He remembered one time in particular. His parents had been fighting, as usual, and he’d stormed out and sought refuge at Linc’s house. In the past he’d tried to intervene, tried to get his dad to leave his mother alone, but she’d begged him to stay out of it, telling him later that it only made things worse when he got involved. She apologized with tears in her eyes, while assuring him that she knew how to handle his father.
With all the yelling and accusations and threats going on, it always sounded like they were having a real knock-down-drag-out, but his father never laid a hand on his mother. His specialty was bullying and belittling. He had it down to an art. But his mom liked to say he was all hot air and bluster and once he let off steam, he calmed down like a balloon with a slow leak. She made Jake promise to stay out of their arguments. Reluctantly, he agreed, but he couldn’t stay in the house and listen. That was asking too much.
He’d been tossing and turning on the Jones’s couch, furious with his dad, furious with his mom, and unable to sleep when Marla Jean snuck in the front door. She’d been out on a date with Bradley. They’d gone steady on and off all through high school. But it was way past her curfew, so she was trying to be quiet. Instead she stumbled into an ottoman. Jake had pushed it out of the way when he put the sheets on the couch and forgot to move it back where it belonged.
“Shitfire and horse dookie.” She muttered the unladylike exclamation under her breath, but he heard it just the same.
He leaned up on one elbow. “You’re gonna get in more trouble for cussin’ than you are for coming in late, young lady.”
“Geez, Jake, you scared the crap out of me. If people wouldn’t put dad-gummed obstacles in my way, I wouldn’t get caught doing either one.” After being initially startled at finding him there, she seemed to take his presence on the family couch in stride. She plopped down on the footstool she’d just tripped over and glared at him.
He could see the hazy shape of her bathed in moonlight from the front window, but the shadows of gray and gold that danced across her face didn’t hide the fact that she’d recently been crying.
He sat up all the way, his protective instincts going on full alert. “What’s wrong, Marla Jean?”
She stood hastily. “It’s nothing, and I better get to bed before Mom wakes up. G’night, Jake.”
“If it’s nothing, why the hell are you crying? Did Bradley hurt you?” Even before she answered, he felt the urge to go find the punk and see if he could make him bawl like a baby.
“Now who’s gonna get in trouble for cussing? Of course he didn’t hurt me, unless you count hurt feelings. But I’ll live.” She started down the hallway.
“Why do you put up with him, Marla Jean?” He’d had a front-row seat to her relationship with this idiot, and he still didn’t understand what she saw in him.
She sighed and turned around, though he could barely see her in the dark. Her voice floated to him on the sleepy gray light of the quiet house, and it was filled with frustration and despair. “He can be really sweet sometimes.”
“But I’m guessing he wasn’t so sweet tonight?” Maybe by asking, he was seeking insight into women in general. Maybe he was trying to understand why a girl like Marla Jean would let a scrawny-assed kid like Bradley Bandy make her feel bad as often as he did. And maybe, while he was at it, Jake was trying to understand his mother, too.
“It’s no big deal. He forgot my birthday, that’s all.” She was standing at the end of the sofa now and tried to sound matter of fact.
“Your birthday’s not until next weekend.” The fact that he knew that, and Bradley didn’t, said a lot.
“Oh, I know, but he made plans to go camping with some of the guys from the baseball team. And it’s my fault really. I was dumb enough to assume we’d do something together.”
“See, this is what I hate.” He shoved to his feet, letting the blanket fall to the couch. She looked startled and took a step back. “The Marla Jean I used to know wouldn’t let some asshole treat her like that, and she certainly wouldn’t lie down like a whipped dog and take the blame on top of it. What the hell’s wrong with you?”
She sank down onto the sofa and stared at him. The tears that she’d managed to control earlier started running down her face again. He sat down beside her and pulled her into a clumsy hug. “Aw, Marla Jean, I’m sorry. I’m an asshole, too.”
She buried her face in his collarbone and sniffled, pounding him with a weak fist. “You really are, Abel Jacobson.”
He could tell she was trying not to cry. He patted her on the back, feeling her wet lashes brush his neck. Her long arms wound themselves around his waist. She held on to him tightly, exhaling shaky little puffs of air against his collarbone, and his horny teenaged body was suddenly too aware of the way her breasts were rising and falling, her upper body pressed flush against his chest. He found out just how small she felt in his arms, delicate and fragile, and he noticed she smelled sweet and clean, like some fruity shampoo.
He also knew he should take his hands off her.
He patted her again and said, “You know boys are all dicks when it comes to mushy stuff, Marla Jean. I bet Bradley feels bad about all of this, too.” He didn’t know why he was defending the guy, but the safest path around the swamp of feelings he’d just stumbled into was to put the focus back on her boyfriend.
She shook her head and let out a long sigh. “He sure didn’t sound sorry.”
“He was probably embarrassed. We hate it when we screw up and get caught.”
For some reason, that seemed to put the steel back in her spine. She pushed away from him with eyes flashing. “Well, that’s just ignorant. All he had to do was act like he felt bad, even a little bit, for disappointing me, you know? And I would have said, ‘Go, have a good time with your buddies.’ But no, he had to make me into the bad guy, and I was stupid enough to let him do it.”
“You’re not stupid, Marla Jean.”
She stood up and used her hand to wipe the last of the tears away. “You’re right about one thing, Jake. This isn’t like me, and I’m sick and tired of coming in last on his list of what’s important. So that’s it. Bradley Bandy can go fu—”
“Jeez, watch your language, would ja? Your mom’s gonna be out here any minute with a bar of soap in her hand, and I don’t want to get caught in the crossfire.”
She glanced in the direction of her parents’ bedroom and wrinkled her nose. “He can go fly a kite. That’s all I was going to say, Mr. Hall Monitor.” Then she leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks for the pep talk, Jake. It was just what I needed.” With one last watery smile, she ran off down the hallway.
He watched her disappear into the darkness and lay back down on the couch. After smacking himself in the forehead with the heel of his hand, he rubbed the place on his cheek still tingling from her kiss.
Not that the kiss meant anything. It was nothing. But for the first time since he’d known her, when he thought of Marla Jean, she didn’t seem so young, or so bratty. Instead she seemed like a mine buried in the middle of an innocent-looking field. One false step and kablooey.
And here he was, all these years later, making up the same couch, still listening to Marla Jean discuss the state of her love life and still trying not to step in something.
Some things never changed. She still thought of him as the harmless guy she could tease without consequences. But he was no saint, and she wasn’t an innocent schoolgirl anymore.
He thought back to another time when he’d kissed her. That weekend before he’d left for college. He’d had one too many beers, but that was no excuse. He’d noticed her the minute she’d gotten out of the car with her friends. That yellow dress, barely covering her, half falling off of her in his heated imagination. She’d climbed up beside him on the tailgate of his truck and she’d kissed him, or he’d kissed her. He couldn’t remember anymore. He just remembered she was dangerous all those years ago, and she was just as dangerous now.
He spr
ead out the sheet and threw the pillow onto the couch. Then he started back down the hall to pick up her dishes.
He knocked on the doorframe and stuck his head around the corner. The bed tray had been set over to the side of the bed, and Marla Jean was curled on her side, sound asleep. He was happy to see she’d kept her foot propped up on the pile of pillows, and as he walked around to the far side of the bed to pick up the tray, he could see she’d eaten most of the sandwich and all of the soup.
Putting the tray on the dresser he moved around to her side of the bed, gently straightening the blankets and tucking them under her chin. Her dark hair was a riot of curls spreading over the pale yellow pillowcase. She sighed and snuggled deeper into the sheets.
Jake took a moment to study her while she couldn’t talk back. She’d always been cute, and her go-screw-yourself attitude added to her appeal for some weird reason. But seeing her now, those long lashes fanned across her cheek, her pink lips parted in sleep, she looked sweet, and vulnerable, and a little lost.
He straightened and moved away from the bed before he gave into the urge to touch her. Maybe he was projecting, but being around Marla Jean this last week had made him feel a little lost himself. Unsettled, like his life was going nowhere fast. She made him want things he’d decided a long time ago he didn’t need. Things like a home and family. A wife and kids. Maybe a dog. Plain old ordinary things to most folks.
But to him they were fairytale things, and he was too old to start believing in fairytales now. Especially ones involving Marla Jean Bandy. Leaving sleeping beauty undisturbed, he picked up the tray and went to spend what promised to be a restless night on the living room sofa.
“Cut it out, Pooky. Nice doggy.”
“Grrrr, Grrr-rr, Grrrr.”
Marla Jean tried without success to shake the growling dog off her foot.
Pooky was Mrs. Reece’s beagle, her next-door neighbor’s newest puppy, her pride and joy. At the moment the little sweetheart’s sharp, razor-like teeth were sunk clean up to the gums into Marla Jean’s foot.
She’d never really trusted Pooky. Not for a minute. Behind those laughing puppy dog eyes and lolling, drooling tongue lurked the real Pooky, the sneaky one that took nips out of her ankles whenever Mrs. Reece wasn’t looking. Marla shook her leg and dragged herself and the attached canine across the yard and up the walkway to her front door. Pooky didn’t seem to care. On top of the fact that the puppy was having her foot for dinner, Marla Jean really needed to go to the bathroom in the worst way, and she really didn’t want Pooky going with her.
“Come on, Pooky, give me a break. For Pete’s sake, let go.”
“Who’s Pooky?”
Marla Jean’s eyes flew open at the sound of the man’s voice. She realized she’d been dreaming. She was in her bedroom, in her own bed. Pooky was gone, and even though her foot still hurt like a son of a pipefitter, she would have been relieved if it hadn’t been for the shadowy shape of a large man looming over her.
She came up swinging. Her dad taught her to throw a punch the first time she came home from school crying because Tony Busby said she hit like a girl. She made Tony Busby eat those words the next day. Her mom grounded her for two weeks, but her dad snuck her extra cookies when he came to tuck her in that night.
The big shadowy guy yelled and ducked the first punch. He made a grab for her, but she rolled toward him instead of moving away and the second blow connected solidly. Right in the eye.
“Ow!” His shout was filled with pain and surprise. “What the—”
He didn’t finish whatever he was going to say because she kept pummeling him, and he was busy trying to minimize the damage. He lunged, pinning her to the bed and for a minute the only noise in the room was the sound of their harsh panting. She tried not to panic, but he was stronger than her. It seemed pointless, but it wasn’t in her to give up without a fight, so she kept thrashing, trying to throw him off.
“Cut it out, Marla Jean. You’re gonna hurt yourself. It’s me, Jake. You were having a bad dream.”
“Jake?” She was still half asleep, but she stopped flailing around as soon as she recognized his voice. Her racing heart slowed to an idle. “What on earth are you doing in my bedroom in the middle of the night?”
“I’m sleeping on the couch? Remember? At least I was trying to, before you starting moaning and carrying on about somebody named Pooky.” He didn’t get up, but stayed with his big body slam-bam on top of hers. He did, however, prop himself up on his forearms, supporting some of his weight.
“Pooky’s a dog,” she explained in a slumber-rough voice, although explaining Pooky wasn’t the most pressing thing on her mind at the moment. Jake’s big sturdy body holding her to the bed seemed much more interesting. Even if her brain was foggy with sleep, everything primitive and female inside her was busy waking up and saying howdy-doo-dee, mister.
Jake found an unruly curl and brushed it from her cheek. “All that ruckus over one little ole dog? I thought you must be fending off an entire pack of rabid jackals.” Jake’s face was only a dim shadow, but his voice drifted past her ear, amused and warm and intimate.
“Pooky’s much worse than a pack of anything, and he lives right next door.” This wasn’t the way she’d imagined it.
Jake in her bed.
And she had imagined it. More than once. Years ago in her adolescent fantasies—back when she barely knew what a fantasy was, and again lately. He’d been starring in much more grown up versions these days.
He laughed. “Mrs. Reece’s newest little fur ball? Why Marla Jean, that puppy wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“If I was a fly, I’d be relieved to hear that.” She shifted beneath him, relishing the contact.
By some trick of light, some shifting of the clouds and moon peeking in her bedroom window, the shadows lifted and she could see his face. He wasn’t laughing now. His dark eyes drilled clean through to her core. His stark cheekbones looked like carved granite. His mouth moved closer. It didn’t look like he was thinking about Pooky anymore, either.
It looked like he was about to kiss her.
Chapter Twelve
His mouth teased hers, a whisper of a touch, a mere hint of lip against lip, before he moved on to her jaw, tracing it with his tongue on his way to the sensitive spot behind her ear. Although she could barely catch her breath, she prayed she wasn’t still dreaming. Her foot still felt like it had been used for a game of Whac-a-Mole, and then it all came flooding back to her.
Kicking the tire, Jake bringing her home, tucking her into bed. And she’d kissed him, too, but he’d acted unaffected by it, amused, even. He didn’t seem amused now. In fact, he seemed to be on a mission.
“Jake?”
“Hmm?” He was nuzzling her neck, working his way down to her collarbone.
His whiskers scraped against her skin, pushing down the stretched out neckline of the hockey jersey she wore. His sweet, wet mouth blazed a trail across the top of her breasts.
“Jake?”
He lifted his head and asked, “What?” before heading back toward her mouth.
This time, when he kissed her all teasing was gone, and she forgot what she wanted to say. This time involved scalding heat and full body contact. His mouth crashed down, stealing any chance she had of speaking. She closed her eyes and met him more than halfway. Deep, dark pleasure rappelled down her body, swinging, sliding pleasure that made her greedy and hungry.
Like any good kiss, it robbed her of all common sense. Filled her with mad, urgent joy she wanted to capture and keep. She wrapped her arms around his broad back, her hands scraping down the cotton texture of his T-shirt until she found the bottom hem. There was nothing cautious about the way her hands pulled it up exposing bare skin. He groaned, encouraging her touch, welcoming her exploration.
And then he gentled the kiss, slowed things down even while his hand moved to cover her breast through the fabric of the hockey jersey. She arched into his touch, squirming to get closer still, as hi
s fingers found her nipple and circled it slowly. Oh dear God, this was what she’d been looking for when she wriggled into that tight red dress last Saturday night. Mindless, glorious, thought-obliterating sex. There was no mistaking the hard erection nestled between her legs. Her hips bucked with need as he rubbed against her. She pushed her hands inside the waistband of his boxers, and froze when the overhead light in the bedroom snapped on.
“Marla Jean? Jake? What the hell?”
Lincoln stood in the doorway staring at them like he’d spotted a two-headed cow and couldn’t quite believe his eyes.
Jake didn’t move for a long moment and his eyes sought hers, seeming to offer regret or apology, neither of which she wanted or needed. He leaned close and whispered, “I said you were trouble, didn’t I?” But then he winked and arranged her clothes so that she was covered before easing himself off the bed. The gentleness of the gesture touched her. If he was worried about what Linc thought, she sure couldn’t tell by looking at him.
Lincoln, on the other hand, she could read like a book. She watched as his confusion turned to anger. Her brother held up a small white pharmacy sack and shook it. “I thought you might need these, Marla Jean. And is this your idea of looking out for my little sister, Jake?” He emphasized the word little, as if to magnify the size of the betrayal. His face was tomato red with anger.
Marla Jean pushed herself up on the bed. “Oh, good grief. Cut it out, Lincoln.”
Ignoring her, Linc threw the sack on her dresser and took a threatening step toward Jake with his fist cocked. “You’ve got three seconds to get out of here before I start beating the living shit out of you.”
Jake stood his ground. “I know you’re upset, Linc, but face it, you haven’t been able to beat me up since seventh grade.”
“I was never this motivated before,” Lincoln snarled and took another step toward Jake.
Ain't Misbehaving (9781455523801) Page 10
