Down on Me

by J. Kenner

  That was eight long months ago. Even so, she felt her cheeks burn with the memory right now. She squirmed in Tyree's guest chair, crossing and uncrossing her legs, the inopportune memory teasing her. In the process, she glanced sideways--and was brought up short when she saw Reece frowning at her as if she was a puzzle. Or worse, as if he could see right through her pink cheeks and into her lust-red thoughts.

  "I'm not--" She cut herself off, unsure what she'd planned to say. It didn't matter. He didn't even hear her, and she realized that his expression was because of Tyree's predicament and not because her cheeks were flaming under her freckles.

  Duh.

  "Is it foreclosure?" Reece aimed the question at Brent, then leaned against the battered bookshelf, his arms crossed over his chest. "I know receipts are down--the competition downtown has gotten crazy--but I didn't think it was so bad that he couldn't make the mortgage."

  "It shouldn't be," Brent said. "But apparently he's got until the end of the year to pay off the mortgage in full--and that can't be a small chunk of change. If he can't manage, it's adios to all of this."

  "That's crazy." Jenna looked from one guy to the other. "Are you sure?"

  "I came in here to reboot the security cameras, and I accidentally bumped his mouse." An ex-cop, Brent was in charge of all aspects of security at the bar. Everything from escorting out rowdy patrons to examining questionable IDs to checking employee references. And, of course, he ensured that the video security was always up and running. "The demand letter was on the screen. I shouldn't have read it, but..."

  "The hell you shouldn't," Jenna said. "How else would we know he needs help?" She twisted in her seat, positioning herself to make eye contact with both guys. "We are helping, right?"

  "Hell, yeah," they said in unison, making her smile. "The question is how," Reece added.

  "And why he needs help in the first place," Brent added.

  Reece took a step toward him. "Show me the letter. Maybe there's something relevant in the text that you missed."

  "Can't," Brent said, lowering himself into Tyree's desk chair with a sigh. "The hard drive went to sleep when I went out to meet you two, and now I can't log in without his password. No idea why it wasn't locked down before, but we all know this computer is a piece of shit."

  Jenna bit back a laugh. That was true. She'd waited tables for The Fix when she was finishing grad school, and Tyree used to let her work on class papers during her breaks. The computer was an ancient beast, but he refused to replace it, always saying that any spare cash needed to either go into the bar or toward Elijah's college fund. So long as the computer was computing, then he didn't need some fancy upgrade.

  "Maybe he got behind on his payments?" Reece suggested, but Jenna heard the incredulity in his voice, and she agreed with it. She didn't know Tyree as well as Reece or Brent did, but she was certain that the efficient ex-military officer wouldn't let that happen.

  "Well, something's up," Brent said. "But honestly, it's getting on toward three, and I've got a babysitter to pay." He rose, then scrubbed a hand over his jaw and close-trimmed beard. "Why don't we talk over breakfast tomorrow? I'll drop Faith at kindergarten, go for a jog, and be back by nine, easy."

  Reece nodded. "Sounds good. I'm going to hang here for a bit--make sure everything's set for the morning."

  Brent clapped him on the shoulder. "The sacred duty of the bar manager." He pointed a finger at Reece. "Don't forget to set the alarm. And you," he added, gesturing for Jenna to follow, "are with me."

  "Right," she said, rising and moving toward the door. Reece was doing the same, and they caused a minor logjam. She shifted, brushing against him, then shivered from the unexpected shock of electricity that rushed through her from nothing more than that innocent contact.

  "You okay?" Reece put his hand on her shoulder, and when she looked up, she thought for a moment that she'd get lost inside the smoky quartz of his eyes. "Jenna?"

  "Huh?" She blinked. "Oh, yeah. I'm just--you know. I'm not used to bar hours. And with the flying and getting up early and the travel and the drinking--"

  "Dead on your feet," he said. "Get some sleep, and I'll see you tomorrow."

  "Sure." He started to pull her in for a hug, the same way he'd done a million times over the years, but he stopped short and straightened, then stretched as if he'd been overcome with exhaustion.

  Something in the back of her mind told her she should be confused. Or maybe even annoyed. Possibly worried. Because something was off-kilter, for sure.

  Instead, all she felt was relief.

  "Tomorrow," she said, firmly, then followed Reece out the door.

  "Thanks for letting me crash here," Jenna said, flopping onto the familiar, tattered couch the moment the babysitter was out the door. "Amanda said I could sleep in her living room, but honestly, the idea of sleeping there while her parents are in the house..." She trailed off with a shake of her head. "I love them, but that's a little too close for comfort."

  Amanda Franklin and Jenna had shared a dorm for three of their four undergraduate years at the University of Texas, and Amanda was by far Jenna's closest girlfriend. Also an Austin local, Amanda had frequently visited her parents' lakeside house for meals, laundry, and effusive hugs. She'd dragged Jenna along, and once the Franklins learned that Jenna had no family other than a single mom who worked too many hours for too little money, they'd adopted both of the Montgomery women into the fold.

  The plan had been for Jenna to crash with Amanda until she got a new job and a place of her own. Amanda was off work for the week, and they were going to spend the next couple of nights drinking and watching bawdy girl movies and eating raw cookie dough.

  The plan, however, was no more. Amanda's parents had found themselves homeless while their flooring was being replaced after an unanticipated water heater disaster. Instead of a hotel, they'd moved in with Amanda.

  Jenna loved Martha and Huey Franklin dearly, but that didn't mean she wanted to be front and center in the living room where they could ask her question after question about why the job in LA didn't work out (she'd been caught in the crossfire of really bad management) or what she intended to do now (she had no idea, and the thought of her dwindling bank account was making her queasy).

  Better to stay with Brent and visit the Franklins when she'd had sleep and pre-rehearsed responses to all of their well-meaning, but gut-twisting questions.

  "Tell you what," Brent said. "I'll sleep in the living room, and you take my bed."

  Jenna wanted to kick her own ass. "No, no. I didn't mean it like that. You know I didn't."

  He brushed the words away, then went down the short hallway and into the kitchen. The small house in Austin's Crestview neighborhood was old enough not to have an open floor plan. She couldn't see him anymore, but from where she sat in the cozy living room she could hear him opening and closing cabinets.

  "Dammit, Brent. I'm not kicking you out of your bed. Your living room is fine."

  "I'm not talking forever," Brent clarified, his low voice carrying easily to her. "Just tonight. You take my bed. Tomorrow, Faith can start sleeping with me. I'd move her tonight, but she'd never get back to sleep."

  Jenna pushed herself off the couch and went into the kitchen, taking a seat at the small breakfast table by the window. "I'm not kicking your little girl out of her bed."

  "My house, my rules." He grinned, revealing the dimple in his left cheek. "Here," he added, sliding a cup of hot chocolate in front of her and then taking the seat across from her. "You're exhausted, and you know it. You'll sleep better in the bed. And I can sleep anywhere."

  "Fine." She wasn't conceding, but the battle was going to have to wait, because the adrenaline rush that had accompanied the news of Tyree's money problems was fading, leaving her too wiped out to argue. "You don't look tired at all."

  He shrugged. "When you combine single dad with working bar hours, you end up with a guy who's at his best at weird times of the day."

  "Maybe
you're secretly Superman," she teased, then hid her grin in the whipped cream that topped her cocoa. Still, it wasn't a bad comparison. He even had a Clark Kent thing going lately. A Nice Single Dad Next Door persona that mostly eclipsed his panty-dropping good looks.

  But that was only the image he showed the world now. Jenna had known him for most of her life. Before he was a cop. Before that bitch Olivia.

  Jenna had seen him in swim trunks at the beach during college, his skin glowing with a tan, his body so tight and strong that Jenna was certain all the other girls on the beach had whiplash.

  During that same trip, she'd seen Brent and Reece stand up for a confused homeless man against a gang of dangerous-looking locals. The three of them had gone to Corpus for a weekend one summer and had stumbled across a klatch of thugs giving the guy shit, stealing food from the grocery cart that doubled as his home, and making a point of kicking sand at him whenever they passed by.

  Brent had led the charge, but Reece had been right beside him. Her guys had shut that shit down with no-nonsense language and a couple of well-placed punches. It was the first time she'd seen them fight together since elementary school, and the depth of their friendship had been reflected in the way they anticipated each other, covered each other. They were so different. Reece, ripped, tattooed and bearded even back then. Brent, all lean muscle, strength, and speed.

  She drew in a breath, then sighed with the memory. They were both such great guys, not to mention ridiculously good looking.

  But it's Reece you want.

  The voice in her head startled her, and she jerked her mug, getting whipped cream all over her upper lip.

  "You okay?" Brent put his hand on her shoulder, and she waited for her body to react the same way it had when she'd brushed up against Reece earlier. Because maybe it had just been a reflex. A little bit of sizzle, normal for a girl who hadn't been with a guy in ages.

  Except she wasn't reacting now. No zing. No buzz. No heated flurries or spinning butterflies. Just her and Brent and the reassuring pressure on her shoulder.

  Nothing like she'd felt with Reece.

  So what the hell did that mean?

  "Hey?" He squeezed her shoulder. "You in there?"

  "Sorry. I'm just--I don't know," she ended lamely because she was hardly going to tell him that her mind had wandered to their mutual best friend.

  "You're fading fast," Brent said, a chuckle in his voice.

  "I need sleep. But can I see Faith first? If you don't think we'll wake her?"

  A tender smile touched Brent's lips, and she felt her heart squeeze. He'd sacrificed so much for that little girl, and never even thought twice about it.

  She rinsed her mug, then put it in the drainer before following him to the smaller of the two bedrooms in the house. He turned the knob slowly, then pushed the door partway open.

  A pink night-light cast just enough glow for Jenna to see the little girl sprawled on her back, her sheet and blanket having been kicked off. She hugged a stuffed tiger with one arm, and the other thumb was in her mouth. Jenna could hear the sucking noise from where they stood and felt tears prick her eyes. It was good to be back in Austin with her friends.

  "I can't believe she's already five," Jenna said once Brent had closed the door. "I feel like I missed years."

  "She's growing fast." Pride laced his voice. He hesitated, then looked her in the eyes. "And even though I'm sorry about your job, I'm glad you're back."

  "I was just thinking that," she admitted as they headed into the bedroom. "I'm nervous about money--the job market's crappy. But I'm glad I'm back, too."

  "You'll be fine," he said, easing his arm around her. She leaned against him, and it was comfortable. Easy. Nothing at all like it would be if she were leaning against Reece.

  If that were the case, her pulse would be pounding like crazy, and her entire body would have so much energy coursing through it that she could personally light up all of Central Texas.

  Clearing her throat, she took what she hoped was a casual step back. If Brent noticed anything off, he didn't comment. Instead, he opened the dresser drawer, took out a pair of pajama bottoms and a plain T-shirt, then headed for the bathroom. "Back in a sec," he said, shutting the door behind him.

  She perched on the edge of the bed, exhaustion warring with restlessness. "What do you think of Megan?" she called after a moment.

  "Who?"

  Unexpected relief swept over her; if Brent didn't know who Megan was, that meant it wasn't serious between her and Reece.

  "Megan," she repeated. "I knew her in LA. I think maybe she's dating Reece."

  "Yeah?" He stepped out of the bathroom, now in PJs. "Let me scrounge up a blanket, and then I'll bring your suitcase in here for you."

  "You didn't know? Must not be that serious."

  He bent to open a wooden trunk, but glanced up, his brow furrowed. "Don't you like her?"

  "What? Of course I like her," she said quickly, wondering what exactly her tone of voice had revealed. Because she did like Megan. She just didn't want her dating Reece. Which was stupid, because she wanted both Reece and Brent to be happy. With wives and families and picket fences.

  "About time, if you ask me," Brent said, interrupting her thoughts.

  "What do you mean?

  He stood, a bundle of blankets and sheets in his arms. "Well, you know our guy. Date, get serious, break up. As regular as the phases of the moon. Or it was. He hasn't dated in months. Not even hookups, as far as I know." He headed out the door, his voice coming back from the living room. "But now there's a new woman. Even better, she's one you can vouch for. I'd say it's a good sign. Don't you?" he added, returning with her suitcase and plunking it down by the foot of the bed.

  "Yeah. Of course." She cleared her throat, hating how weak her voice sounded. "Speaking of, who have you been seeing?"

  "Ah, that would be the stunning Miss Not Yet In The Picture." He spoke in a fake British accent, and she laughed, knowing that he was referencing--badly--Monty Python and the Holy Grail, one of the movies the three of them had watched as kids, convinced they were watching something risque and wildly inappropriate.

  "You should date more. Find someone. Faith needs--"

  "Don't tell me Faith needs a mom." There was steel in his voice. "Faith has a mom. She definitely doesn't need two of that breed."

  "Don't lump all women in with Olivia," Jenna said, wishing she'd kept her mouth shut.

  For a second, she thought he was going to ignore her. Then he drew a breath and shook his head. "No," he said with a soft smile. "I wouldn't dream of it." He reached out and gently stroked her cheek. "Maybe we should just run off to Vegas. You'd be a great mom."

  "You better believe I would," she retorted. "I'm good in bed, too."

  "Well, we have that in common," he countered, making her laugh. She knew he wasn't even remotely serious--and she wasn't even remotely tempted--so there was no weirdness twisting in her gut.

  "Of course, that would be breaking our oath," he teased.

  She made a B in sign language with her fingers and put it up on her forehead, the supposedly secret sign they'd come up with the summer she'd turned eleven. "Best friends forever, right? The Three Musketeers."

  "Or three blind mice, depending on your point of view. But yeah. An oath is an oath."

  "Hell yeah," she said softy. She looked at Brent, but her mind was on a different guy.

  "And call me crazy, but I want to marry for love. And sex. But mostly love."

  She pressed a hand to her heart in mock indignation. "Are you saying you don't love me?"

  "I love you to the moon and back. But not like that."

  "I know." She drew in a breath, then yawned. "Me, too."

  "You're exhausted." He kissed her forehead. "Now go to sleep. It's past three, and Reece will be here early."

  He headed out then, shutting the door behind him, and Jenna was left staring around the room, which was illuminated by the faint glow of a streetlight seeping in aroun
d the curtains. She wanted to curl up in bed and crash. Half an hour ago, she would have. Hell, even five minutes ago. She'd been tired, then. Completely drained.

  And then Brent had gone and mentioned Reece, and now her body was purring, forbidden memories sliding up to tease her senses.

  And then he'd mentioned friendship and oaths, and she wished she could pry all those decadent, unwanted thoughts and feelings from her mind.

  She opened her suitcase and started to unpack. She pulled out her make-up case and took all of her cosmetics into the bathroom, then laid them out for the morning. She hoped the familiar travel routine would distract her.

  It didn't. Reece was still in her mind. Heated thoughts. Sensual meanderings. And maybe she shouldn't try to shut it off. Maybe she should just go with it.

  Back in the bedroom, she got undressed, slipped into a nightshirt, then climbed into bed. Because she'd decided to give in to temptation. To close her eyes and remember a night when she'd gotten way too drunk.

  A night when Reece had taken care of her, then carried her to bed.

  A night he thought she didn't remember.

  But she did. Some of it, at least.

  And as a warm blush spread over her body, Jenna closed her eyes, breathed deep, and let herself fall backward into the memories of that delicious, forbidden night.

  Chapter Four

  Eight months ago

  "You and Brent should just quit working and move to LA with me." Jenna took another long swallow of the rum and Corona concoction, then sighed with pleasure, her head spinning a little more than it should. Correction, a lot more than it should. "These are amazing. You're putting them on the menu, right?"

  "If you say so, I will. Your wish is my command."

  "You're teasing me, aren't you?" She narrowed her eyes, saw two of him, then narrowed them some more until Reece merged into one man. A man who was smiling indulgently at her from across one of the wooden two-tops in the back section of The Fix on Sixth.

  Seven Percent, a local band that had gathered a nationwide following, was playing on the wooden stage up front, and normally she'd be sitting at the bar up there, listening to the music and chatting with the bartenders or a girlfriend while Brent and Reece did their jobs. Tonight, however, they'd both taken the night off. Because tonight was Zero Hour. The last hurrah.