How the Hitman Stole Christmas - Sam Mariano Page 0,84
as I had to endure it, then I would leave and never think about it again. The way Jasper makes me feel…
It doesn’t feel fleeting.
I sit in the car for a moment longer than I need to, looking at Jasper’s apartment building as if it’s the gate to hell.
It’s not a good idea to go inside with him, but I do need to get my things…
All right, I’ll go in, get my things, then turn right back around and leave. I didn’t get to tell him yet since he didn’t let me finish my sentence before, but I have every intention of checking myself into a hotel near the airport tonight. I’ll sleep alone and clear my head, and then I’ll be nearby for my flight home tomorrow.
The confidence and detachment I felt sitting in the car outside the apartment building dissipates the second we pass through the door.
This is his place.
His place.
Where he lives, where he sleeps.
Jasper walks ahead of me, checking the place to make sure it’s empty. I don’t know if he has ever had anyone inside his house before, or maybe it’s just something he does automatically when he gets back from a long trip.
“No roommate?”
Jasper shakes his head and steps into what must be his bedroom. “Nope.”
“Kinda figured. I don’t see you being a roommate guy,” I murmur, looking around at his sparsely furnished space.
“I am definitely not a roommate guy.” He pokes his head into a closet before determining the room is, in fact, empty and stepping back out of it.
The ice barrier I spent the whole day building up against him is starting to melt. Being in his apartment, looking in at the bed he sleeps in…
It fills me with longing. It reminds me that I’m hurt. It makes me imagine waking up in that bed with his strong arms wrapped around me, admiring the view of Chicago outside our bedroom window.
I could’ve been happy in Chicago.
I could’ve been happy with him.
My heart aches being here.
I need to leave.
“Where’s my bag?” I ask abruptly, hearing the urgency in my own tone.
Jasper hears it, too. He spins around and frowns at me wordlessly, then walks back toward the door and opens what I assume is a coat closet.
My luggage is inside. He pulls it out and wheels it over to me, offering me the extended handle. Gesturing down the short hall, he says, “Bathroom’s right there if you feel like showering or changing now that you have your stuff.”
I shake my head. “I’m okay.”
“I’ll bring in the Christmas stuff so we can pack it.”
I start to object, but he’s already out the door.
It’s not that I don’t want the Christmas gifts. I do, especially that warm blanket his mom bought me, but every moment I spend here is only going to make it harder to leave. My fantasies about the life we could have led are plentiful as it is; I don’t need to know what it’s actually like to spend a night with him in his home.
I want to, and that’s why I can’t.
Jasper comes back with his arms full of Christmas gifts. I take a step back and he unloads everything on the couch.
I want to get this over with, so I make quick work of grabbing and packing everything I’m supposed to take home.
Since we left Stillwater late, it’s already past eight o’clock. Seeming to realize that, Jasper asks me, “Do you want to grab something to eat? We can go out or order a pizza, whatever you want to do.”
I shake my head, not looking at him. “No, I’m actually—I have to go.”
Just hearing the tone of his voice, I can picture the frown on his heartbreakingly handsome face. “Go where?”
“I’m gonna get a hotel for the night. Someplace close to the airport.”
His displeasure heightens. “Why?”
I unzip my purse and draw out my cell phone. “I just think that would be better.”
“There’s no reason to get a hotel, Autumn. You can sleep here and I’ll give you a ride to the airport tomorrow.”
I shake my head, flashing him a polite smile over my shoulder as I pull up the app to call for a ride. “I can take care of it myself, but thank you.”
My gaze is trained back on my screen so I can pay attention to what I’m doing, but before I’m even close to securing a ride, Jasper storms over and rips the phone right out of my hand.