Undone by Leslie McAdam
Murph
By Friday evening, after a week of living with Jason, I’ve learned a few things.
First, he works hard. He often leaves before I would normally even get up and remains at the office well after regular office hours. Since I work most evenings, if I’m going to see him during the week, either he needs to stay up late or I need to make him breakfast.
So I do. That way I get to see him headed out the door, smelling scrumptious, in a trim suit that makes him look serious and sober and professional.
And edible.
I tried cooking for him the first night I had off, but he got home so late, it was cold. Still, he gave me a look of such genuine appreciation that it was worth it, even if I was disappointed.
The past couple of nights, he’s stayed up and hung out with me when I get home. I like it.
Neither one of us is getting much sleep, though. I guess that’s what the weekend’s for.
Second, the thing with Marnie may be more serious than I thought. Because it seems like every time his phone’s on a surface, it lights up with a text. They must be from her, which means flirting is a no-go. I knew it would be, but part of me couldn’t help poking at him a bit just to be sure. But the boundaries are drawn. I know my place. That’s fine.
Okay, it’s really not, but what choice do I have?
I’m lounging on the couch, about to get ready for my date with London, when Jason walks in.
Goddess, he looks amazing. His nicely tailored dark gray suit hugs his biceps and curves along his behind. He’s undone his tie, and his heavy scruff darkens his jaw.
“Hi, honey!” I call. “You’re home!”
He chuckles. “Hey, Murph. Have a good day?” He shrugs out of his jacket, placing it on the back of a chair, and slides off his tie.
There’s something yummy about a guy taking off a tie. Then he unbuttons his top button and rolls up his sleeves, and all the blood rushes from my face down south. “Yes,” I squeak. Then I clear my throat. Tamp down your Jason kink, Murph. “Busy at work, and some new marketing ideas coming up that I might get to help design.”
“You designing for the wine bar?” His green eyes catch mine, and he smiles.
This is not good. Jason has a force field that catches me in its tractor beam. Maybe he’s in some other alternate reality that draws me in. I must resist his luscious face.
So I focus on my phone and nod fiercely. “Yeah. It’ll soon be fall, and that’s time for mulled wine. Hot grape juice.”
He snorts. “Is that what you call it?”
“Only when I’m disrespecting it. But it’s there for me in the morning.”
Again, he laughs, and it makes me so happy to make him happy.
He settles down in the chair opposite mine, then throws his head back in relaxation. I watch him for a second.
“Want to go to the farmers market tomorrow?” he asks.
“I don’t know. I might be out late tonight.”
“Working?”
“No. I have a date.”
Jason lowers his head to face me. “Ah. I see.”
It’s my imagination that he looks disappointed, right? It has to be. My mind’s playing tricks on me. “London. The guy who sent me the … nude art earlier this week.”
“Where are you going?” Jason asks. Then his face falls. “Sorry. That sounded like a dad or something. I just wanted to make sure …” He fidgets in his seat. Then he tries again. “Just always wanna make sure you’re okay.”
“Aww, buddy,” I coo, fluttering my eyelashes. “You care about what happens to me?”
Jason’s frown deepens, if that were possible. Which, I guess it is possible, since I’m looking at it. “Yeah, I do. Where are you going?”
“Speakeasy. I have to leave in less than an hour. Time to go spruce up.”
I glide out of the room as Jason sits back and stares at me.
Murph 1, Jason 0.
* * *
When I get to Speakeasy, all the way in Colebury, it’s packed. I love crowds. Drinks of any kind. Dancing. I adore the energy and feed off it like I’m a new kind of zombie. I can have fun even if I don’t know anyone, and this place is perfect—good vibes, not too pretentious, not too dingy. Just right.
It’s going to be a fun night. I’m glad I took an Uber.
I see Reeve and wave energetically. He’s snuggled up to Oz, his beau. He waves but gets caught in a kiss. Darn beau, taking my friend away from me.
Speaking of which, where’s my beau?
In the dim light, I scour the room for a guy I’ve hooked up with a few times, and then I spot him. His hair’s light brown, and he has a nice smile. He was good for a quick blow job in a bathroom. And I guess he’s back for another round.
So maybe this isn’t a date. It’s a date-ish.
Truth be told, I’m a personality whore, so looks really aren’t everything, but this guy’s a poor man’s Jason.
That’s not a very nice thought, Murph.
Jesus, I’m pathetic. I straighten my spine and beeline over to him. When I get to his table, I muster up a smile and hold out my hand as if he’s gonna kiss it. “Hey,” I draw out the word. “How’s the amateur porn?”
London laughs, and I’ll agree it’s a nice laugh. He looks me up and down. And, darn it, I know I look good in my white jeans and my red sweater that exposes a shoulder. “Wanna stay here? Or get going?” He licks his lips.
Something about his blatant once-over makes me hold back. “Let’s stay here.” I’m not opposed to moving fast, and I’m not sure why I don’t want to just leave with him, but I guess I need to ease into things tonight. Apparently I’ve forgotten how to hook up.
“Buy you a drink?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” I say. He leaves me at the table to get our beers.
When he comes back with the brewery’s latest release, I take a sip. It’s a bit hoppier than I like, but I can taste the quality in it. London and I chat about the menu and the brewery. He drinks the first beer fast and has another before I’m even done with half of mine.
And judging by the way he’s slurring, I think he did some pregaming before he got here. So now I’m wondering if he’ll be too sloppy for anything tonight.
Figures. Even my hookup doesn’t seem to jibe with me.
But then the door opens and my heart does a colossal flip-flop, because Jason walks in.
Knock it off, heart.
Also, what the hell is he doing way out here?
Helpless to do anything but watch the way Jason moves, I track him across the place as he goes to the bar and orders a beer.
Quit it, Davey Murphy. You are on a goddess-damned date-ish. Pay attention to London.
I turn away from my crush and focus on my date, who natters away about hops and alcohol percentages and I have no idea what. “You really know a lot about brewing,” I say.
He flushes. “I do some home brew.”
“Ah.” I try to think of something to say. Normally it’s really easy for me to chat, flirt, make other people feel at home.
But I imagine Jason’s eyes boring into the side of my head, and it’s distracting. Even if he is doing no such thing, he’s still distracting.
I chance a look.
Jason is sitting at a table by himself, his brows furrowed, drinking a beer. He’s changed into a hoodie and jeans, and he’s giving off lonely vibes.
Why would Jason be lonely? He has Marnie.
I force myself to talk to London. Now he’s telling me about sugar quantity in beer and something about the yeast.
Closing my eyes, I open them again and give him my best smile. “Hey, my new roommate walked in.”
“Who?”
I gesture over to Jason. “Him.”
“He’s cute.” London eyes him.
That makes me bristle. London’s supposed to be my date. What the hell is he doing drooling over Jason? It’s my job to drool over Jason. “He’s nice, and not gay.” I add that last bit even though I don’t want to admit it.
“Too bad.”
“What do you mean, ‘too bad’?”
“I was wondering if he’d be interested in a threesome.”
Okay, I’m no prude. I’ve done my fair share of ambitious sex acts. But the idea of sharing Jason with London makes me irrationally angry. “No,” I say. “You’re not gonna get anywhere with that.”
“Babe,” he says. “I’m sorry. Don’t take everything so seriously.”
“I’m not,” I snap. “And I’m not your babe.”
This was a bad idea. I’m not sure why I’m so pissy, but I think it has something to do with the fact that the guy I really want just walked in. And he’ll never want me the way I want him.