Feel (9 page)

“I’m sure,” I repeat, ignoring Andy.  He’s only looking out for his friend and has no idea what Jensen’s leaving has done to me and how hard it is to let everything go without knowing some more answers to questions I’m not ready to ask.

Andy claps his hands together, “Great.  All settled then.  You two have fun; I sure as hell plan to.”

I roll my eyes, and Jensen laughs, shaking his head.  “Road trips with him are definitely never dull.”

“I can imagine,” I mumble, not wanting to contemplate too much on what exactly that means.

I unlock the door to my room and step inside, suddenly shy.  I can’t seem to meet his gaze when he looks at me. 

“You don’t seem so sure right about now.”

“I’m sure,” I breathe. 

“What exactly is it that you’re sure about, Saige?” Jensen smirks playfully, trying to hide what he really wants to ask.

“As of now, just you sleeping on the spare bed,” I reply, cocking my brow, “so don’t get any further notions just yet.” 

“I can give you my word that I won’t act on my notions, unless you want me to, but as far as my having notions…lots of hot, perverted, and very detailed notions of you naked, sweaty, and writhing underneath me; oh, there will absolutely be plenty of those,” he winks.

I know I shouldn’t ask, but I can’t help myself.  “Just how many
notions
have you acted on over the years?”

The playful light in Jensen’s eyes darkens.  His jaw tightens and he looks away.

“That many?” I whisper, damning my need to know.

“I didn’t handle you being gone very well.”  He slides his hands down my arms, letting out a long breath.  “I’m not going to lie to you.  There were a lot of women.  I’m a guy,” he shrugs his shoulders as he rakes a hand through his tousled hair, “when our hearts get broken we tend to try to heal them with our dicks.”

“Did it work?” I ask, holding my breath, dreading his answer.

He places his finger underneath my chin, tilting it as the seriousness in his eyes bores into mine, “Not even a little.”

The breath I was holding comes out in a shallow puff.  Relief tugs at my heart.  The thought of him with another woman, her hands touching him or her lips kissing him, kills me.  Hearing they meant nothing to him makes me feel better, and I feel a little shitty that I feel like that when it probably meant a lot to them.  It had to mean something to them because there’s no way Jensen can touch you and it not mean everything. 

That same look Jensen had outside the bar darkens his entire face for a few seconds before he falls back on the bed.  I watch him watch me.  He’s waiting for me to make the next move.  The air is still thick, charged with a strong need-filled tension, but there’s still something he’s not saying…or asking.  It doesn’t take a psychic to know he’s wondering how many men I’ve let have me.  I should put him at ease, but I can’t bring myself to tell him the one I did give myself to threw me away.  It sounds too pathetic, and I need him to see the stronger side of me right now. 

“I’m alright, Jensen,” I assure him, “but can you just hold me tonight?”

He holds his hand out for me to take, “I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”

I place my hand in his, smiling when he pulls me against his chest.  My body aches from the explosion but mostly from needing to feel more of Jensen’s touch.  I’ll have to deal with both aches for now. 

His hand runs softly down my hair, his fingers sliding different strands between them, as I listen to the calming beat of his heart.  His breath warms my forehead and I allow his warmth and comfort to drift me to sleep.

The sound of the shower turning on stirs me from a heavy slumber.  I blink against the bright sunshine pouring in between the slit in the curtain, spilling across the bed.  A smile spreads across my lips at how I didn’t dream anything last night, just slept better than I have in as long as I can remember.  That smile fades when I remember the calamity of twenty-four hours earlier.  The only peace I have about what happened is how I at least got Bailey and Kim away.  Guilt begins its poisonous venom and I try to shake it.  There’s nothing else we could have done.  Even if we called the police earlier, there was nothing in that apartment to indicate who lived there, much less that a bomber lived there. 

The shower stops, and I gingerly stretch.  A yawn escapes as I sit up in bed, but all drowsiness vacates my body when Jensen steps out of the bathroom wrapped in nothing but a thin towel.  Water drips from his sexily disheveled blonde locks and runs down the muscles of his sculpted back.  I watch as they leave a wet trail, disappearing into the white cotton.  My throat goes dry as my gaze shifts over a firm backside and strong thighs, down to tan bare feet.  My tongue itches to follow the path of drips running between the sinew ripples.  He turns and I see the same hard chest and abs that I remember but they’re even more defined and partially covered with more ink.  I’ve never been the type of girl to drool over tats, but holy-freaking-crap they look amazing on him. 

“Still think I sold out to the bad boy cliché?” he asks, the corners of his mouth tilting. 

“Not everyone with ink is a bad boy.”  I meet his gaze, holding it, “You’re not.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” he asks, stepping closer to me.

“Depends on who you ask,” I reply, my breathing becoming thinner with his every step.

“What about for you?” he teases, a wicked glint shining in his eyes.  He can see how turned on I am right now, and he’s loving it.

“In theory, bad boys can be great, but, in reality, you know what kind of guy I want.”

“And you think I’m that guy?” he asks, all playfulness gone.  His green eyes are serious and unwavering as they hold me prisoner. 

“You were him once, but, now - ” my voice trails, and he stops moving.

His jaw clenches and he nods sadly, “But now what?”

“Now, you’re going to have to be him and the guy who proves what I first thought about love still exists and what I’ve learned over the past few years is just bullshit.”

A smile curves his lips and he lets out a low chuckle, “So, I’m going to have to be the guy who proves that not all men are fucking bastards, even though I proved that to you on the playground years ago?”

“You weren’t a man, then,” I reply, my breaths become harder to take when he places his hands on my arms and he looks down at me, his eyes blazing the truth.

“You look scared, Saige,” he whispers.  “Is it because you’re scared I’m not that guy anymore or because you know I am?”

He doesn’t wait on a response, which is good because I can’t manage to make my mouth move right now. 

“I can be him.  I’d fight like hell to be him for you, Saige.” His hand presses against my cheek and I lean my face against the warmth of his touch.  “Do you want me to be him?” Jensen asks, his voice barely audible.

Looking up, I see the answer he wants me to give shining so damn bright.  My head spins, and my heart is fluttering like a thousand jacked-up butterflies.  I open my mouth, but a loud rap at the door stops me from answering. 

“Get your asses up in there,” Andy calls through the door.  “I’m in serious need of coffee and protein after my vigorous workout last night.”

Jensen lets out a loud groan and places his forehead against mine.  “If you want to take a shower, I’ll go on a breakfast run and be back in a few.”

“Only if you take loud mouth with you,” I laugh.  “I will have to kill him if you don’t.”

“That makes it tempting to leave him here.”  Jensen brushes a kiss against the corner of my eye before he grabs the keys to the van. 

I watch as he leaves and lean against the door when it shuts.  Hell, yes, I want him to be that guy.  I need Jensen to be him again.  It’s not his job to make me feel whole, but he did.  I don’t anymore, and I know it’s because he was gone.  He’s not responsible to piece together what’s broken or fill what’s missing.  I was okay without him; I survived and was making something out of myself, but I don’t want to simply survive anymore.  I want to feel the best part of life and I can’t do that without Jensen…not when he is that part.  At least I hope he’s still that part.

My body rebels against the two hour drive to June Lake, and I try to distract myself from the aches by looking outside at the beautiful scenery.  When the van finally rolls to a stop, I jump outside and stretch my protesting muscles. 

“You okay?” Jensen asks, studying me again. 

“I’m good,” I assure him before turning to look at the small cabin nestled at the edge of a rocky cliff.  The view is nothing short of awe-inspiring.  I could get lost here playing my violin and listening to the echoes of the music bouncing off the walls of the cliff into the valley below. 
Where the hell did that thought come from?
  I’m shocked to feel a desire to play; I haven’t felt it in so long. 

A stunning redhead opens the door and rushes outside to meet Andy, pulling me from my newly revitalized eagerness to have my violin in my hands. 

Andy picks her up and swings her around. 

I catch myself hoping Jensen doesn’t do the same.  Dang, I hate the petty feeling of jealousy.  The redhead’s greeting to Jensen is much more subdued, only giving a quick hug, and I can’t help but smile. 

“This is Amira,” Jensen states, grabbing my hand and pulling me closer, “and this is Saige.”

I throw up my hand and smile politely. 

She returns the gesture, her hazel eyes darting between Jensen and me before lingering on me for a bit too long.  An undercurrent of her own jealousy zaps me along with a hefty dose of curiosity.  She needs to be careful with that last one. 

“Come inside.  I have a hot lunch ready with plenty of cold beer.”

“You always did know the way to my heart,” Andy teases. 

I hesitate, getting a feeling of uneasiness about this place, although Andy feels nearly giddy. 

“C’mon, Saige,” I know you have to be starving.  “I’ve barely seen you eat anything.”

Pushing away the unsettling emotions, I force a smile and follow Jensen.  My jaw drops when I see the inside of the cabin decorated in white, ethereal curtains framing the windows, white candles lining several full bookshelves and the counters, a crystal ball majestically sitting as the dining table’s center piece, and tarot cards sitting on a side table.  Even the furniture is positioned in a very feng shui manner.  The only thing missing is a Ouija board.  My belief in her so-called abilities is dwindling by the second.  My hope to find the bomber is evaporating just as fast. 

The tangy, delicious smell of homemade chili makes my stomach growl, and my mouth waters at the aroma wafting from the pot on the stove.  When she pulls jalapeno cornbread from the oven, I seriously rethink my earlier uneasiness.  Lunch is just as amazing as it smells, and we all sit around our empty bowls as Amira takes the bomber’s bag.  I glance around her cabin again, taking a slow sip of my beer. 

Amira catches me gazing warily at the tarot cards.  “Those are just my way to make a living.  That and reading palms.”

A palm can’t tell anyone anything about someone’s life.  It’s scams like that crap that gives real physics a bad rap, but I keep my mouth shut, not wanting to offend a friend of Jensen and Andy.  “You can see someone’s past by touching something they have?” I ask, more than a little curious about what Andy did and what they state Amira can do.