Page 20 of Jessie's Girl
What the hell is wrong with me? She’s. Not. Mine.
She can never be mine.
And all I need to do is glance at the man next to me, take in his stunned, shattered face, and be reminded why.
“What the fuck? India?” Jessie repeats, rising from his stool.
I clap my hand on his shoulder, exerting enough pressure to still him. His head whips toward me, his eyes narrowed. As if he’s restraining the need to tear away from me and charge across the room to his ex-girlfriend.
“Jessie, wait,” I say, keeping my voice low, hopefully calm.
“Are you ser—?” His eyes flare wide, then narrow again. “You knew,” he growls. “You knew she was here, and you didn’t say one goddamn word. How long?” he demands. “How long have you been lying to me?”
Heaving a sigh, I risk releasing him, and thrust my fingers through my hair, gripping the strands tight until tiny spikes of pain punish my scalp.
“I meant to tell you, Jess,” I say. “I’ve been trying to for a week now.”
“Trying?” he snaps, lowering back to the stool and leaning into my space. His dark brows arrow down over eyes glittering with anger. “What the fuck does that mean? What’s so hard about saying,Hey, Jess. India’s back. Thought you should know.”
“Because it’s her. Because it’s India. That’s why it was hard.”
He stares at me for several long seconds. Even though the bar rings with chatter, laughter, and the rock music over the PA system, the silence between us blares, deafening me. Slowly, the fury ebbs then drains from his gaze and expression. A profound sorrow, so deep it’s hard to look at, etches his face.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Yeah, I get it.” Turning from me, he snatches up his beer and downs about half of it before smacking it back down. “Talk,” he orders, still not meeting my gaze.
“She’s Rose’s vice principal. She came back here at the beginning of the school year, but I didn’t find out until I went up to the school for the meeting last Friday,” I explain.
“Has she talked to you at all?” he grates out, eyes still trained on the scarred bar top. His fingers clasp the half-full bottle as if it’s a lifeline.
I hesitate, and that slick, grimy coat thickens. Because I’m going to lie. Even if it’s by omission, I’m going to lie to my best friend. But there’s no way in hell I can tell him about Wednesday night or the kiss afterward.
“She has a little. Like where she’s been the past two years. She went to Seattle and finished up her degree there. When the assistant principal position came open here, she accepted.”
“That’s it?” He clears his throat. “She didn’t ask…”
He trails off, but he doesn’t need to finish his sentence, I already know how it ends.
“No,” I say, voice low. “She didn’t ask about you.”
A muscle jumps along his tightly clenched jaw. “Right,” he mutters. His fingers drum on the bar top. And I stare at him, body tense. Ready to… what? Grab him if he heads over there toward India? Follow him to protect her from him? Protect him from himself.Dammit. I just don’t fucking know.
Unbidden, my attention shifts from him, and I scan the room, locating India and her group at a middle table. I have a perfect view of her profile—and of the asshole sitting on the other side of her with his arm slung around the back of her chair, his hand resting on her upper arm.
Who is he? How long has she been dating him? And how could she let me fuck her mouth just two days ago when she’s been seeing this guy?
And I have no right to ask these questions. No right to the answers. And that I’m even wondering them with Jessie sitting right beside me drags me down to a whole lower level of bastard.
Disgusted with myself, I start to turn back to my beer, but at that moment, India glances at me. And God help me, but I can’t look away. Not when her mouth firms into a hard line. Not when she pushes back from the table and rises.
Not when she winds her way through tables and customers and approaches us.
And not when she stands beside me, her scent a gentle tease under the smells of yeasty beer, grilling burgers, and fried bar food and fresh oak from the “game” room the twins had constructed a couple of weeks ago. Yeah, how pathetic does it make me that I can still identify her skin-warmed, addictive fragrance?
Pretty fucking pathetic.
“Asa,” she greets me in a tight voice that practically vibrates with tension. At the sound, Jessie’s head jerks up, and he whips around on the stool, facing her. His chest rises and falls on fast, silent breaths as he stares at her. “Jessie,” she says in that same taut tone.
“Hello, India,” he murmurs, and that same visceral reaction that surged within me at the sight of her with another man roars back to life.
