Rock My Heart (Luminescent Juliet #4) by Jean Haus Page B

boredom.
    After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I fill
and set the coffee maker. On my way to the bedroom, a knock at the door almost
has me tripping and running into the wall. Who would come to my house on a
Friday night?
    I groan, realizing who is most likely on the other
side of the door.
    Besides my weird, sudden attraction to his
looks—which was the pinnacle of superficial since he annoys me most of the
time—I’m aware he makes me feel too much, remember too much, and be like the
old me far too much.
    He pounds harder.
    I don’t want to be the old me. I need to be the now
me.
    His pounding becomes too loud to ignore.
    I march across the room and whip the door open.
    Yep. There stands Gabe in all his grunge looking glory. If it were the nineties, Gavin Rossendale of Bush would have lost a few—a ton—of female fans.
    I wish I was physic, but no, I’m being tormented. By
a hot looking jackass in loose jeans, long hair, a hoodie, and strangely a jean
jacket. Who wears those anymore?
    Before I can chastise him and his loud banging, he
asks, “Pajamas? At ten at night? On a Friday?”
    I cross my arms over my tank top and braless chest.
“I’m tired.”
    “From what?”
    “From none of your business.” I don’t want to admit
the tortuous boredom that plagued me all day. That admittance may have me
pitying myself.
    His brows rise.
    “Why are you here?”
    “It’s raining.”
    “What?” At first, as usual, I don’t put two and two
together, but of course, the list. “It rains a lot.”
    “Yeah, but it’s going to get cold soon.”
    “It’s late September. We have at least three more
possible weeks of mild weather,” I retort.
    “Don’t want to tell Jeff you did another two?”
    My jaw clenches. I hate group therapy. “Fine. Let me get a jacket or something.”
    A grin curls his full lips. “Nothing wrong with what
you’re wearing. In fact, it’s perfect for a little dancing in the rain.”
    I glare at him. White tank in the rain. Yeah, right.
    “Give me a minute.” Instead of inviting him in, I shut
the door in his face. That’s what he gets for making such comments. And for his
hot, seductive grin.
    Digging inside a dresser drawer, I tell myself to
get it together. This is just another check on the list. This is just a way to
get Jeff to give a positive report to Dr. Medina. This is just two strangers
swaying in the rain for a few minutes.
    That is all.
    Done with my inner pep talk to keep me from being an
idiot, I drag an old flannel—the only one left of the ten or more I used to
wear—out of the drawer, tug it on, and slip on a pair of flip-flops. When I
yank open the door, he’s leaning on the frame, looking out over the parking
lot. I almost run into him.
    He catches me by the waist. “Slow down. We’ll get to
the dancing soon enough.”
    “Ha, ha,” I say, moving out of his grasp. “Where
were you planning on doing this?”
    He tilts his chin, his glance speculative. “I’m
thinking the basketball court would be romantic.”
    Um, no, but that is good. “Very,” I agree, and start
moving toward the stairs.
    “Is that flannel from an ex?” he asks, following me
down the stairs.
    Ha, my ex list is rather short. “No. It’s mine.”
    “Really?”
    “Really.”
    “Like you bought it?”
    “I did.”
    “To wear?”
    “No, to practice doing laundry,” I say in the most
sarcastic tone possible then add, “Yes to wear.”
    “Like to bed?”
    “Like in an ode to grunge rock.”
    “ You’re into grunge rock? Like Nirvana and Pearl Jam shit?”
    I step off the last stair and into the dark night
full of misty rain. “Yeah, like STP and Alice in Chains and Screaming Trees, but
more like I used to be, and it’s not crap.”
    He chuckles, a light muffle trapped in the rain, as
he catches up to me on the sidewalk. “Always full of surprises aren’t you?”
    “Me surprising?” I push back damp strands of hair
already sticking to my face. “I’m supposed to be