Текст книги "Jesse"

Автор книги: Jo Raven

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Chapter Seven

Amber

It’s early morning. No idea what woke me other than another string of dreams that turned up the heat until I had to throw the covers off me.

Morning porn, brought to you by a certain sexy hunk called Jesse Lee. Stay tuned for the next episode.

Good God. 

After I woke up to find my hand between my legs for the third time in a row, a pulse deep inside my belly and a pair of green-blue eyes haunting me, I decided enough was enough.

I’m not in lust with Jesse. No way. The boy’s trouble. For chrissakes, he’s a manwhore who has no problem flaunting it. No regrets there, obviously, and no thoughts of ever stopping.

And that shouldn’t be my problem, in any case. With his tattoos and attitude, he’s exactly the kind of guy who smoked pot and bullied kids at school. In other words, exactly the kind of guy I should be running away from.

A shudder goes through me.

The apartment is quiet as I pad into the kitchen and start the coffee maker going. Kayla is probably still snoring in her bed¸ as any sensible person would do on a summer morning. She’s a college student, and college students are like vampires when on vacation. They are dead in the early morning hours, and their curtains are drawn shut to stop the sun from disturbing them, while they spend their nights partying and dancing.

Not that it’s any different the rest of the year. I should know. Jeez, I’m a college student, too. I tend to forget that.

Only now I don’t know what to do with my life. Which way to choose. What future I want.

Maybe coffee will help with the brain waves. Has to.

I’m pouring myself a steaming mug when the doorbell rings. A glance at the clock mounted on the wall lets me know it’s seven thirty. Who on earth can that be?

A thought hits me as I cross the living room, but that’s crazy. Nah. Can’t be. I mean, why would he come? Lured by my dreams of him?

Get a grip, Amber.

Then I look through the peephole, and it’s déjà vu all over again. Reality lurches as my dreams merge with the image of the tall, muscled guy waiting outside, bright eyes shifting between the door and the world beyond. He’s dressed in jogging gear, in a washed-out black hoodie and stretchy jogging pants that mold to the thick muscles of his thighs and calves.

My whole body flushes, my nipples harden and the ache between my legs returns.

God. If looking at him through the peephole does this to me, what would it be like to touch his strong chest, his face, kiss those lush lips, taste his smoky, masculine flavor?

And there I go again, wanting a guy I shouldn’t. I may not be a good judge of people, but this case is clear-cut: Jesse isn’t who I need.

For a moment I consider pretending I’m not here. I could walk away quietly. No harm, no foul.

Before I step away, though, he turns his gaze to me, as if he’s looking straight at me. As if he knows I’m there. His gaze is sad, his pretty mouth downturned. He seems so miserable I don’t have the heart to go through with my plan.

Cursing myself six ways to Sunday for being an idiot, I open the door and face him.

“Good morning,” I say, repeating to myself that I should avoid pet names and anything ambiguous he could use to tease me. “Is everything okay?”

The long slide of his eyes over my neck and breasts quickens my breath and leaves a trail of heat on my skin.

“Good morning, sweets,” he drawls and braces one arm on the doorframe, leaning in. “Well, now it is a good morning indeed.”

Looks like it doesn’t matter what I say. With this man everything is an innuendo waiting to happen.

Then again, no wonder he’s staring at my breasts. My nipples are stiff and aching, standing to attention, poking through the thin fabric of my T-shirt.

Hurriedly I fold my arms over my chest to hide them. “It was a good morning until you showed up,” I grumble.

“You wound me to the heart.” He presses a hand to his chest and flashes me a lopsided grin, so sexy my brain short-circuits.

“Do I?” I whisper, breathless. Why the heck am I breathless?

His gaze is dark and hot, the length of his muscular body within touching distance, and his scent snags me and draws me in—musk and cinnamon and sweaty boy. He’s so close I can see the ring of blue around the green starburst surrounding the pupils of his eyes, the fine lines at their corners deepening with his grin, and a thin, jagged scar, white with time, running from one dark brow to his hairline.

When did he get so close? Or was it me?

Maybe that’s why I can’t breathe properly anymore. I force myself to take a step back and look away.

“So what are you doing here today?” I clear my throat, my voice somehow thick. “Anything else you lost during the party?”

“Just the one.” Out of the corner of my eye I see him lean on the doorjamb, his grin fading. “I don’t suppose you found it?”

“The leather band?” I shake my head. “I looked. Maybe it wasn’t here you lost it. Maybe at another girl’s apartment? I know. How about that blonde’s house?”

“What the…” He huffs, a breath of a sound, and rubs his forehead. “I’ve never been to her place. I don’t know her. Can’t even recall her name.”

“Veronica, I believe it was.”

“Then you know more than me.”

“You’re a,” I swallow, looking for a non-ambiguous word, “a douche.”

He doesn’t deny it, only snorts softly. “May I come in?”

“What for?”

“To look for my leather band.”

“No way. I’ll let you know if I find it, but honestly, I don’t think it’s here.”

A pause, and despite myself I glance his way. His eyes are strangely blank. “You won’t let me in?”

“Nope.” In fact, I’m going to grab my coffee and go hide in my room. “Got stuff to do.”

“Really? I could help you.”

“You can’t.”

“Boy.” He chuckles. “How do you know? What will you be doing, playing with yourself? ’Cuz if I can’t help you, then at least I wouldn’t mind watching.”

I choke on my spit. “Screw you.”

He shrugs. “If it gets you off…”

“You’re unbearable.”

“Yeah.” There’s a note of regret in his voice, a bright, golden chime of sorrow, then he taps a rhythm on the doorframe with his fingers while picking with his other hand at a hole in his hoodie. “I’d better get going then.”

Those remarkable eyes shift, and the regret I heard in his voice echoes in their depths, a flash of bleakness.

Crap. I shouldn’t. Not with the way he makes my body react and my heart sting. Not with the way he teases me. He’s like salt in my wounds, the last thing I need.

I really shouldn’t.

“I have fresh coffee,” I say. “Get in.”

***

Jesse draped over a chair in my little kitchen is a sight not easily forgotten. He’s taken off his hoodie, and his T-shirt is soft and stretching easily across his pecs and broad shoulders. I watch his long fingers curl around the chipped coffee mug I dug out of the cupboard, his sea foam gaze glinting over the rim, and my mind goes blank.

I’m going to regret this, but Kayla was right. He’s such eye-candy, I can’t help staring.

Just a touch. Just a taste.

Shaking my head at myself, I busy my hands with the coffee maker and keep my back to him. I need a moment to gather my wits.

“So, Embers.” I hear the clink of his mug when he sets it down on the table. “How do you like it, being back here?” He taps his fingers on the table, like he did on the doorframe. “You did say you were from around here, right?”

Crap, I did. “It’s okay.”

“Just okay?”

Mug gripped firmly in both hands, I turn toward him. “It’s fantastic,” I say drily.

He grins and looks down into his coffee. “Yeah, I see you can’t contain your excitement and joy. Going out on a limb, I’d say you hated it here and couldn’t wait to skip town. Makes sense.” He tsks. “Question is, why did you come back if it makes you so unhappy?”

Whoa. I’m not sitting in my kitchen with Jesse digging inside my head. Because that would be weird, wouldn’t it? Like, Oprah weird.

Besides… just no. Answer the question with a question. Boy, those visits to the psychologist are paying off.

“Are you from around here?”

He blinks, looks up. “No, actually, I’m not.” He seems shocked I asked.

“So where are you from, and how did you end up here?”

“You really wanna know?”

His question could be a trap to get me to admit I really want to know, so he can tease me mercilessly about it.

Funny thing is, I find I really do want to know more about him. He’s a puzzle, a riddle.

“Sure.”

He blinks again, brows lifting. “I’m from North Dakota, near Bismarck. I think.”

“You think?”

He shrugs. “Moved about quite a bit.”

“You don’t have an accent.”

He sips at his steaming coffee, his face going blank. “I left a long time ago.”

“Did something happen back then?”

A corner of his mouth curls up. “Didn’t know you cared, Embers.”

“I don’t.”

“I know. I was just joking.” His hand clenches on the table.

“Sorry. I’m not good at getting jokes.”

He laughs, and I just stare at him flatly, daring him to make fun of me about this.

“You’re serious,” he finally says, his eyes narrowing.

I shrug. “My parents used to tell jokes at the dinner table, explaining them to me, until I caught on. It’s much better now, but sometimes… sometimes I don’t get them.”

“How come? You’re not stupid.”

I chance a smile, my chest warming at his comment. “Yeah. I’m a bit dyslexic, though.”

His pupils widen. “That sucks, I guess. Had trouble at school?”

“Some.” My throat closes up and my smile falls. I take a sip from my coffee. “I’m not good with words. Never was.”

“Kids tease you for it?”

I nod.

“Fuckers,” he says, and he isn’t smiling anymore, either. His eyes flash with strong emotion, and I watch, fascinated, as his grip on the handle of the mug turns white-knuckled. “Wish I was there to punch their teeth out.”

Whoa. I shouldn’t like him as much as I do right now, but I can’t stop the smile returning to my face.

We sit for a while in silence. No sounds yet from Kayla’s room. I can hear the pipes groaning in the apartment above.

Anything to avoid looking at him. But of course I can’t help it. For the first time I notice the dark circles under his eyes. He looks tired.

As if to confirm my suspicion, Jesse puts his mug down and stretches his arms over his head with a yawn.

“Damn, I’m beat.”

“Your T-shirt is, too. It’s coming apart.” I point at the seam along his side through which I can see firm, tanned skin wrapped around sinewy muscle.

So much for not staring.

“Oh fuck.” He lifts his arm again, twists to have a look, and the seam tears wider, showing a good chunk of his flared ribs. “And it was one of my newer shirts.”

I lick my lips, transfixed. “This is new? Looks as old as you are.”

“Dammit, Embers.” He locks his hands behind his head and sighs. “I’ve got nothing to wear at Asher’s wedding. I really need to go shopping.”

“Yeah? You make it sound like a trip to the ninth circle of hell.”

“It is. Sorta.” He lets his arms flop down at his sides. “I hate shopping. Kinda like you and parties, ya know?”

I blink. Okay. “Well, it’s summer. Everyone’s wearing ripped clothes.”

“That’s jeans, Embers.”

“Expand the concept.” I grin at him, and his pupils darken again, though this time I have no clue what he’s thinking.

Why am I talking to him? How can I be so relaxed with him? I hardly know him. Plus, he’s a jerk. Though, right now, under his blue-green scrutiny, I can’t quite remember what it was he did that was so bad.

“Don’t you have a pair of dark jeans and a nice shirt? I bet you’ll get away with it. Asher and Audrey don’t seem anal about dress codes.”

“Anal.” He chuckles. “Yeah, well. No, I don’t have dark jeans and a nice shirt.”

“Okay.” I hum under my breath. “Jeans that aren’t ripped and a nice shirt?”

He shakes his head.

“So what do you have?”

He looks down at himself. “My jogging pants and shoes. Two pairs of jeans, ripped, and a few more T-shirts. Oh and a sweater and a jacket.”

My mouth falls open. “That’s all?”

“I don’t need more. I wash them and they’re good as new.”

“Except when they’re falling apart.”

“Damn.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m serious. I have trouble shopping.”

“Why? You don’t mind being around crowds. So what’s the issue?”

He doesn’t seem to hear me. “Shit, I need to do something. The wedding’s coming up in two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” I squeak. “So soon?”

“You going, too?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“That’s fucking awesome.” He turns his attention back to me and his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Damn, I bet you’re dying to go, aren’t you, Embers?”

“Not funny. And stop calling me Embers. It’s a shitty name, anyway.”

He suddenly pushes his chair back, rattling the table as he gets up, unfolding his long frame. “Right. Well, I gotta go.”

My mouth falls open and I close it with a snap. What the heck is going on? “Jesse.”

“What?” he growls. He’s already grabbed his hoodie and is pulling it on. His head pops through the opening, and he thrusts his arms into the sleeves. “You were right not wanting to let me in. Fuck, I’m surprised you did. All I do is fuck up—”

I push to my feet. “JJ.”

He freezes in the act of straightening the black hoodie, lifting his gaze to look at me. It’s right there, the same heartbreak that shone out of his eyes when I peeked through the peephole earlier.

I rewind the conversation, trying to remember the last thing I said. “You made fun of me for not wanting to go to the wedding.”

“I fucking didn’t—”

“And I told you not to call me Embers. Actually, I said…” It’s a shitty name. That’s what I said. “Talk to me.”

“Fucked in the ass,” he whispers so low I have to strain to hear, “as Helen would say. Still.”

Who’s Helen? What’s this about?

He chews on the inside of his cheek, glances at the door, then at the window as if he’s debating jumping out to avoid any explanation.

Which only makes me more curious.

“Fucking hell.” He runs a hand over his close-cropped hair. “As if it fucking matters… Embers. Embers was the name of one of two things that were important to me.”

“Two thing? What things?”

“One was the leather band I lost.” He licks his lips, glances again at the door. “And the other was a toy.”

“A toy.” I gape at him. “The two things that mattered in your life were a leather bracelet and a toy? Why?”

A muscle jumps in his jaw. He bends his head, kicks at invisible dirt. “The toy’s the only thing that survived my childhood. It was a stuffed animal.”

“What happened to it?”

“I lost it.” He turns away and heads out of the kitchen. “I fucking lost it. That’s what I do with everything that matters to me. Gotta run.”

And this time he does leave, his scent lingering in my small kitchen.

***

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Kayla stumbles into the kitchen table, snatches my mug and gulps down my coffee. “How come I missed Jesse Lee lounging in our kitchen?” She waves the mug at me. “Couldn’t you at least, I don’t know, take photos? On your cell phone?”

“Last time he was here, you remembered an urgent chore and left.” I wrestle her for the coffee and she gives it up, then pads over to the coffee machine and pours herself another.

“That was because I wanted to give you some privacy. I did get to see him, though.” She wags her brows. “Very important detail.”

“Why would we need privacy?”

“Don’t know. Maybe because you were staring at each other like you were about to jump into bed together? And bickering,” she continues before I can get a word in edgewise. “Can’t forget the bickering. Major sign.”

“We weren’t bickering.” I swallow the rest of my lukewarm coffee, my thoughts stuck on everything Jesse said today. “A sign for what, anyway?”

Embers. The name of his toy. The one thing that survived his childhood.

Why would that be the one thing he has from when he was little? Or rather had, since he lost it. Who is Helen? And why did he run away?

I interrupt whatever it is Kayla has been saying. “Have you seen a leather band lying around?”

“A leather band? Did you lose it here?” Kayla frowns, shakes her head. “Nope, can’t say I’ve seen it. But hey, I do love the bracelet you’re wearing now! Where did you get it?”

I lift my hand, small beads slipping like cool water over my wrist. “I made it.” From my winter batch.

“You did? Are you serious?” She yips and grabs my wrist with her free hand to study the bracelet. “Oh my God! Can you make more? Do you sell them?”

“I can. I do.” I laugh and pull my hand away. “I have loads. I’ll show you later.”

“Pinky promise?”

“Yeah, cross my heart.” I sit at the table, trying to sort through my thoughts. “Hey, how well do you know the Damage Boyz?”

“Know? I wouldn’t say I really know them.” She slinks into the seat across from me, and my memory superimposes Jesse’s long, muscled body over hers for a moment, until I blink. “But I do know a few things about them, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is. Like…” I tilt my mug, stare at the dregs. “Ev told me a few things. Zane took some of them on as apprentices.”

“Yeah. He and Rafe took them in off the streets.” She gives a one-shoulder shrug. “The boys were homeless. Zane saw a talent in them, and he and Rafe decided to give them a chance. For a future, know what I mean?”

I nod. “So they were homeless. But what about their families?”

“Micah’s an orphan. I don’t know about the others.”

A leather band. A toy. A mystery. “I’ll ask Ev.”

“You do that.” Kayla squints at me. “Are you in love, Amber Walsh?”

“Oh God.” I climb to my feet and put my mug in the sink. “What now, you saw a change in my heart line? Or maybe you’ve read my horoscope?”

“Don’t be silly.” She swirls her coffee. “Didn’t have time to do that, and how can I see your heart line from here?”

“Then what?”

“Jesse was here, and now you’re looking for a leather band that has to be his, and trying to find out more about him. Elementary, my dear Amber.”

Chapter Eight

Jesse

The morning’s unusually warm and humid. My T-shirt sticks to my back as I walk down the street and stop in front of Damage Control. I’m early, today being my cleaning shift, and I fumble with the key while rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Staying upright after a long, loud night at Jackass and Co.—which would be my apartment—is tricky.

Is it my apartment if I share it with three jerks? Do they even count as people?

Fucking tools. I’d be more lenient, but lack of sleep is getting to me. My eyes are itchy, my skin feels stretched too tight over my bones, and my brain is sluggish. Next, hallucinations, if memory serves—this isn’t my first encounter with insomnia. Boy, so looking forward to that.

And on top of the exhaustion, I’ve got to work, and Zane’s on my back to take on my first solo ink. Under his watchful eye, I’ve completed parts of tats on real skin, but doing it all on my own…

Dammit.

The key drops from my fingers, and I bend to get it. When I straighten, someone is standing right in front of me, and I jerk back.

What the hell, why the fuck should I be hallucinating Seth standing there with a dark frown on his face?

“Hey,” Seth says, scratching at the stubble on his jaw. “Um. Whatcha doing here this early, J?”

“Oh, you know.” I straighten, key clutched in my hand, digging into my palm, my mouth on autopilot. “I like to come in early and jerk off on the reception desk.”

The hallucination in the form of Seth lifts a dark brow but doesn’t look too impressed. Damn. I have to try harder.

“Have you ever noticed how Zane’s tattoo gun looks like a dildo?” I wag the key at Seth. “Have you ever thought to try—?”

“No.” The Seth hallucination winces. “No, dude. Seriously?”

“No, not seriously.” I sigh, try the key again, and, miracle of miracles, it slides into the lock. “What do you think? It’s my cleaning shift.”

“No, actually, it’s not.” He follows me inside.

“Come again?” I stop in my tracks.

“Man, yours is tomorrow. Hate to tell you this, but today’s mine. You came over here for nothing.”

Oh, Jesus Fuck. “You serious right now?”

“Yep. Sorry, J. Not that I wouldn’t mind swapping with you, but after my shift at the movie theater tonight, I plan on getting hammered and will need tomorrow morning to recover.”

“What’s tonight? Fuck.” I kick at the carpet and jam my hands into my jeans pockets. I wander inside, following Seth. “Can’t believe this.”

Although, okay yeah, I’m tired. My memory’s shot. Should’ve seen this coming.

“Hey, Seth?” I sink into one of the ugly-ass orange easy chairs beside the reception desk and rub my eyes. Amber’s face flashes behind my eyelids, I hear her laugh in my mind, and God, I just wish I could be pressed to her right now. She’d feel so good, I think—and how fucked up is it that she’s stuck on my mind? I blink, the shop returning around me. “About tonight, you said—”

I shoot to my feet. “Damn, are you okay? Seth!”

“Fuck.” He’s hunched over, clutching his shoulder, his face twisted in a grimace.

I’m by his side in two long strides. “What the hell’s wrong?”

He hisses out a breath and slowly straightens. “I’m okay.”

“Fuck that, a blind man can see you’re not fucking okay. Is that the shoulder you dislocated?”

Dislocated when Evangeline’s psychotic ex, Blake, found a way to get back to her by using her friends as punching bags.

He nods and lets me steer him to the stool inside Zane’s workstation. “It’ll pass.”

“You shouldn’t force it, man. Did the doctor clear you to mop and sweep?”

He shrugs, then groans and curses.

Right.

“What about your ribs? And the kidney bruising? Did you get checked?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.” He starts to get up, scowling at the tattoo shop in general. “It’s just the shoulder. Doc said it might hurt for a while longer.”

“Listen.” I let him get up, then grab him by the shoulders, making him yelp, and steer him toward the ugly orange chairs. “You sit there now.”

“What the hell are you doing, J?”

“Your shoulder hurts. Mine doesn’t. I’m here, and I got nothing to do. I’m too tired to argue about this, so don’t say anything, okay? I’ll clean.”

“But tomorrow—”

“Yeah, I know. Tomorrow, too. Rest that shoulder, d’you hear me? Dr. J’s orders.”

“Dr. J, huh?” He snorts but doesn’t resist when I push him down into the chair and go look for the mop, which tells me he has to be in a fair amount of pain, even if he doesn’t admit to it.

Damn. He should tell Zane about it, but knowing how annoying Zane can be when he hovers, I understand why he hasn’t.

“Dr. J, you coming tonight, right?” Seth asks after a while.

“Tonight.” I dig through my stagnant memory for clues. Nothing comes up. “What’s tonight? Was I invited?”

“It’s guys’ night out. Beer and pool. Damn right you were invited.”

About to tell him to screw the beer and pool night because I’m not in the fucking mood, I hesitate.

Might as well go, I think as I fill up the bucket and carry it back to the main area of the shop. Sleep is impossible with Travis banging random chicks until the walls shake, Gage and his buddies hammered and yelling at each other, and Alex… well Alex is quiet, but hell, the other two are enough.

Might as well get shitfaced. Then at least I know I’ll pass out till morning.

***

Halo, the gang’s favorite hang-out, is packed for a Tuesday night. It’s also warm and stuffy inside, the smell of too many breaths and sweat steeped in alcohol overpowering the reek of fried fish tacos that clings to my clothes and skin.

It’s late, and I don’t feel like swinging by the apartment to change. Just wanna say hi to the guys, get a few beers in, head back and hit the sack.

I spot Ocean’s head of blue hair at the back and head that way, pushing through the crowd. Loud music spills from the speakers. It’s rock. Celtic rock, I decide, as I skirt a table with a rowdy group, barely avoiding a guy’s fist as he swings it to give a friendly punch to his friend. At least I hope it’s friendly.

Maybe it’s a theme evening, and I missed the memo.

Like I missed the fact that today is Tuesday, and not Wednesday, and ended up working both. Dammit.

Though, have to admit, reaching the back of the bar and seeing Seth planted on a stool sipping at his beer and smiling, no trace of discomfort on his face, makes me glad I did. I hate seeing the people around me in pain, and hell, I’d take over the motherfucker’s shift any day if it means he’s going to rest his damn shoulder and come through fine in the end.

Ocean raises his beer at me, grinning like a jackal. “J, you made it.”

Obviously. I’m here, aren’t I? I nod at him and mellow down when he shoves a chilled bottle into my hand. “Hey, Shun.”

He laughs. “My brother used to call me that.”

I lift a brow. “Didn’t know you had a brother.”

Ocean’s eyes are a light color—blue or gray, I never paid much attention—but now they darken and flatten, turning into polished stone.

“Yeah, well.” He takes a long swig from his beer, his tone inscrutable. “I wish I could forget I have one, too.”

Whoa. I don’t have siblings—that I know of, at least—and the brothers I know, like Asher and Tyler, would literally die for each other. Seth and Shane, who granted, are cousins, not brothers, look out for each other. And, hell, although my adopted brothers of Damage Control are sometimes a royal pain in the ass, we get along just fine.

Doesn’t take a genius to realize Ocean’s relationship with his bro isn’t all sunshine and roses, and his stony expression tells me he isn’t too keen on talking about it, either.

I shrug to myself and take a gulp from my beer. It slides, cool and soothing, down my throat, and I make a show of watching the pool game happening a few feet away—Shane vs. Micah—while my mind whirls away to something Megan told me today, at work, when we were talking about Audrey and Asher’s upcoming wedding.

Normally I wouldn’t have paid much attention. My attention is scattered on the best of days, and today I’m running on fumes. But it was about Amber, because I mentioned she was invited, too, and I can remember what Megan said, word for word.

“Your girl. She’s something special.”

That was it. Then a flood of customers interrupted her impromptu analysis of Amber, and I’d spent the afternoon running up and down without a moment to wind down. And then I did the same for another four hours at the taco joint.

No wonder I’m dead on my feet and my brain is rattling loose.

Your girl, though. That’s what caught my attention.

Not that Amber isn’t special. I wouldn’t know, of course, I hardly know her, but she feels special. Shy or not, girl has strength. When I tease her, she looks me in the eye and answers right back. Teases back, despite admitting she got bullied in the past.

Girl hates social events and wears mismatched pajamas. She likes to pull her long hair up, but when it’s down she looks like a sex goddess, and I…

Christ, I should stop thinking about her all the damn time.

“Hey, man.” Micah claps me on the back. “So cool you made it.” He turns back to the nearby pool table where Shane is obviously kicking his ass.

“Ev not here?” I ask, stepping closer to watch Shane take aim with his cue and shoot yet another ball down.

“She may pass by later.” The grin he flashes me is so fucking big I want to laugh. “What?”

“Nothing.” I cover it up with another gulp from my beer. “Hey, just wondering, you know… Her ex-boyfriend hasn’t shown up again, sniffing around, has he?”

“No. Why you asking?”

“Nada. Just curious.” And seeing Seth in pain brought it all back—the phone call I got from him, his slurred, gasping voice asking me for help, finding him beaten up and bleeding on the sidewalk… Yeah, I was the one who found him. No wonder I feel kinda responsible for his recovery.

“Talking of chicks…” Shane shakes back his dark mane and winks, then glances over his shoulder.

What the fuck is he doing? And who’s talking of chicks anyway?

Then I see her.

Not Amber, unfortunately. God knows I’ve pictured her so often in my mind’s eye lately that I wouldn’t be surprised to see her appear out of thin smoke. No, this girl is blond and curvier. Pretty, I guess.

“Cassie,” Seth says, and there’s a strange note in his voice that makes me turn to look at him. Only he hides his expression by taking a long swig from his beer—an old trick—and before I have time to analyze it, based on my expertise on human emotions, har har very funny, Cassie is making a beeline toward us.

Toward me.

Talk about awkward.

“What a coincidence, finding you here,” she says and gets into my private space without missing a beat. Her blond hair is caught in a swinging ponytail, and she has silver loops hanging from her ears. She’s dressed in a red top that isn’t much bigger than a bra and a mini skirt that’s showing off her shapely legs. Dressed to kill.

“Yeah, I bet ya didn’t expect me,” I drawl as her warm flesh presses against me. I take a step back, trying to discreetly put some distance between us. “Whatcha doing here?”

“Oh, sorry, did I bust into an only-boys evening?” Her smile is anything but repentant. She knows damn well what she’s doing, this girl, and normally it would have turned me on like nobody’s business.

But it’s not working, not tonight. Somehow, not anymore.

“Is Ev with you?” Micah asks, whose mind is so stuck on one girl only, it’s kinda funny.

“She said she’ll be by in half an hour. I came with Manon, but she’s at the bar over there, chatting up the bartender.” She bats her lashes at me.

Crap.

Cassie is here on a mission, time frame calculated and target set. Realizing the target is me isn’t too big of a leap. I mean, she’s still advancing on me even as I’m retreating. I’ve always attracted people, both chicks and boys somehow. I learned to take advantage of it, work with it. Own it.

I had no other choice, and on certain days I forget I now do.

“Hey, Cass, you’re going to Asher’s wedding, right?” Seth asks, momentarily distracting her.

She glances at him, her eyes gleaming below lashes that seem long like a rail. Can’t be natural, right? “Yeah, I guess.” She turns back to me. “If Jesse’s going.”

Holy shit. I also glance at Seth, hoping he can read my mind and get her off my hands, but he’s staring at her with a heavy frown, his neck reddening.

No good.

So I turn to Shane, who catches my eye, lifts a brow, and then nods.

“I’m going out for a smoke,” I mutter and back away, into the crowd.

“Um, I think I’ll join you. I’m—”

“Tell me something, Cass.” Shane steps around the pool table and inserts his tall body smoothly between her and me. “Do you play pool? Wanna bet I can beat you with one arm tied behind my back?”