Page 7 of Don't Make Me Beg
Okay…so what? I like what I like, sue me. Besides, after the day I’ve had, I could use all the comfort I can get.
Thirty minutes later, I’m sipping on my second Cherry Coke, mindlessly doodling on the damp bar napkin, when a server slides a burger in front of me. My mouth instantly waters at the sight of the cheeseburger—another indulgence for me tonight, and I don’t hesitate before diving in.
The savory flavors explode over my taste buds and I let out a not-so-polite moan, not even waiting until I’ve completely swallowed the bite in my mouth before taking another one.
Damn, it feels good to be home.
Maybe it’s the comfort food, or the feeling of blending into the bustling, dimly lit restaurant that makes me feel like I’m alone but notlonely, but I’m starting to feel better.
I still don’t know what my next steps will be, and I hate knowing how angry my parents are with me after our fight. Still, I’m cautiously optimistic that things will sort themselves out…eventually.
We all just need to take a little time to cool down. My parents will come to their senses and realize how ridiculous they’re being by expecting me to go through with the wedding. They just need a little time to process.
I shade in the heart, adding little reflective stars to the cartoon Phantom’s eyes as I scribble my doodle on the bar napkin, feeling ten times lighter than I did when I walked in. I can’t remember the last time I got lost drawing either. Heck, I can’t remember the last time I even held a pen. These days, all my notetaking and work is done on a computer.
The ballpoint pen in my hand feels like a magic wand, transmuting my worries and pain into the only language I’ve ever been able to express myself with.
Who knew all it takes is a cheeseburger, a cold soda, and doodling on a bar napkin to completely turn my mood around?
I did, actually. But I can’t remember the last time I let myself indulge in any of it.
In more ways than I realized, coming back to Ashford Falls feels a lot like coming back to myself. It feels good to remember who I used to be. I can’t help but think maybe I needed the reminder more than I realized…
I see his retreating figure running behind the barrier of the bar before bursting through the metal swinging doors that lead to the kitchen, followed by a clanging of pans. And if I didn’t already know that gait anywhere, the sound of his voice pierces through the din of 90s music and chatter. “Jett. Dude. I’m begging you. Please help me out here! When was the last time I asked you for anything?”
“Three weeks ago. When you asked me to cover for you so you could get out ofthe charity auction Mom was throwing. Now move your ass?—"
There’s a loud bang. Then he’s flying back through the door, his feet slipping and sliding until he steadies himself with his back braced against the bar top. My gaze zones in on the veins in his forearm as his strong hands brace himself up.
I’m mid-sip of my soda, and when I swallow, the bubbly liquid goes down the wrong pipe. I have to hold my breath to contain my cough.
Jett bursts through the doorway, his white apron disheveled and smeared with marinara sauce, fisting Luka’s shirt before shoving him back.
“God forbid you’re asked to doonething out of your comfort zone. Welcome to the real world, Luka. It fucking sucks, and there’s always a list of shit you don’t want to do.” He points a finger toward the narrow gap behind the bar. “And how many times do I have to tell you, no one’s allowed back here. You’re going to slip and crack your head open, and I don’t have the time or energy to clean up that mess.” He crosses his arms overhis broad chest as he waits for Luka to make his way behind the narrow threshold of the bar’s entryway.
Luka throws up his hands. “There. Happy?”
Jett’s only response is a grunt.
My eyes water, and I can’t hold it in any longer. My body takes over, jerking forward in an exaggerated heave before a full-blown coughing fit consumes me. It’s the exact opposite of blending into the background. Slowly, they both turn my way, and their reaction to my presence couldn’t be more different.
Luka’s eyes widen for only a second, then his expression turns hard.
Meanwhile, Jett’s hard jaw relaxes, his lips twitching like he’s trying to hold back a smile as he silently looks from his brother and back to me.
It’s the first time I’m able to get a good look at him, and my chest tightens as I take in every new detail. He looks older, obviously, but it’s more than that. The sharper lines of his face, the weight in his eyes… There’s something different in the way he carries himself, like a quiet kind of confidence that wasn’t there before.
He’s changed a lot in eight years, and there’s a part of me that’s sad that I missed out on watching him grow from a boy to a man.
He looks exactly like I imagined. But somehow…better.
His dark brown hair falls in soft waves over his ears, like it’s styled to perfection, but knowing him, it probably just dried like that after he went to bed with it wet.
I feel the heat of his gaze—those dark, emerald-green eyes locked on mine with an expression I’ve never seen before. It’s intense, like there’s a current sparking between us, running just beneath the surface.
Does he feel it too?
Does he hate me for what I did to him? Does he still think about that kiss the way that I do?
