Page 8 of Before I Deserved You
“I was doing you a favor. You looked like you were overheating,” he says before he drops to the ground and shakes out his wet hair like a dog. “Guess I won’t bother next time. Seems like chivalry is dead.” Megan and I roll our eyes at his theatrics, but he’s already moved on and doesn’t pay us any mind.
“I’d kill for some ice cream right now,” he says instead, lying back and draping a thick, veiny forearm over his eyes to shield them from the sun.
“Can we stop by Carla’s on our way home? Please, Big J,” Anna begs, clapping her hands together and bouncing up and down with so much excitement it’s contagious. Jake hits his baby sister with an indulgent smile.
“I guess I can spare a few bucks for my favorite girl. But that’s it for the week. I don’t get paid until the end of the month, and you two already burned through half my wages.”
“Yay,” Anna and Jude yell in unison, exchanging the world’s sloppiest high-five.
“It’s supposed to be another scorcher tomorrow. Anyone up for meeting back here after school?” Carter asks, taking a long pull from his water bottle. Megan and I nod, well aware that being near a body of water may be our best chance of survival. Summers in Texas can be downright brutal.
“Can’t,” Jake says, propping himself up on his elbows. “Gotta work tomorrow and Thursday, so I won’t be going to Jackie’s for wing night either.”
“We don’t meet until six. Can’t you knock off at a reasonable hour just this once?” Carter asks.
“Not if I don’t want to piss off the old man.” Jake pushes to his feet and begins packing their belongings while elaborating. “We’ve fallen behind on a few jobs, and Dad is cracking the whip. I’ll make it next week,” he promises before shrugging a plain cotton shirt over his head, covering up all that smooth, golden skin. He swings his duffel over his shoulder like it weighs nothing and tilts his chin at his siblings, letting them know it’s time to go. “Chop, chop. I have a mad craving for cookies and cream, and you know how I get when I’m hungry.”
He raises his hands and curls his fingers into imaginary claws. Both children shriek like banshees when he gives a low growl and charges forward. Popping to their feet, they give their feral brother a wide berth as they wave goodbye and sprint ahead. “Catch you guys later,” Jake calls over his shoulder, his long strides eating up the distance between him and his charges. I can’t help but notice how the wet fabric of his swim trunks clings to the globes of his tight behind, and I blush a deep crimson when he catches me staring. His lips pull into a cocky smirk that only causes me further embarrassment, and I quickly avert my eyes. God knows I have it bad for that boy, but if I want to keep the world from finding out, I’d better start working on my poker face.
As promised, Jake shows up for wing night the following week, even if he does so over an hour later than the rest of us. The second he steps into the diner, my gaze lands on him and sticks like superglue. I greedily take him in while he lingers in the greeting area and gives his eyes a moment to adjust to the dimly lit interior. He must’ve come straight from work, looking good enough to eat in his dust-covered shirt, cargo pants, and well-worn work boots. I’ve seen Jake on the job many times, and let me tell you, it’s a sight to behold. There’s something about watching him in his element, focused and capable, that makes me want to pull up a chair and stay a while to enjoy the show. Jake is good-looking, and he knows it. He’s not one of those gym douchebags who parade around half-naked and flex their overblown muscles in front of a full-length mirror every chance they get. But he’s comfortable in his own skin and doesn’t have a problem showing off his body.
I wish I had that kind of confidence. Unfortunately, being a teenage girl comes with teenage insecurities, and every time a boy looks at me a little too long in a bikini, I want to crawl into a hole and hide. I can’t help but wonder whether my boobs are too small, my arms too hairy, or my thighs too jiggly.
I lift a hand to indicate our whereabouts and wait for Jake to spot us. When his eyes meet mine, a slow smile spreads over his lips, and it warms me from the inside out. My heart races as he closes the distance between us.
“Dude. You could’ve grabbed a quick shower. You’re covered in sawdust,” Carter needlessly points out when Jake falls into the bench seat beside me.
“You’re the one who got all pissy when I told you I might not make it tonight. I got here as soon as I could, so you’ll just have to deal with my manly musk.” And because this is Jake, and he never disappoints, he brings his nose to his armpit and gives it an audible sniff. “It’s not as bad as I thought,” he says with a wide grin, and I can’t help but giggle at his ridiculous behavior.
“Gross,” Megan mutters, wrinkling her nose in disgust. Jake simply shrugs, like her discomfort is of no concern to him. Then he reaches across the table and snatches a handful of curly fries off Carter’s plate, who brings his fork down in a wide arch, narrowly missing his friend’s hand.
Raising a brow in warning, he says, “Next time, I’ll jab it into your oversized paw. Hands off my grub, man. You know I don’t share.”
Jake chuckles and looks over his shoulder in search of Jackie, who appears out of thin air, making him jump.
“Holy crap,” he gasps, pressing a hand to his sternum. “Give a guy a little warning next time. I almost had a heart attack.”
“Bah humbug,” Jackie rasps in her signature smoker’s voice, waving her notepad in the air. “You’re too damn young to worry about that, son. But you might want to cut back on all that greasy food. It might not get you anytime soon, but if you continue at this rate, it’ll sure as shit get you before the age of fifty.”
“Damn,” Jake drawls. “Call me crazy, but serving your food with a side of health anxiety just doesn’t seem like a great marketing strategy.”
Jackie cackles at his smart-ass remark and ruffles his curls. “Just looking out for my favorite boy.”
“Hey,” Carter whines around a mouthful of chicken. “What am I? Chopped liver?”
Jackie rummages around in her apron pockets and produces a couple of wet wipes. Without looking at Carter, she chucks them across the table, hitting him square in the chest. “Clean yourself up, would ya? You look like one of them vampires after a feeding frenzy,” she points out, ignoring his put-out expression while he begins working on the dried honey-garlic mess covering the majority of the lower half of his face.
“What can I get you?” she asks, clicking her pen against a sinewy forearm with practiced ease.
“I’ll have a ginger ale, please. No ice. And I’ll go with three pounds of wings. One honey-garlic, two buffalo, with a side of sweet potato fries and garlic bread.”
Jackie arches a brow but jots Jake’s order down before shoving her notepad back into her apron. “Three pounds, huh? Didn’t your daddy feed you any lunch?”
Jake scoffs. “My daddy hasn’t fed me lunch since I was a toddler.”
Jackie clucks her tongue in disapproval. “You tell your old man how important it is to fuel the body when doing manual labor, especially for a growing boy such as yourself. Someone’s gotta make sure you’re not wasting away. Even though it doesn’t look like you’re in any immediate danger,” she adds, squeezing his biceps and waggling her eyebrows at us girls. Jake indulges the older woman, flexing his muscles and making her cackle like a crazed old witch. Patting his cheek, she gives him a soft look and says, “One of these days, you’re going to make one lucky lady very happy.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Jackie. I have a lot of love to give. It wouldn’t be fair to waste it all on one girl when there’s so much of me to go around.”
