by Marie York
“And spend money I don’t have. No thanks. I’d rather scare the shit out of myself than feel guilty for getting sucked into the newest diet craze.”
“I’ll have you know those pajama jeans are damn comfy,” I countered.
Her face dropped in exaggeration. “Tell me you do not have pajama jeans.”
“I could, but I’d be lying.”
“They don’t even make those for men.”
“Oh, but they do.”
She gave my shoulder a playful shove, the simple touch affecting me more than it should. “Shut up. You’re so lying.” Her eyebrows turned down, and she stared at me as if she knew what my tell was, and she was looking for it. Too bad for her, I had a grade A poker face.
“You might even have seen them already,” I continued, loving our easy banter. “That’s how much they look like jeans,” I added.
It had always been natural between us, but after that night things had been different, distant. It was what I had wanted, but I hated every second of our cordial interactions. It wasn’t us.
“Ha!” She pointed at my face, and I looked at her like she was damn near crazy.
“Ha, nothing.”
“Your nose totally twitched. It does that when you’re bullshitting.”
My hand instinctively went to my nose and dropped when I realized it. “It does not.”
“Does too. I noticed it when you were bullshitting that drunk guy the other night and telling him we were closing because we ran out of alcohol. Very convincing, but your nose twitched.”
“I probably just had an itch.”
She shook her head and smiled. “No, because that wasn’t the first time I noticed it.”
I swore to God I didn’t have a single tell, yet this girl discovered it. Nobody had ever known me well enough, not Tiffany, not Cole, not even myself, to realize it.
“Whatever,” I said, and she stuck her tongue out at me again and turned to the cabinet. She still couldn’t reach the glass so I leaned against her and took the glass down. I placed it on the counter in front of her, but didn’t move. I heard her gasp as my chest pressed into her back.
Heat radiated off of her, and she smelled so fucking good. Like some kind of fruit. Strawberries maybe. She turned around and my eyes landed right on her tits. The thin material of her top might as well have been translucent. I could see the outline of her nipples, and how they became harder with each breath she took.
I stepped back before rational thought flew out the fucking window. The small smile on her face fell away, but I tried to not let it bother me. I had enough guilt on my plate. I didn’t need to add to the cluster fuck.
“Thanks,” she whispered and took the glass in her hands. “Can’t sleep either?”
I shook my head. Lately every time I closed my eyes, I relived that dreaded night of senior year. Tiffany’s words on repeat in my mind. The only way to keep the voices at bay was to not sleep.
“Want some milk? It really does help.” She held up the bottle and smiled the sexiest fucking smile.
I swallowed down the urge to yank her against me. “I’m good.”
“Suit yourself.” She poured a glass then leaned against the counter. Her lips slid over the edge of the glass, and all I could think about was her pretty mouth sliding up and down my cock.
Screw the Jack. I had to get out of here. “Goodnight.” I forced a smile.
She glanced up, her big brown eyes filled with sadness. It looked like she had a thousand thoughts running rampant in her mind. I cocked an eyebrow at her, knowing damn well she had something to say, and wish she’d just get out with it already. For the most part, we didn’t hold back when it came to each other, and I hoped despite recent events that hadn’t changed.
She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, pulling the material tight, and revealing even more of her perfect nipples. “I wish you wouldn’t shut me out.”
I caught her gaze, but quickly diverted my eyes to her nose. Anything but her eyes. They had the power to bring me to my knees. “I never should’ve let you in in the first place. I’m fucked up. And regardless of what you think, I can’t be fixed.”
“I don’t want to fix you. I just… I want to be here for you, and I can’t if you won’t even look at me.”
“I’m looking at you right now.”
She bit her pouty bottom lip, and my cock pulsed at the sight. “You’re not looking at me, though. You’re looking through me.”
“What’s the difference?”
“You used to look at me, and I’d feel like you were looking into my soul. So deep. To a place only you could see. And, lately, it’s like you’ve put up this wall that keeps you on the surface. Like you don’t want to see me anymore.”
I did want to see her, though. But she was right. Ever since that night, so many years ago, in the back of an alley, she was the only one to break through the wall. It came down for her, and only her, but now she knew the truth about me, and because of that, I put it back up.
I felt vulnerable and exposed around her now. I hated not being in control. Allowing someone else to have the upper hand scared the shit out of me.
It wasn’t just that, either. The truth was, I was terrified of losing her. Tiffany and I might not have been meant to be together, but at one point in time, I did love her, and losing her… it hurt like hell. It tore me apart, haunted me for years. The thought of something happening to Lyla, it completely paralyzed me.
I had already let her in far too much. She had consumed me; body and soul. Lyla didn’t just have the power to hurt me, she had the power to break me. I couldn’t have that. So, as long as I kept up the wall, I was safe from heartache and loss. Safe from ever really being hurt again.
Still, I couldn’t walk away, knowing I caused her any pain. I moved to her and placed my hand on her cheek. She sucked in a ragged breath and pressed her hand to mine.
“I always see you, Lyla.” And with the restraint of a goddamn champ, I removed her hand from mine, and went to bed alone.
Chapter 35
The next morning, Lyla was gone before I woke up. Surprising since, when she finally fell asleep, she slept like the dead, and usually didn’t crawl out of her room until mid-morning. Just as well. The less we saw of each other the better.
I showered then headed down to the bar to do some inventory. I got halfway down the stairs when I noticed Cole sitting at the bar. He was the only person, other than Lyla, who had a spare key.
“What are you doing here?” I asked as I approached the bar.
“Had some time to kill this morning, thought I’d stop by.”
I’d known Cole for a very long time. He was the only person I still spoke to from my past. Cole didn’t just stop by. Either he was fighting with Dee or he wanted to talk about something. Since he didn’t look like a miserable fuck, I was guessing the latter.
I got two rock glasses out and grabbed the bottle of Jack. I poured a little more than a shot’s worth and set the bottle back down.
Cole arched an eyebrow over his glasses. “A little early to be drinking, no?”
I eyed him curiously. “You tell me.”
“Might as well leave the bottle out,” he said with a laugh. He took his glasses off, squinting at the lenses in the faint overheard light before putting them back on.
“So?” I said.
“I saw Lyla this morning.” He didn’t waste any time, but I appreciated that. I hated people who pussy-footed around a conversation.
I took a sip from my glass. “She was out early.”
Cole met my gaze, a serious as all hell look in his eyes. “You told her.” It wasn’t a question, more like a statement.
I nodded, and then downed the rest of my Jack, relishing in the familiar burn. I knew what to expect from Jack, but with Cole, I had no idea where he was going with this conversation, and I had a feeling I didn’t want to hear it.
Over the years, he tried, just like Lyla did, to get me to think Tiffany’s death wasn’t my
fault. He got used to me disappearing for days to months on end. Eventually he stopped bringing it up…until right now.
I didn’t talk about it. Not to him, not to anyone. I preferred to keep those horrid memories locked in my own mind. It was torture, but I deserved it.
“She already knows. So, why are you pushing her away, then?”
I didn’t say anything. I poured myself another glass and stared into the brown liquid.
“You’ve tortured yourself long enough. You have something real with Lyla.”
I glanced up from the glass. “How do you know?”
He smirked. “Because when you look at her, you look like how I felt when I realized Dee was the one.”
The one. The words knocked into me like a four-hundred-pound drunk bastard: heavy and unsteady. I went to speak, but it was as if I suddenly forgot how to form words. The one. The words echoed in my head.
Cole reached across the bar, picked up the bottle, and held it out to me. “Welcome to the club, buddy.”
I snatched the bottle from his grip, wanting to say fuck the glass and just suck down the bottle, but I still had a bottle under my desk and I was already losing enough goddamn money. So, I filled the glass halfway, and leaned against the back wall of the bar.
I shook my head, forcing those two little words out of my damn mind. “She deserves better.”
Cole sighed, looking down at his glass before glancing up at me. “You need to stop thinking like that. You’re a good guy, Jax. You deserve better than what you’ve allowed yourself to have.”
“So good I told my girlfriend to go ahead and kill herself.”
Cole’s fingers curled into a fist and he tapped it against the bar, though it looked like he wanted to slam his fist into my face. “You have to stop punishing yourself for that. You were frustrated and said something stupid, who hasn’t? Tiffany was… unhinged, and what she did, that’s on her, not you.”
“You were at the funeral. You heard her mom. What she said. She knew it was me.”
“What I heard was a woman who was grieving over her dead daughter and who would blame anyone because it was easier than accepting the truth.”
“And what truth is that?”
“That her perfect daughter made a choice that was irreversible and she couldn’t swoop in and fix it like she did for everything else.”
Cole’s words resonated in my mind. Mrs. Jacobs made a career out of fixing Tiffany’s mistakes, and there had been many. She almost prided herself on doing so. Tiffany would fuck up and Mrs. Jacobs response would be the equivalent to hold my beer I’ll handle this.
Still she wasn’t the one Tiffany spoke to last, that was me, and no matter what Cole said that would never change.
“It’s time to let her go,” Cole said.
I ran my hand through my hair and blew out a frustrated breath. “It’s not that easy.”
“Because you won’t let it be.”
I grabbed the bottle of Jack and poured another healthy amount into my glass. I took a sip, letting the familiar burn ease the tension pulling tight across my shoulders.
“Look,” Cole said, and I lowered my glass, glancing in his direction. “I don’t want to push.”
“Bullshit.”
Cole laughed. “Maybe a little, but it’s just because I hate to see you continue to punish yourself for something that was completely out of your control.” He held his hand up when I went to counter. “You didn’t kill Tiffany. Tiffany killed Tiffany.”
An argument sat on my tongue, but before I could get it out the bell above the door clinked, and Gary walked in. “Hey boss… Cole.” His steps stuttered as he acknowledged Cole. He nodded and continued toward the bar.
I looked at the clock. “Gary, what the fuck are you doing here so early?”
“You said you had to do inventory. Thought I could help.”
Sometimes, he was as dumb as a brick, and couldn’t talk himself out of a paper bag, but he was a hard worker. I appreciated that. He was always willing to pick up an extra shift, stay late and wait tables if I needed him to.
“That’d be great,” I said. With Gary’s help I could get the inventory done in half the time. “Do me a favor first.” I pointed toward the stairs. “Go to my office and get the clipboard off my desk.”
He touched his hand to his forehead and saluted. “Sure thing, boss.”
When Gary disappeared up the stairs, Cole took a sip from his glass, and nodded in my direction. “So, what are you going to do about Lyla?” he asked.
I squeezed the bridge of my nose, trying to ward off the pressure I felt building. “I have no fucking idea.”
It’d be easy to keep pushing Lyla away and continue my life as it was. I might not have been all that happy, but I was content, and for me it had always felt like the best I was going to get out of life.
The problem was, from the minute she walked into that class all those years ago, my life changed. I tried running the first time, but the girl was impossible to shake. No matter how much I didn’t want to accept it, it was becoming harder not to.
Lyla Scott wasn’t a girl you could ignore.
***
Lyla didn’t show up until five minutes before her shift started. It was obvious she was avoiding me, and I should’ve been happy. It’s what I wanted. What I had been doing to her. But ever since I talked to Cole, I couldn’t get her off my fucking mind.
She had on one of her short skirts, and I couldn’t keep my eyes off her legs. I wanted them wrapped around my head, her hands tugging at my hair, while I tongue fucked her pussy. My dick throbbed in my pants, desperate to be inside that sweet cunt. Tara walked up behind her and smacked her ass. I couldn’t help but remember that night when I bent her over my lap. Her perfect ass arching toward my hand, begging to be spanked. The sting that spread through my hand as it made contact with her soft flesh. The sexy as hell moans that spilled from her pretty lips.
I had no idea what the fuck I was thinking that night, but damn if I didn’t want to do it again. The fact that she was so willing, so turned on and wet… I snapped my attention away from her ass, reminding myself I had a bar to run. It would be nearly impossible if I was sporting a raging hard on.
I focused my attention on Tara. She was a beautiful girl, but I looked at her as a sister and nothing more. She and Lyla spoke and Tara held out her arm, showing Lyla a cluster of bracelets. I didn’t know much about jewelry but I knew that shit wasn’t cheap. She was also in another shirt I’d never seen before.
All the pieces were falling into place. The girl who never had a pot to piss in was suddenly able to afford jewelry and new clothes. Where else would she get the money from? I knew damn well the only job she had was working for me.
For fucks sakes, if she was going to steal money, the least she could fucking do was not flaunt the shit she bought right in front of me. Maybe she was doing it deliberately. Maybe she wanted to get caught. But that was fucking stupid. Why the hell would anyone want to get caught stealing?
I pressed my fingers to my head and tried to calm the hell down.
I lowered my hand and watched as Tara strutted to the back. Was that a new bag too? Fuck.
God, I hoped it wasn’t her, but to any fool, it’d be obvious that it was. She pushed into the kitchen, and I silently wished it wasn’t, that by some miracle the money would reappear.
I turned back to the bar and my gaze caught Lyla’s across the way. Her eyes were dull, lacking their usual liveliness and I couldn’t help but wonder if it was because of our conversation last night. We weren’t even together, and I was taking away her bright, cheery disposition which was exactly why we couldn’t be together.
I hated to see her as anything but happy though, so even though, I wasn’t in a smiling mood; I forced one for her. She smiled back, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
It was starting. I was slowly stripping her of her happiness. She dropped my gaze and hurried to the kitchen.
Lyla didn’t look at me for the
rest of the night, so I spent the time watching Tara’s every move, waiting to see if she slipped any cash into any place other than her front pocket. The crowd grew, the bar four people deep at all times, and it was hard to keep track of what Tara was doing, though I tried.
By the end of the night, I still had no proof. As stupid as it was, I was relieved. If there was no proof, then Tara was innocent. She didn’t steal from me, betray me and make me look like a damn fool.
The bar cleared out, and Lyla helped me clean up in silence. My lips parted, wanting to say something, anything, but I just didn’t know what to say to her, so I snapped them closed. It was like when we first met and I could never manage more than a few words here and there. Mostly, I just liked to hear her talk. She was good with conversation, and had a way of making me want to talk back, something I hadn’t felt like doing in a long time. She made it easy.
Except, tonight, she wasn’t making it easy. She was quiet and cold. Wouldn’t even look in my direction. She wiped down the final table and tossed the rag with the other dirty ones.
“You okay?” I asked, like a dumbass.
“Fine,” she muttered.
Fine: the universal word for women that really meant I’m far from fine, but I have nothing to say to you, so leave me the fuck alone. Yeah, she was fine all right.
She went to walk up the stairs, and I grabbed her wrist, stopping her. She let out a surprised gasp then looked down at my hand holding her in place.
“Lyla, talk to me. Please.” I was on the verge of begging. I pushed her away and now all I wanted to do was pull her back. I didn’t like the awkwardness between us and I definitely didn’t like the distance even if I created it.
I went to speak, having no idea what exactly I wanted to say, but it didn’t matter. Lyla beat me to it.
“I have nothing to say to you. I’ll start looking into apartments tomorrow.”
Shock had my head snapping back then anger and frustration twisted into an ugly knot inside of me. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
