Page 20 of Jett in Jeopardy

All possible and not creepy at all. I picked up my pace, the cold all but forgotten. I glanced back once more when the car reached the main intersection and held my breath, waiting—and willing—for the car to turn right towards the highway or left towards downtown.

Instead, it rolled straight through, following the same steep and winding road as me. Where the hell had this car come from, and what was it doing in a residential neighborhood at nearly five a.m. if they weren’t following me? I bent my head against the icy wind and hurried along the sidewalk, a shade away from a full-out run.

The car’s headlights lit up the road beside me while trailing me at the same speed—never passing or getting close enough for me to see who was driving. I dug my phone out, ready to call 911, but I wasn’t sure it would be much help. Even if I could get the call off, if someone jumped out of the car and came at me, it would take time for the cops to show up. I’d get my ass kicked before the cops ever arrived.

Up ahead, I could see my house. The porch light in the darkness was like a beacon. I darted across the lawn, trading my phone for my key as I clamored up the porch steps. My hands shook as I slipped the key into the lock, pushing the door wide, but I hesitated before going in. Instead, I waited to see what the car would do now that I was home.

The car crept past at the same weirdly slow pace. Without the glare from the headlights, I could make out that the car was some kind of sedan. It looked silver under the pale glow of the streetlights, but it was too far away for me to see more.

The car disappeared around the bend, leaving me alone in the darkness and wondering if the idea that it had been following me at all was just in my head.

Chapter Eight

Brody

Threedayshadpassedsince Jett and I were together. I hadn’t seen him since he’d flipped me off and stormed out of my apartment. Despite how angry he’d been, it still surprised me when he didn’t turn up the following night, Saturday. I could, after all, count on one hand the number of times Jett hadn’t been at The Dunes on a Saturday night—and I wouldn’t have needed all my fingers to do it.

I sighed and leaned back in the chair behind my desk, looking up at the yellowed paneled drop-ceiling overhead. I knew I had fucked up, but I still wasn’t sure how. We both, me and Jett, didn’t want anything serious. Why was it such a terrible thing for me to acknowledge it?

In the time I’d known him, I didn’t think I’d ever seen him in a serious relationship. More than once, though, I’d seen him slip into the bathroom with some random guy up for a blow job. I wasn’t judging, consenting adults and all that. I just couldn’t figure out what I had said that was so wrong. Hell, he’d be finishing school in a few months, then probably heading back to wherever he came from.

I scrubbed both hands down my face, then tried to force my attention to the order on the computer screen on my desk in front of me. It was already taking too long to complete. My mind kept wandering, Jett taking up too much space in my brain. Why did he not turning up at The Dunes for the past three nights bother me so much, anyway? I didn’t want more than what we’d already done. Nothing serious, like I said. But I still would have been happy to fuck a few more times before calling this, whatever it was, off.

The feel of his body moving under mine, the tight clench of his ass when I drove into him, and those hot gasps and whimpers were forever fused to my brain. Every time I closed my eyes, memories from that night flooded my senses.

Okay, fine. I could admit it. Seeing him again is what I wanted. I might not have wanted anything more than sex, but I did like spending time with him. He was funny and clever, with a sharp wit that I appreciated, and I didn’t like the idea of him actively avoiding me.

One of his roommates dropped off the sweater I loaned him when he’d insisted on leaving and walking home after we’d argued. I wasn’t in the bar at the time, so Cilla had taken it from him. When I’d asked her which roommate had dropped it off, she’d shrugged and said the good-looking one. Since all of Jett’s roommates weren’t exactly hard on the eyes, that didn’t exactly narrow the field down any.

Not that it mattered. The point was Jett didn’t return the sweater himself, and the disappointment felt like a hollow crater in my gut. There was no way I could pretend otherwise. Jett was avoiding me.

“Fuck it,” I muttered, pushing back from my desk. I needed a second opinion.

Grabbing my coat off the hook behind my office door, I left the bar. It was a slow night, fairly typical for a Monday night in December, with a few regulars around the bar and at a handful of tables near the front.

With Mondays normally so slow, Cilla usually ran The Dunes on her own. The idea was to give me a night off, but I usually wound up in the office doing paperwork.

“I’m going to the hotel,” I told her. “I shouldn’t be long.”

She nodded, but didn’t ask anything else. I wondered if she’d guessed I’d fucked things up with Jett. She usually knew everything going on in The Dunes. Since she’d yet to mention Jett, even after his roommate dropped off the sweater, I was fairly certain she’d put two and two together. However, I appreciated her discretion, and that she wasn’t inundating me with questions.

I wasn’t sure what the hell was going on with Jett, so how would I be able to explain it to anyone else?

Outside, it was already dark, even though it wasn’t quite seven p.m. The wind off the water was strong and frigid, sweeping my hair back from my face and biting at my skin. Fortunately, the walk to the hotel was short, barely taking any time before I pushed through the doors into the lobby.

One of Daniel’s employees, whose name I couldn’t remember, sat behind the check-in desk, typing on her phone. When she saw me, she slid her phone out of sight and nodded at the open door behind her.

“He’s in his office,” she said, without me asking.

“Thanks,” I told her.

I passed the entrance to the restaurant as I crossed the wide foyer. Jett’s previous roommate, Alistair, was serving one of two tables in the entire restaurant.

Geez, I thoughtmyMonday nights were slow.

The door to Daniel’s office was open, but I knocked anyway to let him know I was there. He looked up from whatever he was scowling at on the computer screen. His hair stood up at weird angles as if he’d been running his fingers through it all day, and I noticed dark circles bruising the skin under his eyes as if he hadn’t been sleeping. Still, he smiled when he saw me and asked, “Is everything okay?”

Of course, he asked about me. Daniel looked after everyone, worried about everyone else, even when it was clear he had his own problems. I knew he was worried about the hotel. The last thing I should be doing was dumping all my bullshit on his doorstep.

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