Fabricating Jada

  "Did you clean it well enough in the shower?" he asked and moved into my personal space. My bubble. If I'd wanted to I could have wrapped my legs around him and made this a very uncomfortable situation. There was an entire array of first aid supplies on the counter that weren't there before. When he'd brought them in, or dug them out, I had no idea. And if I thought about it too much, I knew my blush would deepen.

  "Yeah. I think so."

  His gaze met mine, searching for something before he gave a slight shake to his head. "Why didn't you go to the doctor to get this looked at if it was getting this bad?"

  Because I'm poor. Because we have no insurance. Because everything I make goes to keeping my dad alive. I wasn't about to tell him any of that.

  "I didn't know it was infected, I just thought it was taking longer to heal than it should." I shrugged and dropped my eyes to stare at my arm, not knowing what else to do. "I've never been burned this bad before."

  He gave me a pointed stare that made me shrink back against the mirror behind me. "You're not a stupid woman, Jada. There has to be more to it than that."

  While he lectured me with that gruff, yet sexy voice, he put on a rubber glove and carefully cleaned the affected area before he rubbed the burn salve all over my angry forearm. I winced and tried to pull my arm away, only making him grip my wrist tighter. Without thinking about what I was doing, I grabbed his wrist and squeezed. "Just breathe. I know this hurts, but if we don't do this—you're going to have to go to the hospital and I promise you they won't be this gentle."

  I forced myself to take a breath and keep breathing while he applied more crap and then a bandage, before he wrapped it with gauze. For a man with so many calluses, I never would have thought he'd have such a gentle touch. Even though he'd handled me the same way the first time.

  "I can't go to the hospital. It's not an option for me and I don't really want to talk about it. So … thank you for doing this."

  When he was finished, he popped the gloves off his hands and pitched them in the trash under my legs. Instead of moving away from me, he moved closer, caging me in with his muscular arms and tapered torso. His mouth was about an inch from mine, our breaths clashing. Who would have thought I'd find myself in a position like this? With the world's most notorious playboy inches from my face, while I was dressed only in a T-shirt and boxer briefs—his to be exact.

  Before I could stop him, before I could think, his lips brushed against mine. His tongue swept across my bottom lip, and I opened my mouth, giving him access and released a shuddered breath.

  "Jesse, are you up here?" a female voice asked as she walked into the bathroom.

  We pulled away from each other as if we'd been caught. Had we been caught? Was he with someone? I had no idea. My cheeks flushed a deep red as Jesse moved to block my body from the woman in the doorway. Holy Crapola! I'd let Jesse Valentine kiss me. I think I kissed him back.

  "What the hell, Jesse?" she yelled, her hands on her hips. I couldn't see who she was or what she looked like. All I could see was the wide expanse of Jesse's back.

  A low growl emanated somewhere in his chest. Yes, he growled at her. If I would have been on the receiving end, I would have run. Heck, I wanted to run, but my path was being blocked by not only one person, but an angry woman who might have every right to be angry and an entire mob of crazy, beer spilling, buttholes downstairs.

  "Why are you even here?" he demanded. Everything about his posture was wrong. It was rigid and protective, not at all sorry or remorseful. What the heck was I caught in the middle of?

  "We need to talk. We threw this party for you and you're not even mingling with the guests. I didn't think you'd run right out and shack up with some ugly skanky-ass bitch the first chance you got. Especially not while you have a party going on."

  I went rigid. What did she just call me? Who the heck was this chick? Jesse gave my thigh a squeeze. Maybe it was his way of knowing I was about to lose my cool. I don't know.

  "I didn't ask for a party. I didn't want this party. You assholes took it upon yourselves to throw it like you own the place. Just because we're family doesn't give you free rein to my shit. And if you insult anyone I'm with like that again, you'll regret it."

  Anyone I'm with. What?

  A voice I clearly recognized as DeAnna's yelled, "Jess!" as she ran into the bathroom. "Jesse, heads up—psycho is—"

  "Just leaving," he finished for her.

  DeAnna narrowed her eyes at Jesse and stormed into the bathroom past the girl I still couldn't see and straight for me. She must have seen my legs dangling behind him or my reflection in the mirror. "Really, Jesse? Are you fucking kidding me?"

  Her forehead creased in disappointment, her eyes full of fury. "I expected so much more from you, Jada." She shook her head and huffed.

  "It's not what it looks like, DeAnna—I swear," I pleaded.

  The look in her eyes said she didn't believe a word I said. Tears filled my eyes, and it took everything I had in me to fight them back. The last thing I wanted was to be reduced to the stereotype everyone already thought I was. And the one person who seemed to be in my corner stared at me with disgust etched on her face, her candy apple lips pulled back into a snarl.

  "It sure in hell was. I walked in on him fucking her on the counter. How are we supposed to change his image if he continues to fuck anything that walks?" The girl I could now clearly see was a typical L.A. over-tanned, frequent plastic surgery visitor who'd seen too much hair bleach in her life.

  My mouth fell open. No such thing had happened. He'd kissed me. We'd kissed. That was it. I wanted to defend myself and my virtue about not being some kind of hoochie, but it would have fallen on deaf ears.

  This was all too much. My fight or flight instincts were kicking into overdrive. I didn't care that I didn't have my clothes on. I didn't care my hair was still wrapped in a towel. It was time to go.

  "Now wait just a damn minute, Alyssa. We are not reshaping his image. I am. This has nothing to do with you. This party should have never happened. It's out of control and if you knew anything about my brother like you claim to—you'd know he hates parties," DeAnna yelled.

  While the argument ensued between the two women and Jesse growled his two cents, I hopped off the counter, tossed the towel from my head onto the floor, grabbed my shoes, and ran for it.

  Jesse called after me, but I wasn't stopping. Pushing past them all, I ran. Down the stairs and through the sea of people. I ran as fast as my short legs would carry me.

  I didn't stop to put my shoes on until I'd walked three blocks. In those three blocks my head was still swimming. In three blocks, I realized I was in a man's T-shirt and boxer briefs. In three blocks, I also realized I'd run out without my wristlet and my phone. I had no way to get home and no way to call for a ride. So I walked.

  By the time I'd made it to a Seven-Eleven, my feet felt like they were going to fall off. I had no idea how far I'd walked or where I was. I tied my wet mop of hair on top of my head with the hair tie that was around my good wrist and went inside with no hope or expectation of a good outcome.

  The gas station was empty, and the clerk was an older woman with graying hair and a slight build. She assessed me with skepticism that quickly turned to pity.

  "Hi." I gave her a quick wave. "Is there any way I could use your phone? Please? I ran out without mine or any money and I need to call for a ride."

  Either I looked as pitiful as I felt or she just felt sorry for me.

  "Sure, doll." As soon as she passed me the phone, I dialed Carter immediately, not wanting to worry my mom.

  "Uh, hello?" she answered on the third ring.

  "Carter, it's me. Don't hang up!" I breathed a sigh of relief she'd picked up.

  "Hooker! Where are you? Why are you calling me from a weird number? Did you hook-up with a sexy random dude?"

  I let out a long sigh and turned away from the cashier even though I knew she could still hear me. "It's a really long story. Look, I don
't have my phone or any money. I would love you forever and owe you always if you could come get me. Please, Carter? I'm stuck and I need you."

  "Where the hell are you?" Her voice switched from a playful tone to laced with concern.

  "I don't even know," I admitted in almost a whimper.

  As I was about to ask the nice woman for the address, she handed me a card with it written down on the back already. I smiled and mouthed, "thank you." She nodded and gave me a sympathetic smile.

  I recited the address to Carter and waited for her to put it in her GPS to see how long it would take her to get to me. "I'll be there in about an hour, okay? Don't leave. Don't go anywhere else. I'm coming."

  I agreed and handed the woman back the phone. "Thank you so much. I don't know what I would have done without your kindness." My cheeks flushed as I took in my state of nakedness.

  "It's no problem. You look like you're having a rough night. I hope it gets better for you."

  "Me too."

  Not only was she kind enough to let me sit inside the small café area in the corner of the twenty-four-hour convenience store to wait for Carter, but she also gave me a free pop from the fountain. When Carter pulled up and rushed inside, we hugged each other like we were never letting go.

  "I'm so glad you're okay. Whose clothes are you wearing?" Carter asked, eyeing me with an arched brow.

  I groaned. "Can we talk about this in the car please?" I cut my eyes to the woman I'd come to know as Mary.

  "Fine, but you're telling me everything."

  I nodded. We both hugged Mary and said thank you for taking such good care of me. I'd have to save the address and send her a card or something. It wasn't a normal occurrence on the West Coast to find such helpful and friendly people. Most told you to screw off and minded their own business.

  "So you're telling me he not only let you take a shower and gave you his clothes to wear, he fixed up your jacked-up arm?" Carter pointed her manicured hand in my face and scoffed, "Which I told you was infected by the way—and then he kissed you? Jesse motherfucking Valentine kissed you?" she squealed.

  "Will you keep it down?" I whisper hissed and ducked my head, even though it was eleven thirty on a Thursday night, and the Denny's we were sitting in was nearly empty. When I'd protested about going anywhere public in my state of undress, Carter tossed a questionably clean pair of track pants at me from her back seat. They were a foot too long so I looked ridiculous with them cuffed fifteen times. Then again it was better than the alternative.

  Her face beamed with an I told you so expression, and it made me want to smack the smug look right off her face. "I don't know why you aren't texting everyone you know about this. This is huge." She lifted her arms in the air into a V. "You could be his next biker bitch."

  I huffed and rolled my eyes. "I don't want to be his next biker whatever, Carter. I don't think he went in with the intentions of kissing me. It was a weird moment and it happened, but it's never going to happen again, okay? I just don't know how I'm supposed to act tomorrow. I mean, I could forget about my clothes, but he has my dang phone and my wallet and those two things I need back." My voice wavered, verging on panic along with my wide eyes searching hers for understanding.

  Being my best friend as long as she had been, Carter knew I needed her to be my rock and not give me a hard time right now. She dropped her head and leaned forward over the table to close the gap between us. "This is what you do. You walk in there tomorrow with your head held high and act like nothing happened. Give him the cold shoulder if he talks to you and if he brings up your stuff tell him you need it back and leave it at that. You kissed, you didn't have sex—but by you needing your clothes and stuff back, that's not how it will look. If he says nothing, you need to talk to his sister and ask her if there's a way you can arrange to get your stuff back discreetly. If she's his PR person, she will want it done that way anyway. I just hope he's not as big of an asshole as they say and will try to claim more happened than actually did."

  I took a sip of my chocolate shake that I couldn't pay for … the one I'd be mooching off of my generous—sometimes good advice giving—BFF, and nodded at what sounded like a good plan. I'd texted my mom from Carter's phone to let her know mine had died, and I was going to stay the night at her place so she wouldn't worry. I hated lying to her, but I was an adult, kind of—and the truth would have been so much worse no matter how old I was. The bottom line was I'd made a crappy choice. I didn't want her to worry when she already had so much on her plate. Too much. One day when I was successful, I wanted to be able to take care of her the way she'd always taken care of me. So if I had to suck it up and pretend nothing happened—even if I still felt the taste of his lips against mine and the careful sweep of his tongue against mine—I'd have to be like everyone else in this godforsaken town and act.

  It was all for nothing. All the worry and stress all night was all for naught. I wasn't sure I'd even fallen asleep. Restless, so very restless. Everything replayed in my mind on a loop, and it took until then for me to realize how clean and meticulous his bathroom was. I hadn't paid much attention to his bedroom other than to notice the bed was made. It wasn't like I was exactly Captain Obvious. The more I laid there and thought about it, the more I realized his bathroom was something I would have chosen myself. Slate gray, light gray, and cream were the color scheme, and everything was so organized. Each drawer I'd pulled open was neat and not the free-for-alls that were Carter's and my mom's bathroom drawers. In a lot of ways, they mirrored how I kept my own things. Even in my toolbox, everything had its place, and it made me wonder if that's how he kept his toolbox too.

  The bus announced my stop, shaking me from my dangerous thoughts. I needed to keep myself from going there. It was one kiss—that I needed to pretend hadn't happened. He wasn't going to be interested in someone like me for real, and I needed to remind myself of that or the only person who was going to be hurt was me. I'd lose my spot in the class, and my heart would be shattered. Jesse Valentine wasn't the kind of guy you gave your heart to. Ask every girl in the Los Angeles and Long Beach area. I'm sure they could tell you.

  We'd all been assigned lockers the week before and even though I was there an hour before class, I wasn't surprised to find the shop open and the sounds of machinery at work already. I went into the locker room to drop off my back pack, and then I was going to go talk to DeAnna before everyone else got there. I'd come back and pick up my tools before class. That was the plan, but it was unnecessary. When I opened my locker, all my stuff was folded into a neat pile with my wristlet and phone sitting on top of it all.

  Whipping around, I looked around the empty locker room and wondered who'd put it in there. DeAnna or Jesse? But if I was supposed to act like it all never happened, then I guess I couldn't ask, could I? Then again, I was the master at avoiding things. At Auto Depot, they treated me like garbage. Calling me all ass and no brains. Which was stupid because my butt was small. Or they’d say I was nothing but a pretty face—let one of the boys who knows what he’s talking about help me. The sad thing was I knew more than all those buffoons I worked with put together, and yet no one trusted my knowledge. And I let them do it for fear of losing my job. A job I desperately needed and the closest one I could find in the field I wanted to be in. So I kept quiet. This would be no different.

  Miguel came into the locker room wearing a devilish smile that reached his dark eyes, making them sparkle. "Morning, Valley Girl. What are you doing here so early? Couldn't wait to see me, could you?"

  My lips quirked up. "Yep. I couldn't go another moment without gazing at your pretty face."

  "I knew it. I knew you loved me." He shot me a wink and walked over to the sink to wash his filthy hands.

  "How could I not?" I said with a laugh as the door flew open and Jesse stormed in.

  "Miguel, have you seen the—" He stopped short when he saw Miguel and I smiling at each other. His frown deepened. Those honey colored eyes looked like they were full of warrin
g emotions he shut down quickly before he turned his back to me, solely focusing on Miguel.

  "Seen what, boss man?" Miguel was either oblivious to the tension in the air—or he was just used to Jesse.

  "Have you seen the paperwork for the McMillan bike? I had it on my desk last night and Dee said she hasn't seen it."

  Miguel pulled the towel roll down with a thunk and dried his hands while I whipped around to busy myself at my locker. Not listening to their conversation, I turned my phone on, thinking it had to be dead or close to it, but it wasn't. It powered on and showed one hundred percent battery life. When I'd left to go to the party I'd only had forty-six percent left. Someone had charged my phone. "What the heck?" I whisper hissed and glanced over my shoulder at Jesse who was staring right at me.

  Our eyes locked in a heated stare down; my head was filled with nothing but confusion. He answered Miguel but continued to look at me.

  "Hey, Valley Girl, since you're here early why don't you come help me until class starts?" Miguel suggested, breaking the spell I was under.

  I dropped my eyes to the floor quickly and cut my gaze to Miguel who was retying his boot. He really was oblivious to everything. "Sure."

  Jesse grunted and left without saying another word. The door slammed shut behind him.

  "Don't worry about grumpy ass, you'll get used to him. Although he's been moodier than usual lately, but it's not you … don't worry. Let's go."

  I wouldn't be so sure, I thought as I followed him to his section of the shop.