we learned that there did not appear to have been a struggle, but there was a bottle of sleeping pills left out next to the bed.
When asked, he said that “Mrs. Jacobsen seemed distraught but not to the degree that most loved ones appear to be at the scene of their spouse’s death.” There were some objections and some were sustained, others were overruled. I didn’t understand all of it.
It’s a lot to take in. He described the state of the house when he arrived, the state of the bedroom, the appearance of the victim, and the bed clothes—everything in exhausting detail.
During dinner at Chili’s with the other jurors, somebody brought up the fact that they wouldn’t be able to sleep after the day’s testimony. Juror Number 3, as if waiting for this moment her whole life, suddenly brightened up and told the entire table that she happened to have a cure for that.
“I have all kinds of remedies for anything bothering any of you, all you have to do is ask. I brought my entire case of oils with me, and I have no problem sharing.”
I kept my head down and ate my black bean burger. I wanted to roll my eyes in Sam’s direction, but he had been driven back to the hotel early, saying he was tired.
“Seriously,” said Number 3, who introduced herself as Betty. “Lavender will help you sleep. And I have all kinds of blends for anxiety, the flu, arthritis.”
I bit my tongue so hard I thought it might bleed. She might have had a point about lavender, but real illnesses need more than just essential oils.
I tuned her out eventually, reminding myself I’m going to have to get along with all of these people for the foreseeable future, so I should keep my mouth shut.
Later that night, in my room, I finished the Fuck Off cross stitch and added a tiny flower. I had tried working on my next cross stitch design, a Christmas-themed vagina, but it didn't hold my attention.
I can’t very well play a board game by myself, so I knocked on the door of the juror named Betty, one door down from me. She opened it a crack and looked me up and down. “Yes?”
“Jenga?” I asked.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Wren, I mean Juror Number 11. You know me.”
“We’re not allowed to talk to each other when our security detail isn’t watching.”
I reminded her, “We can talk to each other but just not about the c—“
But I didn’t get the chance to finish my sentence because she’d already closed the door.
Rude. Paranoid and rude.
I padded over to where the security guard was sitting at the end of the hall. “Hey, Officer Max, you wanna play Jenga?’
“I’m working. You should go back to your room.”
“Is that the rules?”
“Well, it’s not the law, but….”
“Great. So let’s play.”
“I can’t. I’m working.”
“Fine,” I sighed and tried the next door down from the rude lady.
And who in the world should answer it but the man himself. Sam.
“Jenga?” I ask.
He waits a beat. And while he does, it gives me a chance to study his face. He looks shocked, angry, surprised, and flushed.
And shirtless. Holy shit, he’s shirtless in his Wranglers and I think i might die. I knew he filled out them cowboy shirts quite nicely. His broad shoulders and defined pecs, tanned and sculpted over years of hard work, are even easier to look at than I’d imagined. Unencumbered by a shirt, his treasure trail tempts me to let my gaze drop lower, and linger below his navel.
“What’s that?”
“Huh? Oh! It’s a party game. Can I come in?”
His face blanches. “No! I mean, no, you cannot come in.”
“Oh. Well you wanna come to my room and...?”
“Heck no.”
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry, I was in the middle of a workout. I didn’t mean to be so abrupt.”
“Oh. OK. What kind of a workout?”
“Nothing. No kind of workout.”
“What?”
He pushes into the hallway. “Can I help you with something?”
“I just wanted to know if you wanted to play Jenga. I’m bored and I don’t have anyone to talk to.”
Sam’s eyes narrow. “Try reading a book. I have several that ought to put you right to sleep.”
I sigh. “I guess I just need some company.”
“Well, it ain’t polite for me to be alone with a woman in a hotel room unless she’s my wife.”
I have to put my hand over my mouth. “That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard, Sam.”
We have what appears to be a mini staring contest before he growls and