Separation Anxiety Read online

“Are you really doing okay?” he asked after Tami dropped off our drinks, staying a little longer than necessary and dipping her breasts a little closer to Jesse than I would have preferred.

  I shook my head. I don’t know why, but suddenly I wanted to tell someone. I wanted to confess the shit I’d been going through on my own for the last year. And those pricks hit the backs of my eyes again, but this time, gulping down my drink didn’t stop them.

  “No. I’m not.”

  “What’s going on?” he asked, somehow scooting his chair closer to me and wrapping his arm around my shoulder. I allowed him to comfort me as I cried into him for a moment, loving the way his arm felt around me, strong and warm and caring. It had been well over a year since I felt like a man cared about me.

  “I’m getting a divorce,” I said. It was the first time I had ever said it out loud to another person.

  I heard him take in a sharp breath. My mind was foggy from all of the vodka, but his chest rose quickly, and then he backed up a bit and looked at me. His thumb brushed against my cheek.

  “What happened?” he asked, that beautiful hand of his running back through those gorgeous wisps of hair. The more I drank, the more I found myself staring at that dark hair, wondering what it would feel like between my own fingers.

  “A lot,” I said, smiling sadly through the tears that wouldn’t stop now. “We sort of grew apart right after we got married, and things have been going straight downhill ever since.”

  “Is there someone else?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “No, nothing like that. We’ve both been faithful, but he has hurt me more times that I can count, and I can’t forgive him for it anymore.”

  His eyes darkened. “Has he…” he trailed off, but I knew where he was going.

  “No,” I said immediately, and I saw a flash of relief in Jesse’s eyes. “He’s never hurt me physically. We’re just… different people than we were when we got married. We’ve grown apart, and there’s no salvaging it.”

  “Irreconcilable differences?” he asked, and I nodded ruefully, picking my drink back up and playing with the straw.

  “I always thought that was such a copout, but now that it’s me, it’s actually pretty accurate.”

  “I’m sorry, V,” he said. His eyes were dark and sincere.

  “Thanks, Jesse.”

  “How long have you known?” he asked, taking a sip of his beer as we both settled back into our chairs. Jesse crossed one leg over the other, one ankle resting on his other knee as he leaned back and drank his beer.

  The view wasn’t too shabby.

  “That I’m getting divorced?” I asked, the words still feeling strange falling out of my mouth.

  “That there were differences that couldn’t be reconciled.”

  “A year. Maybe more.”

  “What happened a year ago that made you realize that?”

  “There isn’t one big thing, but what it comes down to is that I think we just fell out of love. Or maybe we never had that love in the first place; I don’t know. I know I don’t miss him when we’re apart, and I don’t think he misses me, either,” I said, realizing that I was rambling. I took another sip of my drink, and then I continued. “He’s become unrecognizable to me. He isn’t the Richard I fell in love with anymore. He runs around with a new group of friends and they’re all assholes, and he’s become one, too.

  “Have you talked to anyone about it?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “We tried couples counseling, but it didn’t work. We tried a lot of different things, but you’re the first person I have ever told.”

  He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You haven’t talked to anybody about this?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why not?”

  I shrugged. “Talking about it makes it real. We’re just separated right now.”

  “Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked.

  I nodded slowly. “Yes. I am positive. I’ve been living in limbo for a year, and it’s time to take the next step. I can’t keep living like this anymore. We haven’t officially filed for divorce, but I’m planning to fill out the papers this weekend and get everything filed early next week.”

  “Do you need some help?” he asked.

  “Yeah. You could print the papers for me so all I have to do is fill them out,” I said sarcastically, thinking about how all it would take for me to print the papers was to actually go to the website and locate them. It couldn’t be hard, but it was just one of those steps that seemed harder to take than it actually would be.

  He chuckled, and then both of our drinks were suddenly empty.

  “You want another?” he asked, nodding toward my glass.

  I shook my head. “I shouldn’t.”

  We sat in comfortable silence for a moment. “You ready to head home?” he asked.

  I nodded reluctantly. I didn’t want to go home. Richard would be there, and I didn’t want to be reminded of the difficult tasks I had lying ahead of me. While we’d both known for awhile that it was over, actually ending it with that final cut of ties wasn’t going to be easy. Ending a relationship was never easy, but ending a marriage was completely different than dumping a boyfriend. No matter who you were, it cut and it hurt.

  We paid our bills and headed out to Jesse’s truck. He drove one of those enormous Ford F fifty somethings, and something about that truck screamed sexy sensuality, just like the man who drove it. He opened the passenger door for me, and I stepped onto the running board and pulled myself up into the front passenger seat. He shut the door behind me, and as he walked to the driver’s side, I don’t know why, but suddenly I burst into tears.

  He gracefully jumped up into the driver’s seat and gazed over at me, and then he reached across the armrest and put his arm around my shoulders again.

  “I’m sorry,” I managed out through my tears.

  Were those his lips brushing against my temple? Surely I imagined that, but his intimate comfort only made me cry harder.

  “Don’t cry, V. I’ve got you,” he cooed, his soothing voice helping me to feel better as he rubbed my back. I didn’t want to go home. It didn’t feel like home anymore. It felt like a prison where I was confined to one side of the house while my soon-to-be-ex was confined to the other. We did everything we could not to cross paths, and going home meant having to face the inevitable awkward tension.

  I couldn’t believe I was crying, for the second time that night, in front of Jesse Drake. I wasn’t sure if it was because of the vodka or because of the confession I’d unleashed on him, but it felt cathartic to cry and even more cathartic to have someone like Jesse providing the comfort through my tears.

  “I’ll be right back, okay?” he said, and I nodded. My eyes followed him as my tears started to dry, and I saw him walk back into the bar. I watched as he looked around for a moment, and then I saw Tami walk up to him and put her arms around his neck. He backed up a little and said something to her. She looked angry, and then he turned and left. I averted my eyes so he wouldn’t know I had watched the whole encounter, curiosity burning in my mind about what he’d just said to her.

  He got back into the car and quietly started the engine, turning down the radio so low that I could barely hear it. He started driving toward my place. I was curious how he knew where I lived, but he never asked. As we approached my neighborhood, I gathered my purse from the floor and took a deep breath, steeling myself for what was awaiting me.

  But we drove right past my neighborhood. “I live back there,” I said, pointing my thumb behind us.

  “Well I live up here,” he countered.

  What?

  “What?” I put voice to the question in my head.

  “I’m not taking you to your house. You need someone to talk to, and you obviously need a night away from your almost ex. I’ve got extra space, and you might be aware that I have a degree in counseling, so I’m taking you home with me.”

  My heart pounded, and then I felt a deep, ac
hing throb start to form between my legs.

  He was taking me home?

  He was taking me home!

  Holy shit!

  I was going to Jesse’s house.

  I was going to sleep in Jesse Drake’s bed.

  Well, technically a guest bed that belonged to Jesse Drake.

  Same difference.

  “It’s okay, Jesse. You can take me to my house.” My argument was weak, but I knew I had to put one up anyway.

  “Forget about it. You’re coming with me.”

  We continued about five more miles in comfortable silence. He hummed softly with the radio, the throaty rasp of his deep timber awakening feelings that had been long dormant inside of me, and then we pulled into his driveway. His home was a beautiful and modest ranch. I could tell from the outside that he was meticulous and neat, but, then, I could tell that from his desk at work, too. His yard didn’t boast a single weed, and his trees and bushes were trimmed skillfully. He pulled into a garage lined neatly with bookcases and shelves that had boxes and tools stacked in a precise order. Two mountain bikes hung from hooks screwed into the ceiling. A workbench lined one side of the garage, and I spotted wood on it that looked like some sort of work in progress.

  He cut the engine and we both opened our doors to get out. I hopped down and pushed my door closed, and then I swung my purse over my shoulder.

  “What’s that?” I pointed to the workbench on my way by, taking it all in.

  “Eventually it’ll be an end table for my mom,” he said, and if I’m not mistaken, I thought I saw a sweet pink shade stain his cheeks.

  “You build tables?” I asked stupidly.

  He shrugged. “I build furniture,” he said. “I’m good with wood.”

  I giggled at his innuendo, and he grinned.

  “I only work on this stuff when I have spare time, which, as you know, isn’t much,” he said.

  “All the girls you’re entertaining?” I teased.

  The sweet pink in his cheeks deepened just a touch, and I saw him run his hand through his hair. I wondered how many times a day he did that, because I noticed him doing it a lot. It was a sexy little habit. “I just meant because of my job that keeps me busy, but I suppose my reputation precedes me.”

  “Oh,” I said, feeling stupid for blurting that out and knowing I’d have censored myself a little better if I hadn’t had all that vodka. Fucking vodka.

  I took a closer look at the piece of wood on the workbench. It had some intricate carving in what would become the top of the table once he put it together. I ran my fingertips across it, impressed with his woodworking abilities that I had known nothing about. I enjoyed peeling back a layer to the mystery that was Jesse Drake. “This is gorgeous,” I breathed.

  He ignored my compliment. “Let’s head in,” he said, guiding me with his hand on the small of my back. It was another intimate exchange between us that was easily played off by friendship, but it didn’t stop me from wanting something more to happen. We entered through a mudroom that was neat and tidy and into a hallway that led to the kitchen.

  My breath left me in a whoosh as I took in his perfect kitchen. It looked like one of those kitchens you saw in a magazine or on the Food Network.

  I loved to cook. I loved to experiment and play with food or try new recipes, but the kitchen I shared with Richard didn’t have much room for experimentation.

  This kitchen, however, was a dream.

  He had black marble countertops and white cabinets. A huge, oversized island graced the center of the room with a porcelain sink sunken into the counter. The kitchen opened to a great room, and the dark gray sectional couch pointed at a huge flat screen television was the perfect complement to the black and white kitchen. The entire room was filled with a neutral travertine tile.

  He had one of those double sub zero refrigerators built right into the wall, the outside of the fridge matching the cabinets. The gas range was also oversized and a stainless steel hood hovered above it. All of the appliances in his kitchen matched the hood.

  I imagined the listing for the house when he bought it, and I was certain that it said, “A chef’s dream.”

  “Like it?” he grinned.

  “Huh?”

  “You just moaned and closed your eyes when you looked at my kitchen,” he said, and I swore I saw him discreetly adjust himself.

  “It’s amazing, Jesse,” I smiled. “I moaned? I just love to cook and I’ve never seen a kitchen quite like this one.”

  “I also love to cook,” he said. Yet another layer peeled away. So not only was he gorgeous, but he worked with kids, he was good with wood, and he liked to cook. Why was this man still single? “That’s why I designed the kitchen this way.”

  “You designed this?” I asked, surprised.

  He nodded. “I saw something like it in a magazine once. Ready for the tour?” he asked, and I nodded. The kitchen that opened into the family room was not his home’s only extravagance. He had an office that was filled with memorabilia, two guest bedrooms, each with their own full bathroom, a dining room, a living room up at the front of his house with what looked like a pretty kickass pool table, and the master suite.

  When he led me into his bedroom, I couldn’t tear my eyes from his bed. Even the plush carpet that my shoes literally sank into didn’t distract my attention from that bed. It was unlike anything I had ever seen.

  The bed frame was all gorgeous intricately carved wood, and I knew immediately that he had built it without him even having to tell me. The bed looked larger than a king, and it was covered in a gray comforter that looked soft and inviting. The pillows stacked by the headboard looked like those perfect feather pillows you only ever find at the nicest hotels. I had the sudden urge to throw the man next to me down on the bed, but I restrained myself. Unfortunately, nothing seemed appropriate about me jumping him while I was still married and he’d simply invited me over to lend a friendly ear.

  I walked toward the bed and ran my fingertips along the wood of the headboard that was connected to a matching wooden frame and footboard. It was beautiful, simple elegance with its intricate arabesque design.

  I heard his sharp intake of breath as we both stared at the bed, and his breathing then became labored. “Is this where the magic happens?” I teased, and he glanced over at me, brow furrowed.

  “What, exactly, do you think I do in my spare time?” he asked. I couldn’t put my finger on his tone, but he didn’t seem pleased that I thought he was a player.

  The vodka did the answering for me. “I’ve just heard that you like the ladies.”

  “I do like the ladies,” he said. “But I don’t bring them here.”

  What?

  “What?” I voiced that same damn question in my head as earlier. This man was certainly full of surprises.

  “My home is mine. I don’t bring women here.”

  I gazed at that bed that looked like absolute heaven. “So you’re saying it’s never happened in here?”

  He looked at the bed, too. “You’re the first woman aside from my mother who has ever even seen my bed.”

  I looked at him with wide eyes. “Seriously?”

  His eyes moved slowly from the bed to meet mine. “Seriously.”

  Well.

  I swallowed loudly.

  “Why?” I squeaked.

  “Why what?”

  “Why hasn’t a woman seen this before?”

  “I told you. I don’t bring women here. I’m not saying that I haven’t had my fun, but I go where the fun is. You feel me?”

  Oh, I certainly wanted to feel him.

  I nodded.

  He broke the awkwardness by walking toward the bathroom. Again, I swore I saw him readjust himself in his pants, and he shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other.

  “Here’s the master bathroom,” he said, and I followed him into another impressive room. This one had countertops that matched the travertine on the floor, a snail shower, and a huge soaker tub that I cou
ld spend days in.

  The tour ended in one of the guest rooms, the one closest to the master bedroom. “This will be your room tonight,” he said. The queen bed looked comfortable, and I saw more wooden furniture in this room. It wasn’t much of a stretch to assume he’d created all of the pieces himself. He really was talented.

  “Perfect,” I said. “Thank you.”

  “Let’s hang on the couch for awhile. Let me just change out of my Central shirt. What do you want to sleep in?” he asked, gesturing to my clothes, and I suddenly remembered that this hadn’t been a planned sleepover and all I had with me was my purse and the clothes on my back.

  I shivered, and I wasn’t sure if it was because I was cold or if it was because I was standing in Jesse Drake’s house.

  “Pajama pants are fine, and a t-shirt. Long-sleeved if you’ve got one.”

  “Coming right up,” he said with a smile.

  We walked together to the kitchen, and I waited there while he went and grabbed my requested clothes for me.

  He came back a moment later, still in his jeans and school polo shirt, and handed me the clothes. “Thanks,” I said.

  “Go change and I’ll meet you back here.”

  I followed his directions, and I took my time. I went into the bathroom and inspected my face. The four drinks I had consumed had left me somewhat flushed, but, then again, it could have just been because I was in Jesse’s house. Even though we were apparently getting ready for bed, I freshened my make-up. If I was going to spend time in Jesse’s house, he deserved for me to look my best.

  I changed into the navy blue pajama pants and the t-shirt he had given me that were both far too large for me. I breathed in as I pulled the shirt over my head, and it smelled like Jesse. I took a moment to savor his manly and piney and Christmasy scent. I was wrapped up in his scent as I wrapped my arms around myself in a giddy little hug.

  I took a deep breath and headed out to the kitchen. I found him on his couch, his feet propped up on his coffee table. I realized I’d never seen his bare feet before. I wasn’t a foot person by any stretch of the imagination, but his feet were damn near perfect. My eyes traveled up his firm, well-shaped calves to see he was dressed in black mesh basketball shorts and a white t-shirt. I paused for a moment to admire the view. He had opened another beer, and he held the bottle in the air when he spotted me. “Can I get you anything?” he asked with that saucy grin of his. I swore I saw his eyes heat when he gazed at me in his clothes, but I figured it was just me hoping.