Jesse

by Jo Raven

  Our waitress is here, and her tanned face is familiar somehow.

  “Meg, how’s it going?” Micah lifts his hand, and Meg gives him a high five. “How’s Rafe?”

  Oh, right, she’s Rafe’s girlfriend.

  “He’s all right. Trying to straighten out the paperwork for the shop. Not a happy camper, I can tell you, but it needs to be done after his uncle’s lies.” She grins, all white teeth and sparkling dark eyes. These boys sure know how to choose cute girls. I guess my theory that pretty attracts pretty stands.

  “His uncle’s lies?” I glance at Ev, hoping for an explanation.

  “Long story,” she says. “Tell you later.”

  “All these boys have long stories to tell,” Cassie mutters, quirking a grin at Ocean. His handsome features are locked in a scowl.

  “That son of a bitch,” he mutters. “His uncle, that asshole, almost stole Damage Control from Rafe. From all of us.”

  Okay, he does sound like a major ass. “From all of you? I thought the shop belongs to Rafe?”

  “It does.” Ocean lets out a long breath. “But he and Zane made it a home for all of us. Zane taught us the job. Rafe helps us with the rent. All of us think of Damage as our home.”

  “Okay, back up. All of you?” I don’t know why I’m starting to relax around these guys. Ocean makes me feel at ease. Micah, too, and Ev is right beside me, so maybe that’s why. “Who’re all of you?”

  “The Damage Boyz,” Megan says and gives the two guys at our table an affectionate look. “Micah, Jesse, Ocean, Seth and Shane.”

  Long story? More like a saga. One of those that take up a whole shelf in a bookshop.

  “I’ll send someone to take your order,” Megan says as I’m trying to process the conversation.

  Zane and Rafe took them in. Zane taught them the job, and Rafe helps with the rent… I want to ask more questions, but I’m not even sure how to pose them discreetly. Discretion isn’t my strong suit.

  And in the end it doesn’t matter, because our waiter chooses that precise moment to arrive and take our order. When I look up, I find myself staring into a pair of striking green-blue eyes and a sexy grin that takes my breath away.

  Oh, crap. Crap, crap. He’s our waiter?

  At this rate I expect everyone I met at that damn party to make an appearance. Resisting the urge to check if the rest of them are hiding under the table or behind my back, I sit ramrod-straight, duck my head and school my face into a blank mask.

  Draw no attention. I’m not here. You can’t see me.

  “Embers,” Jesse says, his grin widening, his gaze zooming in on my face. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  “Yeah,” I mutter, “fancy that.”

  The whole gang is here, but I all I see is him. Dammit.

  He’s dressed in a soft gray shirt that molds over his chest and shoulders, and black pants. His hair is so short it’s just a shadow on his head, making his luminous eyes look huge.

  Crap. Why can’t I look away?

  “How’s the new job, J?” Micah nods at him. “Is Meg bossing you around?”

  “Like you wouldn’t believe.” Jesse chuckles, a deep, resonant sound that makes me shiver.

  “Hey, Jesse James.” Ocean lifts his coffee cup in a salute. “Bold, bad, and brave.”

  Why do I keep feeling everyone around me is speaking Chinese? “Jesse James? Not Lee?”

  “Wait. You don’t know who Jesse James is?” Ocean lifts his brows.

  “He was a criminal,” Jesse says, “who robbed trains.”

  “He stole from the rich and gave to the poor,” Micah says. “He was kind.”

  “I know who he was,” I interject, but I’m overruled.

  “He was killed,” Jesse mutters, looking away and shifting on his feet, “shot and buried.”

  A shadow passes over his face, and it sends a pang through me. The others fall silent, shifting awkwardly in their seats. I have no clue what the dark undercurrent of their jokes could mean.

  This is a dangerous game.

  “All right,” I say into the stretch of silence. “How about some coffee, then, JJ?”

  He lifts his head, a shadow behind his eyes. Then his dark brows lift, and his brilliant gaze lights up like a sunny morning. “You gave me a nickname!”

  Why does he look so pleased? “No, I didn’t.”

  “Yeah, you damn well did.” He winks at me. “I’ll be JJ for you, babe.”

  I sputter. “What? Everyone calls you something.”

  “But not what you called me.” He bends over the table, braced with one hand on the surface, so that he looks straight into my eyes. His grin flashes again, blinding. “And you’re not everyone.”

  I’m caught in his gaze, a moth in a web. My heart races. Goosebumps run over my skin. My nipples pebble, and fire fills my veins.

  I think I’ve forgotten how to breathe.

  “Well, I’d love a latte,” Ev says, shattering the web, breaking the spell, and I fall back in my chair, sucking in much needed air.

  “A latte it is,” he says, his voice a bit rough, and he straightens, pulling out his order pad. “And for you, Embers?”

  “Embers?” Micah frowns. “What sort of name is that?”

  “Exactly my thoughts,” I mutter.

  Jesse sighs, shakes his head, bites his lip on a smile. He’s unnervingly cute like that, and so sexy I ache deep inside from wanting him so much.

  Holy crap. Not good. “A latte for me, too,” I say quickly and push my chair back with a screech. “Be back in a bit.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Ev says and grabs her purse, but I shake my head.

  “Need a minute,” I whisper, and she stills, her eyes narrowing. “I’ll be fine.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  Jesse is staring hard at me, his gaze almost tangible, and I know everyone is looking, wondering why I’m taking off like that.

  “She just needs the restroom,” Ev says, turning to Jesse, and he blinks, as if coming out of a daydream.

  “Of course. That way.” He turns and points, muscles flexing on his bare arm, making his colorful tattoos dance. “If you want, I can show you, I’m going that—”

  “No, it’s fine,” I snap and stride past him in the indicated direction. “No need.”

  “Jesse, stay,” I hear Micah bark, and I have a weird urge to laugh as I bolt between tables, spot the ladies toilets and run to hide inside.

  ***

  Someone taps on the restroom door as I wash my hands, stalling. It’s a quaint little restroom, like the café that houses it, with flowery wallpaper and a wrought-iron mirror. A vase with dried flowers stands on a low table.

  The knocking comes again. The handle starts to turn.

  “Just a minute!” I shout and turn off the faucet, then reach for the paper towels. “Don’t—”

  A bass voice rumbles through, startling me so badly I let the paper towels fall to the floor. “Hey, Embers, just making sure you’re okay.”

  The handle turns again, this time all the way—because of course the lock wouldn’t work, typical of quaint little places—and the door opens.

  “Wait!”

  Too late. Jesse is standing in the opening, filling it from side to side and bottom to top, one muscular arm casually braced on the frame. “So are you?”

  Unconsciously I step back, retreating until I hit the toilet. “Am I what?”

  He cocks his head to the side. “Okay. Are you okay?”

  He’s blocking the door, and I feel cornered, trapped. My heart is trying to climb up my throat. “I’m fine. Leave me alone.”

  “Why are you scared of me?” He gives me his easy grin, and I want to scream. “I told you, I—”

  “Back off, Jesse.”

  “Sure thing.” A dark flash goes through his bright eyes, and his mouth twists briefly. Then he nods and gives me a ghost of a smile. “No problem.”

  He retreats, lifting his hands, and then he’s gone, lea
ving the doorway empty, my escape route free.

  I have a sudden, strange yearning to call him back, tell him why I’m acting this way. Antisocial by default, made worse by past events. Retreating into my shell when people are around. Hiding.

  A yearning to tell him where my terrors crawl out from, where they are born, in that black pit of the past on which I tried to put a lid and failed.

  But I can’t. I can’t open up, lay myself wide to anyone, much less him. Someone I don’t know, someone who’s so beautiful and arrogant he scares me to death. Truth is, I don’t do people. I don’t get close. Distance is necessary for safety.

  Experience tells me not to give away anything, not even a shred of myself, or they’ll tear me apart. Not to let anyone in or they’ll eat me up from the inside and spit me out where everyone can see.

  So I wrap myself up in my past, the memories I tried to bury for so long and failed, and sit down on the closed toilet lid. Damn, they’re still inside of me, pieces of me, mind scars, fear grooves running straight to my nightmares.

  Get yourself together, Amber. You’re free. The bullies aren’t here. It’s been a while. They wouldn’t even know you if they saw you. And you know how to defend yourself now.

  Okay. There’s a stitch in my side, as if I’ve been running. I suck in a deep breath and almost choke on it. All right. I can do this.

  I’m stronger than this. I’ve fought it and beat it once before. I can do it again. So I sit and struggle to calm my pounding pulse and erratic breathing, try to calm my mind before I go out there and face the world once more.

  Chapter Four

  Jesse

  The one chance I got to talk to Amber, and I scared the shit out of her.

  Great job, J. No idea how I frightened her, but it’s left a sour taste in my mouth and no frigging clue why I care. Girl only just arrived to town, never missed a chance to tell me off and make clear she doesn’t want me around, and I just can’t keep away from her.

  Goddammit.

  I’ve been out of sorts since the party. I can’t stop thinking of her, and now I have a pissed-off Micah on my back, unhappy because he told me to leave her alone and I didn’t. But hey, she ran off to the restroom, and she looked pale. What’s a guy to do but check on her, right? God knows I’ve seen my fair share of breakdowns and panic attacks. Just wanted to make sure she was okay.

  And, fine, I was hoping she’d stop glaring at me for a change. It’s getting to me, turning me inside out. Ridiculous, I know. Stupid. I barely know her. But it’s somehow important to me.

  Besides, Micah should know that’s how I am. Worrying at the bone, poking at the snake to see if it will bite. Scratching at the scabs to see if they’ll bleed. Trying to figure life out.

  Hasn’t worked out too well so far. At least not where people are concerned. The only ones who’ve stuck around are Zane and his gang, and if you asked me, I wouldn’t know to tell you why. Doesn’t make a lick of sense to me why they’d want me around.

  My concentration isn’t the only thing I lost at that party. My leather wrist band is gone, too, and I’m pretty sure I wore it there. That band’s important to me. This sucks.

  I go back to work, an itch between my shoulder blades. When I bring the drinks to the guys’ table, Amber’s there, talking quietly to Evangeline, and I let my glance bounce off her. Ocean and Cassie are giving me intense looks I can’t decipher—at least Ocean’s, ’cuz I know Cassie wants in my pants—and I grin at them, pulling the mask back down over my face.

  Thanks to Zane and Rafe, I’m learning a craft I love, I have a place to crash, and now I got this second job through Megan. I know I’m damn lucky to be here, and I won’t fuck it up, I swear it to any god who might listen. Hell, I swore it to Helen.

  I’ll stay away from Amber and keep the smile on my face every day, even if it kills me. Nobody ever wants a sullen, whiny brat around.

  “Here you go, guys.” I put the cups on the table with a flourish, wink at Cassie who winks right back—see? Some people are easy to please—and avoid Micah’s heavy stare. “Anything else you need?”

  “Sit, have coffee with us,” Ev chirps, and I give her a genuine smile, because she’s so nice when she has no particular reason to like me—apart from the fact I work with her boyfriend at Damage Control.

  “No can do, sweets, sorry. Gotta work.”

  “When do you get off work?”

  I keep the smile firmly on. “In an hour.”

  “In an hour, then. We’ll still be here.”

  “Right.” I lift a hand, rub the back of my neck. “Fact is, I really need to run afterward. Gotta work.”

  She blinks.

  “You still work at that taco place down the street?” Ocean asks. “I thought you’d stopped.”

  “Can’t do that, man. Need the money for the rent.”

  “Isn’t Rafe helping you with that?”

  “He is. He has helped me more than enough. I need to start taking care of myself now. I’m a big boy.”

  I grin so widely my cheeks hurt, and I know Ocean isn’t fooled, but fuck him. I’m telling the truth. I feel shitty knowing Rafe is still paying for my rent, even if it’s not that much. Not to mention that the need to carry my own weight is eating at me. I need to be able to pay my rent on my own.

  But that’s not the only reason I need more money.

  “Rafe rocks,” Ocean mutters, and I nod in agreement. He does, and I’m grateful to him as I am to Zane who’s taken me as his apprentice. Can’t thank those guys enough.

  Also can’t deny that moving out of the apartment I’m sharing with three other guys would be so fucking great.

  Shit, I’m not ungrateful. My roomies aren’t bad guys, but there’s only so much testosterone that can live peacefully under one roof, and I need some quiet. Some place where I can wake up howling from a nightmare without waking everyone up, or jerk off in the shower without one or the other walking in on me.

  Yeah, I jerk off a lot. Hey, I’m a horny boy, and I like getting off. Takes my mind off the crap that sits on my mind.

  Can’t ignore the fact that I’ve been jacking off more often lately, a certain prickly chick on my mind. Damn her curvy body and the heat in those angry blue eyes. Makes me hot as hell, which just goes to show. My body wants her, even if my brain knows I can’t have her. She hates me, and even if I don’t know why, it hurts.

  The more it hurts, the more my dick stiffens when I think of her and the more I want to crack that shell of hers.

  Yeah, I’m a fucked-up son of a bitch.

  As I turn around, taking the tray back to the bar and grabbing my next order, I wonder how long it will take until this nice group of people who do their best to like me realize the truth and run away, just like everyone else in my life.

  ***

  Zane shows up at the taco joint where I work, his spunky girlfriend Dakota in tow, soon followed by Dylan and his supermodel-lookalike chick, Tessa.

  I didn’t expect to see them. They used to come by before Megan got me the job at the café. I guess someone must have spilled the beans to them about me keeping this job.

  Zane is giving me one of those looks that say he wants us to talk, or rather he wants me to talk, and hell to the no. Besides, there’s nothing to talk about. Everything’s cool.

  Too cool to be true, in fact.

  Yet, as I look at them standing there, talking and laughing while ordering their street tacos and tortilla soups, I allow myself , just for a moment, to believe things will remain this way, that this illusion of stability and peace won’t shatter into a million pieces come tomorrow. That I won’t fuck it up.

  Yeah, right.

  Automatically I reach for my leather band, to rub it as my ritual goes, but of course it’s not there.

  Lost it. The one thing I have from her. From Helen. So instead I put my hand on my right pec, over my demon tat.

  I know I promised to try, Helen, and I am giving it my best shot, I swear.

  “How�
�s everything, fucker?” Zane drawls. Figures he wouldn’t waste any time asking. “Your roommates? I see you haven’t killed each other yet.”

  “Then that’s all you need to know,” I tell him cheerfully and turn to the next customers—an old man with a pretty girl who has to be his daughter. “What can I get you?”

  They order their burritos and drinks, and I pass the info to Mel at the back, who’s whistling a Metallica song completely out of tune. The pan sizzles with chilies and onion. Damn, it smells good.

  “That all?” Mel growls and throws the meat into the pan. “Not much traffic tonight, is there?”

  “Nope,” I agree and try to memorize what he’s doing. I wish I could cook up something like that, but the kitchen at the apartment is like a war zone, full of minefields.

  Not that I know the first thing about cooking. I don’t even remember setting foot inside a kitchen up to a year ago, unless it was to nick something to eat and leave before I get caught. My efforts to create something edible have most times backfired, quite literally.

  Sweat sluices down my back and face. I wipe at my brow with the back of my hand. Everything around me smells of fried onion and grease, and my mouth waters. I’ll have to grab a taco as soon as there’s a lull in business.

  I also wouldn’t mind sitting down for a bit. I’ve been on my feet all day, but Mel is talking to me.

  “Do they want extra cheese?” he asks, and I grunt, because I always forget to ask the question.

  Turning back to the old man and the girl, I open my mouth to inquire as to their cheesy preferences and freeze. The guy has his arm around the girl’s shoulders, way too close, way too personal.

  Not her dad. Not his daughter.

  Something dark flashes at the back of my mind, a trickle that turns into a gushing torrent, burying rational thought. I don’t see her face anymore. Dark eyes superimpose blue, dark hair flow over blond, and it’s Helen in the old man’s arms, fear marking her features.

  Fuck. Muscles tensing in my back and legs, I take a step forward. My hands curl into fists.

  “Jesse. Come here, fucker,” Zane calls.

  My legs shake, and the face in front of me is going in and out of focus.

  Christ. “What?” I grunt.