Act Like You Love Me (Jessica) novel Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Jessica’s POV

“Jess, seriously, what the fuck is taking you so long? Are you trying to wash away your sins under the shower?” Aaron’s growl rumbled through the bathroom door, thick with exasperation, like I’d been in here for hours instead of twenty minutes.

I ignored him, rolling my eyes at the steam–fogged mirror.

Well, technically, I was scrubbing away every last bit of grime down there, just in case… you know, we got sloppy drunk at this family reunion blowout, or some sneaky cousin spiked our drinks with an aphrodisiac, and boom–things heated up fast.

Ridiculous, right? My brain was a romance novel on steroids these days.

I shook my head at myself, my cheeks burning, but damn if I didn’t secretly root for that wild plot twist to happen

“What has become of me?” I mumbled under my breath, the hot spray pounding my skin like a reprimand for my overactive imagination.

“Jess, if you don’t come out in the next thirty seconds, I swear I’ll storm in and haul you out myself,” he threatened again, his voice edging into that deep, commanding tone that always made my toes curl.

What the hell was his deal? We had a full hour and a half before we needed to leave. Or was there a broadcast of a traffic apocalypse I know nothing off?

I wiped between my pussy with the special towel I kept just for it, then stepped back under the cascade to rinse off the last suds.

Satisfied everything was clean, I turned off the water and padded to the full–length mirror, fogged at the edges but clear enough.

I scrutinized my legs, and ran a hand over the smooth skin to check for stubble, then… yeah, everything else down there. Smooth as silk.

I moved on to inspect my armpits when his countdown kicked in.

“…18, 17, 16, 15…” Panic spiked through me.

I darted around the spacious bathroom, dripping water everywhere, hunting for my towel. It wasn’t on the rack.

Shit–had I forgotten to bring one in? Asking Aaron now would just piss him off more.

I yanked open the cabinet, but I found it empty, the spares usually there weren’t. I’d meant to grab them from the laundry room yesterday.

Damn it. I had one last option, but it was risky as hell.

5,4,31 snatched his large white towel from the hook, the one that smelled intoxicatingly like him–fresh cologne mixed with that unique Aaron musk, and wrapped it snugly around my body. It dwarfed me, soft against my skin.

His countdown hit zero, and the doorknob rattled aggressively.

I unlocked it just in time, and he shoved the door open, standing there like a bouncer at a club with his arms. crossed over his broad chest.

His eyes raked over me, slow and appraising, finally settling on my heaving chest where the towel clung a bit too tightly.

He was already dressed to kill: a simple black T–shirt hugging his muscles, beige pants that looked effortlessly stylish, hair styled just right with those long strands pushed back.

He had his stud earrings in today, glinting under the light, and a silver cross pendant dangling against his collarbone.

I couldn’t help it, I drank him in, my soul feasting on his appearance despite the tension. But I snapped out of it first.

“My eyes are up here, Ronnie,” I teased, arching a brow. “And why the hell were you counting down like we’re in boot camp? We still have, like, an hour and a half left.”

I glanced at the clock on my nightstand for emphasis, water dripping from my hair onto the floor.

He didn’t speak, just kept staring, his gaze intense and unblinking, like he was memorizing me. What was running through that head of his?

“Why are you using my towel, Jess?” he finally asked, his voice low and neutral.

I shifted, clutching it tighter. “I forgot mine, and the spares are still in the laundry. If I’d asked you to grab one, you’d have bitched about me not finishing my shower.” I scowled, mumbling the explanation.

He didn’t respond, just eyed me up and down again, his expression unreadable. It bugged me not knowing if he was judging, annoyed, or…. something else.

I brushed past him, heading for the closet to get dressed, when his words stopped me cold.

“Make sure you wash it when you’re done.”

I whipped around, searching his eyes for a hint–disgust? Teasing? But they gave away nothing, blank as a fresh canvas.

Did he think I was dirty? That sharing his stuff grossed him out? Or was it teasing, his subtle bully mode?

I decided not to overthink it, pushing the door open and stepping into the walk–in closet before he could see the sting in my eyes.

Inside, alone with the rows of clothes, a single tear escaped, trailing hot down my cheek.

Is love supposed to hurt like this? Sharp and constant, like a thorn you can’t pull out?

I wouldn’t know; I’d never felt real love or affection growing up. No hugs from Dad, no kind words from my stepmom. Just neglect and shadows. So maybe this was normal. Maybe it was all I deserved.

The command was simple, but it sent a thrill through me, turning my legs to jelly.

I obeyed without a word, sinking onto the vanity stool, my legs still a bit shaky from his compliment and the way his touch lingered.

He rummaged in a nearby chest drawer, and pulled out a sleek black box. Curiosity gnawed at me as I watched.

He unlocked it with a soft click, revealing an array of makeup: palettes from brands like Dior and MAC, liners, shadows, lipsticks–all high–end stuff that probably cost more than my monthly diner tips.

My jaw dropped a little.

“When did you get into makeup, Aaron?” I blurted, eyeing the contents.

A small smile tugged at his lips. “When I got stuck with a roommate who couldn’t even nail a basic lip combo.”

He was mocking me, but playfully.

My mind flashed back to a particular awkward day; the company picnic my boss at the diner had hosted.

I’d tried to make an effort, to look a little less tired and plain. But after several failed attempts, I’d given up and settled for a simple gloss.

Aaron had been right there in the living room, hunched over his laptop with headphones clamped on, totally zoned out. Or so I’d thought.

“How did you even know about that?” I asked, surprised.

He rolled his eyes, his smirk deepening. “Four years sharing this place, Jess. Even the damn furniture knows your strengths, and your epic fails. Now shut up and let me work.”

He selected a lip liner, his warm fingers sliding under my chin to tilt my face up toward the light.

Did he really buy all this, and learn how to use it just for me? The thoughts of that made my heart thundered so loudly I swore the neighbors could hear it through the thin walls.

His breath fanned my skin as he leaned in, focused on drawing precise lines on my lips.

Every cell in my body screamed to reach up, grab his neck, and close the gap between us–pull him into the kiss I’d fantasized about a thousand times.

And God, the way he looked focused wasn’t helping: brows furrowed in concentration, jaw clenched, those honey–brown eyes locked on my lips with an intensity that made the hair on my skin to stand at attention.

Aaron was going to be the death of me someday, I was sure of it. And the crazy part? I’d thank him.