Page 18 of Jessie's Girl
She shoots me a disgruntled look, crossing her arms over her pink robe. “I was calling youforever. Where were you?”
“Saying goodbye to India.” I’m going to hell for lying to my niece. Especially when I can still taste India with the mouth that’s doing the fibbing. “What’s up?”
“I forgot to get my towel from the closet.”
“I’ll get it for you. Go get in the shower and I’ll leave it on the back of the toilet for you.”
She nods slowly. “Okay. I want the one with Belle on it,” she instructs me, eyeing me as if she can’t trust me to choose the correct Disney princess.
“Got it. I’ll be right there.”
Yes, I’m rushing my niece along so I can return to India and try to rectify the damage I’ve wreaked on an already tenuous truce. And as I pivot and head back toward her, the “I’m sorry” is already crawling up my throat and crowding into my mouth. I’m familiar with its bitter flavor. Just as I’m well-acquainted with the guilt churning in my gut.
Jesus. I scrub a hand down my face. I lost complete control. Again. One taste of her and I didn’t care about who she was—whom she belongs to. Because it doesn’t matter if she and Jessie are no longer together, she will always belong to him. She can never be mine because she was his first. He’s my brother in every way but blood, and to be with India means betraying him.
And that I can’t do.
He’s never failed to have my back. After my football career littered the ground in ashes, he helped me buy the garage when no bank would touch me or my credit. Since then, I’ve repaid the loan back with the interest he didn’t want, but still… If it wasn’t for him, I would be working for someone else, earning the bare minimum instead of being my own boss.
He’s family. And after Mona, I can’t lose one more person I love.
But my throbbing body, my pounding cock competes with regret. India is… she’s my weakness. My lust for her my personal Sword of Damocles, hanging over my head, ready to fall and pierce me at any given time.
And fuck if I don’t want to be run through with it.
Sighing, I rub my hand over the back of my neck. “India, I—”
The words stutter, than disappear from my lips. Because she’s gone. Just her jasmine and fresh rain scent lingers in the small entryway that’s once more the site of our fall from grace.
“Goddamn it,” I growl, battling the urge to yank the door open and see if her car is still backing out of my driveway. So I can—what? Catch up with her? Make this worse by apologizing? By calling her a mistake again?
I have no idea, no fucking clue what I’m doing.
But one thing’s for certain. If I touch her one more time in this foyer, I’m going to have to tear the fucker down with my bare hands.
Asa
“Damn, Ace. I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed this.” Jessie grins, clapping me on my shoulder and squeezing. “’Preciate you coming out with me tonight.”
I shake my head, signaling to Tracy, one of the regular bartenders at The Hammerhead, our local—hell,only—bar. I circle a finger over our beers, ordering another round. Tracy tips her chin up, acknowledging me before finishing pulling a draft for another customer.
I snort, lifting my beer bottle and draining the last of the alcohol. “Yeah, well, you know I’ll always make time for you in my jam-packed schedule. Right between a paint job and an alignment.”
Jessie laughs, his green eyes crinkling at the corners. I’m not into men, but looking at my best friend, I get why women lose their damn minds over him. He’s maintained his quarterback physique—wide-shouldered, slim-hipped, with not an ounce of fat on him—and with his close-cropped, dark-blond hair and pretty-boy face, he’s as popular and in demand now as he was while playing for the Rams during his five-year career. Now, instead of throwing balls on Sunday mornings or Monday nights, he could be found on ESPN as a sportscaster. He’d coasted the transition from player to journalist with an ease that defined Jessie. Determination. Focus. And a charm that could make him a douche if it wasn’t so genuine.
Sometimes, I catch myself envying him. Part of me can’t help but imagine sitting beside him at that roundtable, commentating and discussing the sport we both love. Or better yet, playing on the field together, wide receiver to his quarterback. After all, the dream had been to play side-by-side in the league. But only one of us had made that fantasy a reality. I’m happy for him, for his career and success both on and off the field. But yeah… I can’t help but think of the what-ifs…
Tracy sets down our cold, fresh bottles in front of us with a wink. Though she’s only a few years older than our twenty-nine, she’s been a staple in the bar as long as we’ve been coming here. She and her twin sister took over the place from their father about three years back, and with live music on the weekend, a separate section for pool, and Hump Day half-price drinks, they’ve really turned around a bar that had been one more police visit and condom machine away from being a dive.
“Here you go, guys.” Stacking her crossed arms on the bar top, she leans forward, pinning me with a teasing, narrowed glare. “Asa, why is it that I only see you in here when this one,” she jerks her chin in Jessie’s direction, “deigns to come down from Bristol to visit us peons? I’m starting to get offended.” The smile flirting with the corner of her mouth belies her words, but I can’t deny the truth of her accusation.
Between Rose, the regular responsibilities of the shop, and steadily building our clientele for the restoration side of the garage, I don’t have much free time.
“Deignsto come down?” Jessie repeats, chuckling. “Now you’re making me sound like a douche.”
She shrugs a slim shoulder. “If the canoe fits…”
I snicker, trading the empty out for the new beer and taking a long sip. “No worries, man,” I say, slapping him on the back of the shoulder with my free hand. “Us peons are the forgiving sort. It’s our peasant stock.”
