by Jo Raven
I’d seen an envelope stuck to my door when I moved in, but have no clue what I did with it. Probably tore it off and threw it away. “Shit. Shit, shit.”
“Hey, don’t get so excited. You’ll burst something.”
More frigging parties. Damn.
“Give me your hand,” Kayla commands.
I blink at her. Talk about randomness. “What?”
“Hand.” She scoots closer to me on the couch and grabs my left hand. “You seem lost. Let me have a look.”
I stare at her blond-streaked head, which is bent over my upturned hand. Why does it feel as if I’ve just landed in an alternate universe?
“Um, Kayla…”
“A bit of palmistry never hath any harm or foul caused.”
“Is that so?”
“That is so. Now look at your heart line. Look at how short it is. For shame, girl.”
I pull my hand back, but she tsks and grips it more tightly. “We aren’t done yet. Look how the heart line touches the life line. See this?”
I bend to have a look, curious in spite of myself. “What does it mean?”
“That your heart is fragile. Easily broken.”
I freeze, and Kayla takes my silence and stillness as permission to continue this charade.
“The heart line is also broken here and there. There’s some emotional trauma here. And this little bubble on the line here? That’s depression.”
“Crap.” I jerk my hand away and lurch to my feet. “This is the most stupid thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Is it?” Kayla peers at me under her bleached fringe. “Then why are you shaking?”
“I’m not—” I look away from her, trying to recover my composure. “Don’t let people get under your skin,” I can almost hear the school psychologist’s voice in my memory. “It’s okay to show some vulnerability. Not everyone will betray you. In fact most people won’t.”
Yeah, right.
“You’re not what?” she asks, and the need to get away increases.
“Not shaking.”
How can I conquer when I can’t even roll over a small bump like this and keep talking? The tension rises. The air in my chest compresses. My legs shake with the need to run.
Then the doorbell rings, and I spin around, my heart pounding.
Christ.
Clearing the haze of panic from my thoughts, I stalk to the door and check through the peephole.
Clear blue-green eyes stare back at me, set in a handsome tanned face.
Jesse.
“Who is it?” Kayla asks, coming up behind me.
“Nobody,” I reply.
The bell rings again. Those stunning eyes shift up, then down, uncertain, and that long, soft mouth tightens. That flash of insecurity flips a switch inside my chest, and without warning, I grab the handle and pull the door open.
For a fleeting moment, it’s almost like opening the door to myself.
Then Jesse looks up and his face transforms. The uncertainty falls away like dried mud and a smirk lifts the corners of his generous mouth.
Whoa. I stumble back, hot and cold running through my body, and only have the time to think what a bad idea this was, before he walks inside.
***
“Howdy, stranger,” Kayla drawls from somewhere behind me, easy and relaxed-sounding, and I wonder how she does it.
“Hey there,” Jesse says, hands shoved deep in his jeans pockets, eyes sparkling. “How’re things?”
Standing there, talking as if they see each other every day. Yeah, I’ve often wondered how others do it. It’s just one of those things I can’t wrap my head around.
Seeing as they are fine talking to each other, I’m probably not going to be missed, so I turn to go to my room, to finally get that much-needed moment and space.
“Embers.” His deep voice catches me like a fish on a hook.
I stop, a shiver dancing down my spine. “Told you, that’s not my name.”
“But you like it.”
I turn around to glare at him. “No, I don’t.”
“Um, guys.” Kayla lifts her hands and sighs. “Sorry to interrupt the fun, but I have to go. I’m meeting with some friends and I’m late.”
I watch her skip past Jesse to get her purse and light coat, and groan inwardly.
“Traitor,” I hiss between my teeth. She didn’t seem to be in such a hurry to go two minutes ago.
Jesse’s brows climb up, then he shrugs and fixes his gaze on me. “Then I guess it’s just you and me, Embers.”
Everything in my body tightens pleasurably. Okay, how can this be? I don’t like drawing attention, but I do like having his attention on me.
“By the way, she’s right, you know,” Kayla the traitor says as she steps through the still open door to go. “That’s not a name.”
“Oh, come on.” He bends his head forward and chuckles. “You gotta admit it sounds nice.”
“It’s cute,” she says, compounding her treason, and leaves me alone. With Jesse James. Or Lee. Or whatever his name is.
I turn on him, hands on my hips. “What do you want?”
“That sounds like a trick question.” He winks.
“Does it? You barged in here, and you think asking you what you want is a trick question?”
“Hey now. I didn’t barge in here. You opened the door.” He lifts his hands much like Kayla did. I think I scare people.
Good. Better them than me.
“You’re an ass.”
He grins. “And a fine one, too.”
Oh dear God. “You’re a dick.”
He nods solemnly, but his eyes dip to my cleavage and darken to forest green. “A big, big dick.”
Crap, I walked right into this one, didn’t I? Of course, I’ve always had trouble recognizing plays on words and jokes, though nowadays I’ve more or less gotten the hang of it.
I should be upset. He’s teasing me, and teasing, in my book, is a prelude to hurting me.
But the smile lingering on his full lips takes the sting away, and what’s more, it’s hot. Way too hot. Heat rushes to my face, flames licking my cheeks, and a pulse starts between my legs.
This is so not happening. “Stop being such a jerk.”
“You say that affectionately.” He’s somehow moved closer to me while I was busy self-combusting, and his scent engulfs me, something hot, spicy and heady like mulled wine. “Like that pet name you gave me.”
What? I stare at the dark brows over his intense eyes, the faint stubble on that square jaw, that mouth and… Oh God. I’ve lost the thread. Again.
I tear my gaze from his face, glancing down at his bare arms. One of them is heavily inked with swirling colors and a snake.
A cobra, I think, done in red and green, curling on his thick bicep. And underneath the riot of colored ink swathing his arm from shoulder to wrist, faint crisscrossing lines catch my eyes, some thin and some thick, dark and raised.
Scars.
His voice startles me. “This place sure looks different when it’s not full of people.”
“You mean it looks empty.”
He chuckles, warm and delicious like a treacle of melted hot chocolate. “And nice.”
“Although there’s no blonde wrapped around you and no sucking involved?”
His eyes widen. Then he tries to speak and chokes on the words.
“You…” He shakes his head as he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. “Shit.”
Yeah, I’m not only antisocial, I also don’t have any control over my mouth. Double whammy. Who wouldn’t want to be around me?
“So what do you want?” Might as well get this over with, so we can both go on our separate ways—he, back to his blonde and the sucking, and me, to my room and my beads.
He flinches, a barely there twitch that has me wondering if I even saw it. “I lost… something. A leather wrist band. I can’t find it since the party here, and I thought to ask in case you saw it anywhere.”
I remember seeing the
band on his arm that night. “It was an old thing, wasn’t it?” Old, worn and starting to fray.
“It’s…” He rubs his forehead, frowning. “It’s important to me.”
He’s been an ass. Sort of. He’s been pushy. Kind of. He scares me.
But the uncertainty is back in his eyes, and now I know I didn’t imagine it. And although I’m not sure what to do with it, this glimpse beneath the sunny surface that defines Jesse Lee, I wish… I wish I could. I wish I had the courage to prod and break the brittle skin, the scab over a wound I can only guess at.
“I haven’t seen it,” I say, and his jaw tightens. Wow, this bracelet really seems important to him. “But I’ll look around. We’re still cleaning after the party from hell.”
“Thanks.” His mouth quirks. He shifts back and leans against the wall, and I try hard not to notice how good he looks in a faded green T-shirt and low-slung jeans, not to stare at the bulge between his legs.
Oh God, I’m checking out his package. Crap, no way. I have to stop.
“So…” He shifts, and damn if my eyes don’t drop again to his crotch. “Why did you hate the party so much?”
“I didn’t hate it.”
“Liar.” He’s grinning. His mouth is made for it, I think, so wide and sensuous. Sexy. Kissable.
Oh no. You don’t go there, girl. Enough of this.
I perch on the couch and bite my lip, trying to gather my scattered thoughts. “The party was fine. The problem is me. I’m not sociable and outgoing, if you haven’t noticed. I’m working on it.”
There. See if he doesn’t run from me now. The antisocial freak nobody would want to hang out with.
“Working on it?”
I shake my head. Maybe this was a bad idea, too, because I don’t want to explain. Counter-attack it is. “What’s the story of your wrist band?”
“There is no story.”
I lean forward. “Now who’s the liar?”
He grimaces, a twist of his lips, morphing immediately back into a smile. It always returns, that smile. A default setting.
Like my glare.
“I need to get to work,” he says instead of an answer to my question—and accusation—and I slump on the couch.
What did I expect, that after three minutes of conversation he’d open his heart to me? That we’d be best buddies?
Come on, Amber. Just goes to show how little you understand people. Besides, it’s not like you opened up, so why would he?
But as he turns to go, a long-fingered hand already gripping the door handle, he hesitates. Those broad shoulders tense, a ripple going through his back.
“The leather band…” He draws a long breath, lets it out. “It was given to me by someone who meant a lot to me, back when I was a kid. Later I lost her, and that’s all I have left of her.”
My heart falters, then starts again. A lump forms in my throat at the naked, raw pain in his voice. There’s so much I want to ask him, but he opens the door, steps out.
“Hey.” I hop off the couch and start after him. “Wait.”
He turns, a brow lifting. “What is it?”
I shrug. “Sorry for calling you names… earlier.”
“You may regret saying that,” he mutters, but some of the tension leaches from his shoulders. He gives me another of those faint smiles that make my chest warm. “I deserve those names. I’m a pain in the ass.”
“I doubt that,” I mumble, wondering why I’m saying this. Ten minutes ago I would’ve agreed whole-heartedly. “You’re not that bad. Goodnight, JJ.”
His smile spreads, brightening his eyes. “Night, Embers.”
I cock my head at him as he leaves, trying to figure him out. It’s not until later when I realize I called him JJ again.
Crap.
Chapter Six
Jesse
The day passes in a blur, with her words echoing in my mind. She said I’m not that bad. Ha. I’m worse than she can imagine.
I wipe down a table, annoyed when I realize I’m grinning. How can this girl have so much power over me?
And she called me JJ again.
I bow my head, breathe out a sigh. Her calling me by this silly nickname shouldn’t feel so good. It doesn’t mean anything, no matter what I keep saying. People give each other nicknames all the time.
Then why do I want to laugh out loud? Why do I find myself stopping whatever I’m doing, thinking of her?
Fucking hell, this girl. She makes me feel and I don’t wanna do that. Thought I got rid of feelings long ago. In fact, I shouldn’t see her again, should avoid her, find another chick to work out this restless energy, this stiffening of my dick every time I think of her.
To get rid of thoughts of her naked underneath me as I push into her, fucking that sweet pussy until she screams my name, and—
“You okay, J?” Megan appears by my side, and I remain bent over the table, doing my best to hide a massive hard-on.
“Yeah.” My mouth is dry, voice gone raspy. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. You keep spacing out today.” Her dark eyes meet mine squarely. She’s a pretty girl with a core of steel. No wonder Rafe can’t live without her. “I’ve been meaning to ask you… Is everything okay in that apartment of yours?”
I blink, not sure what’s she asking. It’s as if there are hidden words inside her question. “Yeah. Why?”
“Oh, you know.” She tugs on her ponytail. “You’ve complained about your roommates, now and then. I just hope it’s nothing serious.”
What is she asking me? I straighten, cock my head at her. “You’re worried about me? I can take care of myself, Meg. I’m a big boy.”
She smiles, shakes her head. “Worry is an irrational thing. Something you feel for someone you like. That’s how friendship works, J.”
I stare after her, long after she’s vanished at the other end of the café, taking care of customers. Well, I don’t know much about friendship, or any other normal relationship. Who was gonna teach me such things, huh? God knows Helen tried, but then she was gone.
The thought of her hurts. I breathe around the spike of pain in my chest and do my best to switch off my mind for the rest of the day.
Fat chance.
***
Spending my whole shift at the taco joint with a hard-on for a girl who doesn’t much like me is a first. Not a pleasant experience, either. I can barely walk with a boner like an iron pole between my legs, and keeping my mind on the customers is near impossible when all I can see in my mind is her.
She looked feral, with her dark hair loose, her blue eyes smoky and that off the shoulder white blouse, half-transparent in the slanted afternoon light, the flower prints doing little to hide the dark shadow of her bra and the swells of her breasts, or the sweet dip of her waist above the flare of her hips.
Fuck me, she’s like a wet dream.
And what makes it even sexier: she doesn’t seem to realize how hot she is. All she did was glare at me, call me names, everything but shove me out the door, and I just stood there, panting like a dog, wanting so badly into her panties I thought I’d self-combust.
Mel is giving me the Look, which means he’s curious working on pissed. I know the signs. I’m very good at telling when someone’s about to get medieval on my ass, and I force my mind off Embers and push my feet to move faster, boner or not.
I need this job. Need this money. Fuck, I need Mel’s approval. I’ve been working here for the past year, and he’s been like a father to me, stern and also kind, like the time when he insisted I take a day off to rest when I was down with a nasty flu and paid me regardless. Kinda like a father.
Not like I can remember mine at all.
“You should get some new clothes, boyo,” Mel grumbles as I ferry tacos and enchiladas from his cooking station to the counter. “Those jeans of yours are falling apart, and your T-shirts aren’t faring much better. People will think I don’t pay you enough.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I’ve known I need new clothes
for a while now, but I hesitate. My jeans still hold. My boots can be fixed and keep for another couple of months.
I don’t spend money easily. When you’ve had to choose between buying new shoes or food for the week, anything edible to calm the nagging ache of hunger in your stomach, day after day, month after month, you don’t throw money down the drain.
Then again… Mel is right. I work with people. My clothes have to look okay. Living in this world where a hole in your shoe is an issue, where spending four dollars on a coffee is considered normal, where people debate over brands and quality is still beyond me. I feel like an alien intruder, like a tourist from another universe.
Not that I don’t spend on what matters, I think, my mind finally, thankfully drifting away from a certain pretty, pissy girl. And I know what matters. Since I was a kid I had to make decisions that could well mean life or death. Buying a burger instead of a chocolate. Buying a shirt instead of a toy. Eating fast when there was food. Getting out while things were good before they went south.
Some habits are hard to break.
I chew on this as I serve a lovey-dovey couple their tacos with extra cheese, extra chili, extra zing. I never thought about it this way, but could it be why I like being around Embers so much? Because I do like being around her, despite her temper. She makes me feel calm, in control. Excited but also peaceful.
Being around her isn’t moonlight and roses. She doesn’t pretend to like me, doesn’t make it easy for me. Doesn’t invite me in, or offer me anything. Hell, at her apartment she didn’t even offer me a glass of water. Every little thing I drag from her—a pet name, a smile—is a victory I worked for.
Being around her isn’t easy. It hurts when she treats me like shit, when she seems disgusted with me. Things between us aren’t good, even though we seemed to reach some sort of truce.
And that means I don’t have to run away, forget her name. Not yet, at least, and it’s funny how relieved that makes me. Never felt this way before, and if that’s crazy, well then, frankly, crazy doesn’t scare me anymore.
***
“Earth to Jesse Lee.” Zane pokes at my chest, and I take a step back as he brushes by to grab the tattoo gun. “Trouble?”
“Nah.” I blink, afterimages of Amber in her see-through blouse flashing behind my eyes. “Just a bad night.”
