Текст книги "Cardinal"

Автор книги: Sara Mack

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Chapter Ten

“What?  Your first day didn’t kill you, so you’re back for more?”

I look up at Carter as I pull the cork out of a bottle of merlot. It makes a loud pop. “Of course. You know I couldn’t go another day without seeing your handsome face.”

He grins. “You fit in here so well.”

I wink.

“Seriously, though.” He leans over the bar. “That was some pretty freaky shit last week. Are you sure you’re okay?”

I nod. “I’m good as new, minus one unnecessary organ.” And a few pounds, I mentally add. My appetite definitely took a hit after surgery.

Carter raises his hand over the bar top. “Well, I’m glad you made it.”

“Me, too.” I give him a high five.

“Did I hear the word organ?” Gwen appears at my side. “What are you two talking about?”

“Unnecessary things, like gallbladders,” I explain.

“And kidneys,” Carter chimes in. “You can live with one kidney.”

“And lungs,” I add, but then frown. “You can live with one lung, right?”

“I think so. I know you can survive with a partial liver,” Carter says. “My uncle only has half of his.”

Gwen looks over her shoulder. “I know I could make it with half of this ass,” she complains.

I laugh as I glance at her butt. “I don’t think your ass is an organ.”

She ignores me. “Do you think I could get some of my butt fat sucked out and injected into my boobs?”

“You don’t want that,” I say and adjust my own. “Trust me. Some days I wish I could downsize these babies.”

Gwen frowns. “Your boobs are perfect.” She looks at Carter. “Aren’t they perfect?”

He tries to hide his smile. “They look nice from here.”

My expression twists, but not from embarrassment. “His opinion doesn’t count. Men think all boobs are perfect. It’s ingrained in their psyche.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Carter interrupts. “I beg to differ. All breasts are not made equal. Just like all asses are not the same. Gwen, here, happens to have a very nice ass.”

“Thank you.” She smiles.

“But, I see where she’s coming from about her chest. Guys want a handful, or at least I do, and hers isn’t –”

“Hey!”  Gwen cuts him off by throwing a bar towel at his face. “Not nice!”

“Yeah.” I glare.

“I’m just agreeing with her.” Carter steps back. “She’s the one who said she wanted to inject fat into other parts of her body.”

“I’m allowed to say that,” she huffs. “Not you.”

“I thought you wanted someone on your side,” he protests. “According to Jen all guys like all boobs. What I’m trying to say is – wait a minute.” He stops.

“What you’re trying to say,” I finish for him, “is guys like boobs, period. They may have preferences, but they’ll take what they can get. Hence, men think all boobs are perfect.” I reach over the bar and sarcastically pat his arm. “Thanks for proving my point.”

He looks speechless.

I turn to Gwen. “You, my friend, are stunning. Never forget it. There are plenty of men who will appreciate your body and not just settle for it. The hard part is finding one who wants your heart and your assets.”

Gwen’s expression softens. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.” She hugs me. Then, she faces Carter. “You’re lucky we’re friends. Here’s some advice: the next time a girl criticizes her body, just tell her she’s hot and leave it at that.”

Carter blinks. “How’d we even get on this subject?”

“We started to talk about unnecessary organs,” I say.

“Whose organs are unnecessary?”

I look over to watch Latson approach the bar. This is the first time I’ve seen him since Oliver fell asleep with me on the couch. He’s wearing another new t-shirt today. This one is red and says I’m lost. Please take me home with you. Although the statement is loaded with innuendo, I think about how I met Oliver and smile.

“Don’t get these two started,” Carter warns as Latson stops in front of us. “I’ll be outside with Pete.”

Latson looks confused as Carter walks away. “He said something stupid, didn’t he?”

“He knows better now,” Gwen says.

I grab another bottle of wine. Torque opens soon and we still have things to prep.

“Jen,” Latson says my name. “I want to show you something. C’mere.” He gestures for me to follow him.

“Are you sure?  I still have set up to do.”

“I’ve got it,” Gwen says. “It’s not much.”

I set the wine down and, due to my healing torso, slowly duck beneath the bar. “I’ll be right back.”

She shoots me a knowing look. “Take your time.”

I catch up to Latson’s side as he walks. “What’s going on?”

“Just something I thought you’d be interested in.” He points at his shirt. “Did you see?”

“Yes,” I laugh. “How apropos.”

“I thought you might like it.” He smiles.

We make it to the stage in the corner of the bar. It’s set up for tonight’s performance. Only a stool and a mic sit under the main spotlight, and a few guitars sit on stands in front of the house speakers. I trail behind Latson as he takes the stairs to the top of the stage. He walks over to one the guitars and pulls it off its stand. He turns around and holds it in front of him with two hands. “Do you know what this is?”

My eyes comb over the instrument. It’s metallic mint green and rosewood, with a cream-colored pickguard and maple neck.

Holy shit. There’s no denying that shape.

“That’s a vintage ’59 Fender Strat,” I whisper.

He looks impressed. “You know your guitars.”

I silently nod. Fender is an American rock icon. My fingers tingle at the thought of touching the strings. “Whose is it?”

Latson shrugs. “It’s mine.”

“You’re kidding.”

He shakes his head.

“Are you playing tonight?”

“Hell, no,” he laughs. “Dean is. We played together in the Sin days. He’s been working on some new stuff and asked to borrow a few things. Well, actually, his van broke down and his equipment is stuck somewhere on 94.”

“That sucks. I hope he didn’t leave anything like that on the side of the road.”

“No, nothing like this.” Latson lifts the guitar, looks it over, and then holds it out to me. “Want to try?”

Hell yes, I want to try!  But, it’s a $2500 guitar. And that’s if it’s brand-new-to-look-vintage. If it’s really fifty-five years old, it cost thousands more. I take a step back. “I don’t want to break it.”

Latson sighs. “You won’t break it.”

“How do you know I even play?”

“I saw your acoustic when I picked up Oliver the other night.” He closes the short distance between us. “I know Pete and Jules don’t own a guitar. C’mon. You know you want to.”

He flashes his panty-melting one dimple smile. Coupled with the instrument he’s holding, it’s too much. Way too much. I need a distraction. “Let me see it.” I hold out my hands.

Satisfied, he gives it to me. As I pull the guitar strap over my head, I swear I feel dizzy. I’m holding a freaking vintage Fender Strat. The angels should start singing any minute.

He gestures toward the stool and I take a seat. I set the guitar across my leg and try to get comfortable. “Any requests?” I joke.

He flips a pick at me and, surprisingly, I catch it. “Impress me,” he teases back.

Oh, lord. Okay. I’m holding a Fender. I should probably break out some Clapton. He’s notorious for using a Strat. I rifle through songs in my mind. What wouldn’t Latson expect?

Ah ha. I grin.

I position my fingers and effortlessly play the opening chords to “Enter Sandman.”

“Metallica?” Latson looks suspicious. “You don’t strike me as a metal head.”

“I’m not,” I admit, “but I can appreciate good songwriting.” I tilt my head and think about what else to play until the song it took me the longest to learn jumps to the forefront of my mind.

I only intend to play through the first few lines of “Freebird” but, before I know it, one note morphs into the next. Latson doesn’t stop me and his presence fades the longer I play. The spotlight shining on the stage is warm and bright, making the bar fall into darkness and my skin feel like I’m under the sun. I close my eyes and forget where I am; it’s as if the only things that exist are me, the guitar, and the music. I’m not ashamed to say I’d stay forever in this spot if I could.

Despite my trance, halfway through the song, a metal chair scrapes against the floor and the sound pulls me back to reality. My hands still and my eyes spring open.

“Sorry,” I mutter to Latson. “I got carried away.”

He’s looking at me like I’ve sprouted a third eye.

“Are you okay?”

“That was Skynyrd,” he says like he can’t believe it.

“Um, yeah.” I start to hand him his guitar. “Thanks for letting me play. She’s awesome.”

“No.” He pushes it back into my hands. “Keep going.”

“With “Freebird”?”

“With whatever,” he says. “I like watching you.”

I raise an eyebrow, to keep my heart from racing. “You’re the rock star. Shouldn’t you be the one performing?”

He gives me a self-deprecating smile and doesn’t answer. He crosses his arms. “So?  What else you got?  Who’s your favorite to play?”

My face lights up and reveals my crush. “That’s easy. Eddie.”

“Vedder?”

“No. Not Pearl Jam. Ed.”

“Sheeran?” Latson’s mouth twists around his name. “Really?”

“What’s wrong with Ed?” I defend my pretend boyfriend. “He’s talented. He writes his own songs, he collaborates with other musicians, he –”

“He’s a pansy,” Latson goads me.

My mouth falls open. “He is not.”

“Yes, he is.”

“He’s romantic!  Not that you would know anything about that.” My eyes bore into his. He can’t mess with my Ed and get away with it.

“What did you say?” Latson steps closer and towers over me.

“You heard me. Garage band ex-rock stars don’t know anything about romance.”

I can see the wheels turning in his head. One side of his mouth quirks up. “That’s what I thought you said.”

He steps back and rolls his neck, as if trying to relax. “Enough about Ed. What else do you like to play?”

“Besides my music boyfriend’s songs?” I stress the word.

He begrudgingly nods.

I readjust the guitar on my lap, then take a breath. I play the chorus of the new song I’ve been working on. The Fender must inspire me, because the next few chords I’ve been struggling with appear in my head. Yes!  Finally. I play it one more time before I stop.

“Who was that?” Latson asks.

I smile. “Elliott.”

“Who?”

I stand and remove the strap from around my neck. “Me. Jen Elliott.”

“You wrote that?”

I nod.

Pounding footsteps pull my attention to the right as someone bounds up the stairs. “I need to know you,” he says and makes his way toward me. He holds out his hand. “Dean McCarthy.”

I take in his rugged looks. Mussed hair, five o’clock shadow. He must not have had time to get ready with the van breaking down. I tentatively shake his hand. “Jen.”

“Is she new talent?” Dean asks Latson.

“Maybe,” Latson answers. “I just heard her play.”

“No. I was goofing around. Latson was nice enough to let me hold a classic.” I hand him his guitar. “Thank you.”

“How long have you been playing?” Dean asks.

“Since I was nineteen.” That’s when I inherited my brother Josh’s guitar. He didn’t want it anymore, and I couldn’t let him give it away.  I had always wanted to play, but he never had the patience to teach me. Plus, God forbid I touched his stuff.

“You’re a natural,” Dean says.

“Thanks.”

People wandering in the front doors of Torque distract me.

“Shit!” I push past Latson. “I left Gwen alone and got stuck dicking around with you.” I still haven’t forgiven him for the Ed comment.

“It was good for me, too,” he says.

Smart ass. I don’t bother with the stairs and hop off the stage despite my almost-healed incisions. It’s only a short drop. “I have to get to work. Nice to meet you, Dean.”

“You, too,” he says.

I speed walk to the bar and crawl underneath. “I’m sorry, Gwen.”

“For what?  Impressing us with your hidden talent?  I swear we all stopped to listen to you. Well, most of us.”

I frown. That’s both embarrassing and weird.

She misunderstands my reaction as offense toward the people who didn’t drop everything for the Jen show. “Heidi was the only one who wasn’t impressed,” she explains.

“Heidi?  What’s she doing here?”

“Dean’s playing. He’s a former member of Sacred Sin. You do the math.”

“Ah.” Cue groupies.

Some girls step up to the bar and order. As I make their drinks, I think. Apparently everyone at Torque is aware of Latson’s past. After I start a tab for the girls, I ask Gwen, “Am I the only one who didn’t know about Latson and the band?”

“You didn’t know?” She looks shocked. “He only hires people he trusts. I’m surprised you got in.”

“Well, I am Pete’s sister.”

She smiles. “Pete’s a good guy.”

As the night wears on, Dean blows me away with his set. He’s an incredible guitarist, and it’s a miracle he complimented me. The crowd is full of energy for him, even though it’s not as packed as when Riptide was here. Everyone who came tonight easily fits between the bar and the stage, including Heidi and her entourage. She has five girls with her who are acting like they’re here to see Elvis. I mean, I get it – Dean’s wicked talented – but, they’re dressed to the slutty nines, and they’ve even designated one of the waitstaff as their personal server for the night. Poor Kenzie.

“That’s it!”  She slams her tray down on the bar top. “If that red-haired bitch looks down her nose at me one more time I’m going to punch her!  Or pour a drink over her head. She’s asked me a thousand times where Latson is. I don’t know where he is. What does she want from me?!”  Kenzie lets out a frustrated breath and blows her bangs out of her eyes. “I need another Sex on the Beach.”

I start making the drink. “I’m sorry. The night is almost over.”

“Thank God. She’d better tip well or I will find Latson to straighten her ass out. She’s got me running around here like her BFF’s are royalty.”

The crowd bursts into applause as Dean finishes a song. I look past Kenzie to see him nod thanks and grab a water bottle off the stage. He takes a big swig. I’m not sure if he’s done playing or if he has a finale planned.

“Thank you so much, guys,” Dean says into the mic. “You don’t know how much your support means. This is a new road, but one I hope you’ll travel with me. Branching out on your own is a scary thing when you’re used to having friends behind you.”

People whistle and clap.

“Speaking of,” he looks around, “tonight was made possible by someone you might know. He’s here somewhere …”

The crowd goes nuts, especially Heidi and her friends. Latson appears from the side of the stage and walks toward Dean. He squints into the spotlight and holds up one hand in a wave. They share a manly one-armed hug before stepping apart and exchanging some words. I notice Latson has changed his shirt. He’s back to the plain white tee. I have to admit it suits him. His tattoos stand out against the color, and he looks every part the rocker with his dark denim.

“What do you think?” Dean leans toward the mic. “Can we convince him to join me for a reunion?  One night only?” He laughs.

People start to chant Latson’s name. It doesn’t take much convincing though, as he willingly grabs the Fender. The crowd goes ape-shit crazy.

“No way.” Gwen grabs my arm. “He never plays.” She meets my eyes. “Never.”

Anticipation runs through me as Dean moves to the side and swings the acoustic he was playing in front of him. As he messes with the tuners, Latson steps up to the mic and grabs it with both hands. He says four words that put everyone on their feet:  “This one’s called “Easy”.”

Holy hell. His voice. Amplified it’s…it’s…  I look away from the stage.

I’m in so much trouble.

Dean starts to play, and Latson joins him. The crowd continues to cheer. The song stays instrumental for a few moments before I hear:

“It’s supposed to get better, not worse

It’s supposed to hurt less, not more

But I can’t stop loving you

There’s nothing I can do

Nothing about us is easy.”

 

The song is a ballad, but it has a hard edge to it. A vague memory hits me full force. Yep. Summer of 2005. I walked in on my brother, Adam, making out with his girlfriend to this same song. Shirts were off, hands were places. No wonder I repressed it. Now, hearing the song live, Latson’s voice is trying to make new memories for me.

“What do you think?”

I hear Pete over the music and the crowd. I find him, Felix, and Carter standing near Kenzie. As I glance around, all the employees I can see have stopped to enjoy the show. Gwen sings along, Kenzie sways, and Felix is playing air guitar. It makes me smile.

“I think it’s great!” I shout to Pete.

He gives me a thumbs up, and I let myself be a fan.

When the song ends I clap with everyone else. Performing the song that started their career was the perfect end to Dean’s show. The people can’t get enough. I put my thumb and forefinger in my mouth and whistle. The sound is loud and sharp, and it carries through the bar.

As the noise dies down, I start to clean up. We’ll be closing any minute. I move along the bar, grabbing empty glasses with my fingertips. With four in each hand I carry them over to the dump sink and start tossing out the used ice and drink stirs.

“Okay, okay. One more.” Latson’s voice echoes.

I hear shrill shrieks and assume they’re from Heidi and her crew.

“This one …” He pauses. “I didn’t write this one.”

I dump the last glass and stand up straight, curious. Latson pulls his guitar strap over his head and sets the instrument on its stand. He returns to the mic, then holds up a hand to block the spotlight shining on the stage. He squints as his eyes roam the room, until they find me.

“Today … today I was told I know nothing about romance.”

I freeze. I hear more shrieks for the word romance and a few boos for the awful person who told him that.

“I know, right?” He shifts his gaze downstage to the dissenters. “She’s crazy,” he mouths and makes a swirling motion with his finger. People cheer and his eyes land back on me. “So, this song is for that person. She knows who she is.”

Oh no.

Latson takes the microphone off the stand and says a few private words to Dean. Dean nods and smiles, then starts to play. He strums and plucks the strings of his guitar in a familiar, upbeat tempo, and all the blood drains from my face.

I know this song. By heart. I know the chords. I know the transitions. I know when it was written and what album it’s on. When Latson opens his mouth and sings the first line, I mouth it with him.

It’s “Little Bird” by Ed Sheeran.

I’m rooted in place, my pulse keeping time with the music. As Latson sings he works the stage, his eyes occasionally jumping to where I stand. It’s obvious he didn’t just learn this song for my benefit. He anticipates each line and clips his words in all the right places. Ed is a pansy my ass!  What a liar.

I decide to focus on that, his lie, to get through this without literally swooning. It’s tough when he’s singing about mouths reading truths, missing you, and lips tasting like strawberries. As long as he stays on the opposite side of the room, I should be fine.

He hops off the stage.

Fuck.

He tries to make his journey casual, by stopping every now and again to sing a few notes. As he gets closer to me I can’t decide if I want to throw myself at him or hide. He focuses on my face, and it’s obvious who he’s singing to now. My eyes dart to Pete. His smile is rapidly fading.

I don’t know what to do. The song is coming to an end and all attention is on us as Latson takes his final steps. He stops directly in front of me, and I think I might overheat. His chocolate brown eyes bore into mine as he sings the last line of the song. I can’t breathe.

The crowd erupts in applause. They start to converge on Latson. He continues to stare at me as random hands pat him on the back for a job well done. Ignoring them, he lowers the mic and leans over the bar top.

“How’s that for romance, Little Bird?”

Chapter Eleven

“I knew it was you,” Gwen whispers. She’s found me standing in the corner, in the farthest spot behind the bar.

“No shit, Sherlock,” I respond over the rim of my cup. “Everyone knows it was me.”

For this evening’s round-up drink, I’ve opted for something with a little kick. The first time I worked here, I chose water for Torque’s closing time tradition. The second time, I never made it that far. The third time  ... well, I need something to calm my frazzled nerves. Or my raging hormones. I’m not sure which is higher.

“I meant I knew before he sang.” She rolls her eyes. “You’re the only one who would tell Latson he isn’t romantic.” She turns and glances around the bar. “What an insane night.”

I follow her gaze. No one wanted the impromptu Sacred Sin semi-reunion to end, and my brother and Carter, amongst others, had a hard time getting people to leave. Now, an hour after closing, most of the staff has finally taken a seat. They’ve given up trying to throw Heidi and her friends out. They’re busy at the opposite end of the bar, fawning over Latson and Dean while obnoxiously giggling.

Ugh. The giggling.

I take another drink.

“He doesn’t look interested, you know,” Gwen says.

I avert my eyes. “What?”

“Latson. He looks like he’d rather descend to the seventh circle of hell than put up with them.”

I look at him again. He’s talking to Dean, despite Heidi trying to weasel her way between his legs. He’s sitting on a stool, and she keeps touching his knee. I mentally smile when he grabs her hand and shoves it away.

“You should go save him,” Gwen suggests. “Put her in her place and claim your man.”

I make a face. “He’s not my man.”

“Please.” Gwen gives me a blank look. “Denial looks awful on you.”

Pete approaches the bar. “Are you ready to go?”

I nod.

“What are you drinking?” He reaches out, snags my cup, and smells it. “Whiskey?”

“And Coke.” I grab the cup back. “Is there a problem with that?”

He scowls. “You’re not supposed to have either.”

“I can eventually.”

“Eventually is not a week after surgery.”

I quickly down the rest of my drink. “Pffft. Surgery was eight days ago.” Not only will the alcohol relax my mind, it will soothe the tiny twinges of pain I’m starting to feel. Maybe working a full shift tonight wasn’t the best idea.

Pete shakes his head. “I swear …”  He starts to walk away. “I’m going to get the car.”

“’Kay.” I toss my cup in the trash. Grabbing my bag, I duck under the bar and notice my shoe is untied. I fix it, then stand. “See you tomorrow, Gwen.”

She grins. “’Night.”

Is something funny?

I turn around and run smack into Latson’s chest. He catches me by my arm and his woodsy scent invades my senses. “Are you leaving?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll give you a ride.”

What kind of ride?

Sweet Jesus. Did I just think that?  “No,” I say. “Pete’s getting the car.”

He steps closer. “I think we should talk.”

I think so, too. However, in my periphery, I catch a glimpse of Heidi staring at us. “I think you’re busy. You shouldn’t leave your adoring fans.”

He nudges my arm, pulling me closer still. “Forget them.”

That would be easy to do, but whatever is going on here is already conspicuous enough. “You know I can’t leave with you. Pete will bust a nut. We can talk tomorrow.”

Latson looks uncertain, like I’m trying to brush him off. I’m not. I’m trying to avoid questioning stares and a lecture from my brother.

“I promise,” I say. “Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.”

Latson wasn’t expecting my rhyme and tries not to smile. “What are you?  Seven?”

I shrug and he sighs. “I’ll walk you out.”

He lets go of my arm and sets his palm against my lower back, guiding me toward the door. I didn’t expect his touch and his hand burns a hole through my shirt. I know he’s held me in his arms before, but this feels different. This feels intimate and possessive, and I’m not the only one who notices.

“Bye Little J,” Carter says as we pass him. He takes one look at Latson’s hand and does a double take. “Or is it Little Bird now?”

Ah, Christ. “It’s Jen,” I say and keep walking.

Latson holds the door for me as we step outside. When we get to the curb and separate, he pulls his cell out of his pocket and looks at the screen. “It’s after four a.m.,” he says.

I nod.

“Four hours ago, today became tomorrow.”

I’m confused. “What?”

Pete’s car rounds the corner and Latson doesn’t explain. As my brother pulls to the curb, he steps forward and reaches for the door. He starts to pull the handle, then stops. “Don’t fall asleep when you get home.”

My forehead creases. “I think I’ll do what I want.”

He opens the door an inch. “Today is tomorrow. You said we could talk.” He meets my eyes with a sincere expression. “Don’t fall asleep when you get home.”

Now I get it … and there goes my pulse. I have no idea what he’s planning, but damn it if I don’t want to find out.

He opens the car door, and I get inside. Pete pulls away as soon as the door shuts behind me. We make it one block before he asks, “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

My head falls back against the head rest. “I wish I knew.”

As Pete drives, I stare out the window and wonder what is happening. Latson has hit on me since the day I met him, but it’s always been fun and something I could handle. Tonight went to a whole new level. He used music to get to me and it worked. Am I ready to have his babies?  No. But the idea of playing house is starting to grow on me.

“He’s not good for you.”

I look at Pete. “You keep saying that. I thought he was your friend.”

“He is,” he gives me a warning look, “which means I know a lot about him. Just like I know Carter and Felix. Guys talk. Trust me. He’s not for you.”

“You need to elaborate.” I cross my arms. “What are you saying?  He’s abusive?  He’s into drugs?  He has a foot fetish?  What?”

“No.” Pete shakes his head. “Relationships aren’t for him. I know you, and you’re not into casual. He doesn’t do long-term commitment.”

“Long-term?  Like weeks or like marriage?”

“Marriage.”

I snort. “You’re one to talk. Have you looked in the mirror lately?  If marriage were the basis for a relationship, Jules should have left you years ago.”

“What makes you think we’re not married?”

“Um, because you’re not.” I look at him like he’s lost it. “I don’t remember a wedding.”

Pete sighs as he turns the wheel. “That’s because you weren’t there.”

I blink. “I’m sorry?”

He gives me a resigned look.

“You’re married?!”

“Since March.”

“How ...” My face falls. “Why didn’t you include us?  Mom and dad are going to be so hurt.” I’m hurt.

“We had a scare,” Pete says. “Jules found a lump. Cancer runs in her family.”

My stomach knots. Jules looks so healthy. “Is she okay?”

He nods. “The tests turned out fine, but it was a huge reality check. We decided there was no point in waiting, so we went to the courthouse. I mean, why plan a party for a year when the important part of the day is the actual marriage?”

I’m stunned. I lean over and try to see his left hand under the passing street lights. “Where’s your ring?” Come to think of it, I haven’t seen one on Jules, either. I know I would have noticed a diamond.

“We don’t have rings,” Pete confesses. “Jules didn’t want to discuss her health when asked why we did what we did. We’ve decided to keep it between us for a while. Things happened fast. No one knows we’re married.”

I frown. “That is unacceptable, Peter. Jules deserves a gorgeous ring, even if she’s not wearing it.” My eyes get wide. “And you need to get down on one knee and propose like a gentleman!”  I shove his arm. “You were raised better than that, jerk face.”

“I know.” He looks sheepish. “That’s the favor I was going to ask you when I called a few weeks ago. Remember?  I dropped the subject when I found out your life was falling apart. I was going to ask you to help me pick out a ring.”

I smile. “Well, nothing is stopping us now. Let’s do it soon. I want my sister-in-law to be legit.”

“She is legit. I have the license to prove it.”

“You know what I mean.”

We turn into the parking garage, then get out of the car and make our way upstairs. Outside the apartment door, I grab Pete’s arm and pull him into a lopsided hug. “I’m really happy for you. I love Jules. Mom and Dad do, too. I’m glad she’s okay.”

He hugs me back. “Me, too.”

“Her proposal needs to be epic.”

“I have some ideas.” Pete steps back and puts the key in the lock. “But I might need some help there as well.”

“Count me in.” I grin.

He starts to open the door, then stops. “You deserve epic things, too, you know. That’s what I meant about Latson. If you decide to get involved with him, I worry that won’t happen for you.”

I sigh. I’ve learned all things epic don’t revolve around men. “If I were to get involved with him I would have no expectations.” If my last two relationships taught me anything, it’s not to bank on a future.

Pete looks like he disagrees, but lets it go. We head inside and say goodnight. When I get to my room, I shut the door and drop my bag on the floor. My brother is married. Married. It explains so much, like his mature behavior and concern about me. Especially when I was sick. I’m sure my health only reminded him of his wife’s issues.

His wife. Gah!  I love it. I can’t wait until they decide to share the news.

Kicking off my shoes, I start to get ready for bed. I pull the rubber band out of my hair, shake my head, and hear three taps in the process. Glancing around the room, I wait and hear it again. It’s coming from the window. I walk over and tentatively lift the edge of the blinds. Someone is standing on the fire escape. All I can see is a shoe and a knee, and I remember what Latson said. It has to be him. How did he get home so fast?

Opening the blinds, I crack the window. He crouches down with a mischievous smirk. “Come out here with me.”

“Did you grow wings and fly?” I look over his shoulder. “Didn’t I just leave you on a sidewalk?”

“I left right after you,” he says. “Dorothy is fast.”

I remember the name of his car.

“C’mon,” he says and holds out his hand.

There’s nothing to stop me. There are no prying eyes here, and I do want to talk to him. Pushing the window open, I set my hands on the sill and hop up. I get one knee on the ledge then reach out, so Latson can help me crawl through. He ends up holding both my hands as he pulls me to stand in front of him.

“I haven’t snuck out a window since high school,” I say.

“It’s good to know you have a wild side.”

“So wild,” I joke and remove my fingers from his. I slide them into my back pockets.

He walks over to the edge of the fire escape, and I follow. He sits down, hanging his legs over the side. I sit beside him and do the same. The rough metal of the platform digs into my legs through my jeans, but I don’t mind. Once my eyes catch the view of the sleeping city, I’m kind of swept away. The twinkling lights and the muted sounds hint at the energy it holds during the day. It’s a different world up here in the dark.