Fabricating Jada

  I gave him a quick nod, even though I had no intention of going to the ER, period. After he rang me out and gave me instructions, I went back to Carter's to tend to my burnt arm and bruised ego.

  Who had a party on a Thursday night? Jesse. Of course he would. Never in a million years would I have thought I'd have gotten an invitation to any of his parties, not that he walked up to me directly and said, "Hey, Jada, do you want to come to my party?" It was more of him walking into the shop, with his permanent scowl etched on his face, followed by a grunt and "There's a party at my place tonight. Be there—DeAnna will give you the details." Then he walked out of the room. Of course he lived in Anaheim, and of course the party wouldn't start until nine. That was hours on the bus to go home to shower and change, hours to get to the party, and then hours home. It wasn't worth it. I wasn't the party kind of person.

  "Stop it, Jada. You're not talking yourself out of this. You have to go! Do you understand what this could do for your life? For your very lonely vagina?" Carter waved her arms in typical overdramatic Carter fashion. She'd driven down to Anaheim to see me for my lunch break, and I couldn't have been happier to see her, on today of all days. The morning hadn't been as rough as the day before, but my arm still throbbed and the crap I bought at the pharmacy didn't seem to be doing much of anything. Miguel helped me as much as possible after asking me a million times if I felt okay.

  I gave her a you're crazy look and she shot me an I don't care look right back at me.

  "I'd be spending more time on the bus than I would at the party anyway. Besides it's Thursday. Who has a party on a weekday? I still have to get up early and be in class on time tomorrow."

  She stared at me, wide mouthed and shook her beautiful blonde head ever so slightly. "I don't understand you. Rich people party, Jada. Famous people party. Jesse—is a famous, rich person. I don't think he gives a shit it is only Thursday. You have to go to this. You have to. Don't you think he would be offended if you don't show up?" She narrowed those emerald green eyes at me for a pointed look.

  Gah. I hated when she made valid points during her rants of nonsense. I wasn't about to admit any of it to her, though.

  "He probably wouldn't even notice, plus he already hates me and thinks I'm as incompetent as they come. So, I don't need another strike against me. I think I already have two." I sighed and dropped my head into my hands.

  Carter bounced in her chair and clapped. "You're going." It was more of a statement than a question.

  I groaned. "What do I even wear to something like this?"

  Tapping her French-tipped finger to her plump bottom lip, she hummed. "Well, these are your kind of people right? The greaser, rockabilly, car—no fashion sense—type?"

  I nodded, staring at the crack in the table, and absentmindedly thinking of all of the guys in the class with me, the guys in the shop. Miguel, DeAnna—Jesse. "Yeah."

  Her lame attempt to hide her snort failed miserably as she burst into a fit of giggles.

  "What's so funny, jerk-face?" I snapped.

  "Your normal clothes should be fine, but I would cover that up if I were you." She gestured to my still bandaged arm. It wasn't healing as fast as I would have liked. It hadn't even started to scab yet. Worst wound—ever.

  My lips pursed together. "You do realize we live in California right? It's hot here." My tone dripped with sarcasm.

  "Like, Oh my God? We do? It is? I hadn't noticed?" Her hand shot above her eyebrows, like makeshift binoculars, as she pretended to look around.

  One thing I envied was Carter's ability to have a comeback immediately. Mine were usually delayed. Unless I was dealing with Jesse. He just made the snark flow out of me with ease.

  Carter snapped her fingers in front of my face. "Earth to Jada. Seriously, chica. You need to wear something cute, but I would cover your arm. Otherwise you're going to have a million people asking you what happened and it will get old after the second time. Trust me."

  I did trust her. She had way more life experience than I did. In all areas of life.

  "Fine."

  She drove me back to the shop, honked and waved as she drove off, her parting words were still bouncing around in my mind. "I'm not going to tell you not to do anything I wouldn't do because we both know that wouldn't be much … So, do everything I would do!"

  I'd try to have fun. It was all I could promise.

  My choices were limited on what I could wear to begin with. Long sleeves cut that down even further. I went with a red bralette instead of my typical tank and a soft, light gray long-sleeve henley and jean shorts. Long sleeves and short shorts … yeah, well it looked cute. The fact I'd gotten my mousy brown hair to actually cooperate with me and curl the way I wanted it to was a small miracle in and of itself. The look was complete with my signature rockabilly bandana tied like a headband. Red headband to match the red bralette peeking out on my exposed shoulder and where the buttons were undone. My makeup was on point. Believe it or not, I looked hot. My phone vibrated with an incoming text.

  Carter: Send me a picture for approval, hooker.

  I laughed and took a picture of myself in my dresser mirror. Selfies were seriously the dumbest things in the world. I hated them, but this one served an actual purpose and there were no duck lips involved—so it seemed okay. She responded immediately.

  Carter: DAMN CHICA! GET IT GUURL! YOUR VAJAYJAY WON’T BE LONELY TONIGHT! :)

  Me: Something is seriously wrong with you. I think you were dropped on your head as a child.

  Carter: Probably. But you look smoking! Good job. I'm so proud. Tear.

  On the bus ride there, I'd gotten more attention than I was comfortable with. Which was any. It was easier to slip my headphones on and ignore the catcalls and get lost to Hot Rod Magazine. Two hours and thirteen minutes later, I walked up to the front of Jesse's estate. You couldn't call it a house. Houses were a place where a family lived. This place could have housed five families. Did people knock in situations like this? Or just go in? I wasn't sure what the etiquette was. As I contemplated what to do on my walk up the drive, two people before me just walked inside. Following their lead, I decided to do the same.

  The house was packed. Music blared from speakers recessed into the walls. The only part of the interior I could appreciate were the neutral tones and crown molding. There were too many bodies to take in anything else. Like shoving my way through a mosh pit, I inched my way toward the center of the house, hoping for a reprieve from people.

  It was too much. All of it. There was no way I was going to stay long. If there was any way possible to even find someone from class I'd say hey, so I had an alibi that I'd attended and then it'd be time to escape this hell. How anyone could enjoy this kind of thing, I'd never understand.

  I was wedged into a wall of people.

  "Excuse me," I said loudly and tried to shove my way through, only to make it an inch or two when something cold and wet covered me.

  A splash followed, hitting the ground, and some butthole to my left laughed. "Oh, shit. My bad."

  Butthole to his right smacked him. "Dude, that's alcohol abuse."

  They high-fived and screamed at one another over who spilled whose beer. No one seemed to give a crap that I was now covered in booze. Not only was my hair wet, my shirt was soaked and clung to my body like a second skin. It wasn't until my forearm felt like it was on fire that I pushed through everyone with force. Stairs were up ahead, and I knew there would be bathrooms somewhere.

  A black velvet rope hung from the wall and stretched to the railing. On the bottom was a sign that said "NO ONE ALLOWED UPSTAIRS."

  Who the hell has a black velvet rope in their house?

  I stepped on the third step from the bottom to gain higher ground and looked over the sea of jerks to try to find which direction the bathroom was when dread settled into the pit of my stomach. There was a huge line outside of the door in the hall, and the burning sensation on my arm grew more intense by the moment.

  "Screw th
is," I muttered and ran up the stairs before anyone could see me. All the doors in the hall were closed except the double doors at the end which clearly went to a master suite.

  Bingo. Master bedroom meant master bathroom. And hopefully master bathroom meant first aid kit.

  It felt wrong. Let's get that straight. I wasn't raised to go through other people's things, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and at the moment it was the most desperate I'd felt in a long time. Carefully peeling my beer and some sort of liquor-stained shirt off, I winced and pulled the left sleeve off slowly. Son of a gun.

  Turning the water on in one of the double sinks, I soaked my shirt and squirted some hand soap in with it, washing it quickly to let it soak some more. If Carter were to call and ask what I was doing, and I told her washing my shirt in a bathroom sink, she'd have laughed and said she expected nothing less. I should have known this wasn't going to be my scene, and the disappointment I felt for how it had gone in the first five minutes was unsettling.

  My arm throbbed. If I was honest with myself, I was scared to see what my burn looked like and that's why I'd procrastinated looking at my arm even though it stung like a freaking wasp as I stuck it under the faucet. I bit down on my lower lip and groaned. It was swollen and it wasn't just pink; it was red. And angry.

  Dang it.

  There were drawers everywhere. Common sense would say there had to be some kind of Neosporin or something somewhere. And gauze. I must find gauze. I dug through each drawer, trying not to disturb too much.

  A gravelly voice spoke from the doorway behind me. I knew who it belonged to even before I whipped around to stare at him. "If you're looking for drugs—you're not going to find any. And if this was your attempt at setting a honey trap … well …" His eyes traveled the length of me and back up, making me realize I was standing in his bathroom in only a bra and shorts.

  Immediately my hands wrapped around my torso, trying to cover I'm not sure what. Let's be real—I looked like a teenage boy in a bralette. Nothing about me said sexy or seductive. Curves? They were nonexistent. "I wasn't looking for drugs." There weren't many ways the situation could have looked from the outside. A stranger clearly where they shouldn't be, going through your drawers—half naked. I'm sure stranger things had happened in his life, but they hadn't in mine.

  "Then what are you doing up here rooting around in my drawers for? And why are you half naked if you aren't high?"

  The permanent frown he wore deepened, his honey colored eyes narrowed as if he was waiting to catch me in a lie.

  I wasn't sure what upset me more—the fact he thought I was the kind of person who would steal from him or someone who did drugs. I thought he'd know I wouldn't do either. It wasn't in my character, and that's exactly what he was questioning. My nostrils flared as I propped my hands on my hips. "I've never done drugs in my life and I certainly wasn't searching for them. There was an incident downstairs and I needed to take care of it. And I don't even know what a honey trap is."

  He arched a brow, unimpressed with my explanation. A skeptical expression was written all over his face. "What incident?" Leaning against the open doorless framed entryway, with his hands shoved in his pockets, I couldn't help but stare at the bulge in his biceps before finding his eyes.

  I huffed and winced, my annoyance growing along with my pain intolerance. "Two guys spilled their drinks on me right after I got here. I was soaked. Which wouldn't have mattered but my arm feels like it's on fire. I was just trying to find some Neosporin and a clean bandage or something I could use until I got home." I could feel the tears prickling in the back of my eyes and refused to give into them. Of all the people on this planet Jesse was not one of the people I wanted to see me cry.

  He didn't say anything. Those intense eyes wandered over me, scrutinizing, assessing, or maybe he was just staring at me like the crazy half-naked girl I was, standing in the middle of his bathroom on the verge of a breakdown.

  Annoyed and upset, I shook my head slightly. Annoyed with myself for being this upset over spilled beer, I turned my back to him. I hit the release on the sink and wrung my shirt out. Everything about this situation made me uncomfortable, and I wanted to go home. This would be the last party I went to.

  My shirt was too wet to put on. I don't know that I could have if I tried. So I held it up in front of me, kept my eyes on the marble tile, and marched to the door. His arm shot out in front of me to the other side of the wall, blocking my path.

  "Give me your clothes." His gravelly voice made it a demand.

  Everything in me went rigid as I met his gaze. "What?"

  "Give me your clothes," he repeated and pulled on the shirt I was using as a shield.

  "No."

  Before I could pull away he gripped the wrist of my bad arm and yanked it toward him. "Jesus, Jada. How long has it looked like this?"

  I half-struggled and followed his gaze to the angry beast that lived on my arm. My attempt at nonchalance was thwarted by his penetrating stare.

  "I'm going to go get some salve I have downstairs. Strip out of those nasty clothes and just take a shower. You reek."

  Glowering at him, I was pretty sure I was also snarling. "I only reek because of your stupid friends."

  "They aren't my friends," he deadpanned.

  "Whatever. I'm not taking a shower here. I'm going home." I took a step forward and so did he, until we were chest to chest.

  He dropped his face to mine, only inches away. "Jada. Get in my shower so I can throw your clothes in the washer. I'll give you something to wear until they're done and then I'm going to dress your arm because it looks like it's infected." There was no room left for argument. His tone was gruff, and the look he was giving me made me shiver a little. I really didn't want to stay in beer-stained clothes, and my nostrils burned from the alcohol smell. The part that worried me the most was my arm, even if I didn't want to admit it to him, let alone myself.

  I dipped my head in a nod and headed to his shower. Without another word, Jesse disappeared from the doorway.

  The water beat down on me in a massaging rhythm, and I melted into it. I may have even groaned a little. Our shower barely had enough water pressure to get you wet, forget about having enough hot water to last the duration of rinsing your hair. It wasn't until I went searching for shampoo that I'd bother to do any detective work. With a reputation like Jesse's I assumed there would be some kind of girly shampoo or body wash in here, but there wasn't. He had an expensive coconut shampoo and conditioner which made me snicker. He so didn't look like a coconut kind of guy, but his body wash was all man. It was woodsy and male, and I had zero qualms about soaping myself up with it.

  When I finished rinsing off, the pain in my arm had dulled a bit. Not enough to stop worrying about it, but I'd definitely cleaned the alcohol out of it. It dawned on me a little too late that I was showering in a shower full of glass. Not that shattered looking glass crap all the houses from the seventies had, but pristine laser cut glass. See-through. Was there enough steam that he couldn't see me? Had he come back in? My breathing became shallow as I attempted to peek out the glass and glance around the bathroom. I couldn't see anything. Maybe he couldn't see me.

  I stuck my head out the door, and my folded pile of wet clothes was missing. In their place was a plush gray towel, a white T-shirt, and a pair of boxer briefs. His boxer briefs. That meant he'd seen me. Oh. Crap.

  When I was in junior high I was embarrassed that everyone else had developed and I hadn't. Gym class meant the pool. And that meant getting stark, butt naked in front of everyone else. The girls who had boobs strutted around like peacocks showing off what Mother Nature blessed them with. Like Carter. That girl walked around naked all the time. Then again if I had her build I probably would, too. Okay, maybe not … but it sounded good. During that time of complete insecurity in my life, I learned the towel trick. How to get dressed and undressed while wearing a towel and showing nothing. That was exactly what I did. I snatched the towel
, wrapped it around myself tightly, and got dressed over it. Once I was finished I wrapped my hair with the towel to help it dry. Asking him to use a comb was probably pushing my luck too far.

  "Can I come in?" he asked from the doorway, our eyes meeting in the reflection of the mirror.

  I took that moment to drink him in. To really look at the man I usually held so much contempt and confusion for. His pouty mouth was pulled down at the corners. Thoughtful. Those honey-colored eyes of mystery almost seemed to look vulnerable. Almost. His five o'clock shadow gave him such a ruggedly handsome look, but his features weren't as hard as I thought the first time I'd scrutinized him.

  "It's your bathroom. I'm the intruder, remember?"

  "That you are," he agreed roughly and pushed off the open doorway, strolling over to the counter closest to where I was.

  I wanted to say something snarky in return, but not only had I walked right into that one … it was also true.

  He inclined his head slightly to the side, indicating I should move. "Hop up on the counter and rest your arm on your thigh."

  "You're so bossy." I couldn't help it. It came out before I had a chance to stop it. There was something about Jesse that made the word vomit just happen. Insta-snark.

  "And you're a pain in my ass … just do what I say so we can get this over with."

  So we can get this over with. Seven words shouldn't have taken the wind out of my sails as much as they did. He was showing me a tender side of him, like he had the day I was burned, and there I went reading way too much into it than I should have.

  There would be no hopping on the counter. I may not have much in the way of boobs, but it wasn't lost on me that he'd given me a white shirt and I was no longer wearing a bra. Or panties. I was draped in an XL white rat-fink shirt of Jesse's. It was clear the shirt was worn a lot from the softness of the cotton to the fade of the character on the back. It hung just low enough I wouldn't show cheek if I stood like a statue. Thankfully he'd also given me his boxer briefs or it would have been super awkward. I wished I would have stashed my panties somewhere instead of having him wash them along with everything else I had on. My cheeks flushed pink thinking about it. I slid onto the counter near him, hyper aware of our proximity to each other. My nipples pebbled on their own accord. The traitors. I prayed he wouldn't notice, because he wasn't the type to notice and not make a crude comment about it.