupid freaking thing in the house. Ugh.
“The door’s unlocked,” I mumbled. The bubbles had me covered from the neck down. I dragged the washcloth from my eyes and lolled my head toward the door.
Jason let himself in, leading with a Starbucks cup. “I figured you wouldn’t want to wait for this,” he said, looking at the wall.
“Thank you,” I rasped. “You can look. I’m covered.”
He turned to me and put the coffee in my hand. Then, instead of leaving, he put the toilet seat lid down and sat on it, grinning at me.
I smelled the top of the cup. I didn’t care what kind it was. It was coffee. I felt a caffeine headache lurking behind my hangover and I’d take anything. I took a sip, closing my eyes. Sweet nectar of the gods, it was my drink! A triple grande vanilla latte. How did he know?
“I saw an old cup by your easel. The drink was written on the outside,” he explained. “When I heard the shower go on, I ran out to get it for you so it would still be hot.”
I think I fell just a little bit in love with him in that moment. I got a murky vision of telling our grandchildren about the day Grandma almost drank herself to death and Grandpa saved her with espresso.
“This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” I said, my voice husky in a way that told me I’d been vomiting.
“How are you feeling?”
Deathly? Mortified? Heartsick?
“I’ve felt better.”
Jason wore a gray Muse T-shirt and jeans. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, his sky-blue eyes searching my face. I was puffy and hungover and this talented, sexy man had just brought me my favorite coffee after spending a night washing barf out of my hair.
Jaxon Waters washed barf out of my hair.
I was too sick for the embarrassment to truly settle in my bones. I accepted this information with a shallow understanding of how fucked up it all was and the knowledge that I’d dwell on it obsessively later while applying the appropriate mortification.
This was the end for us, I was sure of it. He had probably stuck around to make sure I didn’t choke to death on my own vomit. Now that he’d seen that I was alive, he’d collect his dog and leave, and I’d never see him again.
I was a disaster, damaged, a hot mess, and now he truly knew it. My living room was covered in my dead fiancé’s clothing, because yes, after two years I still had all his clothes. I’d called Jason while sloppy drunk and said God only knew what. What was there to like?
“I’ll make you some breakfast,” he said, pushing up on his knees. “Take your time.”
Then, to my shock, he leaned down and, with the biggest grin, he tipped my chin up and kissed me.
“Did you take the Advil?” he whispered, hovering just above me, looking at me with an amused smile.
“Um, yeah?”
“Good.” And he kissed me again, lingering for a moment. Then he winked and walked out of the bathroom.
“Oh. My. God,” I breathed, grabbing for my washcloth and dragging it back over my face.
I finally came out half an hour later, wearing a sweatshirt and leggings, no makeup, wrapped in a blanket and holding the bucket Jason left by my bed in a zero-fucks-given effort at not looking the way I felt. I figured I’d gone this far, why not go all in?
Jason sat waiting on the sofa. His face lit up when he saw me.
The scene was almost ironic. I would have laughed if I still didn’t feel so crappy. There was Jason, surrounded by an ocean of Brandon’s things, trying to be a part of my ridiculous, sad universe. And the funny thing was all this chaos was for him.
After our date and the kissing—which, let’s be honest here, was so out of this world it had probably ruined me for all other men—it had occurred to me that at some point, I might want to invite him home. That if I ever wanted to ask him inside, he’d spend the night in my room and use my bathroom.
Then I looked at my life through Jason’s eyes, and all I saw was Brandon. Brandon’s clothes in the closet, Brandon’s toothbrush still in the bathroom. The last beer he had, still sitting on his workbench in the garage, evaporated and empty. And I thought about what Kristen had said, about my life being a shrine to him, and I realized I was still living with another man.
And that man wasn’t ever coming home.
So for the two-year anniversary of his death, I did the healthy thing. I paid my visit to his grave, gave blood in his memory, and started cleaning. I put on some upbeat music and tried to make it something positive.
Things had started well. I packed up all Brandon’s hunting gear and brought it to Josh. That had been easy. I knew that’s what Brandon would have wanted me to do with it. Then I threw away his toiletries and cleared out the medicine cabinet.
But when I started on his clothes, the situation went south.
Some of his clothes still smelled like him, and they reminded me of places we’d been together. Like the T-shirt he picked up in Venice Beach on our second date, and the jacket he wore when we rented that cabin in Big Bear that one winter. I started a pile for a few items I wanted to keep, things that had sentimental value for me, and after a while that pile was bigger than the donation pile.
So I grabbed some tequila, had a shot of liquid courage, and started moving items from the keep pile into trash bags. And I was actually getting through it, until I found a receipt in the pocket of his favorite jeans. A receipt from Luigi’s, the stupid Italian place in Canoga Park we liked. The last place we ate together.
That’s when I’d lost it. The rest of the night was a lot of drinking, crying, and, as evidenced by Jason’s presence in my living room, drunk dialing.
I sat on the sofa with him and crossed my legs under me. Tucker jumped up next to me and put his head in my lap.
Jason smiled, handing me a weird silver package from the coffee table. “Breakfast.”
I wrinkled my forehead. “Is this…camping food?” The package read Backpacker’s Pantry, granola with milk and bananas. It was warm.
He handed me a spoon. “This is my favorite oatmeal. I buy it by the case. It’s great for a hangover. Plus, no dishes.”
No dishes was good since I still didn’t have a working kitchen sink. The top of the bag had a zipper seal. I pried it open and tasted it. “This isn’t half-bad,” I admitted. “I’ve never had actual camping food before.”
“You’ve never been camping?”
“Well, yes. But we drive in. There’s an electrical hookup and running water. We bring a cooler of food and we plug in the griddle and cook on it.”
He looked amused. “That’s not really camping. That’s hanging out outside.”
“Oh, I forgot. You’re a camping purist.” I smiled weakly, my head throbbing. I closed my eyes as a mild wave of nausea rippled through me, and I let out a breath through my nose.
“You’ll feel better in a few hours,” Jason said behind the spinning darkness of my eyelids.
“So, what else do you cook?” I asked, picking up my bag of oatmeal again.
“Grilling and boiling water for dehydrated food are about all that’s in my wheelhouse.”
“Oh. Well, if you can boil water, you can make coffee.”
“I make amazing coffee,” he said. “I use a French press.”
“Oooh, now you’re speaking my love language. Say ‘French press’ again,” I mumbled.
He leaned over and put his lips next to my ear. “French presssss,” he whispered.
I gave him serious side-eye. If this hangover didn’t kill me, his shameless flirting was going to finish the job.
“Hey, thank you,” I said, after a minute.
He smiled at me. “For what?”
“For coming. For taking care of me. For not letting…” I looked around the room at the mess. “For not letting this change things.”
He didn’t look at the clothes. His eyes never left mine. “Well, we have a date today. I waited all day yesterday for it. No way was anything going to stop me from seeing that through.”
“Jason, I can’t go anywhere today. I feel like crap.”
“No, the date’s here. We’re on it now. ID channel and chill.”
I laughed, and the sore muscles in my stomach reminded me I’d spent the night barfing.
Jason picked up the remote and turned on the TV.
God, he was wonderful.
* * *
Four hours into ID channel and chill and he’d only held my hand. Besides those quick kisses in the bathtub, he hadn’t tried to make a move on me. I don’t know if this was due to my hangover or the overactive flight instincts I’d shown him on the night of our first kiss, but he kept a safe distance. I think he knew that if he pounced me, I’d probably make him leave. He was right. And oddly, his reserved behavior just made me more comfortable, and it kind of made me want to pounce him.
I wondered if that was a strategy…
My hangover felt a million times better. I sat with my legs crossed next to him on the sofa, and my knee just touched his thigh. It was such a small contact, but it had been sending bolts of electricity through me for the last hour.
Being with him in person felt just as natural and easy as it did on the phone—except with sexual tension.
It was like we couldn’t look at anything other than each other for more than a few minutes at a time. Our faces kept turning back to each other, and finally we just kind of gave up and ignored the show and talked instead. To his credit, he didn’t seem to care how I looked at the moment and he appeared to be perfectly happy just sitting there with me instead of on a date doing something more exciting.
His phone chirped, and he picked it up and frowned.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“I just have a lot of promoting to do. Ernie emailed my schedule for this week. I have to meet with my publicist tomorrow, and Ernie’s found me a personal assistant for my tour.”
“So you’re busy tomorrow?”
“I have that meeting tomorrow at eleven, then a photo shoot right afterward. But I’d love to see you for breakfast or dinner. Or both.”
“Both, huh?” I said, trying not to sound as satisfied as his suggestion made me feel.
His mouth drew up on one side and he put a hand on my knee. My stomach somersaulted. “If I want to see you, I’m going to ask to see you.”
“And you want to see me twice in one day?” I teased.
“No. I’d rather spend the whole day with you.”
Now I had the grace to blush.
“Hey, I really like that photo of you over your bed,” he said, sitting back against the sofa, giving me a grin.
I raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m naked in that.”
“I’m a photography enthusiast. I’m interested in it for purely artistic reasons.”
“Uh-huh, I’ll bet.” I twisted my lips into a pleased smile. That particular image was something I was proud of for reasons he didn’t seem to realize. I decided not to tell him just yet. Maybe he would figure it out. The fact that he liked it, and didn’t know what it was, was a huge compliment on many levels.
I stretched. “Want something to drink?” We had a pizza coming and I had been a horrible hostess. I hadn’t gotten off the sofa once since we started our murder marathon.
“Sure. Just water.”
I got up and walked into the kitchen and froze. The kitchen was put back together. The fans were gone, and the counters and floor had been cleaned.
Openmouthed, I went to the sink and peeked into the cabinet underneath. Everything was put neatly away, and a shiny new pipe and knob had been installed. I closed the doors and turned on the water. It ran. The dishes had been washed. My tequila glass sat upside down in the sink, drying on the rack.
Gratitude pulsed through me.
When I came out, I handed Jason his water and nudged his knee with mine. “You fixed the kitchen.”
“I said I would.” He set his glass on a coaster.
“I’d like to cook you dinner tomorrow.”
A grin crept across his handsome face. “I’d love that.”
He kept beaming up at me.
“What?” I asked.
“It’s just something you said to me on the phone last night.”
“Oh God, what?” I said with horror.
He twisted his lips into a smirk.
“Tell me.”
“You said I make you want to cook for me.”
Ugh. Drunk me had no business putting that out there for sober me. She was such a gossip.
I flopped down next to him. “Well, thank God it was only that.”
“What else could it have been?”
“No clue. I have no access to the mind of drunk Sloan. That woman is a stranger to me.”
“So what did you do yesterday?” he asked, putting the TV on mute.
I had hoped I wouldn’t have to get into my day yesterday. It had seemed like maybe we were just going to sit among the remnants of Brandon’s life and ignore it. That would have been my preference. But no such luck. And Jason had done more than enough to earn the right to ask.
“Brandon died two years ago yesterday,” I said. “I visited his grave. I gave blood. And then I came home and decided to finally go through his stuff.”
Jason’s eyes took on a look of understanding. “That must have been very difficult for you.”
“It was. It is. But it’s time.”