Come Again

by Kate, Jiffy

  When I finish my dramatic monologue, I hide my face in the crook of my arm and lean on the counter, feeling CeCe’s eyes on me without even looking up. “Say something,” I finally mutter, afraid to see the judgement on her face. “I’m a salacious floozy who kisses her boss...what?”

  Peeking my head up from its hidey hole, I see a small grin shining back at me, which is not what I was expecting. “He kissed you back?”

  “Uh, well,” I start, stuttering a little at the memory, and then shrug. “He kissed me second.”

  “And then what?”

  I let my eyes dart around the coffee shop, thinking about it all again, for the millionth time. “He started his bike up and drove off.”

  “Hold up,” CeCe says, hands in the air. “Shaw Sexy Ass O’Sullivan, a man with years of experience and a six pack, drove you home on his bike?” She’s now the one leaning against the counter, fanning herself with a menu. “I’m gonna need a minute.”

  “Oh, my God,” I say with a laugh, appreciating the levity. I needed this. To talk it out, air it out. At least I no longer feel like a Coke bottle that’s been shaken up and set on a hot tin roof.

  “So, the kiss?” CeCe encourages. “How was it?”

  “It was...yeah,” I reply with a nod.

  “Come on, Avery!” she cries, swatting at me with the menu she’s still holding. “I need more than that. I’m in a drought here. A serious, middle of the fucking Sahara drought. I need details.”

  I laugh again, shaking my head. After a few moments, I finally say, “Good. No, great. Like, best first kiss of my life. Although, I haven’t kissed many people, but I think even if I had kissed all of New Orleans, his still would’ve won top honors.”

  “Good,” CeCe says dreamily. “That’s good. Now, I’m gonna need you to go have hot motorcycle sex with him and come back and tell me all about it.”

  “God, you’re a whore!” I laugh and CeCe laughs and it just feels good to have a friend again. It’s been too long. In high school, I had a few good girl friends, but after we graduated, most of them got married and are already on their third kid. When I moved to Houston, I lost touch with pretty much everyone except my family. CeCe is a breath of fresh air.

  “Hey,” she says, when I pass her my money and she puts it in the register. “I know you have to be out of your room soon. So, if you don’t have any luck today, you can sleep on my couch until you find something.”

  “Well, that’s the other thing...” I start, pausing. “Shaw offered me the apartment above the bar, if I need it.”

  CeCe nods, twisting her lips as she thinks. “Well, that’s...a possibility.”

  “Yeah,” I reply slowly. “I can’t decide if that would be a good idea or a bad idea.”

  “Well, you’d never be late for work,” she says matter-of-factly, nodding.

  “True, but I’d also be in Shaw’s space. He uses it as a place to work out and get away from things. I’m not sure if me being there would be good...I like him, like really like him, and I don’t want to complicate things or move too fast. I’ve seen the way he throws walls up around himself, like he’s Fort Knox. It feels like he’s finally letting me in a little and letting me see the real Shaw. I don’t want to ruin that.”

  She nods again, watching me thoughtfully. “Well, then, maybe you should stay here, at least until you figure out where your feelings lie for Shaw...and where his lie for you.”

  “I could help you open up in the mornings,” I add. “I know that’s not your favorite, so you could teach me how to get everything up and running.”

  “I couldn’t do that. You work until ungodly hours at the bar. I couldn’t ask you to get up just a few hours after going to bed.”

  “Whatever,” I tell her. “I’m young. I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

  “Well, it would be nice having the help.”

  “And I’ll still pay you, of course,” I add, not wanting her to think I’m trying to get off cheap.

  “No, you save your money so you can get your own place when you find the right one. I’ll take you up on the help.”

  I smile, sticking my hand across the counter for her to shake. “Sounds like a deal.”

  While I stand at the counter and drink a few more sips of my coffee, CeCe goes about her business and starts wiping down the espresso machine. My thoughts drift back to Shaw and I decide to ask CeCe for her opinion about something else that’s been nagging at me.

  “Is it too soon to...” I drift off, trying to find the right words.

  “Too soon for what?” she asks, tucking a towel that resembles the bar towels we use into the apron that’s tied around her waist.

  “Too soon to kiss someone.”

  CeCe cocks an eyebrow and places her hands on her narrow waist. “After Douche Canoe? No. I mean, unless you feel like you’re not ready for a relationship.” Her expression turns more thoughtful as she contemplates the issue. “I know I’ve been encouraging this...whatever it is,” she says, waving her hands around in the air. “But also, I don’t want you to get hurt again. Brant was bad. And I’m sure you might be afraid to jump right into another relationship, but Shaw could be good for you and you could be good for him. I know he seems like an asshole, but I’ve just never gotten a bad vibe from him. If I had, I wouldn’t have been cheering on the sex.”

  I huff out a laugh and take my lid off my cup to get to the delicious froth that’s left in the bottom. “It’s kind of strange,” I admit. “Brant was my first...everything. First real boyfriend who my dad actually let me date. First sex partner...only sex partner,” I mutter. “I mean, there was this one time with Jason Dearmon in Stacey Johnson’s basement, but it was on a dare and I only let him slide into third base, if you catch my drift. I freaked out and he told everyone I was a prude.”

  She laughs lightly and places a hand over mine, forcing me to look at her. “Listen, there are no hard and fast rules about stuff like this. You just gotta do what’s right for you. If you like Shaw and you’re ready to take the risk again, because let’s face it, there’s always a risk when feelings are involved, then go for it.” She squeezes my hand and I give her a small smile.

  After talking a little more with CeCe and feeling lighter, letting out some of my worries and concerns, I spend the rest of the day checking out the potential apartments on my list.

  None of them are a good fit.

  Once again, they’re either too expensive, too far away, or too scary. I did find one place, about ten blocks from the bar. It was basically a studio with the bedroom having a half wall to block it from the rest of the space. Only the bathroom was closed in and it kind of reminded me of Shaw’s apartment. But when I walked back down the stairs a guy in a motorcycle vest left the apartment below me and I noticed a gun sticking out of the back of his pants.

  Abort. Abort.

  I’m sure he could be a very nice guy, but the sketchy feeling I got had me running for the safety of my temporary room. At least the lady I rent it from is nice and she’s always home. And no one walks around toting a gun.

  I laugh at the ridiculousness of it and think what my mama would say if she knew.

  Shaking my head, I run across the street and up the sidewalk leading to Come Again. The night is cool, for New Orleans at least, and everyone is out and about. Even the sidewalk in front of the bar has patrons milling about. A guy opens the door for me when he sees me approaching and I step inside, offering him a smile and a thank you.

  I might be somewhat of a feminist, but I can appreciate chivalry and good ol’ southern manners.

  The place is packed.

  Paulie and Jeremy seem to have their hands full at the bar while Kevin and Charlie are clearing glasses and keeping the place in order. I frown when I see how many people are lined up at the bar, waiting on drinks.

  “You should’ve called me,” I yell at Paulie when I approach the bar, making my way to the end, so I can slip behind it and get to work. “I’ve just been walking around. I would’ve
come in if I’d known it was going to be so busy.”

  “No worries,” Paulie says with an irritated tone. “We’ve been managing.”

  I pause for a second as I wrap the apron around my waist, wondering if his bad mood is directed at me. Examining his face, I’m about to offer him an apology, even though I don’t feel like I owe him one, but then I follow his line of sight.

  In the corner, where he normally sits, is Shaw, but instead of sitting at his usual table or helping Paulie handle the bar, he’s dancing. Shaw is dancing with a woman, a long neck beer in one hand and her in the other. Her lips are on his neck and his hand is in the back pocket of her jeans. When he tips up his beer bottle, his eyes catch on mine and he holds my gaze.

  Pushing me away.

  Breaking my heart.

  Building the walls back.

  Our eyes stay locked as he places his lips on her hair and then her forehead, down to her neck. She wraps her arms around him and he lifts her from the floor, allowing her legs to wrap around his waist. When he carries her down the hall, out of sight, I have to bite down on my lip to keep from saying or doing something I’ll regret. There’s a sting in my eyes from unshed tears, but I blink them away. I can’t. Not here. Not in front of everyone. Not while Paulie’s still watching me.

  Instead, I dig deep within myself, finding the secret place I first realized was there when I was still with Brant. It’s where my hidden strength lies and it allows me to pretend—pretend like everything is fine, pretend like I’m okay, pretend like watching Shaw purposefully hurt me didn’t break my heart and stomp on my budding feelings.

  Barking out a harsh laugh, I turn to the first customer I see and ask, “What can I get you?”

  And to think I thought the worst thing he could do was fire me.

  I guess I underestimated Shaw O’Sullivan.

  Later, when it’s time to go home, my eyes dart to the hallway to see if Shaw will resurface wearing evidence of his sexual escapades with the slut that was wrapped around him earlier.

  I shouldn’t call her a slut. I’m sure she’s a very nice girl, but I can’t help it. I’m pissed. Pissed at myself. Pissed at Shaw. And pissed at her for being in the equation.

  “You ready?” Paulie asks from behind me making me whirl around, feeling like I’ve been caught with my hand in the cookie jar.

  “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m ready,” I tell him, grabbing my backpack and taking one last look over my shoulder.

  “Jeremy,” Paulie calls out, making me jump a little. “Take Avery home. Straight home. And call me when she’s there.”

  Jeremy shows up at my side and eyes Paulie like he’s been drinking. “Sure,” he says, nodding slowly. “Yeah, I can do that.”

  “Okay,” I draw out, still waiting on Shaw to come out of the woodwork and shut this shit down. He never lets Jeremy take me home. Usually, he keeps him busy until I’m out the door, sending him on stupid little errands. Since our night on Bourbon Street, he’s been even worse. I know he doesn’t trust Jeremy, but I do. He’s my friend.

  “Let’s go,” I say, motioning toward the door, my eyes still on Paulie. He winks and gives me a little smile.

  “Good work tonight,” he says, pulling the bar towel off his shoulder and going back to wiping down the table he’s standing next to.

  “Thanks,” Jeremy and I say in unison. If it wasn’t for Paulie, we’d never have any sort of positive reinforcement.

  Walking out of the bar, I wave back at Paulie before letting the door close behind me, my mind still on Shaw and wondering where he’s at and what he’s doing and who he’s doing it with. My active imagination is my worst enemy tonight, filling my head with images of Shaw—naked, thrusting, heaving, grunting. I can’t help it. I keep telling my brain to shut the hell up and try to erase the images, but thanks to my super vivid dreams, I feel like I have a front-row seat.

  And then I feel anger and hurt. After the kiss of a lifetime, he goes and does something shitty like that, obviously using that woman to push me away.

  “You okay?” Jeremy asks as we cross the street and head down the block.

  I shake my head and groan. “Yes, sorry. I’m bad company tonight.”

  “It’s okay,” he says, walking slowly with his hands in his pockets. “Wanna talk about it?”

  No. No, I do not want to talk about it. There’s no way I could tell him how I feel about Shaw and that we kissed last night and then what happened tonight. No, I’ll have to save that for a conversation with CeCe. Man, she’s going to be pissed. I actually feel bad that I’m going to have to tarnish her view of Shaw.

  “Just a long night and I still haven’t found an apartment,” I tell him, opting for a less personal topic.

  “Ah, yeah, I forgot you’re still looking for a place to live.”

  “Yeah, and everything is either too expensive or too far away or too sketchy,” I say with a laugh.

  “A girl like you doesn’t need to be living alone, especially in a city like this.”

  “I can take care of myself.” I feel myself getting edgy over his assumption that I’m weak or vulnerable. “I’m pretty capable.”

  Jeremy stops, pulling my arm so I’ll stop with him. “I know.” His voice is low and his eyes are scanning my face. When he licks his lip and brushes a hand through his hair, I recognize the actions as nervous...anxious. “You’re one of the strongest girls I’ve ever met. I admire you, Avery.”

  It’s those words and that tone that tell me it’s more than a compliment. He’s working up to something more. Just before my heart leaps into my throat, his fingers brush my cheek and he closes the gap between us.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, my words coming out shaky, unsure.

  When his thumb pulls at my bottom lip, I ask again, “Jeremy, what are you doing?”

  “I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time, since the first day we met,” he admits, and I pull back enough, using the light from the overhead streetlamp to really look into his eyes. They look dilated, weird. He swallows and seems to be lost in his thoughts, stuck in his own mind.

  “Jeremy,” I say, a little louder this time, getting his attention. “No.”

  It’s the one word that usually works, so I start with that and take a step back. He follows and I put my hand up, pushing back on his chest. “Just friends, remember?”

  This time, his eyes finally register my dismissal and he shakes his head. “Don’t tell Shaw.”

  Don’t tell Shaw?

  Don’t tell Shaw. Yeah, that would be bad. Now, I’m the one scanning him from head to toe, wondering if I missed something. I want to ask if he’s using, but I don’t want to hurt his feelings.

  But I also don’t want to be a friend who ignores signs.

  I ignored signs of abuse with Brant and I see where that got me. I should’ve left the second he started treating me less than what I deserved. So, I ask, “Are you using?”

  “What?” he asks, his voice rising in volume as he scrunches his face in disbelief.

  “I’m sorry,” I begin, my hands going up to touch his biceps and hold him in place. “It’s just, I know we’ve discussed the fact that we’re only friends and I feel like you’re not acting yourself...” I trail off and the hurt on his face is evident, making me feel horrible.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  “I just like you,” Jeremy mutters. “I’m sorry.”

  “We’re just friends,” I reiterate. “But we are friends.” I force him to look at me and when he gives me a small smile, I breathe a little easier.

  Jeremy nods slowly, biting his bottom lip. “Please don’t tell Shaw,” he repeats as we start walking again.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t.” But, speaking of not accepting less than I deserve, I do have a few things I’d like to say to Shaw O’Sullivan. And now that he’s done the worst, I’m not worried about his response. After tonight, I feel like I can handle anything he throws my way.

  Chapter 14

  Shaw


  I didn’t sleep with Brandy.

  I didn't even want to.

  Never planned on it.

  I took her down the hall and walked her straight out the back door. She was stunned and pissed off, but I didn’t give a shit. She’d served her purpose and I got what I wanted—Avery saw us together. It was a shit thing for me to do. I know that. I own my fucked up behavior, but after last night and the kiss...no, kisses...I didn’t know what else to do.

  Emotionally stunted.

  That’s what Sarah would call me and she’d be right.

  Something happened in my psyche five years ago. The day I lost Liz. I regressed, repressed my emotions, and retreated within myself. And now, I can’t seem to find my way out.

  My feelings for Avery have been building since the first day she walked into my bar and asked for a job. At first, I thought it was pure lust and immediately berated myself for letting my dick respond to a girl her age. However, when she came back and basically called me on my shit and demanded I hire her, something shifted. Sure, I still thought she was the most beautiful, fascinating thing I’ve seen in a long goddamn time, but I also respected the shit out of her for standing up for herself...standing up to me.

  With every passing conversation and every little piece of information I learned about her, I found myself liking her more. Liking her. I haven’t liked someone of the opposite sex in a long damn time.

  I love Sarah.

  I loved my mama.

  I love my sisters-in-law.

  They’re family.

  I loved Liz.

  Still do.

  But every other female in my life, I wouldn’t consider what I feel for them anything resembling admiration. I’ve felt lust for Brandy, but that’s it, nothing more.

  Last night, when Avery took the leap and placed her sweet lips on mine, I lost the grip on the restraint I’ve held onto so tightly since she walked into my life.