Love Rents A Room
Chapter 80: The Other Guy

Chapter 80: The Other Guy

JD’s pulse pounded in his ears as he stepped onto the porch. The house was eerily silent. Not even the dogs stirred, and that set his nerves on edge.

Then, he spotted her truck in the driveway.

He let out a shaky breath, gripping the steering wheel for a moment before forcing himself to move.

The porch light flickered above him, casting long, shifting shadows as he opened the front door. The house was dark. Cold.

No sounds from the kitchen. No scent of food lingering in the air.

Off. Everything felt off.

His gut twisted as he moved through the dim space. And then he found her.

Joanne was sitting on the living room rug, legs stretched out, a glassy look in her red-rimmed eyes. She was hugging Fluffy forcefully.

In her hand... was that moonshine?

JD’s jaw clenched. He knew the kind they brewed around here—dangerous stuff, easily over 150 proof. Strong enough to burn a man from the inside out.

Whiskey wasn’t enough, huh? She had to go for the real poison?

Without thinking, he strode forward and plucked the bottle from her grasp. He, Jeffrey Winchester, who never intruded on other people’s business, plucked the bottle out of her hand. His finger flicked, realizing how cold her hand was.

Fluffy go out of her hold and ran away as if he was waiting for that chance. She barely resisted. Just looked up at him, green eyes shimmering in the dim light.

"JD..." Her voice cracked as she spoke his name, soft and broken. "You’re here..."

And then, as if the mere sight of him shattered whatever wall she’d built around herself, the tears came.

"JD..." Her shoulders trembled. "Jonathan kissed Valerie..."

The words barely made it past her lips before she dissolved into sobs.

"I was going to break up with him, but he..." Her voice cracked, the rest swallowed by another wave of tears.

JD sighed. He hated when women cried. The way most people cringed at nails on a chalkboard—that was how he felt. But this? Watching Joanne cry?

That was a different kind of unbearable.

With another sigh, he lowered himself onto the rug beside her. Maybe he was a masochist. Maybe love had turned him into one. Because no part of him wanted to leave her alone like this.

As if sensing his warmth, she scooted closer. Then, without warning, she wrapped her arms around his, clinging to him. JD went rigid.

He didn’t dare look at her. If he did, he’d get an eyeful of her cleavage pressed up against his arm, and he was already struggling enough as it was. Even that feeling of that squishy softness was too much to bear. Seeing it would end him.

But that flicker of heat was short-lived. The sound of her gut-wrenching sobs snuffed it out like a candle in the wind.

"He too..." she choked out. "He did the same too..."

JD’s brows knit together. He? Was she still talking about Jonathan?

"He left me..."

A fresh tear slid down her cheek.

"He was right there, right in front of me... kissing her... He never kissed me like that. He wasn’t moved when I tried to... But her—he could kiss her." Her voice trembled. "He didn’t even see me. He promised, but he forgot me. And he left me. He called me... bland."

She was unraveling, spiraling between past and present, and JD was trying to make sense of it all. Was this still about Jonathan? Or...

He grabbed the bottle and took a sip of the moonshine. Fire slid down his throat, burning all the way to his gut. Damn. This stuff could strip paint.

And yet, she had been drinking it like it was water.

His respect for her alcohol tolerance grew.

"Liam left you?" he asked, more to keep himself awake than out of genuine curiosity. He hated talking about the other men in her life, but he was afraid to leave her alone. Her cries were shredding him apart.

"No... Liam didn’t." She shook her head, her cheek brushing against his shoulder. "Liam is..." She trailed off, eyes glassy, unfocused. "He... that one."

JD frowned. That one?

"So, there’s another guy?"

She blinked, her gaze clearing slightly as she looked at him. And for a moment, JD forgot how to breathe.

She wasn’t drunk anymore.

"Liam says that one’s my first love," she murmured, a bitter scoff escaping her lips.

JD felt something sharp lodge in his chest.

Why was he sitting here listening to this? Why was he letting her put him through this torture?

He turned his face away.

"He... that scumbag... I hate him. I hate him..."

JD rolled his eyes. "You can hate Jonathan all you want. He deserves it."

"No, not John..." She hiccupped. "The other one. J—" She cut herself off, clamping her lips shut. Then, after a moment, she spat, "That asshole."

JD pressed his lips together.

He had no idea who the hell she was talking about. And honestly, he didn’t want to know.

All he wanted was to grab that bottle, take another burning sip, and pass out. But he couldn’t. Not when she was like this.

"How drunk are you?" he asked, almost desperate now.

Joanne chuckled softly, wiping the corner of her lips with the back of her hand. "I’m Irish," she said, slurring just slightly. "I don’t get drunk."

JD exhaled sharply, willing his pulse to slow.

But then she looked up at him; cheeks flushed, her pink lips slightly parted, eyes still shining with leftover tears. His control snapped like a fraying thread.

She reminded him of that night. The night she kissed him when she had a fever, half-conscious and delirious.

His chest tightened. His lips tingled. His entire body felt like it was waiting—aching—for her.

Before he could stop himself, before reason could anchor him down, JD moved.

In a swift motion, he pushed her down onto the rug, pinning her hands above her head. His grip was firm but not unkind, fingers curling around her wrists as he hovered over her.

His knees slotted between her legs, spreading them.

The scent of her perfume—a soft, floral whisper—wrapped around him, but underneath that, her scent lingered. That distinct, maddening scent that made his pulse trip, that made his thoughts stagger.

His breathing grew heavy, his nose nearly brushing hers. Their lips—so close now, just a breath apart.

He knew she was drunk. He was drunk. But stopping didn’t even cross his mind.

Because of the way she was looking at him.

Like she didn’t mind.

Like she wanted this just as much as he did.