After the kiss, I thought maybe I should back out, but this was for my paper and Jude would know what was up if I said I needed to go home. “Yeah.”
He seemed surprised. “Good, let’s go. We’re running late and I didn’t have time to change into my scrubs.”
We rode in silence on the way to the nursing home—neither of us acknowledging the kiss. I knew it wouldn’t be long until Jude had to say something. He wasn’t the kind of guy to keep quite about something like that.
???
Jude didn’t bring up the kiss until we were almost back to campus so I could get my car.
“We haven’t asked any questions today,” he smiled. “You first.”
“Did you really sleep with that guy’s girlfriend?” I asked immediately. It had been bugging me. Even though Jude had denied it to the guy he could’ve been lying. The answer shouldn’t have mattered to me, but for some reason it did.
“I didn’t,” he assured me, sincerity shining in the depths of his eyes. “I don’t know why he thinks I did, but I didn’t. In fact,” he looked at me significantly, “I haven’t slept with anyone for weeks.” I blanched at his words. Was he saying that he’d given up his man-whore ways because he was spending time with me? I couldn’t even begin to process that information. Rowan had said as much but it still baffled me. “My turn,” he said, straightening in his seat. I waited for him to ask his question, but after a long moment of silence I figured he couldn’t think of anything. Finally, his voice filled the cab of the truck, and the next words he spoke echoed around my skull. “Can I kiss you again?”
Jude Brooks was asking me for permission? This was new.
“I thought you were the kind of guy who takes what he wants and doesn’t ask questions?” I replied.
“You’re right,” he grinned, and I knew I was in trouble.
As the truck came to a stop at a red light he grabbed the back of my neck and tugged my body against his, sealing his lips over mine. Every time his lips touched mine it was like he stole a piece of my soul and made it his.
This time, I didn’t pull away—or slap him like I should have—instead I let myself feel. I’d closed myself off from my emotions for so long that I’d forgotten what it felt like to have this scary, stirring of butterflies feeling in my stomach. I couldn’t believe it was Jude of all people making me feel this way, but a kiss was innocent enough, right? Well, maybe not this kiss, ‘cause it was pretty freakin’ hot.
The cars honking behind us was what finally tore us apart.
“I’m going to do that again sometime,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over my lips before pressing the gas and taking off.
I felt giddy, almost high, from the kiss. I wanted to hate it, God I really did, but I couldn’t.
I didn’t know the exact moment that Jude paved a way into my heart, all that mattered was he did, and I was never going to be the same once I gave in completely.
???
I was surprised to see my dad’s car in the driveway. While it was late, it wasn’t that late and even before Graham died he’d never been home at this time. Nowadays he rarely even bothered to come home to sleep. I didn’t know where he stayed most nights. My guess was that it wasn’t at his office. I didn’t like to think about the possibility of my dad cheating on my mom, but I wasn’t naïve enough to think he hadn’t.
I stepped inside, looki
ng around for him. I didn’t see him, though. He was probably only home to grab something before leaving once more. It was what I’d come to expect. In the last six months, I’d only seen him a handful of times. There were other times I’d known he’d been home, the evidence left sitting around in the form of mugs of coffee and packets of sugar.
My mom sat on the family room couch. I stepped into the room and kissed her forehead. “I’ll make dinner mom.”
She didn’t acknowledge my words. I didn’t expect her to. It would shock me if I ever heard her voice again. I honestly wondered why my dad had never tried to get her help. Maybe he knew it was hopeless.
In the kitchen I pulled out ingredients to make fettuccine alfredo. I loved pasta, and would live off the stuff if I weren’t afraid of clogging my arteries.
I grabbed my iPod, set it on the docking station, and let the music filter into the too quiet kitchen. I didn’t think it would ever stop bothering me that so few words were spoken in this house anymore.
I was humming along to a song, when I heard, “Tatum.”
I jumped, letting out a squeal. The spoon I’d been using to stir the sauce went flying through the air and landed on the floor, sauce splattering everywhere.
“Hi, dad,” I squeaked, taking in the tall man in front of me. He was slimmer than the last time I saw him, his light hair mostly gray now. Lines that weren’t there a few months ago turned his mouth down in a permanent frown. My dad had never been a happy man anyway.
“It’s nice to see you.” His voice was low and gravelly.
“Uh, yeah,” I tucked a piece of blonde hair behind my ear, feeling über awkward, “it’s nice to see you too?” For some reason it came out sounding like a question.