by Neal, Xavier
My face flushes yet I force my eyes to stay locked on his. “Dinner tonight?”
His lips tighten.
“Let me take you back to my place where it's warm and you can rest, then when I get off we can have dinner again. And talk a little more this time?”
Archer's body tries to remain strained, but the way his shoulders drop it's obvious he's starting to cave. “Fine. One more meal.”
For now. One more meal for now. See how persuasive I am?
I smile brightly.
Immediately he rolls his eyes. “Don't look so damn smug.”
“Too late.” Heading out of the parking lot back for my home I add, “Besides it's probably best if the cops don't get another call about you just yet. I know Mrs. Prescott. She's going to be looking for a way to prove I lied.”
“She's not a pleasant woman,” he mumbles. “Explains why her husband is having an affair.”
A gasp comes out of me. “What?! No. Seriously? Shut up.”
Baffled at the several terms that just spewed out of my mouth he darts his eyebrows down.
“I mean...how do you know that?”
“Your garbage speaks volumes.”
Does yours? Doesn't it make you feel a little more self conscience about the entire thing?
“What does mine say about me?” When there's no answer I glance over at Archer whose hands are tucked away in his pockets. Pushing past the subject I question, “So, I have to stop at the grocery store tonight, do you have a preference on what you want for dinner?”
As I put the car in park in my driveway, he looks at me again. “Can I come with you?”
“To the grocery store?”
He nods.
Not recalling Chris ever wanting to go with me, simply makes the request even more special.
I'm not saying I'm trying to date Archer even if he is drop dead handsome underneath all the dirt and scruff, which is the only thing most people see. I'm just saying that he wants to spend time with me in a way Chris never did. What do you mean I keep comparing them? I do not!
“Sure...” I slowly answer. “If that's what you want.”
“I do.”
“Then we'll go together.”
Archer's lips tug upward in one corner, my heart feeling the pull too.
What the hell am I getting myself into? More importantly, why am I totally okay with it?
Archer
Fuck. This was supposed to be a one off. A wham bam thank you for the good sleep ma'am, but here I fucking am. Again. Sitting on the edge of this inflated mattress , in this toasty as shit garage , in disbelief I have a roof over my head I didn't have to sneak into because someone left the door unlocked. No. I was invited here. Welcomed in. I'm being treated like a guest by a total stranger. What the hell is wrong with her? Who is this trusting? Her father's a fucking cop for Christ sake! This doesn't make any sense....I mean, I'm not going to harm her, obviously. Fuck, the idea of anyone trying to stirs up an old instinct inside to shoot first and ask questions later. I wonder am I the only person she's ever done this for. I wonder why me...
Frustrated, I stand and stretch my body, preparing for my daily workout routine.
Just because I'm homeless doesn't mean I can't take care of myself. Call it the soldier in me. You kick the injured grunt out of the military but can't kick the military out of him. Between all the walking or in some cases running, my cardio is taken care of, but daily I do a variation of exercises to keep the rest of my body toned. Sometimes I tell myself I do it because it's drilled into me. Other times I tell myself it's because when I do it, I'm brought back to the few positive things about that lifestyle I occasionally miss. The few things that made me feel like I had purpose. Before I was a useless wayward. Also keeps my mind from rotating around that one moment in life everything changed.
After pushing myself harder than normal, craving the burning sensation in my lungs that comes from an extensive workout, I let the back of my head hit the cold floor. My eyes shut.
She even warmed up the leftover lasagna and brought it out to me along with several bottles of water to get me through the day. You know, I could leave again. I should. I should walk out of here, this neighborhood and never look back. Stay far away from her. There's no need for someone so kind to be tainted with someone most people would consider a leech. Despite what may cross a person's head when they see me, I'm not worthless. I'm not hopeless. I'm not weak.
Anger seethes inside until I'm up on my feet looking around the disorganized garage. Determined to make myself useful, to pay her back in the slightest way, I head for the covered tables where tools are scattered around as well as boxes that clearly haven't been touched since his death.
Tragic. An accident that could've been prevented. Coming home to her should've been the driving force to keep him driving smarter not dumber. What kind of asshole does that to a woman like her? Jealous? I'm not fucking jealous. I don't care. I was just...shut up.
For the rest of the day, I break down and toss out old boxes in the recycle, put tools back on the work bench, and dust off the untouched classic creations under the gray cloths. Each area that's been abandoned is truly remarkable. They're intricate large city creations. There's Chicago, Seattle, Boston, and Manhattan. In the process of putting away some of the lost pieces, I carefully fix the ones that managed to get loose or knocked out of place by the sheet. Time flies during the entire process. I barely even recall eating the leftovers during it.
Before I realize it, the garage door is opening, exposing the heated space to the ice cold weather I'm grateful I don't have to be in.
Day and night of that shit is unbearable. Sneaking small moments in convenient stores to steal heat before buying a candy bar with the dollar you found on the ground or the change you hunted down to buy a cup of hot coffee while you bask in the warmth of the corner store, is a shitty way to live. But it happens. And every time you get a sliver of that, you take in as much as of it as you can, but facts are facts. You don't know when you'll experience it again. If ever.
Jaye strolls in wearing a smile so bold and bright I almost forget it's evening. “Hey!”
I pick up a towel to wipe my hands. “Evening.”
She adjusts the strap on her shoulder while looking around. “Did you...did you spend all day cleaning this up?”
With a simple shrug, I toss the rag over my shoulder. “Gave me something to do.”
“It looks amazing,” she gushes, her body gravitating towards the displays that are in all their glory once more. “Are those....did you...”
Nervous, I swallow the lump of guilt before heading that direction too. “I did.”
There's no reason I should feel bad for wanting to make her smile even if I used her dead fiancé's hobby to help do so. Shit. I have no business wanting to make her smile. I meant I wanted to tell her thank you. That's what I meant. You...shut up.
“Wow,” Jaye whispers lightly touching one of the buildings in Seattle. “These are remarkable.”
Folding my arms I question, “Have you never seen them before?”
Jaye shakes her head. “Not really. Just pieces. Chris kept promising when they were finished, he would show me. That after he added the little touches, I could see it.” Her eyes look over at me. “He didn't like his flaws exposed. He only wanted the world to see him at his best. In his complete perfection. I was no exception...” The last of her sentence is in a hushed tone. “Even when I wanted to be.”
I keep my distance, leaning against the work bench. “Did he ever tell you why these cities?”
“They were his favorites,” she answers turning away from them to give me her attention. “They were the ones he did the most business in.”
“Did you travel with him?”
Anguish flashes through in brown eyes before she bats it away. “No.”
Pushing more than I have any right to, I ask, “What exactly he did do for a living?”
“He created his own software security company. B
asically he created a program to show you the biggest weaknesses in your system that you might not have seen before. Places where more skilled hackers might be able to penetrate. That sort of thing.”
“I can see how that would've made him a fortune.”
She adjusts her shoulder bags once more. “Almost a billion dollars.”
Even if I was interested in Jaye in that way, which I'm not saying I am, how the fuck could I compete with something like that? That asshole made almost a billion dollars and I brushed my teeth two days ago with an old child's toothbrush. There's no way I should even be in this house.
“Here.” I clear my throat and cross over to her. “Let me help you with your bags.” Shifting them from her to me before she can object, I ask, “What's in these anyway? Bricks?”
She giggles. “Books.”
“Books? For what?”
“I'm a librarian at a private preschool.” As Jaye unlocks the door, I follow her in. “I travel to classrooms and read books. Help the after school care with their homework. I host two book clubs a month, book fairs, and anything else related to books.” Once we're out of the hallway, she points to the formal dining room table which is what faces the bay windows. “You can just put them down there.”
Heading for the space I ponder, “You don't have an office?”
“No,” she sighs, watching my movements. “Chris had an office space and I just...never took it over.”
You get the feeling Chris didn't want anything more than a trophy wife? I'm not being judgmental. I just made a fucking observation.
Quickly I change the subject away from him. “So. A librarian at a preschool. You love kids then?”
“Love them,” Jaye gushes. “And books. What about you? Do...like kids? Or books?”
The memory of the little girl with dark black hair and bright blue eyes causes my body to tense.
One child responsible for the death of many. Responsible for another child having to be raised without a father.
“You could uh...say that.”
“To which?”
Realizing I wasn't specific out loud, I smirk. “Both.” Her smile starts to spread as I inform, “Many used books have crossed my path. They're a way to entertain yourself for free. A good escape from the world.”
“I agree 100 percent.” After a small beat she claps her hands together. “So! Grocery store?”
Nodding, I follow her back the way we came, my eyes helplessly following the sway of her hips with every step she takes.
Something tells me she doesn't even know she does it. That it just happens. That her body just naturally moves in such a way you have to be captivated by it. Fucking pathetic how addicted to it I am after just a day. Add that to the list of reasons that we can't keep this, whatever this is, going. It would never turn into anything...healthy.
In the car, Jaye wastes no time praising me again, “You really did an amazing job with the garage. I don't think I've ever seen it that...clean. Or organized. Not that I'm a pack rat or anything, I just...never took the time to well-”
“You're welcome,” I finish so she doesn't have to. “Made passing the time easier.”
She smiles softly. “So....I was thinking....”
It's never good when a woman starts with that. Hell the last time a woman started a sentence like that I ended up fucking broke.
“You should stay with me and let me help you get back on your feet.”
My body naturally stiffens. “I don't need help.”
“Maybe not.” She switches lanes and keeps her eyes forward. “But maybe it would be easier if you didn't have to do it alone. If you didn't have to worry about fighting for your next meal or where you'll stay warm this winter. Maybe if you had some help it wouldn't be so...lonely.”
On a growl I deny, “I'm not lonely.”
“Maybe not,” Jaye innocently whispers. “Or maybe you are and you don't wanna admit it. The point is, I think the world's been kicking you down long enough and maybe it would be nice if someone lent a hand instead.”
I take a deep breath in an attempt to settle my thoughts.
She's not wrong. I've been beat up, spit on, cussed out, and looked over among other things these last few years. None has extended a hand without immediately taking from me instead. It's why the idea of 'help' is fucking false. No one wants to help someone for nothing. The world is not that kind of place. Anywhere. I also know what happens when you try to give to get nothing in return. Sacrifices are made. Lives are lost. The last thing I want is more death haunting my memories. Killing Jaye, even just in spirit, would do irrevocable damage. I don't have much that makes the days easier, but I damn sure don't need to add anything to make them harder.
Shaking my head, I deny, “I don't think that's a good idea.”
“I think it's a great idea,” she argues in a bubbly voice.
“You don't know me.”
“I will.”
The certainty in her tone has me wanting to smile. “What if I don't want you to?”
“You do,” the answer is said even stronger. “Because if you didn't you wouldn't have agreed to dinner again tonight. Because if you didn't you wouldn't have asked to go to the grocery store with me. Because if you didn't you wouldn't have contemplated my suggestion for even a moment.”
Damn it. She's right. I'm not admitting that again.
“You're just scared-”
“I'm not scared of anything.”
Her head bobs around mockingly, “Or...some similar emotion of connecting to another person. I'm sure it's because the world hasn't been too forgiving. But some of us are. Some of us still have a heart.”
“That's why you're offering me to live with you? Because you want the world to see you have a heart? Just another rich girl determined to show the world she's about more than money?” The hatred out of my mouth makes me wince.
Yup. My foot. Again.
“What do you want in exchange for room and board?” A brief thought of a different woman once offering me a similar situation in exchange for sex causes my hands to curl into fists.
I'm no one's fucking sex toy. Especially not just because she's lonely while her husband is out fucking strippers. Yeah. The things people say over drinks is incredible.
“A friend.”
Disbelief causes a skeptical look to appear on my face as I turn to look at her. “A friend?”
Pulling into a parking space, she nods. “A friend.”
“Jaye-”
“But.” Her finger lifts to shut me up after she puts it in park. “Because I know you don't believe that, you can stay with me, for room and board, and in exchange you help with housework.”
Not as opposed to the idea as I was before, considering it reminds me of one of the hotel jobs I worked for off the books, I slip down in the seat. “What kind of housework?”
“Yard stuff. Gutters. Trash. I mean you could vacuum if you want because I hate that. Oh and changing light bulbs. Not a fan of that either. You know, that whole short thing?”
“Want me to kill bugs too?” I playfully poke.
Jaye smirks at my comment. “Add that to the list. I hate bugs.”
“Basically you want a handyman?”
She wants a man. Period. A protector I'm sure. As long as she doesn't expect me to step into the shoes of her ex, this might be alright. She seems less obnoxious than a hotel manager and definitely more stable.
“Yeah.” She shrugs. “A handyman who vacuums. A Mr. Fix It who helps wash dishes.”
“You don't have a cleaning lady?”
“No.” There's a long moment of silence before she sighs. “Chris wanted a wife that cooked and cleaned and could take care of the house. So we never got one. It didn't matter that I hate chores like that or didn't like cooking, baking aside, what mattered was that he got that little bit of something he needed.”
“Why? Why did that fucking matter?” An unusual instinct to be protective of her kicks in. “You should matter too. You do ma
tter.”
Jaye pushes the curls behind her ear but her eyes dart down. “I don't know. He made the money. He financially took care of everything, so I did what he requested. I mean I'm sure if I would've spoken up and told him how miserable I found it he would've caved, but he wanted a picture perfect life to come home to and I wanted...” Her voice trails off as she looks back up. “It doesn't matter. My point is, if you could help out around the house while we get you back up on your feet, I think that would be awesome.”
Helplessly I grin. “Awesome?”
