by F. G. Adams
I spy Katrina’s full on smile as she says, “Sì, amiga. That’s perfect. Headache it is. Now vamonos! Up and at ‘em, Jo. Let’s go live a little.”
I take a deep breath and finish off my rum and coke. Then I slide off the stool as Katrina grabs my hand and pulls me towards the table where the Hottie McHottie bad boy is sitting, his eyes on alert as we approach.
“What the …?” This isn’t happening. “Of all the fucking places,” I whisper to myself, knowing Gunner is hearing the verbal rant and not giving a flying fuck either way. I can’t believe my luck. The luck of the Irish, my ass. Luck hasn’t been my friend for the past several years of my life. I’ve got the scars to prove just how shitty my luck is. If something can go wrong, it does. Murphy’s Law.
Unbelievable! Now’s not a good time. Why couldn’t I be in the View when this happened, possibly sitting at the bar drinking a beer at The Rock Salt with Lukas and Ollie? Or better yet, eating breakfast at Tropical Palm? No, I’m just one unlucky bastard with a black storm following me around, waiting to rain on my parade. Yet just like back in the day, in she strolls wearing those sexy pink cowboy boots and painted-on jeans without a care in the world about the problems she’s causing me.
Jocelyn Blackwood. M’aingeal.
Memories from the first day of high school flood me: her trademark boots, the day I met her … Little did I realize she would change me.
When I was younger, I thought she was the one for me. I use to dream about her wrapping those sexy boots around my waist as I thrust deep inside her. She would scream my name from the pleasure I caused her body and vow to never let me go. A foolish dream of my youth. I know better now. Women like her aren’t for me.
She never wanted more from me than friendship. She never understood how much she meant to me. I was just another guy trying to date one of the Blackwood Sisters.
But, she wasn’t that to me. She was more. I saw more. The real Jocelyn.
She was all I cared about throughout my senior year of high school, but she wouldn’t allow me in. I made a commitment to serve my country and when the time came for me to leave the View, that was the hardest choice I ever made because I was leaving her too. Subconsciously, I guess that’s one of the many reasons I live there now and run my business from there—to be closer to her.
She was angelic. Pure. Sensitive. Beautiful.
I knew she was easily spooked, but I couldn’t stay away from her from the moment I laid eyes on her.
She possessed an aura of innocence that drew me in. I was a fish out of water when she was around. Awkward little Keagan Fontneau. I couldn’t express my true feelings, so I came up with the not-boyfriend phrase to ease her fears. The phrase worked for a while and I was her best friend.
Her dad was an asshole. He frightened her the most. When Fallyn left out of the blue my senior year, all his anger focused in on Jo.
I’ll always care about her. When I was stationed in Afghanistan, I often wondered what she was doing, how her life was going, if she had found happiness or did she still suffer from the loss of Fallyn abandoning her. My eyes roam the room and stop to linger on her. She’s sitting on a barstool talking with Kendall and another woman laughing at something one of them said.
I can’t help but stare at her. The priceless masterpiece in front of me is even more beautiful today than when she was sixteen. Age has fine-tuned her luscious body. Her curly waves fall loosely around her face and softly over her breasts. Long fingers gesture at the television, then her red lips move and I inwardly groan imagining them touching me.
Her eyes look the same, but hold a different story. Something is missing in the green depths. Eyes are the doorway into the soul, my pop always says. She’s smiling and laughing, but it doesn’t reach the full-on Jocelyn smile I know.
She stops talking to her friend, lost in her own thoughts. Her pert little nose scrunches in deep concentration. She leans back on the stool and carefully brushes her hair from her cheek, hooking it behind her ear. She searches the room as if she can feel my eyes boring into her soul, needing her to know who I am. Our gazes collide and, like a vortex in the center of a tornado, my tunnel vision zooms in on her. There’s no one else but us. A familiar ache surfaces, one I thought I had outgrown long ago.
For a split second, I see something in her stare, maybe the slight flicker of awareness or her deep intake of air, but I think she recognizes me. The moment ends when her friend snaps her fingers, drawing her away from me and back into the conversation.
“M’aingea l…”
“What the hell are you saying now?” Gunner interrupts my drifting thoughts.
I’ve forgotten where I’m at. She’s done that to me before.
“Nothing, man.”
“What does ‘magel’ mean? C’mon, dude. I need to know.”
“You’re butchering my language. It’s M’aingeal. You pronounce it ‘Mayn-gel’.” I snicker. “Maw’s Irish Catholic and Pop is Cajun. Let’s just say, growing up in my house was never boring.”
“You’re full of surprises.”
“Hoo-ha you have no idea, kid. My little bro is a natural born hellion. Tell him the sky is blue and he’ll argue that’s it’s not just blue but white, grey, and black. Any other color he can think of. Pop says he’s got too much of Maw’s Irish side in him. I wouldn’t disagree out loud or she would box my ears good.”
“Damn, I’d forgotten all about those times my Gramps boxed mine. Jeez. Feels like another lifetime ago. She was strict. Never let me sit down at the table without my hands washed and shirt tucked in. She even made me say ‘Grace’ before eating. I miss that woman.”
“Funny, the little things that bring you ‘round.”
“Ain’t that the truth. Is that why your ears look so funny? Your momma’s wrath? They stick out like Dumbo,” he jokes and takes a swig of his beer.
We are both laughing, releasing some of the tension that’s circled us since we left Perry. Maybe he’s salvageable. Maybe he can help us find the missing pieces after all.
We abruptly stop laughing when Gunner slaps my shoulder and nudges his chin upwards. That’s when I see her. I look into her eyes and wonder why she doesn’t know me. Have I changed so much that she can’t recognize me? C'est la vie.
“Can we join you?” the beauty standing before Gunner asks him.
I can’t take my eyes off of Jocelyn. She’s making me want something I was sure I had lost overseas.
“Well, I …” Gunner stutters and shoves me again.
He’s such a douchebag.
I glance at him and sigh. “Pull up a chair, ladies. We’re just enjoying the wonderful Florida weather that’s brought us all here. Can we get you something? I’m sure the selection isn’t what you’re normally used to, but I’m sure there’s something we can find that you might want on the menu.” I wink.
They share a smile and a faint tinge of pink appears across Jocelyn’s cheeks as she makes her way to one of the vacant chairs. She sits down in the one closest to me. Placing her elbows on the tabletop and her chin between her hands, she leans inward. Fuck! The upclose view I have of her sends shockwaves through my system. My memory didn’t do her justice, and this near, the sprinkle of angel’s dust along the top of her nose and cheeks has me fighting the urge to touch her.
I’m snapped out of my lust-filled moment when Kendall approaches our table.
“Hey, girls. I see you found—”
“Crash, name’s Crash. And this is Gunner,” I say, nodding in his direction.
Kendall frowns at me and I plead with my eyes for her not to say anything else. A disapproving look follows, but she doesn’t correct me.
“Buenas noches, amigos. I’m Katrina, and this is my friend, Jocelyn.”
“Hi,” Jocelyn quietly says.
“So, does anybody need a refill?” Kendall inquires.
“Mojito, please.”
“I think I’ll have another rum and coke.”
“I’ll have another beer,” I s
ay, and Gunner seconds my order.
“I’ll go grab them and be back in a jiffy.”
Kendall wanders off, stopping a few times to talk at tables on her way to where Grady is manning the bar. He leans over when she motions him downward and covers his ear. He looks at me and then back down at her, intently listening to what she’s saying. He shrugs his shoulders and says something back. Apparently she’s not happy with him because she turns and walks into the kitchen area without a backwards glance. I wait for him to head over, but instead he looks at me smiling. What the hell did she say to him?
She’s probably pissed, thinking I’m going to hurt her new friend. If she only knew the history behind my decision to remain anonymous, she would be chasing her away from me. The baggage I carry is for only me and I don’t want to share it with anyone, especially Jocelyn. She’s too good and innocent to be able to understand what drives me now. I’m not the same guy she knew in high school, carefree and happy.
I haven’t been that way since reality set in.
Back before I left on my last tour of duty, I wouldn’t have given my actions a second thought. I can only imagine scooping her up in my arms, feeling her body against mine, and holding her close, not letting her place a foot on the ground. I would hold her until I had my fill and only then would I let her out of my sight. I’m so messed up.
Gunner’s goofy grin has me focusing on the convo. He’s got his chin propped on his hand, staring at the ladies. I follow his stare, making sure he’s not ogling Jocelyn. I will knock his ass to the Georgia-Florida line if he tries flirting with her in front of me. The thought of her with someone else sends waves of anger flooding my brain.
I relax my posture when it registers that he’s watching her friend like a lovesick puppy. Wimp.
“Si. I’m serious. We were drenched from the pouring rain. Jo’s hair kinked even curlier than normal when the cool air conditioning hit it, as if that’s even possible, with the corkscrews she’s got.”
“Jeez, Rina. Thanks for the visual.”
“Well, you looked like you had stuck your finger in a light socket,” she stutters and busts out laughing over her own joke.
“I wasn’t the only one! You were sporting kinky ringlets from the eighteenth century, too.”
“My hair isn’t as thick. Yours is so thick. So juicy, niña.” She giggles, eyeing the man beside her.
“Here you go, folks. Drinks for everyone,” Kendall says and hands a tallboy to me.
“Any news on the roads clearing?”
“Sheriff radioed and they are working on securing Route 441 near Twin Lakes. He’s talking to Grady about using sandbags in some places. We’re close to the dam and possible flooding is always a worry.”
“Sandbags? Shit. Why me?”
“Honey child, you think sandbags are a bad thing? You ain’t got a clue,” Kendall answers and spins away.
“I guess the weather’s going to get worse, huh?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. You never know with hurricanes. Some are as fickle as women. One minute she’s moving directly for you, you blink, and she’s gone. You never know what direction she’ll go.”
“Hmph. You use ‘she’ like she’s a real living, breathing person,” Jocelyn says while sipping her drink.
“Well, it is Mother Nature we’re talking about here,” I point out.
“Pleeeeeeease. Men can be fickle, too.”
“We can, can we?”
She leans in close to me, licks her lips, and whispers in a low sultry tone, “They always seem to want more than what they can handle. I’m sure you know my meaning, Crash. How boys will be boys, and boys like their toys and stuff. Well that goes for older boys, too, sugarplum. Seems like a never ending battle for y’all to always want to play with fire.”
I position myself even closer to her and reply, for her ears only, “Oh, but darlin’, I’ll let you in on a little secret: For the right woman, I want to burn.”
She inhales a deep, shaky breath when I nip her earlobe and softly nuzzle her cheek with my nose. I’m hard as fuck now thanks to the beauty sitting beside me. I want her in the worst way. She’s the one that got away. The one I wanted desperately when I was younger. I need to get her out of my system once and for all.
She pulls away from me, but not before briefly sharing an unspoken yearning of primal need and want.
Leaning back, I reach for my beer and study her closely. She’s rattled. Her eyes dart around the room, looking everywhere else but on me. She gulps her drink and places the empty glass on the table. Her friend and Gunner are in a deep conversation of the best places to eat in Miami when Kendall shows up again with a fresh drink for Jocelyn. I’m still nursing the warm beer from earlier and have no intentions of losing control.
I need to get out of here and away from her soon before I do something fucking drastic, like losing the tiny thread of sanity I have left.
A guy I don’t recognize is eyeing her up and down like a delicious tasty morsel of chocolate. He winks at her and she blushes. When she smiles at him, I almost go caveman on her ass. I want to beat my hands on my chest, throw her over my shoulders, and find the nearest bed to fuck the living daylights outta her. She’s mine.
She’s stirring feelings that have no place in my life, especially now. I need an easy exit, stat.
Three drink deliveries later, Jocelyn stands, bumping the stool which causes it to teeter, then sways to one side almost touching the floor.
“I wanna dance.”
I jump up to help steady her and she awkwardly bows her back so that her head is resting on my chest.
“Think you’ve reached your limit, darlin’.”
“I’mmmmm okaaaaay,” she says, patting my forearm. “Just needa find a baf room.”
Before Katrina can offer, I slowly begin walking Jocelyn towards the doorway.
“Where … do ya think I’m going?”
“We’re gonna find you a toilet before your dinner comes back up and all that liquor you’ve consumed in the past hour or so.”
“Mys head’s spinnin’ round and round … Stop twirling me!”
“You’re gonna have one hell of a hangover in the morning.”
“I’ms not drunk. I’s never do that. I’s a gooood girlz.”
“Mmm-hmm, sure you’re not.”
We barely turn down the hallway towards my room when she stumbles and tries to sit down in the middle of the floor. Shit, Kendall did this on purpose, feeding her drinks left and right. She made sure Jo was slammed enough not to be with me tonight, which was her way of ensuring nothing happens to her newest charge. Son of a bitch. I try to help her stand, grabbing her behind at the waist, but she’s boneless, making it hard to keep her upright. Her boots are pointing to the ceiling as her legs give way, forming a V. She slides down the front of my aroused body, wiggling to the floor.
“Jocelyn, baby, you can’t sleep here. C’mon, let’s find your room.”
“No. Can’t move. Spinning. Whoaaaa.”
I bend and place one hand behind her back and the other under her knees, then lift. I cradle her in my arms, cussing Kendall a new one. I should have known she would do something like this to protect Jocelyn from me. I manage to get the key into the door and the 70s decor slams my situation home.
I’ve got Jocelyn in my room, drunk as a skunk, and all I want to do is sink balls-deep into her. I’m so fucked! If it was anybody else, I’d be laughing my ass off.
A moan from the woman wreaking havoc on my system jars me into action. I place her on my bed. Turning, I search my bag, finding two little white pills, and return to her side with a bottle of water.
“Jocelyn, you need to take these. Here. Open up and swallow them down.”
She doesn’t open her eyes when I slightly lift her head, but her lips part when the pills touch them and she swallows them down. I place the bottle of water on the nightstand for later.
I cover her and lie down facing her, then watch her breathe in and out. I can’t belie
ve she’s here with me.
“Good night, m’aingeal.”
I place a kiss on her forehead and close my eyes, letting the wind and rain lull me to sleep and praying my nightmares don’t visit.
Deep, rolling, pounding thunder and gusts of high winds whistle outside reminding me of the looming hurricane surrounding Florida. The rain is peppering the window in my room with a nonstop, consistent melody, lulling my overactive brain with peace. I stretch my arms above my head and push my toes as far down the bed as possible, just like Miss Kitty does when she’s waking up. My body feels refreshed on account that I slept all night without any dreaming. Wow. The storm was my lullaby.
My eyelashes flutter open, although they feel thick and heavy. A dull ache is creeping up the back of my neck into my frontal lobe, bringing on a headache, certainly from the over drinking which took place last night. Jeez, I know better. I carefully open my eyes as flashes of the night before inundate my brain. The drinking, the company … the sexy, Hottie McHottie bad boy with the beautiful eyes.
As I finally gain access to the use of my eyelids and pry them fully open, I turn my head to the other side of the bed and gulp. The alluring, tattooed bad-ass that I met in the common room is staring hard at me. Oh my goodness. What did I do? My eyes wander around the motel room and I realize that this isn’t my room. Nope, I’m not in room 10. Although, I’m still fully clothed.
“Good morning, m’aingeal.”
A smile has crept up his beautiful face and I’m captured and stunned by the rawness I see there. Familiar, yet foreign. Wait, what did he just call me? My angel? No one has called me that since … Keagan. He gives me a knowing look and it sucker punches me right in the gut, causing a rush of butterfly emotions.
A flicker of remembrance flashes me back to the bar last night right before things got really hazy and I passed out. Crash—or that’s the name he gave me—leaned in and nibbled on my ear telling me he would want to burn for me.
