Page 19 of Jessie's Girl
“Fuck you.” He grins, shaking his head.
Laughing, Tracy slaps the bar top. “Just holler if you need anything else,” she tosses at us, before striding away to help another customer.
“Is it me, or does she just get sexier every time we come in here?” he muses, staring after the slender woman.
With her sleek, dark hair cut into an asymmetrical bob that brushes her shoulders, gleaming, mahogany skin bared by a black tank top with the bar’s logo stretched across her generous breasts, and tight jeans that hug her rounded hips, yeah, she’s hot as hell.
But she does nothing for me. Because apparently my cock prefers petite women with tight, gravity-defying curls, curves that would make a racetrack groan in jealousy, and eyes the color of freshly minted pennies.
No, not women. Woman. One.
India.
Fuck. My fingers tighten around my beer, and I lift it for another deep swallow. But the cold, yeasty alcohol hitting my gut can’t extinguish the heat simmering in my veins. Still, thinking about my best friend’s ex while sitting right damn next to him is bad form. Hell, it’s lunacy.
Especially since Jessie isn’t over India.
Yes, it’s been two years and by no means has he been a monk, but Jessie hasn’t been in a serious relationship since India walked away from him. And then there’d been the time I’d flown out to Connecticut to visit him for a weekend. After drinking a little too much, he’d confessed his love for her and how he fucked up the best thing in his life, and he wished he could go back and undo the past. It’d been so goddamn hard sitting there, listening to him pouring his heart out about her, all the while knowing I’d kissed her. I’d touched her. I knew with startling and vivid clarity that she tasted like the freshest water and the dirtiest sex.
I have no business possessing that knowledge. And the fact that I did made me the shittiest friend. The shittiest person.
“So, what’s up with you?” Jessie twists on the stool, propping an arm on the bar. He studies me, wearing a small half smile. “I talked with your mom. Right after I thanked her for keeping Rose for the night so we could have this,” he waved his arm out, encompassing the bar, “she told me about my little niece getting in trouble in school. Apparently, she slapped the shit out of a little girl?”
Panic explodes in my chest like an atom bomb, mushrooming to fill my rib cage, my throat, my gut. Had Mom mentioned India? Did Jessie suspect that I was lying to him, even if by omission?
“Jess…” I murmur.
“She also told me what the girl said to her. Now, other than the field, you know I don’t advocate violence, but…” He smirks. “Between me, you, and this beer, that girl had it coming.”
Relief crashes over me, and if I wasn’t sitting, my ass would be hitting the floor. He doesn’t know. For some reason, Mom neglected to tell him about India’s position at the school. Maybe because she thought I had, or she just didn’t want to bring up the hurtful past with Jessie—whatever. I’m just so damn thankful.
Snapping right at the heels of that gratitude, though, is shame. I’m a coward. Since I walked into the school’s office for that meeting and came face-to-face with India, I’ve talked with Jessie a handful of times. And each time, I convinced myself I would tell him about India being back in town. And each time I dug up an excuse to put it off. He’s about to go on air. I can’t distract him now. Or, he sounds so happy, just like his old self. I can’t bring her up and take that away from him. Or, he’s in Connecticut. There isn’t shit he can do about it, so why hurt him with this news?
Yeah, I’m so damn thoughtful. I’m also the king of excuses. And when it comes down to it? A chicken shit.
Pike’s End is a small-as-hell town. If I don’t tell him now, someone else inadvertently will. I can’t let him be blindsided like that. That was my intention when I suggested coming to The Hammerhead for beers. And now that we’re here, I’m out of reasons to keep him in the dark. He needs to know.
“Yeah, Rose got a week of in-school detention because of her latest stunt. But the vice principal was understanding about her situation.” I swallow. Hard. Setting my bottle on the bar top, I bow my head and drag in a deep breath. Now or never. And never isn’t an option. “Speaking of the vice principal… Jessie, there’s something I—”
“The fuck.”
His harsh whisper has my head jerking up. But he’s not looking at me. His wide gaze is fixed across the room toward the entrance of the bar. My heart thuds in dull, heavy beats, filling my head, echoing in my ears. The bottom of my stomach plummets, and I slowly follow the direction he’s staring, because in my soul, I know who will be standing there.
I know who’s placed that stricken, gutted expression on my friend’s face.
“India?” he rasps.
My eyes briefly close. It isn’t just her name that shivers through me like ghostly, skeletal fingers trailing down my spine. It’shername inhisvoice. That serrated, hollow voice that contains an awful note of wonder… of hope.
As if she heard her name over the Friday night noise of the bar, she glances in our direction. And freezes.
Apologies to her, to Jessie—to God, to fucking everybody—tumble over themselves in my head. I had no idea she would be here tonight, but somehow, I’m flaying myself alive for unintentionally arranging this impromptu reunion.
Tearing my gaze from her, I take in the people gathered around her. The office assistant from the school—I’d recognize the combination of dreads and funky glasses anywhere. Lena. That’s her name. The men on either side of them, though…
A dark, ugly emotion stirs behind my sternum. An emotion I have no right to feel. But that fact doesn’t stop the stain of it from spreading like an oil slick across my chest, up into my throat. Jealously. Anger. An almost feral possessiveness that has me seconds from stalking over there, wrapping my hand around the back of her neck and slamming my mouth down on hers. Grinding my cock against her belly. Fucking rub my scent on her like a goddamn animal.
Jesus.
