“I uhh—,” I stall, letting go of his hand to roll my jeans up past my ankle. “Jenns, I don’t know if it’s a good idea for me to be seen with—,” I gulp, “I think it might be best if we keep our friendship under wraps for now.”
His eyes downcast and he frowns.
I start to walk again, tucking my hair behind my ear. “God, I’m sorry. That came out wrong.” I ball my fists. “My brain is all muddy.”
“No,” he says in a short tone. “I get it. It’s fine.”
My mouth forms into a thin line and I grow frustrated with myself. This is so not how I meant for that to come out. I’m surprised I can breathe with my foot shoved so far down my mouth. It’s just the thought of being actually in the spotlight, being the story, scares the shit out of me—for more reasons than I’d like to admit.
Jennings begins walking faster; making his anger clear. I have to jog to catch up. The sand underneath my feet provides a cushion but I’m on pins and needles.
Bitch move, Whitley.
It’s well past seven and the stars and moon provide our light and I don’t see the boulder Jennings side stepped, causing me to fall.
Bracing myself for the impact, I force my body away from rock and land on my side into the soft ground.
Jennings snaps out of his haze and runs toward me, worry etching his perfect face. “Jesus, Whit.”
I lift up on my elbows and shut my eyes in discomfort. The white-hot fizzle of pain shoots to my toes and ankle. Grabbing at my foot, I massage the area hoping to alleviate the pain. Only, it makes the ache worse.
“Are you okay?” Jennings asks as he bends down to look at my ankle.
My eyes are still closed and I give a little nod, telling him I am, but really, I’m not so sure.
I wince as he pushes my tight jeans over my leg. Ever so lightly he begins to rub my injured bone with two fingers. The seconds tick by and the pain becomes less.
Is he a magician? Does he have a secret wand I’m not aware of? Because seriously, how is it my bones actually feel better?
I open my eyes to look at him. With a concentrated, determined look he methodically massages the hurt area.
“Can you move it?” he asks, not taking his supernatural fingers away from my skin.
First, I move my toes. Clenching and unclenching, they wiggle, making me feel a little better to know I am still a proud owner of ten toes.
“Alright, now your ankle, Cab Girl.”
Ah, there’s the Jennings I know.
Taking a deep breath, I count to five and attempt to move my ankle in a circular motion. Nothing happens.
Oh God, I broke it.
Panicked, I look to Jennings. With a broad smile, his teeth gleam in the moonlight and I have to stop my flimsy heart from fluttering.
Is every light just God’s gift to him? Really, it’s bull that he looks so good. All. Of. The. Time.
Whitley! Your ankle…
Right. I shake my head.
I try again.
Nothing. And there’s still no pain.
“Jenns, something’s wrong,” I start. “I can’t move it.”
He looks down, breaking eye contact and smiles toward the ground. “I still have your foot in my hand, Whit.”
He what?
I look at my leg.
Oh.
With ease, he slides his hands from my skin, leaving goose bumps in their wake, and I bend and move the bone.
Easy peasy lemon squeezy.
“It’s a little swollen but you should be okay in a couple of days,” Jennings offers, rubbing my calf, helping my muscles relax. His hands have some sort of drug that he’s transferring to me. That has to be it. I’ve never known another man to have hands like his. He’s only massaging my leg for God sake and I feel like my whole body is in a calm state. Like, somehow he’s transferring emotions from his hands to my body.
Is that possible?
An involuntary moan escapes my lips and I tilt my head back in contentment, savoring the feelings his Godly hands are unleashing on my poor, defenseless leg. The moment the sound leaves my lips, Jennings’ hands still and I lift my head to look at him. His bottom lip is being a mauled by his teeth, and the look in his eyes is predatory. Scary. Sexy.
Oh God, is he thinking about—?
Because I am.
He lets go of his bottom lip and licks it. I can’t help but stare at his mouth—wet and inviting. I moisten my own.
His body moves slowly toward me, and mine doesn’t listen to me. My head is like, “hello dummy, slow down,” but my heart or maybe my whoo-haa is like, “hell yeah.”
We’re mere millimeters from kissing when his cell phone rings. We both jump at the intrusion and I scoot back, giving myself some distance.
Distance is good—very good.
Was I really just going to kiss him? I just broke up with Lark twenty-four hours ago and I want to make a move on another man? What the hell is wrong with me?
I’m a dirty slut.
He presses the answer button, looking annoyed and gives me a little smile before speaking into the phone.
“Bradley, what’s up, man?”
I methodically rub my once-injured leg and wait for him to finish his conversation.
“Can’t. I’ve got plans.” He listens. “Yeah.” He looks to me. “I guess. Hold on, let me ask Whit.”
I hear Bradley on the other end say, “Whitley? As in Whitley, Whitley?”
I can’t help the smile that forms on my lips. He knows who I am?
And, right on cue, my stomach does that topsy-turvy thing that it always does when Jennings is around.
Jennings gives me his dimple smile and rolls his eyes. “Yes, Whitley. Now, shut up.” Moving the receiver from his mouth, he licks his lips, again.
Stop it, dammit.
“Want to go have dinner with a—a friend of mine?”
It’s a better idea to stay indoors, away from the public, and it would be fun to meet his friends.
“Sure. Sounds perfect.”
Jennings smiles and moves the phone back to talk. “She’s in.”
The moment we step into Jennings’ house I have to find the air to breathe. The house is an odd combination of modern and metal—yet, it works. His house looks lived in, but not, at the same time. That doesn’t make any sense, I know, but there are little things that make it look cozy. A couple books and scripts adorn the coffee table and a blanket is haphazardly thrown over the back of the couch. And it smells clean—too clean. It doesn’t smell like a guys house.
What was I expecting? Body odor and pizza smell?
Men are gross.
This one isn’t, apparently.
I can’t help but look around. The walls are bare and the kitchen is stocked with all of the latest appliances.
Jennings walks around the living room turning on lights, and a bright glow illuminates the house.
When the last light shines, a brown and white blur of an animal hops onto the couch, yelping at a decimal far too high for any human. Scrambling to the wall, I look for an exit.
The furball corners me, yapping at my feet, probably hoping to take a toe as a prize. I fight the impulse to kick it.
“Lucy!” Jennings scolds. “Lucy! Leave Whit alone.” He scoops her up into his arms, nuzzling her neck. “She’s okay, girl.”
Like he’s speaking some sort of secret dog language, Lucy takes a deep breath and stops her incessant barking, looking docile.
Damn dog whisperer.
I blink, watching Jennings set Lucy on the floor. She moves to me, tail wagging, happy to see me. Demon dog, no more.
Carefully, I move my hand down to pet her. Lucy sniffs my hand and nudges it, asking for contact. I scratch under her chin and move to rub her back while she closes her eyes like I’m giving her the best massage of her life.
Jennings shuffles in my peripheral and I look to him. He’s got his hands crossed over his chest and he’s grinning from ear-to-ear.
I stop pe
tting Lucy. “What?”
His smile moves to the corner of his mouth, making him look so much younger than his youthful twenty-five and shakes his head. “Lucy has always been one to bark at people. The only person who she likes other than me, is Henrietta, my housekeeper. I’ve never seen her warm up to someone so quickly.”
I give Lucy one more scratch and stand, feeling a little proud. “Quick? Jenns, she about bit my foot off.”
“Yes, but then she let you pet her. That’s never happened before,” he reminds me as he moves toward the refrigerator.
Interesting. You know what they say about dog’s instincts.
Let’s hope it’s true.
Lucy’s little body weaves in and out of my legs as I walk to the kitchen, following Jennings. She whines and I can’t help bending down to give her more love.
“She really is adorable. What kind of dog is she?”
Jennings takes a water bottle out of the icebox and lifts it to me in offering. I nod my head and take it from his hand.
“She’s a mix. Jack Russell and something else—I don’t know what though.”
Opening the cap on the bottle, I take a swig.
“You have any animals, Cab Girl?”
I twist the cold, sweating bottle in my hands. “Nope. I can barely keep myself alive, I wouldn’t want to put another life in my hands.”
Jennings laughs. “I’m sure you’d do fine. Just love and feed them and you’re pretty golden.”
I sigh. “Yeah, well, Golden Boy, I don’t want to test that theory. I couldn’t take on a pet knowing I might not be able to care for it.”
Bending at the waist, Jennings leans onto his elbows, and knits his fingers together in front of him. “I understand that. What about growing up? No animals?”
“No,” I think about the fish Mom bought for me for my tenth birthday and how it mysteriously died that day. “Not one.” The fish doesn’t count; it didn’t even live in my possession for a whole twenty-four hours. It was a half of a pet, if anything.
Jennings eyes downcast, and he makes an O with his mouth. “Okay.” He clears his throat. “This isn’t proper date etiquette.”
My shoulders straighten and I lift my eyebrows. “Why Jennings Cohen, are we on a date?” Because, holy shit, that’s just a hilarious thought.
He shrugs his shoulder and he smiles, not letting his teeth show, but the dimple is in full-force. “There will be dinner, conversation, and possibly dancing. I’d say that’s a pretty incredible date.”
“Dancing?” I play. “I don’t recall discussing going dancing.”
Jennings looks to his watch, not answering my question. “We need to get going. Bradley only lives down the street, but I’d hate to be late.”
Setting my empty water bottle down on the counter, I put my hands into my jean pockets and nod my head.
“I’ll give you a tour another time.”
I’ll come back one day? Does that make me nervous?
Easy breezy, Whitley. Quit being—you.
“Sounds good.”
Plucking his keys off of the hook by the garage door, he bends down to nudge Lucy with his knuckles and turns to me.
“You ready for a wild and crazy night?”
My eyes widen and I look to the left. A crazy night?
His broad smirk appears and he laughs. “I’m kidding, Whitley. It’ll be low key. They just had a baby. I’m sure the craziest it’ll get is me putting the baby in her crib.”
Jennings with a baby? Like—actually holding a baby? Oh, good Lord, my vagina might explode.
Lady porn, hello?
“Okay,” I titter, feeling giddy thinking about Jennings interacting with a baby girl.
He quirks an eyebrow. “What are you laughing at?”
I stop my cackle and cover my mouth, shaking my head.
“What’s so funny?”
“It’s just—you and a baby—thinking about it is kind of endearing.”
His dimple shines on his cheek and he motions for me to follow him to the garage. I move to the passenger side door with a smile on my face. Biting my nail, I watch Jennings open my door.
“Thank you.”
He winks. And oh God—he shouldn’t wink. My heart flutters and if it’s possible, he notices my reaction, causing him to close the door snickering.
Buckling my seatbelt, I cross my arms over my chest and let my head fall back against the headrest.
Take deep breaths, Whitley. Jennings is just a normal guy. He’s just a guy who is insanely gorgeous, and has a smile that’s stunning enough to knock me on my ass. He’s also a guy with a bit of an attitude. And, I’m not going to lie, I sort of like it. Why do I have to like the bad boy assholes?
I’m a glutton for hurt, obviously. Or, I’m lonely and they are my way of coping.
Whoa…
“Hey, Pretty Girl. You doing alright over there? You’re thinking awfully loud.”
I unfold my arms and push the hair from my face. “I’m thinking…loudly?” I say, laughing the last word. No one has ever told me that. How can one think loudly?
“Yes, your face is screaming five different emotions. What’s up?” He starts the engine of the shiny car; I have no idea the name, and glides out of the garage. Turning left, further into the development, he zigs and zags his way through the wide streets. The further we drive, the bigger the houses get. Like, White House big. Who the hell is this Bradley dude?
“Where are we going again? These houses are only getting bigger.”
Jennings slows down and pulls over to the side of the road, looking forlorn. Shutting off the engine and unbuckling his seatbelt, he sifts toward me.
“You didn’t answer my question. What’s wrong?”
I move my eyes to look out of the window. The night is dark and black but the lights from the mansions give a glow. I watch as a dark shadow from inside the house to my right moves back and forth in front of the shaded window. I watch the movements as the person, or persons move and wonder what they’re doing. I wonder if they’ve gone through what I’m going through. If their life is somehow spiraling out of control and there’s nothing to do about it. I wonder if they’ve found themselves in a situation that seems to be a complete lose-lose, no matter the outcome. Or, if they’ve gone down a road and not known the destination at the end because they simply can’t see that far into the future. Maybe they are scared, like me. I contemplate the possibility that I’m alone. Because that’s what I am.
I’m alone.
He made sure of that.
I really have no one.
Holli has so much life to live and I can’t expect her to be at my beck and call because I’m having issues. She needs to go and be happy with Blaine. I refuse to be her “bump in the road” because she feels obligated to our friendship. I won’t be that person. I can’t. Then there’s Lark, pig-headed, anger educing Lark that I can’t even stand to think about, let alone be in the presence of. He’s definitely out of the question. And Mom, sure she’s there for me when I need her, but really, she’s out having the time of her life with Ben. And who can blame her? She was stuck in an unhappy marriage for so many years; I don’t doubt the possibility that she’s sowing her wild oats with her younger man. Fifteen years younger. Ahem. Go, Mom. I would be too.
But here I am, twenty-four and lost. I’m practically walking in circles, not able to find a place in the world. I keep going around and around in this constant motion, never finding a reason to stop and just be. I’m always doing something. Always moving. Never stagnant. It’s sort of exhausting.
“Whitley,” Jennings breathes. “Where are you right now?”
I give him a look of question.
“You sure as hell aren’t in this car. We’ve been sitting here for five minutes and you’ve yet to say one word. Your beautiful eyes keep moving side-to-side, as if reading a book, looking perplexed as hell, and I can’t figure out what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours. Talk to me. What’s. Wrong?” he pr
onounces the last two words, trying to get me to spit out my feelings.
Moving my hand to my forehead, I close my eyes. “Honestly?” I ask.
With apprehensive eyes, Jennings nods, waiting for me to go on.
“I don’t know what I’m thinking,” I admit. “My mind is going a mile a minute. It’s been the day from hell. First, I find out I’m not graduating, I tell Lark to fuck off, then I somehow piss you off on the beach. I’m just a bundle of awesome today,” I huff.
Jennings lightly slaps my thigh and I look to him.
His head is cocked to the side and a grin is fighting its way onto his face. “Whitley Hayes, stop it with the self-loathing bullshit.” My eyebrows shoot up and I can’t help the smile that appears on my face. “You didn’t make me mad earlier. I was mad at myself.”
Huh?
He groans, frustrated. “I can’t expect you to want to be thrown to the lions. I was a dick for assuming you would willingly go out in public with me. As a friend, I should be trying to protect you, not offer you as bait for the world to eat up.”
His friend? Ouch. Kind of a slap to my already fragile ego, even if I’m not ready.
“Lark can fuck off,” he states, no hint of sarcasm present. “And as far as not graduating, I wish there was something I could do. It sucks. Really, it does. But, at the end of the day, there’s nothing you can do. You can either take the punch and shake off the hurt or you can let the punch take you down and never get back up. You’re a fighter, don’t let this one thing bring you down.”
Tears well in my eyes and I wonder where they came from, I thought I’d cried myself out earlier. I nod my head and wipe the escaped tear away from my face. I can’t deny the fact he’s right. I’m letting one setback take my happiness, or snarkiness, whatever you’d like to call it, away and I shouldn’t. I should take the brunt of the hit and fight back. It’s essential that I get back up, dust my ass off and move on.
“You’re right. I’ve just got so much on my mind. I feel like my brain can only handle so much. It’s at maximum capacity.” I struggle to find the right words.
Jennings gives me a meaningful look, understanding and non-judgmental, and moves his hand to give my thigh a squeeze. “I get it. I do. I’m the poster child for confusion but you have to know that you have people here for you.”
Anyone but Him Page 10
