by Lizzie Fox
Shit that was the last thing I needed; another damn erection right before the guys came over. Think of gross things, Seth…rotting garbage… uh…oh hell I’ve got nothing…
Jessie didn’t notice my internal torture; she was still tabulating the food situation. “There should be enough for everyone, though I worry if they bring the kids…” she frowned, tapping at her cheek thoughtfully with her finger, and she began to turn back to the fridge that was now nearly overflowing with food. Earlier that morning, after our “romp” and another two-hour nap and we’d woken, Jessie insisted on grocery shopping, and I was baffled why she had bought so much food but now, knowing that she was cooking for everyone in the band, their spouses and their kids—and me—it made sense. She was less than divulging as I dutifully followed her around the local supermarket.
Just that in and of itself—shopping. It was so… normal. The sort of normal, boring activities with someone I craved that I didn’t realize I did over the past couple years I was alone. She was shocked when I offered to go with—apparently that’s something her ex never did—but didn’t protest when I helped her with everything. She was bossy and confident in exactly what she wanted and I’d be lying if that wasn’t a total turn on.
And so was this lasagna baking in the damned oven.
I set my hands on her waist and spun her around until she faced me. Crooking her chin upward with my finger, I smiled wryly at her. “Jessie. None of this was necessary. When we asked to use your garage—”
“—ah-ah, I offered, remember?” She interjected.
Grinning, I shook my head. “Okay whatever. When you offered up your home to us we certainly didn’t mean you had to like, plan a party. This is just… too much.”
She scoffed, shoving me squarely in the chest and pushing me aside, but my grip was steadfast on her hips. “It’s no big deal. See, I actually like cooking when people aren’t assholes. It’s fun. So no big deal, okay?” Jessie poked me squarely in the chest. I was shirtless, having spilled my coffee an hour ago not-so-graciously all over it, and she brushed her fingertip down the center. I shivered gently, grasping it in my hand and bringing it to my lips, kissing it gently.
“Fine. But you don’t have to do this every time. We’re perfectly happy to go out afterward, or not at all. Hell I see these guys enough,” I said, with a laugh.
She frowned. “Oh I didn’t think of that. Maybe this will look too domestic. I don’t know where you are at with—”
I released her finger and pressed one of mine to her glossy lips, effectively hushing her. “—Jessie as far as I am concerned, the second I saw you at the Lagoona I was yours; you just didn’t know it yet. So, don’t go there.”
She blanched, but a slow smile spread over her mouth. “Come on.”
“I’m serious!” I insisted. I enveloped her in my arms, and she leaned her cheek against the bare skin of my chest. “This is why I am not good at relationships. I’m blunt and I move too fast. It just never made any sense to me. Why dick around when you know what you want?”
She chuckled lightly. “You’re preaching to the choir here. Blake and I were officially an item before midnight that night and got married before school even finished. Was it foolish? Probably. But I wouldn’t change it for anything, except for…” she trailed off. She didn’t need to say the obvious. “But…” she sighed sadly, “since it did happen at least I was his wife when he died. So at least the world knew I was somebody to him.”
I nodded slowly in understanding. The knowledge of her being with Blake made me less… uncomfortable than it used to. “Maybe it’s an artist thing. Quin and Christi were married within weeks. And even though Shane and Anthony waited a while, they met and moved in together almost instantly. Seems really, really impetuous, but…”
“No, I get it,” Jessie insisted, looking thoughtful. “Like, what if we always went with our instincts? Our very first instincts, not what society tells us, or friends, or family. Like, knowing who you love or who you should leave. How many times do we second guess ourselves? Maybe if we didn’t we’d all be better off in the end.”
Smiling slowly, I leaned over and brushed my lips over hers. “That is insanely deep, Jess. But I think you’re right.” Her gaze held mine in a brief moment of extreme intensity, before a doorbell chimed and brought us out of our reverie.
“Go get it,” she said, with a smirk, and turned back to the fridge. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Got it.” I grabbed the white t-shirt I had draped over the back of the sofa, quickly slipped it over my head, cringing briefly when I got it caught on the bar through my eyebrow—ouch—and answered the door.
“Interrupting something, are we?” Quin asked as I flung the door open, while I smoothed my hair out from its rumpled state.
I glared at him but didn’t have time to comment, as his wife, Christi—long blonde hair, tattoos over her arms, wearing a tank and shorts pushed past him and me and burst into the house, clutching her enormously large stomach and looking like she was going to cry.
“Bathroom!” She shouted in a panic. Jessie swiveled around from the kitchen and pointed across the house to a door.
“Right there!” She said, not skipping a beat, and Christi waved quickly before shuffling uncomfortably to the bathroom.
“She just went before we left too,” Quin said, shaking his head. I motioned into the house and he entered; Ian and Sabrina weren’t far behind, walking up the sidewalk.
“Holy crap what smells so good in here?” Ian immediately asked upon entering.
“Lasagna, I guess. Apparently Jessie feels like she needs to feed you while you’re here,” I said, with a shrug. Jessie was in the kitchen, head in the fridge again. I couldn’t help but gaze at her in admiration.
“Well shit, if she’s going to do that we should just move practice here permanently!” Ian kidded—but not sounding very kidding. “Are you going to introduce us, you asshole?”
“Right.” Jessie tossed something aside and joined us in the great room. “Jessalie, this is Quin, Ian, and Sabrina. Christi was the one that just tore off to the bathroom.”
Jessie nodded at each one of them in turn. It wasn’t shy, but polite. “Good to meet you. Hopefully this place will work for you while your other venue is fixed.”
Quin snorted, glancing around. “I’m pretty sure this will be fine. That garage I’m pretty sure is bigger than my house.”
She shrugged, grinning. “Well there’s no A/C but I have fans in there; it should be okay for now.”
Ian waved her off. “It’ll be fine.” He glanced at Quin. “Should we get set up?”
“Everything is unlocked, help yourselves,” Jessie said, motioning outside. Christi emerged from the bathroom, looking relieved.
“Fuck, I’m pretty sure this baby is trying to kill me,” she grumbled.
“Of course it is, it’s Quin’s isn’t it?” I quipped, and Quin slugged me good-naturedly in the arm.
“It might not be, the pool boy was in town…” Christi said, with a grin. “You must be Jessie. We’ve heard a lot about you.”
I slapped my forehead, dreading what she was going to say next. “Oh shit don’t embarrass me you guys…” I dared to peek through my fingers at Jessie who smiled widely. She was beautiful in cropped jeans, rolled at the ankles, a pair of flip flops or whatever the hell they were called, and a black ruffled tank. Her ink was exposed and she kept her makeup simple—except for black eyeliner and glossy pink lips—and her golden brown hair tumbled over her shoulders. I felt a nudge in my side.
“Should we leave you alone so you can stop eye-fucking and get to actual fucking?” Ian retorted into my ear.
“Just get out to the garage, dickhead.” With a playful shove out the door, he cackled loudly.
“Jessie, could I trouble you for—” Christi began, but Jessie already anticipated.
“Help yourself to anything in the fridge. I mean it. If you don’t, he’ll devour it all before you even get a chan
ce,” she said, lips pursed gently as she snarked.
“Oh… she knows you too well already.” Christi laughed, as she walked slowly towards the fridge. Jessie began to walk after her, but I grabbed her hand, and pulled her into me.
“What?” she asked, giving me a strange look.
I drew my fingers over her cheek and bent slightly to kiss her forehead. When I stood upright, she blushed brightly.
“What’s that for?”
I shrugged. “Just… thank you.” Beaming widely up at me, her arms skirted around my waist and she slid her hands into the back pockets of my jeans. She didn’t speak, but the starry-eyed sparkle in her eyes said it all. Like I was the greatest thing in the world.
At that moment, I truly felt like I was.
24
Jessalie
As it turned out, the garage was a perfect place for Seth’s band to practice. I hadn’t spent a lot of time in there obviously beyond pulling in my car once or twice, but it wasn’t unpleasant at all. With all the windows opened, the breeze blowing in off of the lake, and about four large fans, the seventy-five-degree spring weather was transformed to at least ten degrees cooler.
It was large enough to fit about three full sized cars, concrete floor and columns. Left behind from the previous owners was another older sofa that seemed to be in decent condition, and a handful of armchairs. Between those and the folding chairs I had, there was more than enough room for everyone, and the band had ample space for all their equipment and themselves, of course.
I’d been up and down a handful of times, checking on the last amount of baking time on the food. A deep-freeze was also left behind, and it worked well still even if it was a bit old. I’d filled it with pop and various alcoholic beverages like beer and coolers. Everyone seemed strangely impressed, which floored me.
I supposed that after dealing with Adam’s dinner parties, I was just used to it. Making sure everyone was fed, happy, and comfortable was just second-nature to me now. While Adam used to give me shit for doing everything wrong, Seth’s band was very kind and appreciative.
Then there was Seth. Dead sexy with his white guitar strapped around his neck, plugged into a nearby amplifier and singing his low, velvet yet rough and husky voice to all their rock songs and power ballads. He was even more impressive than the first time I saw him in Minneapolis; he had more confidence and the songs were their own. It was very strange, because I felt like I belonged. I didn’t feel out of place, or outcasted. Conversation between Sabrina, Christi and I was a little strained, but Shane was open and cheery from the get-go. He officially declared me his “new best friend” and decided we were going out sometime soon to go shopping for Seth because Shane couldn’t stand his fashion sense. Seth flicked him off with a grin.
The band was starting their third song, a power ballad that Seth said was called “Second Sunday”. Apparently I was grinning to myself watching him, especially when his gaze kept tracking over to me, staring at me with those insanely sexy, super sultry honey eyes, because Shane caught me. He sat beside me on the sofa; Christi was up and down here and there, and Sabrina was in an armchair, nursing a beer.
“Oh sweetie, you’ve got it bad, don’t you?” Shane questioned me, leaning over my shoulder into my ear. I turned, and blushed at him.
“What do you mean?” I asked innocently.
“I’ve been talking to you for the past two minutes, and you haven’t heard a word I’ve said.” Shane’s blue-eyed gaze was smug. I bit my lip, glancing away from him and back at my boyfriend. Seth was singing directly to me, his fingers working a particularly tough looking guitar riff, and I blushed even harder. His teeth raked over that piercing just once before he began the second stanza, and my heart flopped in my chest.
“What was that?” I asked Shane, and he smiled playfully, slapping my thigh gently. I groaned, covering my face with my palms. “Sorry, I guess I am spacing out a bit.”
“Oh don’t worry. All anyone wants is to see Seth happy. We’re not going to try to do anything to scare you away. He’s intense but he’s a really, really good guy. Once you get over the fact that he’s ugly as fuck,” Shane said, with a dirty smirk that indicated he didn’t believe that for one second.
I elbowed him. “Yeah, right.” Shane shrugged while smirking.
“Yeah he’s a hottie and everyone knows it but him,” he said, more seriously this time. “I know you’re probably worried about the…” Shane’s eyes widened, and he sort of coughed gently, as if not wanting to say the obvious: mental issues. “But he tries so hard to keep them in line; he doesn’t want to end up like his family. That much I know.”
Sighing, I nodded. “Yeah, I get that. It is scary.”
“Look,” Shane said, leaning in closer so he could speak quieter over the loud riffs of the band’s music. All the while my eyes remained basically glued on the black-haired singer whose smile lit up the entire room. Seth smiled at me before turning back to his guitar; it was a fairly loud song and he sounded unbelievable. I felt a nudge in my ribs. Snorting uneasily, I looked at Shane and blushed. “I get that what your husband did caught you off guard. He didn’t reach out for help. He tried to hide it. Seth? He wears everything on his sleeve, almost literally,” he said with a frown, and I knew exactly what he was talking about in those little, white, thin scars all over his forearms. “But he’s never not come to someone for help when he realizes he’s gone too far. It hurts his pride something awful, but he chokes it down and he does it. Did he tell about the time he was in a manic episode and went walking around Independence Point without shoes?”
I nodded slowly. “He did.”
“Did he also tell you when he realized he’d snapped he’d called Quin right away? He, Anthony, and I practically had to carry him out of the woods while he apologized out the ass.”
I flinched. Hearing it from Shane made me realize how bad it was.
“And the last time he had a cutting episode, did he tell you about that?”
“I think so…”
“Yeah. The second I came home he walked out of the room and asked me to call the hospital. I wrapped up his arms and dragged him to the ER. He got his meds changed and he hasn’t done it since. He doesn’t want these issues to drag him down; he is the most badass fucking fighter I’ve ever met because he’s fighting his mind, and he’s not letting it win. He just wants to play music, love, and be loved. That’s all anyone wants, I think: to be loved. But he’s afraid that he’s too hard to love.”
My lips pressed into a firm line. I didn’t know quite what to think about that.
“Jessie, I get your reservations. But so help me, if you let that jerk in, you’ll never, ever find anyone who loves more fiercely or with all that he has. In return he just needs someone to watch over him now and then. But who doesn’t?” Shane asked with an affirmative bob of a shoulder. “He just admits it instead of subscribing to all that male bullshit posturing crap.”
“When you put it that way, it doesn’t sound so bad…”
“It’s not, trust me. I wouldn’t be saying this otherwise. I mean… shit I’m a little bit of a fangirl—” I gave him a narrow smirk and he gave me a playful shove, “—I wouldn’t try to fuck over one of my favorite people!”
“Oh come on,” I said with a scoff.
“I’m serious! Just think,” Shane said, with a playful smile, “what you could write if you were happy instead of sad.”
“Yeah but artists get a lot of their inspiration from sadness,” I said, only half joking.
“Doesn’t have to be that way though,” Shane said, in a sing-song tone, and we both turned our gazes—well mine never really left—towards the band who seemed to be playing the last bars of their song.
“Shit. I’m thirsty as fuck,” Seth said, wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, and setting his guitar on a little silver stand nearby, and easily sauntering over towards me, grinning widely.
“Clearly I’m in the way here.” Shane winked at the
both of us, and leaned over and gave me a friendly peck on the cheek. When he stood, he paused to speak in hushed tones at Seth, who just rolled his eyes and shoved his friend good-naturedly. Shane walked away, following Anthony out of the garage to the house.
“So what do you think?” Seth’s deep voice brought me back to the present, and I beamed up at him widely.
“You’re amazing, truly,” I replied, hoping I wasn’t gushing. Maybe I should have been; he deserved all the praise.
A light flush spread over Seth’s cheekbones. He held out his hand and I slipped mine into it and allowed him to “help” me stand. It appeared that everyone in the garage had left, except for us, and currently I stood not more than a whisper apart from him.
He ran his long, inked fingers through my hair, stopping just at my shoulder. “Really, thank you for letting us be here. This is actually…well, really nice.”
I lifted a brow. “You’re just using my garage.”
Seth shook his head. “It’s not just that. Besides singing I haven’t been really able to contribute to the band. Anthony and Shane do a lot of the promoting and social media. Ian has the studio and Quin handles the money. Me? I just show up. Which is fine but… and this is totally stupid since this is your house, but I mean…”
“I get it, I think,” I replied. “Really just glad I could help.”
“And the food is too much; you really didn’t have to do that,” Seth insisted.
I shrugged. “Eh it’s no big deal. Really.”
Seth rested his hand on my hip, and urged me closer until I was completely pressed against him. He slid a hand over the side of my cheek. “It is a big deal. A really big deal. The guys think you’re great and I’m getting the third degree about everything,” he said with a laugh.
“Why?”
“Oh just stupid guy stuff. Asking details, you know, are we officially an item, crap like that,” he said, with a nonchalant shrug.
“Are we?” I questioned daringly.
“You want to be?” His eyes narrowed gently, and I inhaled deeply.