Everly
The next weekmoves along as if the asshole-level assumptions I made and verbalized at the bar on Saturday night never happened. And I try hard to pretend like Jack’s rebuttal didn’t affect me the way that it has. I find moments to breathe when I’m with my family or working in my studio, but those are fleeting, as usual. I cling to my routines. I’m up early working out with Michael, then the workday starts at 8 a.m. and ends somewhere near 7 p.m. The guys and I make dinner or grab a bite out on the way home. It’s our normal, well, except for one glaringly obvious six-foot-three difference. Mr. Blue Eyes and slap-yourself-senseless sexy dimples. Jack Deacon is everywhere. And he’s dug his way into my thoughts.
The first couple of days he was in town, I only ran into him at the office, as he was paraded around by Law, taking pictures of our new building and turning our extra conference room into his studio. Our interaction was surface level, even a bit cold, but my body didn’t get that message, because any time I was within a few feet of him, my face flushed with heat. It routed a course down my back and over my arms, behind my knees, and right to my core. I never thought I would be one of those women that would have a physical reaction like that to a man. You read about it, but I just assumed it was an exaggerated thing to say. It’s not. I’ve been wearing panty liners because I can’t keep changing underwear after I see his stupidly handsome face.
I’ll see him at the gym when I'm working out with Michael, at the office again before my first meeting of the day, then at the house when I get home. He’s either talking with Law about the latest way to ferment a beer or why LeBron is one of the greats. With Henry, they talk about NFL and MLB trades or the latest UFC fight. Needless to say, my space has been sufficiently invaded. My studio, my office, my home, and when I close my eyes at night, I find myself thinking about him.
By Wednesday, he was joining us for dinner, and by Friday, he found his way into my brother's inside jokes, which, to be honest, is impressive and annoying all at once. I’ve managed to find time inside my studio without running into him. There’s something about finding him in my space that pisses me off more than anything. The way he so easily starts a conversation and flirts, even though he’s made it quite clear he’s not interested. I would have thought that overhearing the judgmental words I shared with G at the bar that night would have made him mad or had him ignoring me altogether, but I’m finding that he goes out of his way to drop comments. He’s friend-zoned me and I’m entirely pissed off about it.
When was the last time a man seeped into every part of my life?Never. I’ve never allowed it. I’ve always been focused on my career, my family, and just living my life at my own pace. Everything that I have, I’ve worked and planned for, which is why I thought finding someone exceptional in a partner would use that same formula. Then I have this big change in plans by the coaxing of my best friend to stop being so rigid and just fall into bed with men. See what I like. See if a spark would outplay the need for certain things I always look for in men. And as soon as Jack shows up, I’m flailing. I’m attracted to him. What woman wouldn’t be? But before I can even wrap my head around that feeling, he takes it off the table. And now I’m feeling all the feelings that I try to avoid. But mostly, the biggest one is wanting something I can’t have. Or maybe,shouldn’thave anyway.
I watched him speak with a few of the marketing managers about their point of view on our brand. He did the listening and minimal talking, which for many, is a feat in and of itself, to listen instead of talk. That was yesterday, and by the end of the workday, I saw him leaving with those same team members, likely grabbing dinner and drinks. When he’s not trying to be intimidating, I notice that he’s actually very thoughtful. It’s not a trait you typically see in a man that looks like him or has the kind of reputation that he does, being aggressive, artistic, and a complete gentleman.With a dirty mouth.And not easy to categorize. I squeeze my eyes shut to focus back on the tasks ahead of me and away from the sexiest man currently residing in Strutt’s Peak.
And in an effort to punish me, like the universe knew I was thinking about the mechanics of his dimples and the way his hands flex the cords of his forearms, the door to my studio slides open. I jump up like I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t be, and in the same movement, I knock over my entire water bottle onto my drafting table.
“Shit! Fuck.”
Water drenches my samples for the new lounge sets that just came back from the manufacturer.
“I got it, here, here.” Jack is immediately at my side, leaning over, throwing down a towel to sop up the water. The side of his body is leaning against mine, working to clean up the mess I just made, and I’m instantly stupid at the fact that he’s touching me, making my arms break out in goosebumps.
“Thank you. I can’t believe I did that.” I laugh at myself, both for the clumsiness of it and at our sudden closeness. I’m distracted before I realize what we’re hovering over.
“I’m sorry I scared you.” He looks down at the pile of drawings and materials. “What are all of these?” He picks up a handful of papers that are still dry. I try to yank them out of his hand, but he’s too quick and pulls back before I can swipe them.
“Nope, nope. Don’t touch. These are, well, these are just some things I had to review. Please give them back to me.”
He smiles, realizing he has the upper hand right now, but he surprises me and holds the papers out to pass them back to me. My relief is short-lived because in exchange for the sketches, he snags my iPad that sits on the charging stand. “You’ve officially piqued my interest. What are you working on?”
When I don’t answer, he looks up. “Miss Riggs, I thought you were the head honcho at the office, not a designer.” His smile grows even bigger, and I can’t help but smile back at him. The way this man smiles, it’s impossible not to mirror it.
“Please,” I say dismissively. “I am the head honcho, you’re not wrong. But, please just put it down, and forget it. It’s a hobby, something personal, just for me.” I sit back on my stool as he walks over to the kitchenette and grabs a bottle of water out of the refrigerator. He’s ignoring me and I don’t like it. I resent the fact that I even care. “This isn’t any of your business, and I’d appreciate it if you stay away from everything over here on this side of the room.”
I watch him swipe the screen as he looks through the accessories that Michael has been demanding and the menswear for next year's winter season. I shift my weight, anxiously waiting for him to put the iPad down and comment on what he’s looking over. I don’t know why all of a sudden his opinion matters.
Less than a minute later, after he’s worked his way through more than a dozen swipes both left and right, he says, “I didn’t see anything, but I’ll be honest, if I’d known I’d get such a rise out of you on this stuff, I would have peeked a while ago.” He winks at me, and I fight back smiling at him again. Instead, I take a grounding breath.
Charming isn’t the right word for him, even though there are traces of that. It’s more dangerous. A man that can manipulate my thoughts and my body’s response just from a facial expression or provocative words. “I got you, Everly. It's not my business. Plus, I’ve signed an NDA, which has my lips zipped on all aspects of your business.” He hands me the iPad and walks past me and toward the back of the room, an area that until now was completely off limits to him.
The oversized windows that run the full length of the back of the pool house show off an incredible view, a live portrait of the northern ridge. At this time of day, just after daybreak, the colors are still lingering before the sky decides to be blue or overcast. “The view back here is the most unexpected and beautiful thing I’ve seen since coming here.”
I step closer to where he’s looking and fold my arms. “It’s one of the reasons I wanted this place. There are so many beautiful views in this town, but there was something special about claiming this as mine. You should ask Michael to take you to his favorite spot in Strutt’s. Italmostoutdoes this view.”
“What if I ask you to show me your favorite spot in Strutt’s?” He gives me a side glance and holds it for a bit too long. Long enough so that I feel myself swaying closer to him, as if my body needs to touch his again.
His directness makes me think he’s teasing me instead of asking for real. I’m not ready for a slap of rejection from him, especially after he was so clear about his lack of interest during our last interaction. “You wouldn’t ask me that, remember? You’re not interested.” I finish with a smirk, claiming myself the winner of this round.
He looks down at his hands and hums a small laugh. I feel like I’ve missed something. Then, he walks away, and I watch as he grabs some clothes off the bed and his small toiletry bag.
My mind is reeling, searching for a response, because I realize I want to hear what he has to say about what he saw earlier. I’m realizing that I like being around him. But before I can come up with anything that doesn’t sound pathetic, he pauses at the door.
“Everly?” he says. Turning his attention toward me, he looks over his shoulder. My eyes meet his, and his tongue kicks out to lick his bottom lip. “The view I mentioned? I wasn’t talking about the ridge.”
Before anything he just said registers, he opens the door and leaves. It takes me a minute to really digest what he was telling me. Did he just suggest that I was the most beautiful thing he’s seen?What the fuck happened to him not being interested?!