by Vivian Wood
“Okay…” I say, frowning. “I don’t know that I can fix it, though.”
She starts unzipping the dress, stumbling over her own feet. “Get it off!”
“Just wait a second—” I start. She trips and starts to fall.
“Wha—” she begins to wail.
Hatred or no, I step forward and try to catch her. It’s just ingrained in me, like muscle memory. I grab her, whipping her around.
Jenna, drunk as she is, starts laughing, blowing her wine breath in my face. Her lipstick is bright red, and smeared a little on her bottom lip. “You caught me!”
“Yeah, all right—” I say, trying to get her to stand up. “Seriously, Jenna…”
I see her brown eyes flick down to my mouth. I realize half a second before she kisses me what she’s about to do. Her face zooms toward mine, her eyes half-closed.
“Jenna, what the fuck are you doing?” I ask, genuinely perplexed.
I manage to grab her by the shoulders and hold her back, but that just makes her laugh deliriously.
“You think I haven’t seen you looking?” she says. “I know you’ve been watching me. You all have.”
“What? I—”
She grabs my dick through my jeans, which makes me reflexively crumple inward. “Get the fuck off of me!”
Then she goes in for the kill while I’m completely off balance. She kisses me, groaning obscenely.
Which is the perfect moment for Asher to walk in.
“What the fuck?” he says, aghast. “Jenna? Jameson? What the fuck!”
I manage to push Jenna off, wiping at my mouth. I turn to Asher. “She jumped me.”
Wham! I almost don’t see his punch coming. He put his whole body into it, though. Asher’s almost my height, and bulkier than I am. His punch lands on my lower lip, which is more surprising than anything.
It knocks me back a few steps. I’m stunned. I feel a trickle of blood seep out of my mouth. “What the fuck?” I ask, touching my lip.
“You fucking prick!” he screams.
“I’m not the one you should be yelling at, dude!” I point to Jenna, who has started laughing uncontrollably.
“You’re both such pieces of shit!” she declares. “Fuck you both.”
Asher flushes a deep red. He wasn’t expecting that, I guess. He turns and storms out of the back room.
I’m right on his heels. He lets out a bellow as he reaches the bar, and he sweeps a tray of champagne flutes off the bar top to the floor. The whole party comes to a halt, though the music continues.
“This wedding is off!” Asher yells, making a beeline for the front door.
“Asher—” I try, but he pushes open the door and disappears.
I take a breath, and realize that every single person in the bar is staring right at me. Not to be outdone, Jenna stumbles out of the back room and promptly throws up everywhere. Her dress is split down the back and barely covering the essentials, which only makes her seem more pathetic.
She’s noisy, too. I look back at her, feeling absolutely nothing. No hatred, no anger really… just an emotional vacuum.
Well, at least the would-be wedding guests aren’t staring at me anymore.
Several people rush toward Jenna, and I’m more than happy to get out of the way. Forest comes over to me, looking pissed.
“What the fuck?” he says. “Jesus, you’re bleeding.”
“Jenna came into the back room and came on to me,” I say, loudly enough that a couple of the people helping Jenna turn their heads and glare at me. “Asher just happened to come in at the wrong moment.”
“Come on,” Forest says, tugging me out from behind the bar. “Let’s get your face cleaned up, man.”
He hauls me to the bathroom, intent on getting the blood off of my face. When we come out, the bar has emptied out. That’s a relief of sorts.
I sit at the bar, while Forest heads off to find his fiancee. Gunnar and Maia are stacking champagne flutes on the bar, looking gloomy. I put my head down on the bar, feeling the coolness of the slate countertop.
I didn’t actually do anything, but I feel like I fucked up Asher’s wedding somehow. I bet Asher feels that way, for sure.
I hear a clink, and lift my head to find Emma on the other side of the bar, setting a bottle of Bulleit bourbon next to my head. She has two oversized brandy snifter glasses held in one hand as she walks around the bar and takes a seat beside me.
I try not to notice her curves, but there is absolutely no denying that they’re there in that sexy as hell dress of hers. And her eyes look amazing right now, like two perfect emeralds.
Stop, I tell myself. You’re being a creepy old man.
“I feel like you need this,” she says, tilting her head to the side. She sets down the brandy snifters and uncaps the bourbon, pouring a little for her and a lot for me.
I grimace. “Yeah, I probably do.”
I take the glass that she holds out, then clink my glass to hers.
“Cheers,” Emma says. We both take a sip at the same time. I sigh as the liquid fire burns its way down my throat. Emma swallows and makes a face.
“Gross,” she says, shuddering. “How do you drink this stuff?”
I make eye contact with her as I tip my glass back, emptying it in a few swallows. She smirks and shakes her head.
“I assume you’re going to tell me what happened with Jenna?” she asks.
I look at her. I can feel her eyes on me, giving me an appraising once-over. What does she see? A thirty something man that does nothing but bartend and surf? The oldest son of two addicts, who abandoned their kids and left me in charge at fourteen?
There’s nothing good for her to see, that’s for sure.
Much as I’d like to know just what she’s thinking, I resist. Instead, I reach for the bottle of bourbon.
“I’m gonna need way more of this. Then maybe I’ll tell you.” I can’t help the glance that I shoot her, the flirty one. “If you’re good.”
Emma’s cheeks darken prettily. I pour myself some more whiskey, ignoring the voice in the back of my head that’s saying that this is a bad idea.
I hold my glass aloft. “Bottoms up.”
2
Emma
I roll over in my bed, frowning when I hit something hard and pointy. My eyes open a crack, and I see shirtless Jameson mere inches from my face. I ran into his elbow, apparently.
Oh, shit.
My mouth goes dry as I take him in. His rakish dark hair, his broad brow and proud nose. His eyes are closed, but I take the time to appreciate his dark eyelashes, resting on his cheeks. And his cheekbones… I never knew that men had cheekbones that were so… enviable. Even covered in stubble, they are friggin dreamy.
Then I noticed them on Jameson, and I haven’t been able to un-notice them. I swallow hard. He’s just so… big. And so…
Unf. I hear that noise in my head every time he gets a heavy box down from a shelf. Just… unf.
I look down further, to his strong shoulders, his incredible arms, his muscular pecs and abs. It’s almost unfortunate that he has the sheet tucked around his groin. But also not really, because I don’t think I could keep my hands to myself right now if he were completely in the nude.
I had a hard enough time last night, when I brought a very drunk Jameson back to my apartment. He was planning to sleep at the bar, not wanting to go back to the house he shares with Asher.
Being the hero that I am, I offered to take him back to my place… for sleep. And I was treated to a rare view of drunk Jameson letting it all hang out. And by that, I mean, his cock jutted proudly toward his stomach as he focused on me.
Then he staggered toward me. I was pinned there, frozen, wondering if all my teenage dreams had come to life. Just standing there, blinking up at him, mouth a little bit agape. He grabbed me by the back of the neck and descended on me, his mouth connecting with mine.
There was no time to think or protest. His lips were hot and wet against mine. I open
ed my mouth to him, and he took what I offered, sweeping my tongue with his. I closed my eyes, tasting burnt sugar and whiskey on his breath.
He growled with a kind of male satisfaction, and the sound curled my toes. Then he let me go.
“Fuck, I’m drunk,” he muttered.
And then he passed out in my bed.
All of it happened right in front of me, because of who I am. I’m Emma Alderisi, Asher’s little sister and the golden child of my rich parents. My mother and father did such a good job of raising me to have impossible standards for men and the world in general, that I’m still a virgin at twenty four.
My gaze slides to Jameson, and I bite my lip. He doesn’t know that part, of course. Just like he doesn’t know that since I was age fifteen, I’ve had a plan.
A plan for Jameson to be my first.
Unfortunately, despite all my flirting, Jameson basically doesn’t even know that I’m alive. To him, I’m just Asher’s innocent little sister.
If only he knew even a hint of what goes on in my head…
Yeah, I know that Jameson is as black as I am white. I know that he never finished high school. I know that until a couple years ago, he was bartending and surfing, not looking for anything more than that.
I know that he’s almost a decade older than me. I really, really do.
But those facts don’t change how I feel about him. If anything, they only increase the tangled knot of emotions I feel every time Jameson so much as glances my way.
Across from me, Jameson stirs. He groans and his whole face crinkles with displeasure before he even opens his gorgeous brown-black eyes.
“Ffffffffuckkkkk,” he whispers.
Then he opens his eyes. It takes his a second to look at me, but when he does, his dark eyes go wide. “Holy shit. What the fuck are you doing in my bed?”
I smother a grin. “Look around you. This is clearly my bed.”
He looks around, and curses again.
“What the hell am I doing here?” Then his panic seems to redouble. “Oh god, we didn’t—”
He peeks below the sheet he’s wearing, and goes pale. I can’t help but giggle.
“No, we didn’t do anything.” I roll my eyes. “First off, you were way too drunk for that. Like… really, really drunk. And second, you would remember if we had sex.”
I add a little smirk to the last statement. The flash of relief on his face is kind of comical. Kind of hurtful, too, but mostly funny. Jameson just groans and pulls a pillow over his face.
“I might still be drunk,” he mumbles, muffled by the pillow. “Jesus, if Ash realized that I was here right now, he’d kill me. And if he thought I actually fucked you? He’d burn down the bar, and then our house, and then murder me.”
I sigh. “Yeah, yeah. I get it. I won’t tell Asher where you stayed. You just looked like you needed somewhere to sleep that wasn’t Cure.”
Jameson pulls the pillow off his face, squinting into the bright sunlight that streams through my bedroom window. “It wouldn’t be the first time, and it won’t be the last.”
“Hmm,” I say, noncommittal. “Well, I have to go to the law library. I can leave you here to keep sleeping…”
“Uh uh,” he says, heaving himself up. “I have to get moving. Otherwise I will just stay in your bed forever. You don’t want that.”
I want to say, Promise? But I don’t.
“Since you’re awake, how about some coffee?” I say. I have to try not to swallow my tongue when he stands up, giving me a nice long look at his muscular ass.
I never thought that I even cared about asses until this exact moment. It’s a revelation. I can make out the faint tan lines that he gets from wearing his wetsuit halfway off.
All too soon, he finds his jeans and pulls them up his long legs. No underwear. That’s another fact that I won’t soon forget.
Of course he doesn’t wear underwear. How very Jameson of him.
“Coffee would be great,” he grouses, turning around. “Have you seen my shirt?”
I point to the lamp, where his shirt landed last night when he was stripping. He turns away to get it.
I stand up, realizing that I’ll probably need to put on more than the oversized tee shirt and tiny sleep shorts I’m wearing. Luckily, Jameson asks for the bathroom next.
“Down the hall, to the right,” I say. I breathe a little sigh of relief. I want to seduce Jameson, but I don’t want to just get naked in front of him. That would be weird.
I quickly change into a new bra and panties and a light blue floral dress. By the time Jameson is back, I’m pulling my hair into a messy side braid and slipping my feet into a pair of heels.
“Coffee?” he asks, peeking in the room.
“Go to the kitchen,” I say, shooing him. “To the left.”
I grab my heavy satchel of books and my phone, then follow him to the kitchen. The kitchen is tiny, with all the appliances half size. Jameson looks hilarious standing in my miniature kitchen, like a giant who has lost his way.
“Sit,” I order, pointing at the lone chair. I sling my satchel down, and it hits the floor with a hard thump.
“Jesus, what have you got in there?” he asks, taking the seat.
“Runes, incantations. You know, everything I need to nurture my coven,” I say. He smiles at that for a split second, before frowning. I start putting the water on to boil, and getting the French press down from a high cabinet.
The ritual of making coffee feels soothing after my morning of combined lust and nerves. I measure the beans and grind them, then pour them in the French press with boiling water.
My roommate Evie comes into the kitchen, stopping short when she sees Jameson. Evie is a gorgeous coffee-skinned trust fund kid that sometimes picks up shifts at Cure. She is still wearing the same teal cocktail dress that I saw her wearing last night, and her hair is a total mess.
“Uhhh…” she says, looking between Jameson and I.
“Hey Evie,” I greet her casually. I’m clearly ignoring the fact that it’s a little weird that Jameson is here… and the fact that Evie has clearly been out all night. “I’m just making Jameson some coffee. Want some?”
I pour a cup, handing it to Jameson. The scent is lovely, filling the tiny room we’re in. Evie seems a little slow to process my words. She shakes her head, her gaze still shifting between me and Jameson.
“Nah,” she says, wrinkling her nose slightly. “I’m um… gonna go to bed.”
“Okay,” I say, giving her a slightly concerned look. “You doing all right?”
Evie turns bright pink. “Yeah. Just… I’ll talk to you later. And Jameson, I’ll see you later this week.”
“Sure,” he mumbles, unconcerned with anything except his coffee cup. He manages to drain most of it, despite the fact that I didn’t offer him milk or sugar yet.
Evie slips out of the kitchen. I pour myself a cup of coffee. Even as I inhale the scent gratefully, Jameson stands up and sets his cup in the sink.
“I should go,” he says. “Thanks for… you know.”
“I think of myself as your savior,” I say, teasing. “Without me, you’d be waking up with allllll kinds of body aches right now.”
One corner of Jameson’s mouth lifts. “If only you could do something about Asher.”
“That’s too much to ask, even of me.” I’m joking, but only partially.
He shakes his head, looking down. Brooding, as always. He’s so damn good looking, it’s kind of hard to watch him.
“I’ll see you later,” he says. And then he’s off, finding his own way out of my apartment.
I sip my coffee, burning my mouth a little. The bitter taste makes me pull a face, and I set my coffee on the kitchen counter. I’m pulling a gallon of milk out of the fridge when Evie comes back.
She’s changed out of the teal dress, but her hair is still a complete bird’s nest. I glance at her.
“Change your mind about coffee?” I ask.
“Nope,” she says,
shaking her head. “I heard him leave. Now I want the scoop! What the hell happened?”
I might have gotten drunk and confessed my love for Jameson a few times since we’ve lived together.
“With Jameson?” I ask. I sigh dramatically. “Nothing. He was drunk. He couldn’t go home. I saved him from a night of sleeping in one of the booths at the bar, that’s all.”
She arched her brows, the very picture of disbelief. That face of coy skepticism is how I know that she was born with money. My mother and her friends used to do it all the time.
“That’s it?” Evie says.
“That’s it,” I say. I hold up my right hand, with two fingers pointed up. “Scout’s honor.”
“Mmmhmm.” She doesn’t look altogether convinced. Evie opens the refrigerator and pulls out a bag of baby carrots.
“Should I even ask where you’ve been?”
She blushes. “Me? I haven’t really been anywhere.”
“That’s not what your sex hair is saying to me right now,” I say, gesturing to the hair she’s unsuccessfully attempted to pin up.
Evie munches on a carrot. “I take the fifth on that one. Anyway, I have to go crash. I desperately need sleep.”
“Mmhmmm,” I say to her retreating back. She waves a carrot in the air as she disappears out of the kitchen.
I check the time on my cell phone, and then hurriedly gulp down my coffee. I have a Constitutional Law study group soon.
I rush to the law library ten blocks from my house, but I find that it’s impossible to concentrate. I blame the material, honestly.
Why study about what John Locke said about the law when I could focus on much more fascinating things? Like Jameson’s full frontal nudity in my bedroom last night.
I may not know a ton about penises, but his was… definitely intriguing, to say the least. Long and thick, but also delicately pink.
Like the man himself, I wouldn’t even know what to do with it if I get my hands on it. That didn’t stop me from daydreaming about it though, did it?
The day goes by fairly quickly in that manner, and before I know it it’s the afternoon. When I am finally done not-really-studying at the law library, I pack up my books and head to Cure.
