Page 79 of Opening Strain

She doesn’t pour the chips into a bowl, but rather opens the bag and dips one into the salsa jar. She turns the opened bag toward me. “Have some before I eat them all.”

“Then you won’t be able to eat your dinner.” I grab a few chips. Once I’ve finished crunching, I add, “Can’t have that, can we?”

She examines a block of cheese. Satisfied it’s still good, she cuts a few pieces and puts them onto a plate. “I didn’t realize how ravenous I was. I suppose we should replace whatever we eat.”

I shrug. “I doubt the owners will even miss it. This seems to be one of several houses they own, given the furnishings and their being away. I don’t think they keep tabs on their chips.”

She pauses. “Probably not. But I would feel guilty.”

I can’t imagine any of the women who I’ve spent time with ever caring about a couple of chips they’ve eaten. Or even bottles of vodka and gin they’ve consumed. The way she cares about others is novel. Refreshing.

“Jenna, I appreciate how honest you are.”

“Only trying to treat others the way I want to be treated, the way Ma raised me. That’s why I could never understand the paparazzi. They’re rude and pushy.”

“And they make shit up when they don’t have a story, or there isn’t one to tell.” Snagging a piece of cheese, I stuff it into my mouth. “Iguess it’s their job. If no one wanted their photos or fake articles, then their profession would disappear.”

“I don’t see that happening anytime soon.”

“Me neither.” I force myself away from the island and head toward the fireplace in the next room. “If we want to be able to eat our dinners, I think we should stop with the appetizers.” I flick the switch and the fire springs to life.

Jenna joins me in front of the fireplace, dusting off the remnants of our snack from her fingers. “The fire feels good.”

I face her. “Jenna, I want to kiss you for being such a wonderful human being. I want to hold you to my body and absorb your goodness into my soul. What are you doing to me?”

Her hand flies behind her head and she tightens her ponytail holder.

When her arms return to her sides, I reach behind her head pull the holder out of her hair. “I prefer your hair down.”

“Oh,” she squeaks. “Darren did too.”

His presence can be felt in the family room as if he were here now. Am I simply a stand-in for her ex-boyfriend? “Do you miss him?”

“Every day.” Pained grey eyes search my face. “As time has passed, it’s gotten easier. He used to call me his Perfect Ten. Not as a reference to my body, clearly, but because I always asked him for the ten top things about whatever he was doing.” Her cheeks half inflate. “Top ten things about whatever city he was in. Top ten things about touring on a bus. Top ten things about writing music.”

There’s so much to unpack. She’s never asked me for any top ten list. I rest a beat. “Which is why you want to open ten clinics.”

Her hand flies to her chest. I don’t think she’s going to respond, but she does. “Yeah. I want to honor him in this small way.” Her shoulders rise on an inhale.

I hate seeing how broken she still is. I want to hold her and make it better. I can’t resist. “Come here.” I open my arms, and she walks into them, resting her head against my lower pec.

I don’t want to be a substitute for Darren, though. Hell, we were in the same band. How can she see me as someone different? Unlike me, our keyboardist had a wicked sense of humor. He gave the devil a run for his money with his pranks.

I’m his opposite. I’ve been described as “cocky,” “arrogant,” and “confident.” Obviously, those writers didn’t know me too well. Fine, I use my rock star status to get what I want, but that makes me practical. Also, I keep to myself—which probably has been misinterpreted. I’m a loner. Jenna is not.

“Darren was a great guy,” I allow. “He invited me to join UC when I was seventeen and spurred me on to get my GED. He always was the life of the party.” Until he wasn’t.

She nods against my chest. “He had a big personality, true. But that’s not what drew me to him.” She steps back. “He treasured his mother and sister and set them up financially. Darren celebrated his roots with parties and lavish gifts, probably because he didn’t have much growing up. It was only after I came into the picture that he spent any money on himself.”

“I remember a certain tricked-out motorcycle as his first purchase,” I correct her.

“Well, true. But it was the only purchase he made for himself when you guys hit it big.” She leads me to the leather sectional, where we sit next to each other. “He was so proud of the band. He used to go on and on about how exciting it was to be on a journey with his best friends.”

“007 was his best friend.”

“Yeah. He considered the rest of you—Coop, Río, and you—to be right up there, you know. When I came and saw you all together, I saw it too. The comradery among you five was untouchable.”

Among the other four, I can see it.

---