Sink or Swim

by Bailey, Tessa

  Just like that, Andrew was neck deep in his worst nightmare. He wanted to reach into the man’s chest and rip out his beating heart for daring to comment on Jiya. Rage riddled him, the kind he’d learned to keep a tight leash on, ever since the night the leash had snapped. Andrew might have acted on his impulse to hurt the man if Jiya wasn’t watching. But he could feel his time with her ticking away and he didn’t want it to be marred.

  Keep your cool.

  Don’t let him see how important she is to you.

  Get him out of here. This isn’t going down tonight of all nights.

  “You got a crush on me or something, old man?” Andrew asked, using his body to block Jiya from view. “You’ve been sweating me for weeks.”

  “Those are some fucking balls you’ve got there, son. Your dad had brass ones, too.” He smiled without humor, revealing a crooked row of bottom teeth. “Ain’t seen him in a while. Have you? He just kind of…dropped off the face of the earth.”

  “Yeah, he was good at that. Taking off, coming and going how he pleased,” Andrew said smoothly, even though that noose around his neck was wrapping slowly around a ceiling rafter. “Guess this time he decided to stay gone.”

  “Shame. We had a good thing going, him and I.”

  Andrew’s brow knit. “Like a business thing?”

  “That’s right. We’ll talk another time, about working out the same arrangement between you and me.” He leaned to the side and tipped his hat—at Jiya, Andrew was sure—and the rage danced back into his throat, crowding his windpipe. “Time to pay the fucking piper, son.” Before Andrew could process that statement or what it could possibly mean, the cop opened the door and slipped out into the balmy night, snickering as he went. “Congratulations to Jamie on his nuptials.”

  Andrew stood paralyzed for several moments, his stomach roasting on a spit.

  His father had made a business arrangement with a cop?

  What kind? The man’s hatred for cops had been notorious, thanks to them being called to the Prince household countless times over the years to resolve domestic disputes with their mother.

  Andrew would find out what kind of deal they’d had. Because it sounded like Handler wanted the same deal with Andrew. And he sounded pretty confident that he had the right leverage needed to make Andrew do just about anything.

  “Hey.” Jiya’s knuckles brushed Andrew’s. “What was that?”

  “Nothing.” Acid lined his mouth when Jiya forced him to look her in the eye. Lying to her was like having nails driven into his gut. “That was nothing.”

  She scoffed. “Tell that to your face right now.” He tried to respond, but he kept swallowing instead, over and over. Jiya stepped closer. “You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”

  His nod was vigorous, but he still couldn’t respond. What would he say?

  He was saved from having to find out when the Castle Gate lights cut out, painting their surroundings in black.

  *

  A song about the rocky road to Dublin cut off and “Pour Some Sugar on Me” pumped without warning over the loud speakers.

  One second, Andrew’s expression held enough dread to fill a bathtub twice and the next, he’d visibly shaken it off. Gone back to his regular self. Jiya watched it happen the same way she’d witnessed him talking to the cop. Staring at a blurry picture and waiting for it to take shape into something that made sense. The conversation between Andrew and that man hadn’t been a friendly one. Something about it had disturbed Andrew.

  But it hadn’t surprised him. He’d left the group to speak with the officer as though he’d been waiting for his arrival.

  At that moment, she wanted her and Andrew to be standing at their bedroom windows, speaking across the sandy patch of lawn. He was less guarded late at night, when they were the only remaining people awake in Long Beach. Or so it seemed. When they spoke at the window, he didn’t have to wear any of his many hats. Bar owner, lifeguard supervisor, oldest brother, the family adhesive. He only had to be Andrew.

  Now, before her eyes, he donned his oldest brother hat, a smile tugging up on edge of his mouth at whatever the new song playing meant. He leaned down and kissed Jiya on the forehead. “Hold that thought, sweetheart. The stripper is here.”

  “Oh boy.”

  “Interesting choice of words.”

  Jiya took a sip of her vodka tonic and pressed her back against the wall, watching Andrew tuck behind the bar and flicker the lights on and off, his low crack of laughter at odds with the stricken man she’d been face to face with moments ago. Bar patrons were starting to realize something was afoot. They turned in their stools, drumming their hands on the bar…just in time for Rory to wheel a giant cake out of the back office.

  She did a spittake, vodka burning the inside of her nose.

  Rory and Andrew had gotten a stripper to pop out of a cake?

  “Why am I even surprised?” she muttered to no one, fighting a smile. After all, these were the same brothers who’d gotten T-shirts made for her eleventh grade academic decathlon that said Up against Jiya? Wouldn’t want to be ya. When there was something to celebrate, they took it seriously. For her. For each other. That was their mother’s influence. Back when the Prince brothers were growing up, she’d always found a way to scrape enough money together to have a party, even if it meant dressing up like a clown and ordering pizzas to the backyard. If it bothered Andrew that their father was never in attendance, he never showed it until he and Jiya were alone.

  As the giant cake was wheeled through the bar toward Jamie, he met Jiya’s eyes across the room. “What the fuck?” he mouthed. “Help me.”

  She pretended to check her watch.

  Poor Jamie. He looked so betrayed.

  Jiya gave him a look that said, there’s no stopping this train, dude.

  Really, there wasn’t. If he tried to make a run for it or Jiya tried to sneak him out the back door, the entire bar would probably chase them down and drag them back, kicking and screaming. Andrew stopped flickering the lights when the massive, white cake—with blue, plastic frosting was in front of Jamie. He drained his beer, probably wishing the floor would swallow him whole.

  Just as the song’s crescendo hit, Marcus popped out of the cake.

  In pasties and a leopard print speedo.

  The place went nuts.

  With her jaw on the floor, Jiya watched Marcus climb out of the cake and strut towards Jamie, reminding her of the opening scene from Saturday Night Fever. Unlike Travolta, however, he was built like an ox and teeming with muscle, effectively stretching that speedo criminally thin. Jamie, who was visibly still in a total state of shock, shook his head, love slowly saturating his expression so completely, Jiya didn’t know whether to keep laughing or cry.

  Never one to shy away from attention, Marcus high fived everyone he passed as he danced a circle around Jamie, before coming to a stop in front of him. He presented Jamie his backside and tugged down the speedo—showing off the tiniest sliver of butt cheek—sending the room into hysterics, including Jamie, who now, thankfully, looked as though he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world but where he sat, his fiancé dancing for him half naked.

  Andrew came up beside Jiya and put an arm around her shoulders. “Well?”

  “This is the greatest accomplishment of your life, Andrew. Soak it in.”

  A flash of his white teeth. “That’ll teach you to doubt my judgment.”

  “Sorry.” She nudged her head against his chest. “It won’t happen again.”

  “Good.”

  His thumb stroked her bare upper arm, just once, and she barely managed to stave off her shiver. “For the record, I wouldn’t recommend having Olive pop out of a cake in pasties at Rory’s bachelor party.”

  He squeezed her close and shook her a little. “You made it a whole five seconds without questioning my judgment.” They shared a quiet laugh. “Yeah, I guess we’ll be planning another one of these soon, huh?”

  “And
what about you?” she asked, knowing she absolutely should not. “Always the bridesmaid and never the bride?”

  His expression grew shuttered. “Ah, you know me.” He cleared his throat. “Always working. It wouldn’t be fair to subject someone to my schedule.”

  Jiya swallowed the heaviness in her throat. As if he could sense her mood dropping, and he always could, his hold on her tightened. And maybe it was the romance in the air or the vodka she’d drunk, but she let him. Let Andrew Prince pull her into his chest and sway them, totally out of rhythm with the song. All eyes were on Marcus—who was now twirling his pasties to everyone’s eternal delight—and maybe that gave her the dangerous permission to press her front to Andrew’s and study the stubble on his chin, the slow rise and fall happening in his throat. She tried not to be obvious about breathing in his earthy scent, even though she got the feeling he was soaking in hers, too.

  His hand splayed on the small of her back, respectful in a way that hinted it could easily turn disrespectful, if invited. What would that be like?

  To have Andrew, her best friend, walk her into the shadows and let his hands travel south to her backside. That thumb that brushed her arm might sneak a stroke under the hem of her dress, just once, his warm breath on her mouth.

  No man had ever put his hand beneath her dress. No man had ever held her even as intimately as this. She’d had flirtations in college, sure. She’d even dated. But whenever the guy showed too much interest or grew too familiar with her likes and dislikes, she put on the brakes. This was why, wasn’t it? She’d only ever wanted Andrew to hold her like this. It was safety and danger at the same time. Safety because he would die before letting anything happen to her and dangerous because he didn’t want forever with her.

  He saw her as a friend. Only a friend.

  Hadn’t she grown resigned to that fact?

  Yes, she had. She’d decided to let Andrew go. To get her head out of the clouds and stop thinking of him as anything other than a friend. As much as she adored the oldest Prince brother, he showed no signs of giving up his bachelor lifestyle, and she? She’d decided to look for her more. More than he could give.

  So she had no business being held this way by Andrew.

  He had no business holding her like a prized possession. Not now.

  Why now?

  Jiya looked up and found Andrew watching her intently. “What is this, Andrew?”

  “We’re dancing,” he rasped, his gaze slightly unfocused.

  “You’ve never danced with me like this before.”

  His gaze strayed to her lips, before he resolutely dragged them away. “Do you want to stop?”

  “No and that’s the problem.” Come on, Mrs. I Don’t Play Games Anymore, bring up the elephant in the room. It’s not going away. “You’ve been different with me lately. Is it…” She took two bracing breaths. “Is it because I’m dating?”

  He started to deny it, then changed his mind. “Might be. Yeah. I know that’s fucked up,” he said. “You’ve always been min—my best friend. We won’t have this if you start dating someone seriously. If you…”

  “Get married?”

  His complexion turned gray. “Mmm.”

  Cement caked her insides, but she was used to it by now. She’d loved Andrew since she was a child. She’d waited patiently for him to love her back—as more than a friend—and he hadn’t. He’d done nothing about it. So while she yearned to dissect his every word and rejoice in them, ached for what he was feeling, she couldn’t do it anymore without being a fool. “Ask me the question, Andrew. The one you ask me every night.”

  A line formed between his brows. “Can I do anything for you, Jiya?”

  “Yes.” She took his face in her hands. “You can stay my friend. No matter what happens. Fine, things are changing in my life. But I couldn’t bear it if I ever lost what we have. Just stay my friend. Promise me.”

  His jaw bunched. “You know I’d cut my heart out before saying no to you, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you have your answer.” He wet his lips. “But we’re finishing the dance.”

  “Fine,” she said a little breathlessly, because he’d let that dangerous hand on the small of her back move a touch lower. Just a touch.

  Andrew’s mouth hovered just above her ear. “You’re coming to the end of your four-hour fancy shoe window.”

  Oh, her poor, abused heart. It couldn’t take this. Andrew knew her so well. Better than anyone ever would, probably for the rest of her life. And that made walking away from the dream of him painfully hard. “My feet are going to turn into pumpkins soon.”

  His chuckle made her shiver. “I got you, sweetheart.”

  Before Jiya could guess his intention, Andrew wrapped an arm around her lower back and lifted her out of her shoes, leaving her toes wiggling in midair, her upper body flush against his broader, more powerful one. “Ohhh I should make you put me down, but the blood is returning to my feet and it feels too good.”

  “This isn’t the first time I’ve lifted you in the air like this. You remember?”

  A laugh shook her and Andrew’s arm tightened. “You’re talking about the time your baseball went into mean Mrs. Columbo’s backyard? You held me up so I could grab it with a field hockey net while she sunbathed literally one foot away?”

  “Nailed it.” His chest vibrated. “You were the only one light enough for the job.”

  “I wrote out a will and testament in case she caught and ate me.” She sighed. “I was a dramatic child.”

  “You were the best. You are the best.”

  She was grateful he couldn’t see her eyes squeezing shut. “Don’t butter me up because you haven’t hit your dick joke quota.”

  He nudged her cheek with his nose. “Don’t get cocky.”

  “Ohhh. Two down. Don’t—”

  “Drop the balls now? Game, set, match, sweetheart.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  “Oh yeah? You should see my—”

  She put a hand over his mouth. “Quit while you’re ahead.”

  His eyes smiled at her over her silencing hand and they stayed like that for several moments, Andrew holding her aloft, shifting side to side to maintain the excuse of dancing, their eyes locked together amid the cheers and music of the bar. It might as well have been dead silent. Throughout her lifetime of being in love with Andrew, Jiya had barely managed to retain a scrap of her heart. She was very close to losing that tiny shred now and being left with nothing, so she wiggled free of his grip and put her shoes back on, feeling his rapt attention on the crown of her head.

  She glanced over her shoulder at Marcus and Jamie who were holding each other and rocking right to left, speaking to each other with their eyes. Marcus had put on sweatpants, but he still wore the pasties and Jamie looked drunk and deliriously, stupidly happy. Jiya faced Andrew again, just in time to catch him in the act of looking at her breasts. He didn’t even have the grace to look guilty and something about his defiance made her nipples hard, as if her body wanted to please him more, despite the boundaries she was desperately trying to reestablish. “Come on. Let’s go round everyone up and ship them off to bed,” she managed, sounding winded. “W-we don’t want them hungover reciting their vows tomorrow, do we?”

  “No.” He cleared his throat hard, giving her a determined smile. “We can’t have that.”

  Before the spell could weave its way back through them, Jiya turned on an aching heel and went to congratulate Marcus on his new career as a stripper.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  It had been Marcus’s suggestion to marry Jamie in the exact spot he’d been attacked years earlier. He’d asked Andrew about the idea over a beer one night in the Castle Gate and Andrew had voiced his doubts, afraid it would bring up bad memories for his brother. But seeing Marcus and Jamie bathed in mid-morning sunlight, standing in ankle-deep water, holding hands and reciting their vows, Andrew knew it had been the right choice. Jamie would never feel hate or fear
walking down this beach ever again. He’d remember the way Marcus was looking at him right now—with something akin to worship. He’d think of the group of people gathered around to support the union, and he’d only feel the positivity of this place.

  Love usurped hate today.

  Andrew would have been honored to simply stand there and watch it happen, but him and Rory were the best men. Marcus’s brother, Joey, and his father stood up for him. At the grooms’ request, the wedding party was dressed casually, in jeans and white T-shirts—and thank Christ for that, because the mid-August sun wouldn’t allow for a suit. Not to mention, Andrew was pretty sure none of the Prince brothers owned a fucking suit, save Jamie. But not even the most dapper of the three wore a tie today.

  Just his signature vest, a two-day-old beard and a smile.

  While the minister spoke, Andrew couldn’t stop his attention from drifting over to Jiya where she stood arm in arm with her parents. God, he’d thought she looked amazing last night, but she stole his breath today. She wore a vivid yellow dress that floated around her in the breeze. Little strands of hair blew across her smiling mouth, catching in the eyelashes that collected tears from her shining eyes. Her beauty was almost startling.

  Maybe Andrew was just startled, period.

  He’d behaved like an asshole last night. Again. Holding her, flirting with her, touching her in ways that were reserved for the man who’d give her a future. He’d behaved selfishly, letting himself experience what it would be like to keep Jiya. That wasn’t fair to her. And now that Andrew knew how right and perfect it felt to hold Jiya in his arms—like a boyfriend…or husband would—staying away from her would be a hundred times more difficult.

  Andrew got the sense he was being watched and found Jiya’s mother staring at him with a curious expression on her face. He nodded at her, but she didn’t nod back.

  There was a stab of disappointment in his side. When Andrew, Jamie and Rory’s mother waved at him from the front of the crowd, her face glowing and free of discoloring, Andrew couldn’t help but breathe easier, though. At least she was safe now. At least she didn’t have to live with dread every day of her life anymore.