by Laura Brown
Chapter Nine
Jasmine
MY PHONE FLASHED, forcing me to tear my eyes away from Dad’s bar.
Dev: You off tonight, right? We should do something.
Dev: Movies? Bowling?
I wanted to wallow, pointless and ridiculous behavior.
Dev: Please, something, anything but taxes.
Warmth spread through me as a smile crossed my face.
Me: Want to help my mom? I’m sure she hasn’t done any in a few years.
Dev: No. Hell no. She can use a hearing accountant, one that’s not still in school.
Me: Party pooper.
Dev: Fine, I’ll check with Pete. I thought you might want to watch hot guys blowing up stuff.
Me: Did you really type hot guys?
Dev: Blake claims so.
I laughed. No matter what shit life threw at me, Dev always managed to make me laugh.
Me: I could go for some hot guys.
It took him some time to respond. I imagined him typing a word, then deleting it, then typing it again.
Dev: I’m hot.
Yes, he was, but where the hell did that come from?
Me: Blake can’t claim this one, he’s your brother and biased.
Dev sent me a frowning emoji.
Me: Besides, I was promised guys, plural, blowing up stuff.
Dev: I could blow up stuff.
I closed my eyes, as my head went in a very dirty direction. My hands trembled when I picked up my phone, and it took me a few tries to get the right letters out.
Me: Movie.
Dev: Fine. Meet me at home. I’ll check the times.
I tossed my phone on the passenger seat and started the car. Home. He didn’t call it his home; he said home, like he was including me. He always had. Made me wonder what made a place home. Mine were always just a place to sleep. But Dev’s childhood home held a warmth foreign to me. Even his apartment had that special comfort. And I knew that comfort went beyond heat and safety. It was that special feeling he extended to me.
I feared I craved that kind of a home more than I should.
AS PROMISED, THE movie involved explosions and hot guys, even if one sat next to me and hogged the popcorn. Our captions were on little devices connected to our cup holders, preventing me from leaning into him like I did when we were at his place.
The forced barrier was a welcome addition to the mounting tension in my veins when I was around him. It all but simmered between us, across the armrest and through our jeans where our thighs touched. I could easily place my hand on his thigh or brush our arms together. Dev was the one who moved. A small shift and his pinkie wrapped around mine. Such a simple movement, but my heart beat faster.
I forgot to worry about his presence, the vibrations of the movie taking me over. I liked explosions in theaters. They shook the seats, lending to an air of reality. And for however long the movie lasted, my own world didn’t matter.
When the movie ended and the lights turned up, I leaned over the armrest between us and snatched the popcorn. The empty popcorn.
“You ate it all,” I signed.
“An hour ago.” Dev laughed and popped his caption device from the cup holder. “You want more?”
My stomach grumbled, but I shook my head. The popcorn was way too expensive. And I’d already had enough. “I think you’re going to lose a roommate soon.”
Dev paused. “You leaving already?” Something in his eyes cut me more than normal.
“No, not me. I mean your brother.”
He nodded. “That’s been coming for a while now. I don’t know what’s holding him back.”
“Seriously?”
“What am I missing?”
I had the sudden urge to point to myself. After all, we were at the movies. He’d paid for the tickets and popcorn; it was the type of night that under different circumstances would be considered a date. “He’s worried about your father. Sound familiar?”
Dev’s hand went to his neck. “He’s got nothing to worry about.”
And yet, the hand told a different story. “Neither do you. Why can’t you just tell him you don’t want to work for him?”
Dev paced in a circle. “Confessing things isn’t easy.” He stood two feet away and locked eyes with mine. My pulse picked up, and the world around us faded away.
This was bad, very bad. Very, very, bad.
“Dad’s wanted this since I was born. I can’t break his heart.”
I closed my eyes and took a breath. We were having two conversations at once, and we both knew it. I forced myself to look into his baby blues. “You won’t.” I needed to get this second conversation buried again. Because what he needed to do with his father was different from what could happen between us. And I still wasn’t sure there could be an us. “Your dad might be upset, but he’ll be proud of you. I know he will.”
“We’ll see.”
I had a sneaking suspicion I hadn’t squashed the second conversation. I needed an out, an escape. “Ice cream?”
Okay, so I had a nervous tic too.
“I’m surprised you haven’t wanted it yet.”
I broke eye contact and nearly stumbled over my feet as I tried to quench the thoughts threatening to destroy our friendship.
Shit.
We left the theater and took a short drive over to the frozen yogurt place. It might be cold outside, but it was never too cold for ice cream.
We studied our options, waving away the overeager employee who tried to speak to us. Dev leaned into me, his arm touching my shoulder. “You get the strawberry, and I’ll get the chocolate?”
“Of course.”
We filled our bowls, then added toppings before paying and taking a seat by the window. Before I even touched mine, I took a large spoonful of his in order to exploit the amount of chocolate in his overloaded toppings. And as always, Dev did the same with mine.
At least, I assumed he did. The chocolatey mess was too good. I had to close my eyes as it invaded my system. I began to wonder why I let him get the chocolate until I took a bite of my own and the sweet fruit intermixed with the hot fudge.
Heaven.
The table vibrated beneath my arm. “Don’t enjoy it too much.” Yet the twinkle in his eyes said go right ahead.
I stole more of his ice cream. “Too late.”
He smiled and tried to bat my spoon away from his ice cream. “I will beat you.”
“Nope, my turn.”
He dueled with my spoon, plastic against plastic, until mine loosened in my grip and went flying to the floor. I propped my hands on my hips, but the bastard laughed at me. So I stole his spoon.
I had ice cream in my mouth when I realized we had company. Some leggy blonde I had never seen before hovered over us. Or, rather, hovered over Dev.
He rubbed his neck. Interesting. Which of Dev’s exes would this be? I hoped it was Natalie. I hadn’t gotten the chance to check her out yet. I grabbed his ice cream and leaned back with it, fighting at the uneasy churning in my gut.
Blondie shoved two hands on her hips and began speaking to Dev, red lips flapping. I hoped Dev had his hearing aids on, because that was the only way he stood a chance in hell of hearing her.
Dev angled forward, half signing as he spoke but not enough so I could understand him. Blondie was not impressed and jabbed a finger in my direction. I flashed a smile and shoved another bite of ice cream in my mouth.
Shaking his head, Dev pulled out his phone and tapped at it, thumbs flying, before holding it up to Blondie. She took the phone and read, a scowl crossing her otherwise not-too-bad features.
While she read, Dev stole his ice cream back. “Natalie?” I asked.
He stared at the ice cream. “Yeah.”
“What’s the problem?”
He shifted and turned to Natalie, not able to meet my eyes. I returned to my own ice cream, only now I had lost my spoon and my distraction. I’d met plenty of Dev’s dates before, but this one had my jealous inner beas
t ready to crawl out. I’d kept her tame for so long that I was tempted to act on impulse. I wanted to drag Natalie away and ask her what really happened between them. Deep down, I was afraid of the answer.
Chapter Ten
Devon
NATALIE REFUSED TO get the hint. She stood there, heels planted, ruining my night with Jas. She let out a huff and began tapping on my phone with one long manicured nail. While she pecked, I reached across the small table. Jas had just scooped up a hefty part of her ice cream, and I angled her wrist and claimed it myself, ignoring her narrowed eyes.
My phone landed in front of me.
She’s the one. Right? The reason why you can’t commit to anyone. Because you’ve clearly committed to her.
I made sure Jas couldn’t see the words and quickly typed back.
Jas is a friend.
I held it up to Natalie, and she shook her head. She held up finger quotes, and I lip-read friend.
I think it’s time to admit she’s more than just a friend.
Natalie didn’t wait for me to read; she stalked off before I could respond.
When I looked up, Jas was gone as well. I had a moment of panic, worried what Natalie would say to her. Jas appeared a few second later with a fresh spoon for me. “What was the problem with that one?”
I dug into my ice cream. “We didn’t match.” No one did. No one would. Not while I had feelings for Jas.
Jas leaned forward. “I didn’t realize clueless blondes were your type.” Her words were light, but something lurked deep in her eyes. I’d call it possessiveness if I didn’t know better.
I tugged at one of her curls. “And this color is what?”
Jas leaned back and brushed her curls out of my reach. “Dyed.”
I shook my head and returned to my ice cream. I’d known her since kindergarten; she had always been a blonde. And yet I had stumbled into an unknown area with her. I had no idea if she was jealous. But there was a part of me that hoped she was.
“I ATE TOO much,” Jas signed, hands going to her belly as I let her into the apartment.
“Good.” I hung up my coat, trying not to think about how I wanted my hands to be on her body and how maybe she was cold and I could warm her up.
I turned back around to find Jas on the edge of the love seat, chatting with Blake and his boyfriend. Shawn was the type who always smiled. He had shining brown eyes against tawny skin and that slicked-back hair thing that apparently drove my brother crazy. Jas slowed down her signing, but Shawn and Blake had this subtle communication system going—Shawn would tap Blake when he missed something, and Blake would voice.
Instead of paying attention to the conversation, I had been lost in my own thoughts, studying Shawn’s face to gauge his comprehension level. Jas’s hands were a blur in my peripheral vision, and when I finally focused, I realized I needed to have paid attention when she started. “I think he’s dating the wrong kind of women,” Jas finished.
Blake and Shawn both darted their eyes to me. “I agree,” Shawn signed.
I sat down on the love seat next to Jas. “What does that mean?”
“You seem to be afraid to go after the type you really want,” Blake signed, glancing back and forth between Jas and me.
“The great Devon Walker is scared? Maybe he needs someone strong enough to put up with his shit.” Jas seemed to hold in a laugh and got up, heading toward the bathroom.
How about you? But I kept my hands clutched by my sides. I waited until the bathroom light disappeared behind the closed door before leaning forward. “You finished?” The guys stole a loaded glance. Christ, my brother talked about me with his boyfriend. I didn’t want to see any shit they decided to unload, so I veered the conversation way off track. “Did your mom figure out the health insurance connector?” I asked Shawn, voicing with my signs.
Shawn leaned forward, an unconscious act; he did it to be louder for me without yelling. “Yeah, she needed some help, but my brother got through it. Thanks for the tip. We had no idea there were so many options out there.”
Another good part of Shawn leaning forward: Blake leaned back and interpreted. Shawn threw a few signs in, but without Blake I would have been lost.
Shawn held out a fist, and I bumped it. “That’s wonderful.” I had learned of the resource at my volunteer job and had to share when I learned Shawn’s mom had lost her health insurance. The least I could do for a guy Blake was serious about. Family helped family.
I signed good night to the guys and headed into my bedroom. Only I had missed Jas leaving from the bathroom.
She stood by my bed, back toward me, and was changing into her nightclothes. She wore nothing but her panties, and I couldn’t stop my gaze from sliding down her naked back, over the round exposed butt cheeks from her thong, to her long, toned legs. My blood rushed south, and my fingers itched to touch her and make her come alive in my hands.
She pulled on a tee shirt—my tee shirt—and I stumbled back. I shouldn’t have been there; I shouldn’t have seen that. And yet, I wanted to. I wanted that shirt off so I could spin her around, press her against me, and kiss the hell out of her.
I closed the door and hit my head against the wood. I couldn’t stay in the living room, not with Blake on a date. But I needed a moment to collect myself and get my head in gear. So I did the only sure trick: I spouted accounting facts guaranteed to kill any boner.
Only it wasn’t working. My signals were getting mixed up. Because no amount of accounting hell would change how much I wanted her or shrink the wood in my pants.
I had to decide if risking our friendship could ever be worth it. If not, then I had to man up and move on.
The only thing I knew? I could never hurt Jas.
Chapter Eleven
Jasmine
MY FATHER’S BOX sat on my lap. I brushed my fingers over the top. It wasn’t anything fancy, just an old shoe box from a pair of shoes I outgrew years ago, the size and brand freezing his belongings in time. Over the years, the cardboard bent and tore, so I covered parts in pink camouflage tape to protect the valuable contents inside.
The tape made the lid snug, and I had to wiggle it in order to pop it open. The first thing I pulled out was always the hardest to find, his wedding band. Mom didn’t want it, but I did. I didn’t know why; it was a simple gold band, no different from any I could find in the stores.
It fit him.
On me, it barely clung to my thumb. Made me feel like I was still his little girl, even if he was the one wrapped around my finger—or thumb—now.
I kept the ring on as I sifted through. A tie, a Queen CD that he used to play loud enough for me to feel, and a grouping of recipes.
Once upon a time, they’d been organized in separate cases. I’d snatched them out when Mom had gone on her purging spree. Now food recipes and drink recipes were stuck together, intermixed, like his life. Bar. Home. They were one and the same. My father had lived for his family and his bar.
And the stress of it killed him.
Stress, chronic heart problems in the family—who knew what really did him in? But he’d been too damn young to die. I’d been too damn young to lose my father.
I flipped through the recipes, pulling out a drink combination that had to be a joke, but it sounded so bad I had to try it. It had been years since I’d seen this one. Certainly not since I had gone to bartending school. Little good it did me; my boss didn’t need me behind the bar, and no one else wanted to take a chance on a deaf bartender, assuming my ears meant I couldn’t do my job.
I wondered if Dad would have let me work for him, with him. Maybe he would have taught me the ropes, helped me figure out effective communication.
Didn’t matter. He was dead and couldn’t help me.
Still, the cards held ideas I wanted to put to use in my own bar. I shimmied off the bed and grabbed my notebook, jotting down his joke recipe. Either it would turn out to be legit and I could put it on the menu, or I’d have a gag drink ready to go.
I pulled out my phone, looked up when Passover started this year. Tomorrow night. I looked up at the ceiling. “You planned this, didn’t you? I don’t know how to make soup!”
As always, the ceiling didn’t answer.
I flipped the card over in my hand. Dev had enjoyed the Passover food when Dad was still alive. I could barely remember what was needed for the first night’s Seder meal, so that was out. But soup, soup I could do. A small thank-you to Dev for always having my back.
I should have remembered that finding Passover supplies so close to the holiday would be a bitch, especially in a non-Jewish area. I traveled up and down the food-store aisles, searching for matzo meal, before stumbling across a small table covered with macaroons, matzo, marshmallows, and jelly fruit slices. But no matzo meal.
Screw it. I had time; I’d have better luck in Brookline. I headed into the city. I was sure there were real Jewish stores I could go to, but that was never my family’s style. We were the very reformed type who only celebrated the main holidays. Dad was trying to get me into Hebrew school when he died. He was the religious one in the family, and he wasn’t even that religious.
At the second store, I found half an aisle filled with Passover stuff: cereal boxes, coffee, cake mixes, cookies, as well as everyday stuff made special for the holiday.
I stood there, somehow feeling connected to those who had gone before me. It was a weird experience that a part of me felt at home standing in the middle of a grocery store.
A lot of the food looked good, tempting. And expensive. I’d come here for soup. I picked up my matzo meal—and chocolate chip macaroons since I couldn’t help myself. Then I got the other soup ingredients: broth, chicken, celery, carrots, and an onion. The rest of it would be odds and ends Dev and Blake had in their cabinets.
Back at the apartment, I set to work. It had been so long since I’d had a kitchen to work in—most of my apartments had barely any space, if they even had a stove. I chopped and minced, and soon the smells of chicken and onions floated in the air.
