Hookup Master

by Jules Barnard

  I’ve sensed Nessa’s desire to be closer. I feel it too, but I don’t understand why she can’t see it. The things I’ve done, who I am—I’m no good for her.

  “We’re friends, Nessa. Good friends. Which is more than I have with any woman.”

  “You’re friends with Mira,” she says flatly.

  Mira’s a fellow Washoe I’ve known half my life, and yeah, we’re close. But it’s not the same. “Mira’s like a sister. You’re… different.”

  “Different. As in not good enough to be more. Not good enough to be family. Just not good enough. I get it, Zach.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” I pull up to Nessa’s apartment, and before I can shut off the ignition, she jumps out of the cab.

  “Thanks for the ride.” She slams the door and runs—literally runs—across the parking lot to her apartment on the first floor. The building is a two-story with eight units. It’s small, but close to the strip and work. I wait until she enters before I drop my head back against the headrest.

  Nessa threw up barriers between us tonight for the first time since I’ve known her. She’s a cheery person, and seeing her upset leaves a dull pain in my chest. She’s gotta know there can never be anything between us, not after she realized what’s been going on with me and Alexis. I feel like I’m losing her.

  Though I never had her to begin with.

  And that’s the way it’s supposed to be.

  Chapter Three

  Nessa

  The last thing I want is to go to Zach’s place tonight, but everyone’s expecting me there for taco dinner. I tried to back out over the phone with Mira, but she whined about the cookies she’d made and how I had to taste her cooking. I caved. It hasn’t been easy for Mira to let people in, and she’s come so far. I couldn’t say no and let her down.

  I still can’t believe Zach invited himself to drinks with me and Sal last night. Knowing he’d just left Blondie’s hotel room all freshly showered wasn’t enough? Now he’s sticking his nose in my limited social life? I needed that drink with Sal—needed to take my mind off of Zach, not be reminded of how frustrated he makes me.

  I can’t handle it anymore. I’m not sure we can remain friends. It’s killing me.

  I eye the giant bottle of Cuervo I bought with last night’s tip money, and stroke it like a baby. It’s going to save me tonight. I slip on strappy-heeled sandals below my cuffed skinny jeans. I never leave the house without heels. Even my trainers have a platform. Some might call me vertically challenged. At five feet, I’m compact and kickass. At least that’s what I tell myself.

  I tuck my loose V-neck T-shirt into the front of my jeans and slide on a leather jacket. My fingers graze a slice of Juicy Fruit in the side pocket, and I peel off the wrapper and jam it in my mouth. I pick up Cuervo baby and scan the room for anything I’ve forgotten before shouldering on my purse and heading out the door.

  A few minutes later, I pull up to Zach’s place. Only it’s just Zach’s truck in the driveway.

  What the heck? I intentionally arrived late to avoid this situation. I don’t want to be the first one here.

  I take a deep breath and reach for Cuervo, which I belted into the front seat just to keep it safe. I don’t care that I’m getting too old for liquid courage. I need it tonight. Things can’t keep going on the way they have been. It’s breaking me. Getting through this night without crying is step one.

  Shit, maybe I should leave town. Why am I still here? Tahoe was supposed to be a fun summer after college before I buckled down and got a real job, yet here I am in my second year. It’s not because of him. Well, maybe a little. But I also love Lake Tahoe. It’s my home, though I need to find a way to have a life outside of Zach and his friends. I tried last night, except Zach chose that moment to pay attention to me in a way he never has before.

  Men. They are such an enigma.

  Or maybe it’s just Zach. He makes no sense. One minute he’s looking at me like he could melt my clothes off with his eyes, the next he’s walking out the door with a different girl.

  Fine, liquid courage it is. Which means I’ll need to call an Uber to get home. Much as I hate to admit it, Zach was right. I shouldn’t have considered driving after a few drinks last night. Being vertically challenged means the alcohol hits me harder. But if Zach hadn’t upset me, I would have realized I’d had too much to drink. So really, it’s all his fault.

  There, I feel better now.

  Grabbing my hobo purse, I cradle Cuervo in my arms and make my way up the stone path to Zach’s small cabin. The metal roof is sloped toward the street with an entrance gable that extends all the way to the ground—very Tahoe. His place is cute, but it could use a lady’s touch. The inside is boy décor, meaning everything shoved up against the walls, pictures hanging too high. Still, I admire him. As far as I know, Zach owns his place, which is pretty cool for a guy in his early twenties. He’s a hard worker, and smart about investing his money…

  And I need to stop thinking about how great he is because that’s not helping.

  Sucking in a courage-building gulp of evening air, I knock on the worn wooden surface and plaster a fake smile on my face.

  Which immediately falls.

  Because the door creaks open and Zach is standing there, shirtless, beads of water on his broad, muscular shoulders, his flat stomach plated with muscles.

  Aw, shit.

  “Pip—I mean—what’s up, Ness? Come on in.” He drags a towel over his short, dark hair and drapes it on his shoulder. His lips twist in a grin. “Nice bottle you got there.”

  I move inside, my body overly alert. I set Cuervo on the counter. “I thought we could use more,” I say distractedly. “You just get out of the shower?” Obviously.

  I’m flustered. I’ve seen Zach in his swim trunks a million times, but the wet, just-showered look turns my brain to silly-girl mush.

  “Yeah, sorry. Let me grab a shirt.” He strides down the hall, a guy gait to his steps, and I pant, gasping in oxygen to get my brain to work again. This is so messed up.

  “Where is everyone?” I call.

  “Oh, yeah, about that,” he says as he rounds the corner in a worn T-shirt that hugs his broad shoulders and biceps. “They’re not coming.”

  He’s barefoot, and his feet… Is there nothing on his body that isn’t masculine and beautiful? Wait—

  “What do you mean, they’re not coming?”

  We meet every Wednesday night. It’s almost a ritual. I’m pretty sure they’ve never canceled before. Come snow or hangover, this night is a constant between Zach and his friends. And until recently, it was only Zach, Lewis, and Mira. Somehow I got included. Then Lewis’s new girlfriend came along. Now taco dinner has been extended to include girlfriends, boyfriends, and friends of friends. It’s a right party these days.

  Zach squats and slides out a pan from below the stove, the jeans that sit low on his narrow hips hugging his muscled ass.

  I look to the ceiling, praying for divine intervention. He cannot be serious about it being just the two of us. I will not survive.

  He stands and reaches around me to the counter I’m leaning against. The scent of clean boy zaps my senses, his full lips inches away—this is just cruel.

  I duck past him and move across the kitchen, placing a hand on Cuervo.

  “Well.” He mixes the chicken simmering in sauces and raps the utensil against the edge of the pot. “Gen’s not feeling well, so Lewis is staying home to be with her. And Mira got called in to work.”

  That makes sense. Mira is on the fast track at Blue Casino. She’s an assistant to one of the managers, and kicking ass and taking names. But being an important person has its drawbacks. She sometimes has to go in—often without warning—when staffing issues arise, or the crowds are bigger than anticipated for Blue gigs.

  “What about Tyler?” Mira’s boyfriend teaches at a community college. No reason for him to bail.

  Zach scratches the back of his head and rests his hands low on hi
s hips. “Yeahhh—nope. Tyler’s out too. Has some last-minute revisions to make for his publisher.”

  Crap. I forgot about that. In addition to working at the community college, Tyler is also going to be a published author soon. He wrote a popular-science book that people in his field are all excited about.

  Am I the only one who hasn’t done much with her life? I mean, I’m happy. That’s important, right? Well, mostly happy.

  Not so happy right now. Alone. With Zach.

  “What about Cali and Jaeger?” Is that desperation in my voice?

  “Cali’s got the same bug Gen has. Jaeger’s playing nursemaid. I told Jaeger and Lewis they were being pussy-whipped jackasses, but they wouldn’t listen.” He leans against the counter, his gaze intent. “Just you and me, Ness. Think you can handle it?”

  There’s humor in his voice, conflicting oddly with the wariness in his gaze, as if he too isn’t so happy about the circumstances.

  “You could have canceled, you know.”

  Zach turns toward the stove. “I’ve been cooking for two hours. Wasn’t going to let the food go to waste. Besides, we don’t need our friends to hang, do we?” He looks over his shoulder, a sweet smile on his face.

  “Of course not.” So going to need that margarita. “It will be good to spend time together.” Where’s the damn blender?

  I dated good-looking guys in college, but for some reason, Zach is different. He’s my friend, an affable guy, always ready to hang out, and so, so hot. I don’t know what it is, but it’s there, magnetic attraction—at least on my end.

  I open the fridge for the margarita mix I know is there, because I make certain it’s stocked for these nights, and cross to the blender, pouring it inside. “Ready for a drink?”

  “Sure. Only, since it’s just the two of us,” he says as he reaches above the stove to a small cabinet, “let’s use the good stuff.” He grins, a hint of naughtiness behind it.

  Lord save me from that grin. “Tapatio Blanco One-ten? What’s that?”

  “Birthday gift from my dad.” He unscrews the top and pours a generous amount into the blender. He stops, eyeballs the liquid, and splashes out another shot.

  “Your dad always give you top shelf for your birthday?” I’ve never heard of the stuff he’s holding in his hand, but the bottle looks fancy.

  “My dad taught me how to play poker for stakes when I was five.” He returns the tequila to the cupboard. “He’s not your typical dad. You know what he does for a living, right?”

  “Not really. I’ve seen him visit the casino, but you’ve never introduced us.”

  Zach snorts. “Yeah, well, trust me, it’s best I keep you off his radar.”

  I grab the ice pan from the mustard-yellow refrigerator that predates me and hums like a steam engine, and pour ice into the blender. “He can’t be that bad.”

  Zach crosses his arms. “No, not that bad, but he’s a huge flirt. And pretty young women are his favorite prey. He’s also a whale.”

  I shake my head with a smile. I work in a casino, wearing next to nothing. I’m used to attention from older men, younger men—sometimes women—it’s a part of the job. And I have no problem calling security if someone gets handsy.

  I pulse the blender until the mix is the perfect consistency of slush for my Zach-addled nerves. “What’s a whale?”

  “How can you work at Blue and not know what a whale is?” He stirs the rice. “A whale is a high-stakes gambler. Which isn’t what you might think. My dad’s got cash now, but he’s gained and lost fortunes. It’s only been recently that he’s come into his stride. We struggled growing up—cash happy to cash poor in a blink. I hated that lifestyle. It’s the reason I never gamble.”

  I hand him a glass of margarita. “But you’re a dealer. How do you stand it?”

  “I don’t love it, but it’s a job and it pays well. I took business courses at the community college for a while and wasn’t into it. Blue pays the bills. I’ve been able to save and buy this place, and I plan to buy another.”

  “Another house? Why?”

  “Investment income. One to live in, one to rent.” He takes a swig of his drink and quirks his brow. “Good stuff.”

  I glance at the glass in my hand and take a gulp as well. “Smooth. Your dad knows his tequila.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Too well.” Zach pulls down plates and nods toward the table. “Ready to eat?”

  The conversation flows during dinner. I’m relaxed and not nervous the way I was when I first arrived. The easiness I have with Zach is partly why we’ve remained friends for so long, despite my unrequited lust for him. I’m bummed that he has no interest in anything more than friendship, but I’d hate to lose what we have. It’s a frustrating, no-win situation.

  We talk for most of the meal about Zach’s dad, who seems like a pretty fascinating character. “Do they really set him up in fancy suites?” I set my fork on the plate to save room in my belly for another margarita, which I pour from the half-empty blender we brought to the table.

  “Yup.” Zach polishes off what must be his fifth or sixth taco.

  “Does he have a driver and everything?”

  I’ve seen the high rollers at our casino. They’re no joke. They usually have an entire entourage wherever they go.

  “Nah. He travels the country in his Mercedes.”

  “Oh, that’s all?” I laugh, and Zach does too. Most people don’t cruise around in luxury vehicles making a living off gambling.

  “I’m just his deadbeat kid living in a dump of a place.” He wipes his mouth with his napkin, a subtle smile on his face that doesn’t reach his eyes.

  “That can’t be what he really thinks.”

  Zach piles empty dishes together. “Pretty much, but it’s fine.”

  “Hold on—it’s not fine. You’re smart and kind, and you own your house. You’re a hard worker…” My voice trails off as I realize what I’m doing. The things I’m saying. If Zach didn’t know I liked him as more than friends, he might have a clue now.

  He grins. “Cutie.”

  I sit back. “Don’t call me that.” I grab my drink and take a gulp that’s too big, my head stinging from mild brain freeze.

  When I look up, Zach’s frowning. “What’s wrong with ‘cutie’?”

  “It’s something you’d say to a little girl.”

  “No. It’s something I’d say to a girl who’s too tempting for her own good.” He stands abruptly and takes the dishes to the sink. “You finished?” He glances over, the frown he wore a second ago gone.

  It takes me a minute to register his question, because I’m still stuck on the preceding sentence. I nod stiffly.

  What did he mean, I’m too tempting for my own good? He’s never acknowledged an attraction to me. I glance at my margarita. Am I drunk? Is this my second or third? I’m sensing a solid buzz… Third, for sure.

  I bus the pots and pans and wrap up the leftovers.

  Zach puts the last of the dishes in the dishwasher and turns it on. “Did you bring your bathing suit?”

  He has a hot tub in his backyard, which is far and away the most expensive item in his house. The hot tub is new, unlike the used furniture scattered about.

  I shake my head, and he scratches the faint five o’clock shadow on the side of his jaw. “Okay—well, I’ve got something you can wear.”

  “It’s all right. I should get going anyway.”

  “Why?” he says. “You got a hot date?” His words are a jest, but there’s no modulation to his tone, and I get the feeling he wouldn’t be happy if I did. Which is strange.

  When I ran from his truck yesterday, I was convinced there could never be anything between us. Why all of a sudden would he care if I dated somebody else?

  “No, but I should call a cab. It’s getting late. I didn’t mean to, but I think I drank too much again.”

  Okay, maybe I intended to numb myself with alcohol, but then I got more comfortable the more we talked. I’m not sure how I overdran
k without realizing it. I’m not smashed, but I’m not sober enough to drive.

  “A-hundred-and-ten-proof tequila will do that to you. Sorry, I should have said something. We’ll down some water and sweat it off in the hot tub. I’d give you a ride, but I’m feeling it myself. If we wait a bit, I can take you home. Come on.” He walks out of the kitchen. “I’ll find you something to wear.”

  I hear the logic in his words, but I’m not sure about the hot tub. Removing clothes, just the two of us? Not such a good idea. Not with the desperate way I’ve been feeling these last couple of days, and the things he’s saying tonight. Which have gone to my head and filled it with stupid hope.

  Even so, I follow Zach to his bedroom. He rustles around in one of the dresser drawers and pulls out a high school rugby shirt. “This’ll do. You can use the master bath to change.”

  I walk into the bathroom and take off my clothes. I actually wore a pretty bra and panty set tonight. It’s emerald green and satin, and stands out against my light olive complexion. And it’s way too sexy for getting in a hot tub with Zach. Good thing the dark shirt will hide what I’m wearing beneath.

  After pulling on the shirt that smells like him—dammit—I set my clothes on the toilet seat and pad back out. Zach’s in board shorts I’ve seen him wear at the beach. For a moment, his gaze skims my bared legs.

  “Let’s go,” he says, and tosses me a towel, the spark in his eyes gone.

  Good, because if he starts looking at me like that, we’re in trouble.

  He heads down the hallway toward the living room and the back door that leads to the hot tub. We’ve all talked about hot-tubbing at Zach’s a million times, and I’m pretty sure the guys have stayed late after taco dinner to do just that, but for some reason, I never have.

  Zach doesn’t bother turning on the porch light. Once we get into the hot tub, he pushes a couple of buttons and a light at the bottom of the tub turns on, along with bubbles. I sink into one of the bucket seats, and he hands me a bottled water. My shoulders and the rest of my body relax, sending a shiver through me.

  “This was a good idea. Forget I suggested going home,” I say.