not, and settled on simple black eyeliner and lip gloss.
From there time seemed to speed up, and before I knew it, I was knocking on the door of Jake’s house at 5:59. On time was late. That’s what my mom had always told me.
“Come in!” I heard his deep voice call from inside, so I pushed open the door. Jake looked up at me from where he stood in the kitchen and smiled. “Hey, you.”
My stomach did somersaults. “Hey. I brought you some beer. I didn’t get the apple kind this time. I saw you kept something different in your fridge.” I was fairly certain he hadn’t liked the one I’d brought the first time I came over and had only drank it to be polite.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know. I wanted to. You’re feeding me.” For a moment, I simply took him in. His dark hair was wet, so he’d likely gotten out of the shower recently. He wore black basketball shorts, with a loose tank top that showed off his muscular arms. I couldn’t help remembering what they’d felt like around me, how warm and safe and…well, hot, it had been.
“What?” Jake asked, his brows pulled together. “You’re blushing.”
Oh. My. God. I could die. I was blushing, staring at him and thinking about what it had been like in bed with him, because I was awkward like that. “Nothing. Can I help?”
He had ground beef on the counter and was making hamburger patties. “Nope. You can put the beer in the fridge, have one or anything else you’d like, and leave the rest to me. I’m going simple, burgers and potato salad—the salad was bought. Mom has a kickass recipe, but I didn’t have time to make it.”
“That’s okay. I appreciate your inviting me over at all. You’re the one who worked all day and then came home to cook.” And go to the store. Ugh. He probably thought I was lazy.
“I wouldn’t have asked you over if I didn’t want you here,” Jake said simply, and my insides turned mushy again.
I put the beer in the fridge but didn’t take one, then pulled myself up to sit on the counter. As soon as I realized what I was doing, I said, “Oh shit. Sorry,” and jumped down.
“It’s fine. Doesn’t bother me at all. We’re simple people around here.” Jake winked, but I just leaned against the counter this time.
“How was work today?” I asked.
“Same ole, same ole.”
“Do you like it?”
“I do. Feels good to fix stuff, ya know? To take something that’s broken and repair it, especially something as important as a car. It’s how people get to work and visit loved ones and go to the doctor. Maybe that sounds silly, but—”
“No!” I cut him off. “It doesn’t sound silly at all. I get it. I mean, I know doing people’s hair and nails and makeup isn’t important at all—fixing cars is much more essential—but still, it feels like it matters too. A way to make people feel special, pretty, pampered. Sometimes that’s all people can do for themselves. They save money to get their hair or nails done. It’s how they treat themselves. That’s part of the reason I want to do it.” I shook my head, surprised I’d gone off that way. He hadn’t asked, and I wasn’t actually going to beauty school and would never be a cosmetologist. Jake, on the other hand, was doing what he loved. “Sorry.”
He frowned. “Why would you be sorry? I think that sounds great.” He tilted his head, as if thinking for a moment, then said, “I remember this one time, I was young and things were shitty at home. My dad was on some stupid tirade. He had been for days. Sometimes things were calm and he’d be cool to be around, then other times he’d be a jackass. We’d be on edge when he got home from work, waiting to see what kind of mood he was in. If he cracked open a beer, we knew it was likely downhill from there. He was a bitter drunk. He flung insults as easily as breathing, but it was when he got physical—throwing shit, manhandling my mom—that it was fucking scary.”
Jake cleared his throat, looked down at the ground beef, watching what he was doing rather than me as he spoke. “Anyway…he’d been a real asshole to my mom. She was having a hard time, and we had this neighbor who was a nail tech.