Costars (New York City Bad Boy Romance) (82 page)

“That’s
fine with me,” I answer and Jessica elbows me again. “What?”

“I’m
going to need his help carrying stuff,” Jessica says. “Do you mind?”

Harold,
who had been standing at the bottom of the stairs, moves to one side so we can
walk past. I don’t know why Jessica was elbowing me, but assuming Harold
doesn’t follow us up the stairs, I plan to find out.

We
get to the room and, with Jessica’s dad still on the main level, I close the
door and ask, “What the hell were you elbowing me for?”

“The
second one was because you should know from what I was telling you that it’s
not a good idea for you and my dad to sit down and chat until you two get to
know one another better,” she says. “The first one, that’s because you
basically just told him that whatever our plans are tonight, we’re planning on
waking up together in the morning.”

“I
did not,” I defend and think back to the conversation, trying to piece together
how she could have gotten to that conclusion.

“Whatever,”
she says. “Let’s just grab the stuff and go before this gets any worse.”

She
walks over to the closed closet door and opens it.

“What
the fuck…?” she says in a half-whisper.

“What’s
wrong?” I ask, coming up behind her.

“They’re
gone,” she says, her voice shaky. “They’re all gone. They got rid of them.”

“Oh,
I’m sure they didn’t get rid of your stuff,” I tell her. “Why don’t we just ask
your dad if he knows where your boxes are and I’m sure he’ll know where to—”

“You
don’t know my mother,” she says. “I know you think she’s some brilliant,
altruistic woman who just happens to have a particularly grating technique of
proving her point, but she really is about the most hateful person I’ve ever
met. God, I feel like such a bitch saying that with her in the hospital.”

“Don’t
worry,” I tell her. “I’m sure they’ll turn up around here somewhere. Let’s just
go ask your dad.”

There’s
a particular reason that I want her to ask her dad about this, but I promised
him I wouldn’t give it away.

“You
don’t get it!” she says, tears welling up. “Every single thing I ever won,
every time I ever did anything I was proud of, that woman just kept knocking my
feet out from under me about it. I
told
her not to touch my boxes.”

“Jessica,”
I say, putting my hands on her shoulders, “let’s go talk to your dad.”

“What’s
the point?” she asks. “This is how everything is in my life, and it’s the way
it always will be. Every time I think I’m about to make some big stride,
something comes along and tears it away from me. I’m sorry I’m crying,” she
says, pulling a tissue from her purse. “I’m just so pissed off!”

I
don’t know how to put it any other way, so I just repeat, “Let’s go ask your
dad about it.”

“Will
you stop saying that?” she yells, but she finally notices the anticipation on
my expression. “What?” she asks. “What’s that face?”

I
just smile and pull her in for a hug.

“I
think you’re in for a pretty awesome surprise,” I tell her.

She
takes a minute and dries her eyes before we go back out of the room and down
the stairs.

“Dad?”
she calls.

“In
the kitchen!” he answers.

We
go into the kitchen and Harold is standing over a pan of bacon.

“You
kids hungry?” he asks.

Not
wanting another elbow thrown at me for causes that I’ll never understand, I
just stay quiet.

“Dad,
have you seen my boxes—the ones that were in the closet?” she asks.

“They’re
not up there?” he asks.

“No,
Dad,” she says, “they’re not up there.”

“Huh,”
he says and turns off the burner on the stove. “Did you check under the bed?”
he asks.

“They
wouldn’t fit under the bed,” she answers. “There were at least three boxes, overflowing
with stuff.”

“Well,
let’s go take a look,” he says and leads the way back up the stairs.

We
follow him up, but of course the boxes haven’t magically appeared in the
closet.

“Huh,”
he says. “Maybe they ended up in the storage room.”

With
that, we follow him back down the stairs and into the garage or, as he called
it, the “storage room.”

The
place is packed with stack after stack of boxes and loose items. I stand in the
doorway so as not to break anything, but Harold walks through the space effortlessly,
his muscle memory knowing well how to navigate the mess.

“Do
you see them anywhere?” he asks.

“No,”
Jessica says, following closely her father’s footsteps and looking over every
box in the garage.

“Well,”
he says, “I don’t know what to tell you. I guess we must have thrown it out.
Hey Eric, this is your first time here and we haven’t given you the tour yet.
What do you say we—”

“We’re
going, Dad,” Jessica says, trying to contain her hurt and frustration.

I’d
love to just tell her now, but her dad shakes his head as the empathy comes
over my face.

“What
do you say, Eric?” he asks.

“Sure,”
I tell him.

“Well,
you’ve already seen Jessica’s room, although I’m sure this isn’t the first time
you’d be able to say that, huh?” he asks.

Yeah,
I’m not stupid enough to answer that question.

“I
would show you the room me and her mother share, but frankly I don’t know you
that well,” he continues.

As
endearing as this surprise is sure to be, I can’t help thinking that Jessica’s
family is pretty all-around strange.

“Let
me show you the basement,” he says.

“No
Dad,” Jessica protests. “You’re not dragging us down there. The place smells
like feet.”

“I
cleaned,” he says. “Well, it’s been a while, but the smell’s gone anyway. Come
on,” he continues.

Reluctantly,
Jessica comes up to me and I take her hand as we follow her father back through
the house and down the stairs.

The
basement is unfinished and either it has no windows or they’re so deftly
covered that no light comes into the space.

“Sorry,”
Harold says, “the light switch hasn’t really worked all that well down here for
a while.”

The
thought occurs to me that what he told me over the phone could just have been a
ploy so he could get me into his dungeon and do god-knows-what to me for dating
his daughter.

“You’re
not scared of the dark, are you, Eric?” he asks.

“Nope,”
I answer and Harold takes Jessica’s hand, leading us as a chain through the
nearly pitch black basement.

“Your
hands are sweating,” Jessica whispers back toward me. “Don’t worry. He’s
probably not going to try to kill you.”

“You
know,” I say, feeling a lump in my throat grow as I am now walking blind,
“maybe we
should
go. It is starting
to get a little bit late, and I’ve got a new business strategy to implement
tomorrow, and I’ve got to talk to—”

“Oh,
nonsense,” Harold says. “We’re almost there.”

After
another ten, slow feet, we come to a stop and, in front of me, I can hear a
doorknob turning and a door being opened.

Do
I really think that Harold brought me down here to torture or threaten me? Of
course not. At the same time, I
am
starting to get the impression he wouldn’t feel too bad if I were to trip and
injure myself.

I
really have no idea how to take this guy.

“All
right,” he says. “Jessica, you stand here.”

She
lets go of my hand, and I can hear the shuffled sound of him positioning her in
the middle of the room.

“Eric,”
he says, “well, it doesn’t really matter.”

With
that, he flips on the light, blinding all of us for an instant.

“What
do you think?” Harold asks.

My
eyes adjust to find what he told me about over the phone.

The
room is filled with trophies and framed certificates, all on shelves or in
glass cases.

“Oh
my god,” Jessica breathes.

“Hey,
looks like I found your stuff,” Harold says in an overly affected voice.

“When
did you do this?” Jessica asks, “How?”

“Well,
it took me a while to build the shelves and the glass cases, well, we had to
buy those, but it was your mother that set everything else up,” he answers.

Hearing
Jessica describe the sheer volume of her various awards and recognitions, I had
no idea it was this extensive.

“These
are all yours?” I ask.

“No,”
Harold says. “The other wall over here is Kristin’s. Now, if you’re going to
want to pack up all this stuff, I can grab some boxes, but—”

“That’s
okay,” Jessica says. “I can’t believe the two of you did this.”

“She
was always proud of you,” her father tells her. “I know she doesn’t always know
how to show that, but you and your sister mean the world to her. We’re both
proud of you. You can take whatever you want, but as for me,” he says, checking
his watch, “I’ve got to get back to the hospital. They’re taking your mother in
for a scan to see if they got everything they needed to get.”

Jessica
turns to face her father and, without a word, she throws her arms around him.

“I
always thought she didn’t care,” Jessica says.

“She
always cared,” Harold answers. “She’s just a bit rough around the edges.” He
laughs. “Why else do you think I’ve put up with her this long?”

Jessica
smiles and wipes her eyes and says, “I think it looks better here. We can go
back to the hospital with you.”

“That’s
all right,” her dad answers. “They’re just going to do a scan and it’ll
probably be a while before they get the results back and get a doctor to look
at them. I’ll give you a call when we know something.”

“Thank
you,” Jessica says, “for everything.”

Harold
looks over at me and says, “Now, I want you to know that no matter what happens
between the two of you, this is my little girl, so you’d better—”

“
It’s
okay, Dad,” Jessica interrupts, tears still falling
from her eyes. “He’s a good man.”

Harold
gives me the stink eye anyway just to drive his point home, then turns and
exits the room.

Jessica
turns around to face me and says, “You know, I meant what I said. You could
have taken advantage of me earlier, but you pushed me to come and do something
that I’ve wanted to do for a while. I don’t know how you knew it was this
important, but you knew.”

“I
like to pay attention to the things that matter,” I answer.

“It’s
funny how so little can change, but even that tiny bit can be all the
difference in the world,” she muses.

“Are
you sure you don’t want to take anything back with you?” I ask.

“Just
you,” she says. “I think it’s about time we sat down and really have the talk.”

*
                   
*
               
    
*

The
talk was quick, easy. We’re not planning to move in together or anything, but
we’re officially “a thing” (her words.)

About
the biggest thing that’s going to change, other than what we call each other,
is that we’re both going to get extra keys for our apartments and, when the
time is right—though what exactly determines that is still pretty vague—we’ll
exchange keys.

Now,
we’re back at my apartment and she’s standing at the foot of my bed, looking
down at me as she slowly takes her clothes off, keeping her eyes on me all the
while.

This
is the first time I’ve seen her naked in the daylight and those full, perky
breasts, flat stomach, and meticulously trimmed pussy have me throbbing.

Her
phone is on the nightstand so it’s within easy reach whenever her father calls
with her mom’s test results and apart from that, neither of us have a care in
the world.

“So,”
she says, crawling over my already naked body, “you knew what my dad was going
to do when we got to the house, didn’t you? That was the big secret.”

“Yeah,”
I tell her.

“I’m
afraid I’m going to have to punish you for that,” she says and grabs my wrists
and forces them up and behind my head.

I
chuckle as she slides her smooth skin over my body and teases me with her lips,
coming close enough to kissing my mouth that I can feel the heat coming off of
her, but always pulling away at just that last second.

“Do
you have a condom?” she asks.

“Nightstand,”
I answer.

“Hmm…”
she says. “That means I’ll have to let your arms go, huh?”

“Yeah,”
I answer, “I really don’t see a way around that.”