Текст книги "Jesse"
Автор книги: Jo Raven
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 18 страниц)
He retreats, lifting his hands, and then he’s gone, leaving the doorway empty, my escape route free.
I have a sudden, strange yearning to call him back, tell him why I’m acting this way. Antisocial by default, made worse by past events. Retreating into my shell when people are around. Hiding.
A yearning to tell him where my terrors crawl out from, where they are born, in that black pit of the past on which I tried to put a lid and failed.
But I can’t. I can’t open up, lay myself wide to anyone, much less him. Someone I don’t know, someone who’s so beautiful and arrogant he scares me to death. Truth is, I don’t do people. I don’t get close. Distance is necessary for safety.
Experience tells me not to give away anything, not even a shred of myself, or they’ll tear me apart. Not to let anyone in or they’ll eat me up from the inside and spit me out where everyone can see.
So I wrap myself up in my past, the memories I tried to bury for so long and failed, and sit down on the closed toilet lid. Damn, they’re still inside of me, pieces of me, mind scars, fear grooves running straight to my nightmares.
Get yourself together, Amber. You’re free. The bullies aren’t here. It’s been a while. They wouldn’t even know you if they saw you. And you know how to defend yourself now.
Okay. There’s a stitch in my side, as if I’ve been running. I suck in a deep breath and almost choke on it. All right. I can do this.
I’m stronger than this. I’ve fought it and beat it once before. I can do it again. So I sit and struggle to calm my pounding pulse and erratic breathing, try to calm my mind before I go out there and face the world once more.
Chapter Four
Jesse
The one chance I got to talk to Amber, and I scared the shit out of her.
Great job, J. No idea how I frightened her, but it’s left a sour taste in my mouth and no frigging clue why I care. Girl only just arrived to town, never missed a chance to tell me off and make clear she doesn’t want me around, and I just can’t keep away from her.
Goddammit.
I’ve been out of sorts since the party. I can’t stop thinking of her, and now I have a pissed-off Micah on my back, unhappy because he told me to leave her alone and I didn’t. But hey, she ran off to the restroom, and she looked pale. What’s a guy to do but check on her, right? God knows I’ve seen my fair share of breakdowns and panic attacks. Just wanted to make sure she was okay.
And, fine, I was hoping she’d stop glaring at me for a change. It’s getting to me, turning me inside out. Ridiculous, I know. Stupid. I barely know her. But it’s somehow important to me.
Besides, Micah should know that’s how I am. Worrying at the bone, poking at the snake to see if it will bite. Scratching at the scabs to see if they’ll bleed. Trying to figure life out.
Hasn’t worked out too well so far. At least not where people are concerned. The only ones who’ve stuck around are Zane and his gang, and if you asked me, I wouldn’t know to tell you why. Doesn’t make a lick of sense to me why they’d want me around.
My concentration isn’t the only thing I lost at that party. My leather wrist band is gone, too, and I’m pretty sure I wore it there. That band’s important to me. This sucks.
I go back to work, an itch between my shoulder blades. When I bring the drinks to the guys’ table, Amber’s there, talking quietly to Evangeline, and I let my glance bounce off her. Ocean and Cassie are giving me intense looks I can’t decipher—at least Ocean’s, ’cuz I know Cassie wants in my pants—and I grin at them, pulling the mask back down over my face.
Thanks to Zane and Rafe, I’m learning a craft I love, I have a place to crash, and now I got this second job through Megan. I know I’m damn lucky to be here, and I won’t fuck it up, I swear it to any god who might listen. Hell, I swore it to Helen.
I’ll stay away from Amber and keep the smile on my face every day, even if it kills me. Nobody ever wants a sullen, whiny brat around.
“Here you go, guys.” I put the cups on the table with a flourish, wink at Cassie who winks right back—see? Some people are easy to please—and avoid Micah’s heavy stare. “Anything else you need?”
“Sit, have coffee with us,” Ev chirps, and I give her a genuine smile, because she’s so nice when she has no particular reason to like me—apart from the fact I work with her boyfriend at Damage Control.
“No can do, sweets, sorry. Gotta work.”
“When do you get off work?”
I keep the smile firmly on. “In an hour.”
“In an hour, then. We’ll still be here.”
“Right.” I lift a hand, rub the back of my neck. “Fact is, I really need to run afterward. Gotta work.”
She blinks.
“You still work at that taco place down the street?” Ocean asks. “I thought you’d stopped.”
“Can’t do that, man. Need the money for the rent.”
“Isn’t Rafe helping you with that?”
“He is. He has helped me more than enough. I need to start taking care of myself now. I’m a big boy.”
I grin so widely my cheeks hurt, and I know Ocean isn’t fooled, but fuck him. I’m telling the truth. I feel shitty knowing Rafe is still paying for my rent, even if it’s not that much. Not to mention that the need to carry my own weight is eating at me. I need to be able to pay my rent on my own.
But that’s not the only reason I need more money.
“Rafe rocks,” Ocean mutters, and I nod in agreement. He does, and I’m grateful to him as I am to Zane who’s taken me as his apprentice. Can’t thank those guys enough.
Also can’t deny that moving out of the apartment I’m sharing with three other guys would be so fucking great.
Shit, I’m not ungrateful. My roomies aren’t bad guys, but there’s only so much testosterone that can live peacefully under one roof, and I need some quiet. Some place where I can wake up howling from a nightmare without waking everyone up, or jerk off in the shower without one or the other walking in on me.
Yeah, I jerk off a lot. Hey, I’m a horny boy, and I like getting off. Takes my mind off the crap that sits on my mind.
Can’t ignore the fact that I’ve been jacking off more often lately, a certain prickly chick on my mind. Damn her curvy body and the heat in those angry blue eyes. Makes me hot as hell, which just goes to show. My body wants her, even if my brain knows I can’t have her. She hates me, and even if I don’t know why, it hurts.
The more it hurts, the more my dick stiffens when I think of her and the more I want to crack that shell of hers.
Yeah, I’m a fucked-up son of a bitch.
As I turn around, taking the tray back to the bar and grabbing my next order, I wonder how long it will take until this nice group of people who do their best to like me realize the truth and run away, just like everyone else in my life.
***
Zane shows up at the taco joint where I work, his spunky girlfriend Dakota in tow, soon followed by Dylan and his supermodel-lookalike chick, Tessa.
I didn’t expect to see them. They used to come by before Megan got me the job at the café. I guess someone must have spilled the beans to them about me keeping this job.
Zane is giving me one of those looks that say he wants us to talk, or rather he wants me to talk, and hell to the no. Besides, there’s nothing to talk about. Everything’s cool.
Too cool to be true, in fact.
Yet, as I look at them standing there, talking and laughing while ordering their street tacos and tortilla soups, I allow myself , just for a moment, to believe things will remain this way, that this illusion of stability and peace won’t shatter into a million pieces come tomorrow. That I won’t fuck it up.
Yeah, right.
Automatically I reach for my leather band, to rub it as my ritual goes, but of course it’s not there.
Lost it. The one thing I have from her. From Helen. So instead I put my hand on my right pec, over my demon tat.
I know I promised to try, Helen, and I am giving it my best shot, I swear.
“How’s everything, fucker?” Zane drawls. Figures he wouldn’t waste any time asking. “Your roommates? I see you haven’t killed each other yet.”
“Then that’s all you need to know,” I tell him cheerfully and turn to the next customers—an old man with a pretty girl who has to be his daughter. “What can I get you?”
They order their burritos and drinks, and I pass the info to Mel at the back, who’s whistling a Metallica song completely out of tune. The pan sizzles with chilies and onion. Damn, it smells good.
“That all?” Mel growls and throws the meat into the pan. “Not much traffic tonight, is there?”
“Nope,” I agree and try to memorize what he’s doing. I wish I could cook up something like that, but the kitchen at the apartment is like a war zone, full of minefields.
Not that I know the first thing about cooking. I don’t even remember setting foot inside a kitchen up to a year ago, unless it was to nick something to eat and leave before I get caught. My efforts to create something edible have most times backfired, quite literally.
Sweat sluices down my back and face. I wipe at my brow with the back of my hand. Everything around me smells of fried onion and grease, and my mouth waters. I’ll have to grab a taco as soon as there’s a lull in business.
I also wouldn’t mind sitting down for a bit. I’ve been on my feet all day, but Mel is talking to me.
“Do they want extra cheese?” he asks, and I grunt, because I always forget to ask the question.
Turning back to the old man and the girl, I open my mouth to inquire as to their cheesy preferences and freeze. The guy has his arm around the girl’s shoulders, way too close, way too personal.
Not her dad. Not his daughter.
Something dark flashes at the back of my mind, a trickle that turns into a gushing torrent, burying rational thought. I don’t see her face anymore. Dark eyes superimpose blue, dark hair flow over blond, and it’s Helen in the old man’s arms, fear marking her features.
Fuck. Muscles tensing in my back and legs, I take a step forward. My hands curl into fists.
“Jesse. Come here, fucker,” Zane calls.
My legs shake, and the face in front of me is going in and out of focus.
Christ. “What?” I grunt.
“Bring over the chili sauce, kiddo.”
I blink, lick my dry lips. It’s not Helen. I know that girl’s not Helen, so why does my brain keep seeing her? “Dylan has the sauce.” I point at the bottle. “Wait your turn like a good boy.”
“Dammit, Jesse, get your ass over here.”
Seriously? I owe him everything, but can’t he let up? Can’t he see I need a minute?
“And I mean now.” Zane leans on the counter, gripping it tight, as if about to vault over to get to me.
Yeah, obviously not. What the fuck does he want? Why now?
Slowly I turn toward him and lean on the counter so that we’re almost nose to nose. “Sorry, man, that’s all the fucking sauce we got. Take it up with the manager if you want.”
“Jesse!” Mel hollers from the back. “What the hell are you doing? Apologize to the man.”
I wince.
“It’s okay,” Zane hollers back. “I know him. No harm done.” Then to me he says, “Take a walk with me, J. A short one, I promise.”
Fuck you.
“Go on,” Mel says. “Take a break. Five minutes.”
Zane leads the way down the street to a bench. He offers me a cigarette and I take it. We light up and sit. The night is clear, though I can see no stars from where I’m standing. Too many lights from the city obscuring the sky, I guess.
Hiding in the light. I always thought that was some magical shit. I could see the stars from the boy camps I escaped from, and let me tell you, not even the beauty of the night sky out there in the wildness could make the camps pretty. I’ve never been able to associate the stars with anything good since then.
Good riddance.
The silence stretches for so long I start to get antsy. Zane is observing me over the glowing embers of his cigarette, his dark eyes narrowed to slits.
I swallow hard, choke on the smoke and cough. “Shit.”
“Something’s up with you,” Zane rumbles.
“Come on, Z-man.” I stick the cigarette back into my mouth and draw the smoke into my lungs, smothering the cough and forcing myself to take it, like everything else. “If you changed your mind about taking me in, then say it. I won’t take it personally.”
He lifts a brow at me. “You think I’m gonna ditch you?”
I shrug. “Who would blame you? I’m a pain in the ass.”
“Says who?”
He’s confusing me. “I dunno, man. Everyone.”
“You mean Amber?”
The mention of her name catches me short. “Amber said that?”
And why the fuck does the thought tighten painfully around my chest like a band of steel?
“Fucker…” Zane shakes his head, his blue Mohawk catching the light of a betting shop behind us. “What’s the story between you and Amber? Spill.”
“There’s no fucking story.” I sit back, disgusted with myself for my moment of weakness and stupidity. “Why are you asking?”
“You seem interested in her, is all. Very interested.”
“And how’s that weird?”
“First time you do that, fucker. You may chase after every single skirt in town, but you never seemed to want to actually talk to a chick before.”
Amber…doesn’t think I’m funny. Doesn’t fall for my teasing. Sometimes I think she hates my guts. It’s safe. As safe as it can be when my dick is hard as a rock every time I see her.
“I have no fucking clue what you mean by that.”
“Yeah, I think you damn well do.” Zane throws the stub of his cigarette down and crushes it under his black boot. “You followed Amber to the ladies’ restroom, but chrissakes.”
“I was just checking on her.”
“Yeah, right.” Zane snorts. “You dig her, don’t you? More than other chicks. You wanna get into her pants because she’s so serious, is that it? Fess up. I know how your mind works.”
I shake my head, because no, that’s not it, and besides, nobody knows how my mind works, including me. “It’s just… she reminds me of someone.”
Though for the life of me I can’t remember who that might be, and why am I telling this to Zane, after all? Wasn’t I all set on keeping my thoughts to myself? Shit.
“What, like you knew her before?”
“I doubt it.” If anything, I wouldn’t have forgotten such a pretty face coupled with those sexy curves… And there goes my mind down the gutter, ’cuz, man, I really wouldn’t mind getting into her pants at the end of the day.
“As long as you’re not thinking of jumping her bones and then walk out, like you normally do. She’s Ev’s friend, for fuck’s sake, and she’s had her share of rough times, so play nice, okay?”
He gets up and stretches his long frame.
Play nice. Okay, so now it makes sense. It’s not me he’s worried about. It’s Amber. After all, he always looks out for his own.
Am I one of his own? He acts like I am, but the doubt can never leave me alone.
Then his words sink in.
“A rough time? What sort of rough time? What the hell do you mean?” My heart is booming, and I don’t know why. “Zane.”
But the asshole is already walking away, his warning ringing in my ears and more questions than before crowding my aching head.
Awesome.
***
When I unlock the apartment door and trudge inside, the first thing I hear is the unmistakable sound of a headboard thumping rhythmically on the wall, and long, loud moans. I’m frankly amazed at the volume two naked people can produce at one in the fucking morning.
Ah, home sweet home.
I stand in front of Travis’s door and bang on it. “Hey, asshole! Have you thought about taking a break once in a while? Your dick will fall off from overuse.”
This is happening every single night, and people think I am the manwhore. Christ.
The door suddenly flies open. I take a stumbling step back as a very naked, dark-haired and pissy-looking girl wags a finger under my nose.
“What’s your problem?” she screeches.
“My problem?” I try to see past her into Travis’s room. “What do you think? It’s the fucking noise you two are making. Won’t let me sleep.”
“You just came in. You’re still in your jacket. So stop lying.”
With that, she steps back and shuts the door in my face.
Ow.
Making a mental note to buy better earplugs, I walk into the kitchen to see if I can scrounge up something to eat, maybe a P&J sandwich, before hitting the sack.
And run into Gage. And his friends.
Bingo, just what I needed. Fucking joy.
I wonder how I missed the din of four drunk guys laughing and yelling over a game of cards spread on the kitchen table… Oh, wait a sec, I know how: Travis and his chick having noisy sex. Right.
Resisting the need to crack my head against the wall, I grab a glass of water and a couple of cookies and make my escape.
Unfortunately, I’m not fast enough, and Gage notices me.
Hell.
Gage’s a huge guy, way over six feet, with hulking shoulders and shaggy hair that flops in his eyes. His bulk bothers me, reminds me of too much darkness in my past.
Whether he senses my unease around him or not, Gage never hesitates to get physical. He reaches for me, and I dance out of reach.
“Yo, J. Come play with us, man. I could teach you a trick or two.”
“I bet you could.” Gage’s comments are always ambiguous at best and grate on my nerves. “Some other time, kay? Gotta crash.”
“Crash and burn,” Gage says ominously, and I walk out of the kitchen, wondering what the hell he means.
A few steps separate me from my room and the promise of—relative—peace and quiet.
One may think that after living on the street for as long as I had, such things wouldn’t matter, but in fact they matter to me more than to most people. Being able to close and lock a door, keep danger and interference behind it, being allowed to have a say about who prods me, touches me and fondles me while I lie unconscious and helpless in the clutches of sleep…
Yeah, not sure many people would appreciate that, but I sure do. It’s never been a given for me.
So you can understand why finding Alex barring my way is the last straw.
Alexander Finley is a quiet guy, the one I have the least problems with, unless he’s hounding me to pick up after my mess and take my turn cleaning the bathroom.
Hey, I do clean the bathroom. Mostly.
Right now, though, he’s a pain in the ass because he’s sprawled and snoring against my bedroom door, without any sign of waking up. The sweetly smell of pot wafts off him, so powerful it makes my eyes water.
Fucking hell.
Alex is shorter than me, but compensates for it with bulk. He’s built like a tank and is covered in tattoos. In fact, they look like the tattoos a Marine would sport, but when I asked, he never replied. Plus, he seems too young.
And right now, too heavy to dislodge.
“Damn you, Alex.” I groan as I pull on his arm. “Move your ass. Come on, buddy, work with me. Get up. Why the hell did you choose my door to fall asleep against? Why not yours, huh?”
No reply. No reaction.
Why do our room doors have to open outward, into the living room, instead of inward? Goddammit, this sucks ass. I drop down next to Alex, lean back on the door and sigh, exhausted.
See, these are my roommates, and this is how I live. Is it any wonder I am the way I am?
Don’t complain, J, I warn myself, fighting the crushing feeling in my chest. Don’t you dare fucking complain.
A year ago, you’d have killed for a roof over your head and the safety of this apartment, and yeah, even for these shitty roommates. Hell, you’d have sold your soul for it. God knows you owned nothing else when Zane found you.
Sleeping slumped against your own bedroom door is nothing compared to what you’ve had to do before.
Chapter Five
Amber
I’m in a narrow space, like the restrooms at the café where Megan and Jesse work. It’s warm inside. I place my hands on the walls, and they’re pulsing like a heartbeat.
“Embers,” a low voice whispers, and then he’s there, right behind me, his large frame covering me, pushing me into the wall. I can smell him—musk and cinnamon and salt—and feel him, feel how aroused he is pressed in the small of my back. His warm breath tickles my neck as he stars moving, sliding over my backside, a slow roll that feels like it’s been going on forever. His cock pushes into me, and I gasp, bending over more.
We’re naked. The realization is fuzzy, as if I should have noticed from the start. He’s inside me, and he feels so good, filling me up, stroking my center, building up pressure.
Then his hand snakes around my hips, finds my folds and slips between them, pressing, and—
A moan fills my ears, and I twist in my sheets, hot and out of breath. Who’s moaning? And where is Jesse?
The room is empty, light filtering through the window slats. My whole body is throbbing with pleasure, and the dream flashes through my mind like a movie. I still feel his hands on me, ghostly, their weight slowly fading.
Oh God. Oh no.
The one moaning was me. Moaning and writhing on the bed like a possessed woman. I just had a wet dream about Jesse.
Yeah, my name is Amber, and I want a boy who fucks anything that moves.
Shoot me now.
***
I’m walking down the street, returning to my apartment, a shopping bag in one hand and my cell in the other, talking to my mom, my mind a thousand miles away.
“How are you holding up, Ams?” Her voice sounds funny over the phone, small and squeaky.
“Fine, how about you?”
“We’re not the ones who moved to another town,” she singsongs, and I wince just a little. “Are you all settled in? How’s your roommate? What’s her name, Kiera, Kate?”
“Kayla.” I drew a deep breath as I cross the street. “I’m really fine, Mom, no need to worry.”
“How can I not worry?” Her voice rises an octave, and I wince again. “You’re my baby.”
Which is the reason I left and came back here… To stand on my own two feet. Now I only need to come through with my decision to beat the past.
“Your baby is all grown up now, Mom, so stop worrying so much. Was there anything else you needed to tell me?”
A pause at the other end of the line. I can imagine my mom’s face tighten, her lips flatten, and a prickle of unease touches my spine. I hate upsetting her. I hate upsetting anyone.
But before I open my mouth to apologize, she says, “I hope you’re going out more, meeting more people, honey. Be more sociable and self-assured. It’s the only way to be happy in this life.”
I say nothing as I approach the building entrance and fumble in my purse for my keys. She has told me this a thousand times, Dad, too. They both believe I need to change so that I can beat my fears.
Hasn’t worked out well so far. I’ve tried. I’ve pushed myself to go out more, to talk more, to be more confident. Feels like I’m wearing someone else’s ill-fitting shoes and trying to tap-dance across a taut wire.
But I’ve never tap-danced in my life, nor will I ever. Which is exactly the point. Or sort of. Apparently I should learn.
Crappy metaphors, I know. At least my mom has stopped talking. And here’s my cue to reply.
“Okay,” I say. Like always. “I’ll try.”
“That’s my baby,” Mom croons, and yeah, this is getting downright painful. “You can do anything you put your mind into.”
Except magically transform into a better me, obviously.
“Have you decided what to do about your studies yet? Will you transfer to the university there?”
Another sore topic with my parents. Why would I decide to leave my studies and go to the town where I was born to decide what to do with my life? The town where I was bullied?
My answer is: why not? Better figure what I want to do for a living now, rather than five years and a college degree down the line, right? And why not in Madison, where my life sort of stopped? Doesn’t it make sense to find the pause button and hit play again?
Seemingly not. Makes me wonder if I’m crazy, and not for the first time. But despite everything, putting distance between myself and the family nest makes me feel free from my parents’ expectations. From the obligation of turning into a heroine who saves her own life by overcoming her shyness.
Don’t get me wrong: my parents adore me. They took me away from here to save my sanity, and they succeeded. Sort of. They plucked me out of the school where bullying had torn my confidence to shreds and reduced my happiness to cinders, and transplanted me into a new world where I was able to move on. I owe them everything.
So I tell my mom I love her, which is the truth, tell her I have to go, which isn’t, and disconnect the call. I stare blindly at the screen of my cell before dropping it back into my purse.
How can I become who they want me to be? How can I change if I don’t find myself first?
I prepare to open the door, when I notice a guy eyeballing me from across the street. There’s something familiar about him, something that chills the blood in my veins.
Nick? The guy who bullied me at school? Who cornered me after class and took my bag, emptied it in the trash. Who made sure to pass by me at the cafeteria every day and “accidentally” push me so I’d spill my food and drink. Who made sure nobody talked to me—except Ev because she didn’t take shit and ignored Nick and his asshole buddies.
No, no way. I’m imagining things. Nick can’t be here. Don’t be paranoid.
But as I unlock the door and hurry inside, I can’t deny the relief that washes through me. Once the heavy door is shut behind me, I hurry up the stairs to the apartment, resisting the urge to look over my shoulder.
I’m fine. This is just stress. Everything’s fine.
I have to believe it.
***
Summer is definitely here. It’s warm inside the apartment, and I’ve stripped down to a pair of jean cutoffs and a loose floral blouse that’s a bit too large and hangs off my shoulders.
It’s late afternoon and Kayla is sipping at some jasmine green tea—or marijuana tea? The scent is potent, that’s for sure—while I’m trying to decide what to make with the new beads and wire I bought. One thing is certain: I need to create art and lose myself.
I don’t do words. Never been good at them. Dyslexic, I had to fight them, fight language, every step of the way.
But I can do art. Tangible, beautiful things I can move and shape. Poems without words. Stories without lines.
My hands work on their own, pulling beads and coiled wire from one of my art boxes, my mind on my conversation with my mom and my studies.
Give up on architecture and take up art? I want to live off this, from this art I’m making, these necklaces and bracelets and rings. Am I being foolish? Naïve? Am I retreating from the world even more when I promised to conquer it?
Stick a flag in it, too, a voice at the back of my mind chirps, and I giggle. Amber the Conqueror. Yeah, that’s me alright. It shouldn’t be so funny.
In fact, it’s not.
Kayla shoots me a look, one brow raised. “Do share your thoughts,” she mutters.
“Better not,” I say and put my supplies back into their box.
I don’t really know my thoughts. Don’t know my path, or what I’m doing here. Maybe this was a mistake. I could still go back to Chicago, work hard to catch up on my classes for Fall semester.
I think again about the guy across the street who was staring at me. The guy I thought was Nick, back from my school days.
So you’d just leave again? Not fight this, like you promised yourself? You’d let yourself imagine bullies on every street corner and in every city you go?
“Earth to Amber.” Kayla waves a hand in front of my face. “I said, you’re going to the wedding, right?”
She’s looking at me expectantly, and I have no clue what she’s talking about.
“What wedding?”
“Asher and Audrey’s wedding. Didn’t you see the invitation stuck to your bedroom door?”
I’d seen an envelope stuck to my door when I moved in, but have no clue what I did with it. Probably tore it off and threw it away. “Shit. Shit, shit.”
“Hey, don’t get so excited. You’ll burst something.”
More frigging parties. Damn.
“Give me your hand,” Kayla commands.
I blink at her. Talk about randomness. “What?”
“Hand.” She scoots closer to me on the couch and grabs my left hand. “You seem lost. Let me have a look.”
I stare at her blond-streaked head, which is bent over my upturned hand. Why does it feel as if I’ve just landed in an alternate universe?
“Um, Kayla…”
“A bit of palmistry never hath any harm or foul caused.”
“Is that so?”
“That is so. Now look at your heart line. Look at how short it is. For shame, girl.”
I pull my hand back, but she tsks and grips it more tightly. “We aren’t done yet. Look how the heart line touches the life line. See this?”
I bend to have a look, curious in spite of myself. “What does it mean?”
“That your heart is fragile. Easily broken.”
I freeze, and Kayla takes my silence and stillness as permission to continue this charade.
“The heart line is also broken here and there. There’s some emotional trauma here. And this little bubble on the line here? That’s depression.”
“Crap.” I jerk my hand away and lurch to my feet. “This is the most stupid thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Is it?” Kayla peers at me under her bleached fringe. “Then why are you shaking?”
“I’m not—” I look away from her, trying to recover my composure. “Don’t let people get under your skin,” I can almost hear the school psychologist’s voice in my memory. “It’s okay to show some vulnerability. Not everyone will betray you. In fact most people won’t.”
Yeah, right.
“You’re not what?” she asks, and the need to get away increases.
“Not shaking.”
How can I conquer when I can’t even roll over a small bump like this and keep talking? The tension rises. The air in my chest compresses. My legs shake with the need to run.
Then the doorbell rings, and I spin around, my heart pounding.
Christ.
Clearing the haze of panic from my thoughts, I stalk to the door and check through the peephole.
Clear blue-green eyes stare back at me, set in a handsome tanned face.
Jesse.
“Who is it?” Kayla asks, coming up behind me.
“Nobody,” I reply.
The bell rings again. Those stunning eyes shift up, then down, uncertain, and that long, soft mouth tightens. That flash of insecurity flips a switch inside my chest, and without warning, I grab the handle and pull the door open.
For a fleeting moment, it’s almost like opening the door to myself.
Then Jesse looks up and his face transforms. The uncertainty falls away like dried mud and a smirk lifts the corners of his generous mouth.
Whoa. I stumble back, hot and cold running through my body, and only have the time to think what a bad idea this was, before he walks inside.
***
“Howdy, stranger,” Kayla drawls from somewhere behind me, easy and relaxed-sounding, and I wonder how she does it.
