by JB Salsbury
This should be fun. I watch my brother stumble over himself in an attempt to explain my presence in his tiny, humble house of worship.
“Uh…”
I lift my brows, waiting.
Ben scratches the back of his neck. “I did, actually, yes.”
“Isn’t it great?” Suzette looks at me. “Will you be here for service on Sunday?”
“No, I’m afraid Jesse doesn’t attend,” my brother says.
I scowl. He never calls me Jesse. And since when does he think he has permission to speak for me? “Actually, yes. I’ll be here Sunday.”
“Great!” Suzette squeezes my arm. Her long nails bite softly into my skin, a feeling I used to love from women but now have the urge to shake off. Weird. “I’ll save you a seat.”
Satisfaction rolls through me at the horrified expression on my brother’s face. “Great. I’ll see you there.” I lift my chin at my brother. “Later.”
I head out to the Lexus, feeling good about how that went. Not only do I have a fun new plaything in Suzette, but I’ve managed to send my older brother into a tailspin without even trying. This thing with Suzette could be fun, my own personal puzzle—just a hobby to keep me occupied until I get to go home.
“You’re in a good mood,” Bethany says with suspicion in her voice as I force her from the driver’s seat and into the passenger’s. “Did your meeting go well?”
“It did. I learned that to keep from wanting to drink or snort a pound of coke, I just need a hobby.”
“Oh, wow.” She mouths “a pound,” her eyes wide. “Do you have any hobbies?”
“Nope, not really, but I think I found something fun to do.”
“Oh, is it building model ships?”
“What? No.”
“Oh.” She seems disappointed.
“What makes you think I’d do that?”
She shrugs. “Nothing, it was just a guess.” She won’t look at me.
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s stupid. Just forget about it.”
“Wait… something stupid? From you? No.”
“Shhh… don’t move.” Her eyes dart around the space in front of her, then she smacks her hands together hard. “Got it!”
“What was it? A mosquito?”
“Nope, but just as pesky. It was your sarcasm.”
“That wasn’t funny.”
“Then why are you smiling?” she says with humor in her voice. I know she’s smiling too, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to look over and see it.
“Why model ships?” I ask.
“Do you ever let anything go?” She turns her head, but I can see the flush hit her neck and that intrigues me a whole fucking lot.
“No. Just answer the question.”
She sighs, shakes her head, then shrugs. “I figured you’d be good with your hands,” she says in a rush of words all strung together.
I smile and stare ahead. “You think I’d use my talented hands to build toys?” I’d love to use my hands to loosen you up, nanny. Untie her high-strung energy and get her to melt underneath me, around me—fuck, I need to get laid.
“Are you sure you’re okay taking me across town?”
“I need the car, so yeah. Are you sure you’re getting a ride home?”
Of course she is. This idiot is not only taking her on a lunch date, but he’s not even picking her up. He’ll take her home, hoping for a hand job or an afternoon delight or whatever other shit lame guys like. I almost feel sorry for her. But she’s not a kid; she knows what she’s doing.
I spend the next thirty minutes negotiating the freeways while my eardrums bleed out and die a slow death. There should be a state law prohibiting this woman from singing. Ever. She’s clearly hard of hearing or she’d know she’s tone-deaf as fuck, not to mention she destroys the lyrics to most every song she sings.
“Exit here.” She points as she bobs her head to a Selena Gomez song.
Every time I check my side mirrors, I sneak a glance at her bare thighs as her dress slides up a little higher with her dancing. Her skin is flawless and tan. Not in an over-sunned way like she’s got a membership at the tanning salon, but a natural glow probably from hours spent outside.
“I’m farting carrots.” Her lips barely move as she sings, if what she’s doing could be identified as singing. “I’m farting carrots…”
“Let me ask you something.”
“Oh, here we ago.”
“Do you actually believe the insanely gorgeous Selena Gomez would write and release a song in which she sings the lyrics, ‘I’m farting carrots’?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
We must be getting close because she reaches into her worn (obviously fake) leather purse and grabs her Blistex. The balm looks good on her. Her lips are naturally much darker than her skin. Be a shame to cover up their dusty rose color—what the fuck am I thinking?
“You recorded and released a song where you were… ya know, taking matters into your own hand?” She swipes the goop on her lips. “Farting carrots could be a thing.”
“It’s not a thing, it’s stupid, and she’s singing ‘fourteen carats,’ not farting carrots, genius.”
“Turn here.”
I turn at the light. “And thank you for listening to the song where I took matters into my own hand.” I smirk at her. “‘Expulsion’ was a worldwide hit. It climbed to the top ten twenty-four hours after it was released.”
“Who’s gross now?”
“Thinking of Selena Gomez farting carrots”—I shiver—“is way more disgusting than a man taking his dick in his hand.”
She shifts uncomfortably, and I know she’s thinking about walking in on me that first week. I love that she saw me doing that, and I really love that thinking of it makes her fidgety. Now I’m getting hard. Great.
“Let me ask you something, Mr. Expert of the Female Anatomy.”
“Sure, what do you want to know? Want me to show you how to find your G-spot—”
“I’m sure you’ve appreciated your fair share of the female booty.” She lifts her brows.
Including yours. “More than I can count.”
“You realize, when you’re appreciating the backside of a woman, that she poops out of that thing—”
“Fucking gross.” I cringe. “Stop.”
“And farts.”
“No. Nope. I refuse to think about that.”
“So would it be so strange for Selena Gomez to sing a song about farting carrots?” She chews her lip. “Hmm… or maybe she’s farting carats, like she’s so rich she farts diamonds.”
“If you say fart one more time, I’m going to vomit.”
She throws her head back laughing.
Now every time I check out a woman’s ass, I’m going to think of… yuck. This girl ruins everything!
“Up here on the left.” She points at a driveway with a sign out front that says “The Orchard Assisted Living.”
I pull into the old folks’ home. “Are you sure this is the place?”
She gathers her purse. “Yeah, just drop me at the front.”
“Who are you meeting for lunch?”
“I volunteer here on my every other Fridays off. I help serve lunch and then lead a cut-throat game of Bingo.” She pops open the door and gets one foot out before she looks over her shoulder.
Nanny volunteers with old people, how much gooder can a good person be?
“Hey, do you want to come?”
“No, I can’t. I need to go work out and get to work on my songs.”
Her eyes narrow. “You sure? No one in there will recognize you. They don’t pay attention to anything that happened after 1990.”
“I don’t know, I—”
“Come on.” She places her hand on my forearm, and heat slides like warm honey up my arm. Her dark eyes sparkle and she smiles warmly. “It’ll be good for your soul.”
“Oh, then definitely no. I need my dark soul for the sake of my music.�
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“Suit yourself.” She jumps out of the car. “Thanks for the ride.”
Even after the door closes, I watch her walk up the sidewalk. When she moves, she bounces a little as if she’s lighter than air and it’s only her shoes that keep her from floating away. I wonder what it would be like to be so at peace that it shows up in my steps. If I walked close enough to her I bet she’d bear the weight of my burdens without even knowing she was doing it.
12
Bethany
“Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Thompson, welcome to church.” I hand out today’s bulletin as I look just over the elderly couple’s heads.
I thought I saw Wyatt’s blond hair in the distance. As often as I’ve searched for him, I can recognize him from across the parking lot. He’s not alone.
With their hands clasped, Wyatt and Suzette make their way to me. I shift on my tan ballet flats and smooth my faux-denim dress. I wore my hair down today and told myself it wasn’t because Wyatt likes my hair down. I know he’s happily in love, the ring on Suzette’s finger a reminder that I’ve lost him forever, but that doesn’t mean I can’t look my best around him. Right?
His smile is aimed at me as they approach, and I rip my gaze away to focus on her so she won’t think I’m any kind of threat. As if a sexy and sophisticated woman like Suzette would ever be threatened by me.
“Good morning, Suzette.” I shove a bulletin toward her a little too forcefully and curse my nerves. “Welcome to church.”
She looks down at me, her three-inch heels making her seem much taller, and smirks. “Morning.” She pushes by me ahead of Wyatt.
“Hey, Wyatt.” Why do I sound as though I’m whispering? I clear my throat and thrust a program toward him. “Welcome to chur—”
“Ick!” Ashleigh knocks into him from behind. “What is that smell?”
He glares at her. “Long time no see, Ash.”
She flashes him a cherry-red smile that’s dripping in artificial sweetener. “Not long enough.”
He takes his bulletin. “Thanks, Beth.” Ignoring Ashleigh, he follows Suzette into the chapel.
“Why on God’s green earth would you give that asshole a second of your time?” She’s dressed more modestly today—a tight black dress and a pair of combat boots—her blond hair pinned in a picture perfect messy bun.
“I’m the greeter. I was greeting him, that’s all.”
A couple stragglers make it to the door just before the music starts. Ashleigh hooks her arm in mine, and we shuffle inside.
“We’re sitting up close today. I get a better view of Pastor Langley’s bulge—”
“Ash!” I whisper-hiss.
Her overly black-lined eyes widen. Ashleigh is the only woman I know who can make last night’s club makeup look as though it was done on purpose. “What?”
We find a half empty pew up front, and as I sit, I feel a tug on my hair from behind. I turn, expecting to find a young child.
I was half right.
My mouth falls open when I come face-to-face with a smirking Jesse Lee. I take a quick peek at who is sitting next to him and my jaw drops further.
Wyatt and Suzette?
“Hi,” I mouth. “What are you doing here?”
He’s wearing his signature uniform—jeans, this time black, and a maroon T-shirt that fits him so well, it must be tailor-made. Is that even a thing? I notice this tee is long-sleeved, hiding his tattoos except for the ones on his hands. He’s wearing his baseball cap pulled low, I assume to stay inconspicuous.
“Come sit with me.” He motions to the empty spot next to him. “I saved you a seat.”
My eyes dart to Wyatt to find him looking right at me. He looks away.
Ash must see me turned around, so she does the same. She pauses for two seconds then slowly faces forward. Her hand clenches mine. “Bethany.”
Oh no… “Yeah?” I say as innocently as I can.
“Do you know who’s sitting right behind you?” There’s a high-pitched squeak to her voice that I worry will only get worse.
“Um—”
“Don’t make me”—Jesse’s hot breath is at my ear—“come get you.”
I jolt upright to standing, and with Ashleigh’s hand on mine in an unrelenting grip, she comes with me. We scoot around and excuse ourselves as we pass people already seated until we get to the empty spot next to Jesse. Thankfully it’s wide enough to fit mine and Ashleigh’s butts because her hand only grips mine tighter.
I’m hyperaware of Jesse as he leans in to whisper, “Thank you.”
I close my eyes and nod, wishing I could disappear for a million different reasons. I’m two butt-lengths away from Wyatt. Suzette seems wholly unhappy at my presence. And Ashleigh is really hurting my hand.
“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God…” she mumbles over and over. Hopefully the people around her will think she’s praying rather than blaspheming. “Jesse fucking Lee.”
Nope, there goes that hope. “Ash,” I mumble, “please.”
She leans into me. “Do you know him? He seems to know you! How do you know him? How did you not tell me you know—”
“Shh!” the lady behind us hisses.
“I’ll tell you later,” I mouth.
She slowly sits back, her spine stiff, her eyes wide, and she periodically peeks at Jesse.
“Let me guess?” he says into my ear, making my right arm explode in goose bumps. “The roommate?”
I nod, trying to be respectful to those singing around us by not talking. I wish everyone else would do the same.
Jesse leans away from me as Suzette whispers something in his ear, followed by an obnoxious giggle. Wow, she’s not even trying to hide her ridiculous flirting from her fiancé. Maybe he’s cool with it. He never was the possessive type.
Jesse shifts his hips, pressing his thigh to mine. The rough denim against my bare skin makes me warm. I use my bulletin to fan my face.
“Hot?” he says in my ear with humor in his voice.
“Nope,” I lie, and fan faster.
The music comes to an end, and Pastor Langley takes the platform. Ashleigh’s grip on my arm finally lets up a little and her posture relaxes a tad. She makes none of her usual inappropriate commentary, seeming temporarily stunned silent.
Ben opens with prayer, and while my head is bowed, I peek at Jesse. He doesn’t even pretend to pray but stares straight ahead at his brother. I close my eyes, but not before catching a slight jump in Jesse’s jaw, or did I imagine that?
I try to focus on the sermon but find it difficult with Jesse’s leg pressed against mine. I adjust my position and cross my legs. Jesse puts his hand on my thigh in a casual way as if he’s done it a million times before. I swallow a gasp and stare at his big, tattooed hand splayed on my bare skin just above my knee. What is he doing?
Ashleigh flips my hand over and scribbles something in pen on my skin before tucking my hand to my hip. I peek at her note.
You have some explaining to do!
I calmly ball my hand and refocus on Pastor Ben, but my thoughts short-circuit when Jesse’s thumb makes slow swipes along my thigh. I suck my lips between my teeth. He needs to stop. He grips me ever so slightly. Oh wow… so many callouses. His thumb picks up a slow rhythm that, after a few minutes, I realize has a pattern, as if he’s strumming me like a guitar. It seems less flirtatious and more like a nervous habit.
I sneak a glance at him. His jaw ticks beneath a day’s worth of beard growth, and his shoulders seem tense. He’s much more uneasy being here than his confident demeanor would indicate. I don’t know the details of his history with Ben, but I know it’s rocky. To top it off, Jesse has to worry about being recognized.
I wonder why he’s here. Is this part of the conditions of his recovery? Did Ben insist he come?
Suzette glares at his hand on my thigh, and I feel a small burst of satisfaction. She whispers something to Jesse, but he keeps his eyes forward and shrugs, his hand inching a centimeter up my thigh. My muscles tense u
ntil they ache, and when I can’t take his touch for another second, I gently push his hand away.
Big mistake.
He flips his over, interlocks our fingers, and pulls our joined hands into his lap.
Now my knuckles are resting on his penis!
A low rumble of laughter comes from his throat, and my cheeks warm with frustration. I continue to stew in my own juices—wait, that didn’t come out right. Whatever. And Suzette doesn’t stop annoying me with her whispered secrets to Jesse. Wyatt seems equally annoyed, his upper lip stiff and his eyes set forward.
Ashleigh remains surprisingly quiet until finally, and thankfully, the service comes to an end.
After the closing prayer where, again, Jesse clearly doesn’t pray, the room erupts in an “Amen” and I jump to my feet only to get pulled right back down.
“What are you doing?” I ask Jesse, who hasn’t made a single attempt to get up. “I’m a greeter.”
“You already greeted.”
Wyatt drags a pouting Suzette from the pew to the platform to talk to Pastor Langley.
I wiggle my fingers to try to free my hand from Jesse’s. “I have to… ungreet. Postgreet? Whatever, I—”
“Please.” His hazel eyes are flecked with gold—why did I never notice that before? “Don’t leave me.”
The vulnerable edge to his voice catches me off guard, so I stay put and sit back into the pew. He finally releases my hand only to throw an arm around to rest on the back of the pew behind me.
People file out of the chapel as Ashleigh leans forward, her eyes set on Jesse, who has no issues about delivering the same in-your-face stare. “What are you doing in Surprise? How do you know my best friend? And why are you acting like you two have history I don’t know shit about?”
“Ash!” I shake my head.
Jesse sits up a bit, and his arm brushes against my back. I straighten my spine to put a little distance between us. He smirks, noticing and clearly finding it funny for some stupid reason.
He eyes Ashleigh. “Visiting. She works for the guy I’m staying with. And because we do.”
“Works for the guy…” Her gaze wanders away. “At the diner?” When neither of us answer, she slides her gaze to Pastor Langley and her eyes brighten. “Jesse Lee is friends with Pastor Langley?”
