by Stacy Wise
I brush away the nervous tears that seep out and take the hand Jack offers me, but keep my head down so he can’t see what a freaking baby I am. Earthquakes shouldn’t bother me so much. I’m a SoCal native, for God’s sake. Before I realize what’s happening, he has me in his arms. I don’t even try to fight it. It feels good to be in strong arms after my hellish weekend. I rest my head on his chest and close my eyes, shutting out the rest of the world. I want time to stop. I want to stand right here in the kitchen, surrounded by pizza slices and paper napkins scattered across the floor, hugging Jack. I keep thinking he’ll pull away first, but he’s obviously afraid I may fall apart. One hand caresses my hair, and the other stays firmly wrapped around me. I melt into him, telling myself my heart is racing because of the earthquake, but I’m starting to wonder. As much as it pains me, I force myself to pull away before I let our hug become unnaturally long, and before he starts to think that he needs to call in a 5150 on me.
“I’m guessing this is making your top-three list of worst days on the job?” He stands back from me but stays close enough that he could catch me if I start to pass out. I won’t, but I think he thinks I might. His eyes whisper words of concern.
I smile at him, wanting to let him know I’m okay. “It’s up there.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t drive home. Stay here tonight.”
What? I play around with the words in my head. Here. Stay. Tonight. Tonight. Stay. Here. Stay here tonight. Oh my God. Three words and I feel like I’ve been knocked down by the bulls of Pamplona, my head spinning as the world rushes by. It only lasts for seconds before I regain my senses. He didn’t mean it that way. Of course he didn’t.
“I’m okay. Really. Totally fine. I should go.”
“Okay.” He looks down at his hands and back up at me, his eyes sincere. It makes me realize that he is just being nice. There was no suggestion in his offer. I know that. It’s just been a rough few days.
“Maybe you’re right. Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“I don’t mind.”
“Thanks.” I want to hug him again, because he’s being so understanding. Instead I say, “I have the bag I took to my mom’s house in my car. I’ll grab it.”
“Cool. I’m going to see what I can do to calm Leo.”
When I step back inside, I find Jack on the floor with Leo. He’s feeding him tiny bits of cheese, his favorite treat. He sees me and stands, brushing off his hands. “I wish every problem could be solved with a little snack.” He grins as he reaches for my bag. “Come on. I’ll get you set up in a guest room.” We turn down the hallway, and he stops at the first door, pushing it open. “Here you go.”
I walk into the room and want to run over to the bed and bury myself in its luxury. It has a beautiful rustic wood frame with a gorgeous white linen duvet and fluffy white pillows sitting on top. It’s the perfect blend of masculine and feminine. “It’s so pretty.”
“Thanks. The bathroom is through that door,” he says, pointing to the back corner of the room. “There are towels and things in the cupboards. Let me know if you need anything else…” He stops himself. “You know what? Why the hell am I rattling on about towels and shit? You probably need a stiff drink after tonight.” He lets out a little laugh. “I’m trying to keep it cool, but shit. Between the photographer and the earthquake, my nerves are pretty shattered.”
I look at the silly grin on his face and start to laugh. It feels good. I’ve been halfway holding my breath all night. “I think a shot of Don Julio with a Patron chaser might do the trick.”
“Right? Leo got a treat. So should we. You can get settled later. Come with me,” he says, holding out his hand.
Without thinking, I grab onto it. The sensation of my hand in his feels way too good.
“Ever been on a bike before?” he asks.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jack grabs two leather jackets off a row of hooks in the garage. “Put this on,” he says, handing me a jacket, “and this.” He passes me a helmet that’s a smaller version of his. “We’re going to blow off some steam.”
Whoa. Blow off some steam on a motorcycle? That doesn’t sound dangerous or anything. The only time I’ve been on a motorcycle is when Colin’s friend took me to the Jamba Juice that was a mile from my house. He drove like a snail, and that was a big deal for me. I hold the helmet in my hand as if it’s a dead rat. My stomach is starting to hurt really bad.
Jack is geared up and ready to go. I tell myself to put on the stupid helmet, but I can only hug it close.
“Hey, what’s taking you so long?”
“I, um… Fear?”
He turns off the bike so he can hear me. “What’d you say?”
“It’s nothing.” I brush back the hair from my face and try to put on the helmet with shaky hands. I focus on the ground, so I don’t have to look at him, and adjust the chinstrap. Before I can get it fastened, he’s in front of me, his hands stopping mine. He slides off my helmet, careful not to hurt my ears.
“What’s going on?” His voice is soft.
“I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle at night in the dark with someone who may be angry or stressed or frazzled.”
“I’m not angry or stressed.”
“Frazzled?”
He smiles. “Maybe, but I won’t take it out on the bike. And I’m sure as hell not going to put either one of us at risk. I figured we could cruise down the hill and hang out in a dive bar I know. It’s just off Sunset. If you don’t feel like going, though, it’s cool.”
“Oh. Okay.” I tuck my hair behind my ears and absently twirl a strand in my fingers. “I thought you meant you wanted to go flying around the Hollywood Hills. I can go down the street. I’m fine with that.”
“I’ll drive carefully. Your job is to hang on tight, got it?”
“Yeah.” I can hang on tight.
He takes my helmet and clicks it on me. “That feel all right?”
“Yep. I may need like ten shots now, but yeah.”
“Good thing I’m the driver,” he says with a grin. He helps me into the jacket and zips it up to my chin. It’s huge, but it’ll keep me warm. I wait for him to climb onto the bike first and hop on behind him. He reaches back for my hand and places it firmly on his stomach. His jacket is zipped, but I can feel the hardness of his abs through it. I try to keep my fingers from exploring, but they have a mind of their own. He pulls the other hand around and says, “Don’t let go, okay? Just keep your hands here, and you’ll be fine.”
A woozy feeling hits me. My chest is pressed up against his back, my thighs are wrapped around his, and my hands are grasping his rock-hard stomach. Just keep your hands here, and you’ll be fine. If I keep my hands here, I may end up kissing his neck. Stop it! I yell in my head. It’s fine. I clasp my arms firmly around him. “Okay. I’m ready.”
We roll easily down the driveway and out into the night. I lift my face to feel the cool air whoosh past me. Jack is true to his word and doesn’t race around corners. We reach Sunset, and I blink at the sudden bright lights and bursts of life. Rap music blares from someone’s car. I thought it’d be dead on Sunday night, especially with the earthquake, but I guess everyone wants to go out and blow off steam. Jack takes a right off Sunset, and the world quiets again almost instantly. He pulls into a small, inconspicuous parking lot. There’s a row of Harleys lined up, and he pulls next to them. “Are you freezing?”
“I’m okay.” The wind pulls at my hair as I slip off my helmet and pass it to Jack. I tuck my hands into my pockets, already missing the feeling of his warm body pressed up against mine.
Jack pauses by the door, holding it open for me. I peek inside and am alarmed and amused all at once. There are way more men than women in here, and the women who are here look like they aren’t unfamiliar with barroom brawls. No one turns toward the door. Everyone is too busy drinking and talking and playing pool. No wonder Jack likes this place. I don’t think anyone here would care that a star just walked in.
We grab seats right at the bar. It’s stocked with shelves of pretty liquor bottles. A female bartender whose jet-black, flat-ironed hair makes me think of a crow, moves across the bar to us. “Hey, Jack, the usual?”
He looks at me with his eyebrows raised. “Are we doing shots?”
“Hell, yes.”
He smiles and looks to the bartender. “Two shots of Patrón and two shots of Don Julio, Jules. Thanks.”
“You got it.” She turns to pour the shots, and I notice she has a tattoo of a tiger primed to attack covering her back. The vivid orange and black against her pale skin is startlingly pretty. She turns and places the shots in front of us. Jack returns the favor with a fifty-dollar bill.
He picks up his shot glass. “Don Julio first, right?”
“Yep.”
He clinks his glass to mine. “Are you ready?”
I nod and throw my head back, downing the tequila in one gulp. The smoky flavor burns my throat, and I grab for my lime, sucking the juice from it like it’s an elixir of life. “Whew. That was something.”
“You ready for the next one?”
“Let’s go.”
We clink glasses and throw back our shots. He slams his glass on the bar and shakes his head.
My throat feels like I swallowed a match. I slap a hand on the bar and try to breathe.
He looks at me, his eyes charged. “I’m guessing you were joking about doing ten shots.”
“Yeah. Maybe I exaggerated. I’m kind of a lightweight.”
“All right, lightweight. In that case, maybe we should take a break. You any good at darts?”
“I’ve never played before.”
“Really? Do you want to give it a try?”
“Sure.” It’s entirely possible that playing darts after two shots is a terrible idea. What if I miss and impale a bar patron with a wayward dart?
Nonetheless, I hop off my stool and follow him to the back of the bar. The alcohol plays with my head. I haven’t partied much since the end of the school year. I laugh to myself as I think about school. This is so much more fun than a frat party. I’m out with biker dudes and chicks with tats. It feels like the real world.
We reach the darkened back of the bar, and my eyes adjust slowly. There’s a row of occupied pool tables and a dartboard in the far corner. Jack tugs the darts out of their holder on the side of the board. “We won’t keep score. We can play for fun.”
“Okay, but so I know, are the numbers on the board the amount of points you can get for that space?”
“You got it. And if you hit it on the thick stripe under the number, you get double points. If you hit the thin stripe under the number, you get triple. So if you hit the thin stripe under the twenty, you’d get sixty points, which is more than hitting the bull. The bull is the green spot in the center and it’s worth twenty-five. The red spot is the double bull, and it’s worth fifty.”
“Okay.”
“Throw one to get the feel.” He hands me a dart. I look at it and try to get a comfortable grip. “Here, let me help you.” He takes the dart from me. “Open your hand.”
I do as he says, and his fingers brush my palm as he sets the dart on it. The weight of the cold metal feels heavy in my hand.
“That’s right,” he says, watching me. “Now, balance it and find the center of gravity. Sometimes it helps to close your eyes. You want to feel it.”
I let my eyes fall shut and roll the dart in my hand, sensing it. My body feels warm and relaxed from the tequila. I open my eyes and gaze at him. “I think I have the feel of it.”
“Good girl. Now use your thumb to roll the dart to your fingertips, and place your thumb just behind the center of gravity. Don’t rush it. Just feel it,” he says, keeping his eyes on me.
I manage to roll the dart like he said. I don’t know if it’s the tequila or the way he’s looking at me, but my entire body is flooding with endorphins. I clear my throat. “Now throw it?”
“That’s right. Try to keep your arm steady,” he says. “You only move your hand.”
I pretend he’s not standing next to me and focus on the red dot in the middle of the board—the double bull. With one quick movement, I send the dart flying in a straight line. Bam! Dead center.
“Are you kidding me? You said you’ve never played before.” He stands back, crossing his arms, an amused look lighting his face.
“I haven’t. Beginner’s luck, I guess.” I take another dart from his hand, touching his palm with my fingertips. “Do I get to try all three?”
“Yeah,” he says, looking at the last dart in his hand. “Two more. Let’s see what you can do.”
I take aim, and land the dart in the green circle right outside the double bull. Without saying a word, I pull the last dart from Jack’s open hand and focus hard on the board. I have my eyes on the sixty-point line. With a determined focus, I release the dart and nail it. Sixty points!
Jack high-fives me, clasping my hand for a moment when it touches his. “You’re so full of shit. You’ve played before.”
“Nope. Never.” I grin at him, enjoying this a little too much.
“How the hell did you do that?”
“Archery champ at sleep-away camp four years running.” My big win makes me feel like anything’s possible, like we should celebrate until the bartenders kick us out.
“Archery champ?”
“Yep. Believe it or not, you’re standing in the presence of a champion.”
“That’s awesome. Okay, Katniss, I think we need to keep score here.”
“You’re on. Good luck. What are we playing for?”
“Oh, you want to make a wager?”
“Yeah.” Excitement churns through me, making me feel fearless. I’ll take on whatever he’s got.
He smiles at me and shakes his head.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he says with a mischievous grin. “Just running ideas through my head. Okay. Let me think seriously here. Okay…I’ve got it. If I win, you make me a New York-style cheesecake with fresh strawberries.”
I smile. Easy. I could do that in my sleep, but I won’t let him know that. And here I thought he’d say loser buys the next round of shots. “Okay. Fair enough. What if I win?”
He takes the darts from the board and turns to look at me. “You won’t.”
“A little too confident, I’d say.” I quickly add the numbers in my head. “Just try to beat one hundred thirty-five points.”
“No prob. Now step back and give me some room.” He stretches his arms above his head and swings them back down. It makes me laugh.
He turns to me, and I expect him to tell me to be quiet, but he says, “You really went to sleep-away camp? I thought that was something people only did in the movies.”
“Very funny. I went every summer from the time I was ten. And then I was a counselor there all through high school. I taught the younger kids swimming and archery. That was my favorite part.” I smile. “I still stay in touch with a bunch of my campers. You never went to camp?”
“Uh, no.” He turns back toward the dartboard and sends the dart flying without hesitation. He lands it smack in the double bull. He’s good. He takes the next two darts and chucks them, one after the other, straight into the double bull. “Looks like I won myself a cheesecake.” He reaches for another high-five, doing the grasping instead of slapping thing again. It’s nice. “Good effort, champ.”
“Gee, thanks. You’re such a gracious winner.”
“That I am. How about I buy you a beer?”
“Sure.”
He catches the attention of a passing waitress and orders us beers. “We’ll be in the library,” he tells her.
I can’t imagine they’d have an actual library here. I follow Jack to the opposite side of the bar. We weave past the noise of the pool tables to a small alcove. Just a few tables and way too many chairs are scattered around. Only one other couple is seated back here. Not that we’re a couple. I didn’t mean that. I really should’
ve stopped after the first shot. I clear my throat. “Why do they call this the library?”
He laughs. “I’ve wondered that myself. Maybe because it’s the only quiet spot here.” He pulls out a chair for me at a tiny round table and then grabs one for himself.
I wonder if he brings girls here often, or if this is a place he likes to hang out with his buddies. I shift in my chair so that I’m facing him, not the table. I tell myself it’s because the pedestal is in the way, but that might not be entirely true.
The waitress returns with frosted mugs of beer. The coolness of the chilled glass feels good on my hands. As cold as it is outside, it’s warm in here. I take a sip and enjoy the sharp taste of the beer. I feel Jack looking at me. “What?”
“I’m still stuck on the sleep-away camp thing. What was that like?” He turns so he’s facing me. Our knees touch in the process, but he doesn’t move his. I don’t move mine, either.
“I loved it. Well, not my first year. I was pretty homesick. Thank God my parents only sent me for a week the first time. After that, we usually stayed for two weeks.”
“We?”
“My little brother and I.”
“Ah. And you were the archery champ. What else did you do there?” He places a hand on my knee and adjusts his legs so that one is on either side of mine. I sneak a glance at his hand on my knee. It looks really good there. I feel my face burn when I think of another time he had his hand on my knee. He was sliding my pants off me.
“Yeah.” I take another sip of beer and let the coolness trickle down my throat. I set my glass on the table and try to focus on his question, rather than his closeness. “Um, so…camp. We went horseback riding, canoeing, sang songs, ate s’mores. You know, the usual camp stuff.”
“No kidding.” He takes a hearty swig of beer and moves his hand from my knee. “You sure as hell grew up in a different world than I did.” He plunks down his glass and swipes a hand across his lips.
This is the second or third time he’s commented on his family life. I’m so curious, but a little voice in my head says I shouldn’t ask. His life isn’t my business. Only his business is my business. Oh, hell. My mind is starting to feel fuzzy. Screw it. “When I first met you, I assumed you grew up on a Disney show. You know, like Zac Efron or Selena Gomez.”
