Before I can even question it, I’m falling into step beside Jase. Being near him is increasingly throwing me off. I’m distracted watching the way his long, lean form does amazing things to a pair of jeans and a thermal tee when I realize I’ve almost stepped out into the street.
Oops.
He takes my hand in his, weaving his fingers between mine. The warm, calloused weight of his palm is new and electrifying. It sends a tingle up my arm and into my chest. I file that under Information Jase Does Not Need to Know. “Is this really necessary?” I make a point of looking down at our joined hands.
“Since you seem oblivious to oncoming traffic? Yes. Yes, it is.”
I arrange my mouth in a polite smile to avoid snapping at him. I’d underestimated the distance of one car at that last crosswalk, and suddenly he thinks I need a helmet. I roll my eyes at Jase, but keep my hand within his.
Once inside Jase’s room, he turns on some music from his laptop and plops down next to me, making the mattress dip.
The music is soft in the background, but soulful and deep. I like it. “What’s this? A study playlist?”
He shakes his head. “A playlist? Nah. It’s the Black Keys. I buy whole albums, not individual songs. I’m not afraid of commitment, babe.”
I smirk at his strange innuendo. “Good to know.”
We arrange various books and study implements across the bed, lying side by side on our stomachs. Studying with Jase is pointless. I can’t concentrate with him so close, but it’s much more entertaining than studying alone in my dorm.
After a few minutes, I look up to find Jase watching me. He’s abandoned his psych homework and is watching as I nibble on the end of my pen, trying to decipher my sociology assignment.
I remove the pen from my mouth. “Hi.”
“Hi.” His voice comes out too high and he clears his throat, and tries again. “Hi.” Deeper this time.
Gosh, you could cut through our sexual tension with a knife.
“I’ll be right back.” I rise from his bed, needing a moment to myself to collect my thoughts. “Is there a bathroom I can use?”
“There’s one just down the steps, second door on the left.”
“Kay.” I start for the door, and Jase stops me.
“Actually, let me come with you and scope things out. It’s probably due for a cleaning.”
“Oh, okay.” I want to tell him I’ll be fine and don’t need a chaperone, but knowing how truly disgusting this house is, he’s probably right. A dozen guys sharing a bathroom…ew…I shudder at the thought.
Jase directs me to wait in the hall while he cleans up. I hear the bottles of cleaners being sprayed and the sounds of Jase hastily shoving things into drawers. His friend Trey walks by just in time to get hit in the face with a stray T-shirt Jase tosses from the bathroom. “Get your shit out of here, man.”
Trey catches the shirt and frowns. “What the f**k are you doing?” he asks, like seeing someone clean is the strangest thing he’s ever witnessed. Heck, maybe it is given the state of this house. “The cleaning lady’s coming tomorrow,” Trey adds.
“I know,” Jase returns. “But Avery needs to use the bathroom.”
Trey chuckles to himself. “I didn’t think it was possible to be pu**y whipped when you’re not even getting any pu**y, but you just proved me wrong.”
My cheeks burn pink and I look down at my shoes, thankful Jase didn’t hear that. Jase emerges a few moments later.
“Okay, all yours,” he says.
I mumble my thanks and flee inside the bathroom.
* * *
I’m not even sure how it started, but for the past two weeks, Jase and I have been talking on the phone every night before bed. I haven’t seen him outside of our human sexuality class and the quick coffee dates we have after class, but I know I’m getting too close. Jase has continued issuing challenges and I brazenly accept. So far, they’ve been innocent – flirting with the guy at the coffee shop, sleeping naked when I admitted being undressed makes me uncomfortable, things like that.
Jase stirs up feelings I can’t process. He gives me courage and strength I haven’t felt in the longest time. It’s like I can handle anything – take on the world – or maybe just deal with the stuff in my own small world, but either way, I like it.
But tonight, as I lie in bed all snuggled up, listening to Jase’s deep voice coming through the phone, I suddenly tense. He’s asked me to do something I don’t know if I can. He’s challenged me to contact the adoption agency to get my records. I’m silent while I weigh the decision. On the one hand, it’s something I’ve thought about doing the last few years, and I like how my conversations with Jase push deeper than the surface level crap I talk about with most people. But I don’t know. Once I’ve seen what’s in those files, I can never go back to not knowing. Right now I can romanticize the idea of my birthmom – she could be a supermodel, a senator for all I know. But what if the truth isn’t as pretty? What if she’s horrible and wants nothing to do with me? Can I live with that?
“Avery? You still with me?” Jase whispers.
I swallow the lump that’s taken up residence in my throat. “I’m here. Just…thinking.”
He releases a sigh and waits me out. A moment later, my voice leaves my body, independent of my head, ranting, rambling, but I can’t stop it now. “What would I do, track her down, show up out of the blue and say, ‘Hi, did you give a baby up for adoption nineteen years ago?’ That sounds freaking terrifying. What if she’s crazy and horrible? What if she wants nothing to do with me? Maybe I’m safer not knowing.” I bite my lip, waiting for him to confirm I’m as crazy as I feel.