Nothing Feels Better (Better Love 3)

I don’t take offense to his surprise. Fuck, I’m surprised even. How I went from hooking up every weekend to this, I don’t even know. I blame V for ditching me for this ginger douche. I tell him as much and he tells me to eat a dick. I laugh so hard my side hurts.

“Why you asking me?” he questions after I’ve caught my breath. “You know the girls would be all over this shit.”

“That’s exactly why I’m not asking them,” I say pointedly, and he nods in agreement. He gets quiet for a minute, probably mulling it all over in his ginger head, before hitting me with a thoughtful look.

“This for the mom?” I shrug and he asks, “How well do you know her?”

“Not as well as I’d like to know her, ya know?”

I don’t tell him that she makes me feel something I haven’t felt in a long time. Like I’m interesting. Like I’m worth knowing for more than a night. Worth more than a fuck and some laughs.

He hums to himself. Runs his fingers through his hair. Chews his lip. I’m two seconds away from shaking him and telling him to spit it the fuck out when he finally opens his mouth.

“Well, you gotta remember that the only person I’ve ever actually planned a date for is Ives, and she’s—"

“The love of your life and you want to fill her with jizz so she’ll have all your babies,” I cut him off, and he laughs out loud, but doesn’t even bother trying to deny it. He’s whipped and he loves it.

“Well, for me and Ives, our first date was great because it was thoughtful. It was built off our shared history, yeah? So, I guess, consider what you know about the mom, and what you want to accomplish with the date, and then...” He shrugs.

Like that’s it.

Like, shrug, that’s how you do it.

Wtf. Maybe I should have asked the girls. Ivy would have given me a pros and cons list, a flow chart, and itemized directions. Bailey would have given me hell at first, but she’d have probably given me a list of what not to do. Much better than some vague statements and a slouchy, one-shouldered shrug.

I open my mouth to push. To beg for something a little more instructive. Direct. I start to protest, but then I’m hit with one of those lightbulb moments.

Consider what I know about her, huh?

I’ve got an idea.

* * *

The next Saturday morning,I knock on Jocelyn’s door. I’ve been by Harvest View a few times to visit Rox, but every time I’d just missed Jocelyn’s shift. Apparently, her schedule isn’t consistent because she has to be able to work around her class requirements for her nursing program and the ex’s schedule for visitation with the kids.

Or so Roxanne said.

It’s not like I asked or anything.

I push my hand into my pocket, brushing my fingers over the cool metal inside, and sway back and forth while I wait for the door to open. I’m debating between knocking a second time or walking away when the door swings open and my breath leaves my body in a woosh.

“Jesse?” Jocelyn greets, questioningly. “What’s up?”

It takes me a few seconds, and a few swallows, before I can respond because, good God, this woman is gorgeous. In joggers and a tight tank top, her body calls to me like a siren. Her face is clear of makeup, her hair is wet like she just got out of the shower, and she smells like flowers. Like a field full of fucking flowers, and I want to roll around in it.

I clear my throat and give her a smile.

“Just thought I would come by and see if you needed my services today,” I say suggestively, and the color that flushes on her cheeks fills me with pride.

“Oh, uh, the kids are with Patrick,” she says softly. “He took them this weekend since he, uh, couldn’tlast weekend.”

More like wouldn’t. I don’t trust that fuck.

“Do you have clinicals today?” I ask, and she shakes her head no. “Work?” She shakes her head no again. “You got any plans at all?” Her lips twitch into a small, shy smile, and she shakes her head no a third time.

“My friends are all out of town,” I say honestly. Ivy and Kelley went back to their hometown for the weekend to visit their families, and the baseball team is playing in Ohio this weekend, so Bailey went along to be a supportive girlfriend, even though she hates sports and Ohio. “Let’s hang out.”

“Hang out...” she repeats, bemused. “You and me?”

I chuckle. “Yeah, me and you. I made you something.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. You wanna let me in so I can give it to you?” I hold her gaze, bolstered by the spark of something that I see in those glittering green irises. I like that I unsettle her. I like that she likes it.

“Sure,” she says quietly, then steps back to let me in the house. “Just go have a seat in the living room. I’ll be right back.”

I make my way into the living room and sit on the couch while Jocelyn heads upstairs. I pick up a matchbox car that’s sitting on the coffee table and drive it over my knees. It’s purple, and I know it’s one of Jude’s favorites. He probably didn’t bring it to the ex’s house because it’s purple. Fuck that guy. What kind of person tells their kid they can’t get a cast in their favorite color after breaking his fucking arm? I don’t like it. I widen my legs and jump the car between them, reenacting a scene from the Fast and Furious franchise.

A few minutes later, I drop the matchbox car as Joss comes back in the living room with her hair pulled up in a bun and a Bears sweatshirt covering her top half. I want to frown at the oversized mess of fugly cotton now hiding the swell of her breasts and hips from me, but I don’t. Instead, I smile and hit send on the message I’d composed on my phone. Seconds later, a ping sounds from somewhere in the kitchen. I wave my phone at her and gesture toward the noise.

“Go check that,” I tell her. She squints at me and screws up her lips, amused and curious, then goes to fetch her phone.