Page 29 of The Intimacy of Control

His hair was wet and stuck to his forehead, with drips of water still running down his face. I wanted to lick them off his skin.

He walked closer to me as soon as I took the pan out of the oven. “Hey.”

I set the pan on top of the stove and took my oven mitts off. “Hi. Good shower?”

“Yeah, thanks. What’s that?”

“These”—I nodded at the stove—“are molletes. They sounded good. I usually eat them in the mornings, but. You like salsa?”

“I don’t mind it.”

“I’ll only put a little on yours, then.” I spread some salsa across them before plating them up and setting them on the dining table.

I watched as Jack tilted his head, looking at the bread in front of him. “It looks good. What’s on it?”

I’d already picked mine up, ready to take a bite. “You can put all sorts of stuff on them. These just have beans, melted cheese, and the salsa. The bolilo bread gives it a good crunch. Mamá used to make them with chorizo or steak and some avocado, but I didn’t feel like doing that much right now.” I finally took my first bite, nodding my head as I chewed.

Jack seemed a little more hesitant, but he tried his as well. It took him a second, but then he moaned around his bite happily. “Oh, this is good. I was a little worried because I don’t usually like beans. But the combo is good.”

“Right? It’s one of my favorites. It’s more nostalgic for me than anything else anymore. My parents really wanted us to embrace the culture here.” I shrugged. “I’ve never been fluent in Spanish, and I think they toned down a lot of the culture they grew up with. But I guess they couldn’t let go of the food, and I’m pretty damn grateful about that.”

“Wow. Yeah, that makes total sense. I mean, I still make my grandma’s meatloaf when I need some comfort food. We always ate it with green beans and macaroni salad. She said it had all the food groups that way.” He huffed a laugh. “I hate macaroni salad.”

I shifted in my chair, twisting until I could look at him better. “Are you still really close with her?”

“I was. I moved here to be closer to her and then take care of her before she passed a few years ago.”

Frowning, I offered him a comforting hand. He didn’t take it, but I still offered it. “I’m sorry for your loss. Where did you move from?”

He polished off the rest of his food and furrowed his eyebrows as he swallowed. “California, believe it or not. I was born and raised there, but Mom and the rest of our family were from here. Grandma and Grandpa stayed here.”

“Oh wow. That’s on the other side of the country, isn’t it?”

“Yep. Mom left to chase some dream she’d had in LA, ended up going broke, moved to Sandy Oaks, found Dad, and had me. The rest is history.”

“Would you ever go back? I bet you did a lot of surfing when you lived there, didn’t you? You seem like you might’ve been a surfer type.”

Jack looked away, biting his lip. I tried following his gaze at first, but then he shook his head, looking up at me. “What are we doing, Forrest?”

The question took me by complete surprise. I didn’t say anything for a second, floundering for an answer I didn’t have. “What do you mean? Did I say something wrong?”

“I came back to you. I don’t do that. Why did I do that?” He rubbed a hand down his face. “Now we’re sharing another meal and talking about me growing up like I’m not a whole generation older than you.”

“Okay, ouch.” I sighed. “I think you know the answer to that, Jack. And you being older has literally nothing to do with us. It hasn’t impacted anything we feel for each other, has it?”

“Anything we feel for each other? What do we feel for each other, huh?”

“I don’t know. I’d like to say a connection, but maybe all you feel is attraction.” Saying it made me feel like an idiot, honestly. Of course he didn’t feel what I did. He wasn’t the one chasing after me to go on dates like some pathetic sap.

We’d had one night together, and I’d run with it. I’d run with it like the hopeless romantic I was because I thought there was something more. But maybe that’d been hopeful thinking.

Jack closed his eyes and took a deep breath before letting it out. “A connection. That’s what you feel?”

“Yeah, but don’t worry, I feel kinda stupid about it now.”

“You’re not stupid, Forrest.” He watched as I pulled my hand away from the table. “You’re not. Is attraction not a type of connection? I… You’re good. You’re a good guy. You’re passionate and determined and funny and hot and so, so kind. I like those things about you.”

“There’s a but in there somewhere, isn’t there? If there’s a but, then why did you come back? I was going to walk away. I was ready to. You’re the one who didn’t want me to.”