Page 67 of Fault Lines
Jackson paused. “Coming?” He looked at Rachel.
“We’ll be right there,” Rachel told him, waving them off. “We’re just going to tidy up a little.”
As soon as the guys left, Rachel poured us both a second glass of wine and turned to me, her eyes bright. “So,” she asked, “what do you think?”
I hesitated. “About?”
“Jackson. Don’t you think he’s a stud?”
I tried to hide my smile. “He’s very handsome.”
“And great in bed,” she added, almost sighing.
“Too much, Rach.”
She grinned. “Oh, don’t pretend you’re not curious. Aren’t you dying to find out about Nate? They say nerdy guys are the best—always into all kinds of crazy kinks and stuff.”
I snorted. “How would I know? And Nate’s not even that nerdy.”
She shrugged. “He’s got a nice place. He’s not bad looking. But he’s no Jackson. Or Cam.”
She caught herself. Looked sheepish.
“Sorry,” she muttered, taking a long sip of her wine. “Cam is hot as fuck, but no man is worth what he’s putting you through. If Nate can treat you better—which I think he would, by the way—you should go for it.”
I leaned back, rolling the thought around in my head the way I rolled wine in my mouth. “On some level, you’re right. Cam’s obviously never going to drop this new lifestyle, and I need to figure out if I’m just going to live with it or finally grow a backbone and leave.”
“At least you’ve got someone to run to in the meantime,” Rachel said. “From everything I’ve seen, Nate’s a good guy. He’ll take care of you.”
“Maybe that’s the trouble,” I mused. “Maybe I don’t want to be taken care of. Maybe I need to learn to stand on my own.”
Rachel started gathering up the dishes, and I helped her, stowing the leftovers and stacking plates in the dishwasher.
“I told you I can help you with that,” she said. “You aren’t dependent on Cam, not financially. You always have a place with me.”
“He’d never cut me off,” I admitted. “But that’s not really the point. I’ve started saving up since I got the job. It’s not much, but it’ll get me started. I won’t even need to move in with you.”
Rachel closed the dishwasher and leaned against it, grinning. “Still, door’s always open. Even if you don’t need it.”
“You’re the best,” I told her.
She threw her hair back, all mock arrogance. “I know.”
From the living room came a crash of voices—the guys already shouting at each other over the game.
Rachel rolled her eyes. “Boys and their toys.”
We carried our wine into the living room and watched them play. I curled up in the recliner and Rachel sat with me, pulling out her phone to show me photos from her job. She was designing interiors now, working for these crazy-rich clients, and some of the things she showed me were unreal. Giant sculptures, art I could never imagine, and the price tags made my head spin.
The shooting game on the TV rattled the walls, the three of them locked into some battle where the sole objective was to find the others and annihilate. I found it mind-numbing, but they couldn’t get enough.
Rachel and I tuned out most of it, chatting over wine and swapping stories, until something smashed against the far wall, sending a jolt through both of us.
“This is bullshit!” Nate’s shout thundered down the hall. He stomped away, slamming his bathroom door so hard the sound echoed.
Jackson stood up slowly, surveying the wreckage—the remains of a game controller scattered across the carpet, fragments everywhere. He started to pick up the pieces, brushing his fingers across the plastic.
Rachel and I exchanged a look, speechless.
