by Cherrie Lynn
“No idea.”
“These are things you can find out Sunday.”
“It’s not really any of my business.”
“Oh, come on. Can you imagine how crazy this is going to drive Ghost? It’ll be worth it for that alone.”
“Ghost said Jared is an insanely jealous asshole. If I remember right, he’s the reason Ghost and Macy had that major fight when they first got together. I’ve had my share of insane. And jealous. And assholes.”
“I don’t think an asshole would have done what he did for you. Do you?”
“No,” Starla admitted.
“So we’ve ruled that out. The ‘insane’ and ‘jealous’ parts we’ll verify in time. Because you’ll end up sleeping with him. You can’t help yourself.”
What the hell? “Excuse me?”
“You said he has blue eyes? You’ll shag him rotten. You’re a sucker.”
Starla held up a hand, futile though it was to quell Janelle’s giggles. “If anything, that should be my warning. It’s a harbinger of doom. It’s my curse. The damn Brian Ross curse.” She let her head fall to the table with a thud. “Why can’t I get him out of my mind? It’s worse now than ever.”
“Because you haven’t met the man of your dreams yet,” Janelle said thoughtfully.
Starla lifted her head and took another drink. It wasn’t enough to dull the ache in her chest. “I have. I just can’t have him.”
“I don’t believe that. I believe there’s a guy out there somewhere who will wipe all thought of him from your head, except as a friend.”
“Impossible.”
“You don’t want to believe it. You’ve nursed this crush for so long, I think it’s the fear of letting go of it that holds you back more than anything.”
“When did you become my fucking psychologist?”
Jan scoffed. “I’ve always been your fucking psychologist, and you know it. Brian and I, it’s like our calling in life to talk you into, through, and out of everything. Not that we ever have much success.”
And she didn’t know what she’d do without them. “Thanks for that. Really. Maybe I’ll start listening. Someday.”
“You won’t, but that doesn’t mean we’ll stop trying.”
She could definitely use a shot of willpower where sex was concerned. A hot body and smoldering eyes, and she was a sucker. No use denying it. The guys standing by the pool table right now, for instance—one of them was a current booty call. God, he was fine, and a beast in the sheets. If he strolled over right now and flashed that cocky shit-eating grin of his, she’d probably be under those sheets with him tonight.
It wasn’t that she had any measure of guilt over having a healthy sex drive. She loved sex: having it, watching it, fantasizing about it, and anyone who didn’t love that about her could fuck off. But last night had been a wakeup call. She was tired. Tired of…emptiness. Pleasure for the sake of pleasure had its merits. But she felt like she had so much more than that to give someone. All these years spent directing her love where it wasn’t wanted or needed… How would it feel to have it appreciated? Even returned?
She damn sure wasn’t going to find it in that group over by the pool tables. She damn sure wasn’t going to find it with guys like Max. He was a beast under the sheets too; the two occasions she’d let him between her thighs, she’d felt like one gigantic walking bruise for days afterward. She’d climaxed around his punishing thrusts until she couldn’t think anymore. Which, she supposed, had been the point.
Seemed she was an expert in picking out the guys who were an excellent lay but either closed off emotionally or freaking insane. Hot sociopaths were her specialty. Sex was all they had to offer. Hell, was there anything more? She was beginning to wonder.
But there had to be. It just sucked that the only man who’d ever made her feel alive was Brian, and he’d never laid one fucking finger on her, except to give her tattoos or platonic hugs. Never would.
Despite Janelle’s words, she wouldn’t feel that way with someone like Jared, though he’d felt damn good against her earlier. The light scratch of his beard against her cheek, the hardness and the heat beneath the soft old T-shirt he’d been wearing—damn. She was too fucked-up for a man like him. She wouldn’t ever want to inflict herself on someone else’s kids anyway. Probably have them chain-smoking and saying “fuck” all the time. The whole church-going, God-fearing set wasn’t her thing. At all. She’d been there, and she’d fled like a bat out of hell when she’d had a chance.
“Oh great,” Janelle said, snapping Starla out of her miserable musings. She followed her friend’s gaze to the couple of guys ambling over with beers in hand. “God forbid we sit and have a conversation by ourselves.”
Wouldn’t you know it, one of the guys was Starla’s booty call, Drew, wearing the aforementioned shit-eating grin. The bastard just knew he would get lucky tonight, didn’t he? Must be slim pickings tonight.
Starla suspended her arm and made a circular motion with one finger. “Run along, gents. Carry your asses back to your game and play with your own sticks and balls.”
The shit-eating grin crashed and burned. “Heyyy—”
“No need to be a bitch,” his friend spat out as he swayed drunkenly on his feet.
Starla batted her lashes at him. “You’ll know when I’m being a bitch. It’s not now. But might be in a few seconds.”
“Well,” Janelle said happily as the guys ambled grudgingly back to the pool tables, “that’s that.”
“I hate men,” Starla grumbled. “Wanna run away and get married?”
Janelle laughed and lifted her glass. Starla clinked hers with it. “Thought you’d never ask, babe.”
***
It didn’t occur to Starla until Sunday afternoon as she shopped for groceries that she hadn’t asked Jared for food preferences, but he looked like a meat-and-potatoes man. That physique she’d felt pressed so tantalizingly against her hadn’t been sculpted at any gym. The little she knew about him from hearing Ghost and Macy talk, he rode horses and bulls and owned a ranch and probably baled hay and herded cattle and did all kinds of manly, cowboy-type things she didn’t know shit about as a definite lover of the indoors. If he needed help with his computer or wanted a real challenge on the Xbox or a savory meal, she was his girl. But dealing with an animal bigger than she was? No, thanks.
The thought of watching him do all those outdoor things, though—preferably shirtless and sweating with muscles bulging—held definite appeal.
So her mission in meal planning was to seek the middle ground. Something impressive but something he and two little girls would actually, well, eat. Hopefully none of them had any allergies. She hadn’t thought to get his number so she could ask him these pertinent questions. Since she’d called Janelle from his phone the night he drove her home, she could’ve gotten it from her friend, but oh well. Surely if there was an issue, he would’ve said something.
In the end, she actually settled for meat and potatoes. Pork tenderloin stuffed with lemon and herbs. She would roast the potatoes. Do some fresh, crisp green beans with red pepper. By the time she was done shopping, she was starving with hours left until dinner. By the time she was home putting away the groceries until time to head to Jared’s, she was second-guessing her choices. Too late now. So she whipped up some cookie dough from scratch and put a batch on to bake—surely two little girls would appreciate chocolate chip cookies if nothing else she brought. Maybe the grown man would too. Unless someone was diabetic or something. Shit. She had to stop doing this. Why was she so worried about it, anyway? It was just a nice gesture, not a date or anything. She wasn’t seeking a proposal. What the fuck did she care if they ate her food? More for her.
“Holy shit, it smells good in here.”
Not for him, though.
Her roommate’s brother ambled bleary-eyed into the kitchen, shirtless as usual—nowhere near the appealing sight Jared would surely be. It was almost four, and Doug was just now waking up. Jobless, hom
eless if not for his sister and Starla, his permanent residence was their couch. He didn’t lift one damn finger around the place, didn’t help with rent even when he had a few dollars. It was a source of constant friction between Starla and Julie, whose only whiny reply whenever Starla brought it up was, “He’s my brotherrrr, what am I supposed to dooo?” Starla could suggest a thing or two to do, but this was one place where she tried to keep the peace. She couldn’t have misery at work and home. So she dealt with it and tried as best she could to ignore the slug whose butt was permanently attached to the couch. When confronted with him, though, sometimes she couldn’t hold her tongue.
“Thanks,” she replied vaguely, opening the fridge to grab a Coke—and freezing upon realizing they were all gone. Her Coke that she’d bought last weekend with her money. The empty twelve-pack box sat next to a brand-new, uncracked box of Bud Light. He never had rent money, but he usually had beer money. Or his sister bought it for him. Fuming, Starla yanked the empty Coke box out, closed the door, and turned to see Doug peeking in the oven.
“Oh hell yeah. Those look awesome.”
“And not for you.”
“Why not?” he whined. It was a tone he and his sister had in common.
“They’re for a friend.”
“I can’t have one?”
She waved the box at him before crushing it between her hands. “Did you drink my Coke?”
He straightened and sneered at her. “Your name wasn’t on them.” It was a favorite phrase of his.
“Then your name isn’t on those fucking cookies.”
“Damn. Forget your antibitch pills this morning?”
“Must have. Forget your antifreeloader pills?”
Reference to his mooch status usually shut him up, and this was no exception. He left the kitchen while she fought nausea at the sight of his pale, pimply back and ratty boxers sticking out of his dirty low-slung jeans. Old, faded ink, shaggy unwashed hair, everything about him yuck. And she had to look at him every day. Jesus. Her life.
One day she’d be out of here, but she had no idea when that day would be. Not anytime soon, unfortunately. Her parents often told her there was room at home if she ever wanted to move back and save up for something better, but frankly, she’d rather live in her car. Not that they’d been bad parents, necessarily—she loved them and she guessed they loved her despite her life choices. Strictly religious, they didn’t even own a TV and probably held regular prayer sessions for her soul. Bringing her under their roof would be another opportunity to indoctrinate her. There weren’t enough nopes in the world for her thoughts on that matter.
Doug disappeared into Julie’s bedroom, and Julie emerged frowning a few minutes later. “What’s going on?” she asked. Great. Little Dougie had tattled on her.
“Not a thing.”
“You sure pissed him off.”
“I wouldn’t give him a cookie.”
“Why not?” Now Julie was peering into the oven. Starla had liked her, had been friends with her for a while before they moved in together, but now that she’d met Doug, she couldn’t help but see him every time she looked at Julie. Whiny, weak, and lazy, though at least Julie could be counted on to pick up after herself every now and then and hold on to a steady job.
“Because I’m making them for someone else.”
“Oh. Who?”
“The guy who brought me home the other night. He has two kids.”
“Ohhhh.” Julie grinned. “Thinking of taking on stepmommy duties?”
“Hell no. This is a friendly gesture.” She kept having to explain that, both to herself and others. But if it was true, then how come she had butterflies in her stomach? How come all she could imagine was the girls hating her and her food? And Jared… What if the only non-assholeish guy she’d met lately—Ghost’s opinion be damned—blinked those baby blues at her and lured her to her demise as Janelle predicted? All hope would be lost if he proved to be another disappointment. She might as well face it at that point: she was an asshole magnet, forever doomed, repelling the good guys and drawing in the bad.
Ugh.
“Maybe it’ll turn into more than that,” Julie said thoughtfully.
“Why is it whenever a single girl has any encounter whatsoever with a single guy, everyone starts acting like they should go pick out china patterns?”
“Is he hot?”
“Um…he’s like, a cowboy. The man listens to country music.”
Julie laughed. “So? Is. He. Hot? Does he achieve DILF status?”
Oh yeah. Smoking. “I guess!”
Starla hadn’t realized Doug was back in the living room. “I don’t see why it matters,” he interjected from the couch, remote control in hand. “He won’t be around for long. Hit it and quit it like everyone else she goes out with.”
Starla started toward him. “Hey, fuck y—”
“Whoa, whoa, be nice!” Julie yelled over Starla’s retort, sticking her arm out in her way.
“Tell that motherfucker to be nice.”
“Both of you be nice. Doug! Don’t say that.”
“Whatever,” he muttered under his breath.
“Don’t let him get to you,” Julie said as soothingly as she could. Starla could barely hear her for the rushing in her ears. “Come on, Star.”
Soon. Someday soon, it was going to come down to Julie choosing between a roommate who pulled her weight and a brother who let his putrefy on the couch. God help Julie if she chose her brother, because she wouldn’t be able to afford to live here without Starla’s contribution.
Sighing, Starla turned away and somehow managed to find her purse through her lingering rage. She didn’t know where she was going for the next three hours, but it had to be away from here. Except…shit, the cookies. Chucking her bag back on the counter, she turned and snatched the oven door open. Looked good to her. Fresh and fragrant. She might even have one herself. If Doug touched them, she’d take his fucking hand off. In fact, she should really piss him off and give one to Julie. But no, she didn’t deserve one either, always taking his side.
She hadn’t wanted to go to Jared’s house pissed off at the world, but it looked as if that was where the day was heading. As she cooled and packed the cookies, she tried to calm herself by imagining the family she was about to spend the evening with—probably getting ready for church right now, two pretty little girls and their handsome dad all dressed up. The very picture of wholesomeness, singing hymns and shit. She didn’t fit in with that, even for one evening. This had been such a bad idea, and the closer the clock ticked to seven, the more sure of it she became. At six thirty, she grabbed the groceries and the plastic container of cookies and headed for the door. Julie, who had settled in with her brother to watch a movie, shouted good luck to her.
Was she ever going to fucking need it. But she’d reached one important decision, if only to prove everyone else wrong: she was not succumbing to the curse of the blue eyes. She was not sleeping with Jared Stanton. Ever.
Chapter Five
“Dad, she’s looking at me.”
“You looked at me first.”
“Did not!”
Jared glanced in the rearview mirror and snickered. “Mimi, don’t ever look at your sister again for as long as you live.”
Ashley and Mia giggled. “Really, Dad?” Mia said with that sardonic little attitude she’d been developing lately.
“Really.”
Mia sighed. “I’m hungry. I want pizza.”
“Remember, I told you my friend is coming over to make us dinner.” He supposed that was still the plan. He hoped so. Strange how much he was looking forward to the idea of seeing Starla again. He flicked the blinker to turn onto the dirt road that would take them home, the road where he’d picked her up.
“Oh yeah. Why can’t she just bring pizza?”
“I don’t know what she’s bringing.”
“I want pizza too,” Ashley chimed in.
“I’m sure you’ll like whatever she make
s.”
“What’s her name?”
“Starla.”
“Is she your girlfriend?” Ashley drew the word out to a comical length, and Jared laughed.
“No. Just a friend.”
“How come we don’t know her?”
“She’s a new friend.”
That seemed to satisfy them. For the next couple of minutes, anyway, they sang along with the song on the radio. Then Mia said, “Is she Mom’s friend?”
Not hardly. He and Shelly had probably had the most amicable divorce in the history of broken marriages, and they remained committed to presenting a unified front to parenting the girls. But Starla would probably scare the shit out of his ex-wife. No doubt the girls were going to go straight home and tell their mom about Dad’s new “friend.”
“I don’t think Mom knows her,” he said carefully.
“Can I call Mom?” Ashley asked. She was the one most likely to get homesick for their mother’s house. Mia was the exact opposite—always wanting to call him when she was with Shelly, seemingly most content when she was near the animals at his place.
“Maybe after dinner, okay?” Jared watched Ashley’s expression in the mirror for any sign of an impending outburst or deluge of tears.
“Okay,” she said simply.
“Good girl.”
He really was a lucky guy, and he knew it—even if it was hard to remember at times. Usually those times were when his house was echoingly empty between the girls’ visits and all he was left with were memories. But Shelly was great about deviating from the visitation schedule whenever he asked. He saw his daughters way more than some of his friends were able to see their kids after a divorce.
There was the thought of one day, though, that loomed in the back of his mind, and he tried not to give it much consideration now since there didn’t seem to be much danger in its imminent arrival: the day Shelly began seriously dating some other guy she wanted to bring around Jared’s girls.
He didn’t think he would be okay with that. When it came to Ashley and Mia, he didn’t entrust their care to anyone except immediate family. Anyone. He didn’t expect Shelly to stay single forever, of course, but it was going to be hard. He dreaded it. Likewise, he was reluctant to bring other women around his girls, lest they get attached as they had to Macy. Starla, though, was a fluke. She’d caught him by surprise and he’d let her in. But it was all right. He’d let this onetime thing happen and that would be that. No harm could come from one night, could it? And no sense dwelling on things that hadn’t even happened yet.
