by J. L. White
I close my eyes and pull the covers over my head.
“Fuuuuuuck.”
Chapter 12
Jack
I’m lying on the couch in Emily’s condo, with Emily lying half next to me, half on top of me. We’re watching Grey’s Anatomy. I have my arms around her, because I’m allowed to do things like that with my girlfriend. It’s only eight o’clock, but I think I’ll head home soon. It’s a work night, so that can be my reason. The real reason is things have been a little strained between Emily and me lately.
It’s completely my fault, of course. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing any more. I really don’t. Here I’ve got this great girl who actually wants me, but I’m busy wishing for the girl I can’t have and fucking up my friendship with her to boot.
It’s tearing me up.
I thought I could get this thing with Sam under control. I made progress in Spain. Kind of. Maybe it wasn’t long enough. Maybe I shouldn’t have come back. Do I need to move the fuck away forever? What do I need to do? Because with Sam in the same city, I can’t seem to stay away. And all that does is make me want her more.
You’d think our fight would’ve helped, but no. It didn’t. Because I’ve barely talked to Sam about Emily at all, and yet she knows me so well she hit the nail on head without hardly trying. That’s probably what pissed me off more than anything.
I am being analytical about Emily. She’s great. She really, really is. But even though everything about her and I together looks good on paper, my brain can’t convince my heart to go along with it.
My heart wants Sam. My body wants Sam. Every time I see that girl I want to eat her the fuck up, but I can’t. It’s be her friend or nothing, because she’s clearly not going to break her relationship rule just for me.
The way she scooted away from me on the couch that day still fucking hurts.
It’s starting to feel like I have two choices: stay here and be miserable forever, or leave altogether and try to get to the point where I can at least breathe.
Emily readjusts and nuzzles deeper into me. She’s getting heavy and a bit warm. Falling asleep, I think. Maybe if I move away, I can persuade Emily to come with me. Maybe it’ll be easier to fall in love with her—because she really is a great girl—if I get clear of Sam.
I know I told Sam we’d always be friends. But that girl is breaking my heart.
My phone rings, causing Emily to stir. I reach over and grab it off the coffee table. The caller ID says “Nick Bartender.” He’s the main bartender over at Rounders. We usually only chat when I’m at the bar, but he’s invited me to his house a few times for BBQs and his killer Super Bowl Parties. I didn’t know his last name when I first put him in my phone. Thus, “Nick Bartender.”
“Hey Nick,” I answer. “What’s up?”
“Hey Jack.” His voice sounds serious. “This might be kind of weird, but I think you need to come down here and check on Sam.”
“Sam? She’s there?” It’s a Monday night. What’s she doing at Rounders unless...
Fuck, Nick. I don’t need to know every time Sam’s down there picking up some guy.
Emily stirs again and lifts her head off my chest to look at me. I try to give her an “everything’s fine” smile to get her to lie back down, but she’s listening now.
“Yeah,” Nick continues, “and she’s so drunk I had to cut her off.” Huh? Sam never gets drunk. Ever. “I don’t really want to ask Frank to escort her out of here, but it’s getting to that point. I don’t know. I thought maybe....”
“Yeah,” I say, watching as Emily’s brows turn down. “No, I get it. Thanks. I’ll be there soon.”
Emily starts to crawl off me and sit up. I sit up, too. She’s watching me like a hawk.
“Thanks, Jack,” Nick says.
I get off the couch and slide my phone into my pocket, avoiding Emily’s eyes.
“What was that about?” she asks as I go to the door and start putting on my shoes.
“Um...”
Okay, yeah, I’m having a hard time looking Emily in the eye at this precise moment, but let’s be clear about something. Emily’s not the jealous type, and I’m not the cheating type. In fact, I think guys who cheat are stupid, selfish, bastards, but hey. Maybe that’s just me. That said, I’m perfectly aware that something in me is being a little evasive. “Sounds like Sam might be in a bit of trouble down at Rounders.”
“She’s at a bar on a Monday night? What kind of trouble?”
“Too much to drink, is all. I’ll check on her on my way home. It’s getting time for me to go anyway.”
“Okay,” Emily says, but she’s frowning a bit. She gets off the couch and comes over to give me a hug. When I take her into my arms, she leans her head on my shoulder and stays there for a while.
Okay, maybe I’m not technically doing anything wrong, but I’m starting to feel like the world’s biggest ass.
I tuck my fingers under her chin and turn her to face me so I can kiss her. I try to give her the kind of kiss she deserves. It must not have been too bad, because when we pull away, she’s smiling up at me.
I should be grateful a woman like her is smiling at me like that.
I give her a soft peck and say, “Call you tomorrow.”
Then I head out the door, to get Sam.
Once I flash Frank my ID and make it inside Rounders, I do a quick scan and come up short. I spot Nick behind the bar and we make eye contact. He’s pouring vodka into a glass, but nods in the direction of the back rooms.
Sam and I don’t generally go back there unless we’re playing pool or something, but maybe she has a different routine when she’s here for... other reasons.
Ugh.
When I find her, she’s in the narrow hallway that leads to the bathrooms, and is surrounded by three guys. I can’t tell which one, if any, she has her sights on, because she’s got her hand on one guy’s chest but is smiling seductively—overtly so—at another. They all look like they’re hoping to get lucky, which gets my blood boiling. She’s dressed for it, too: she’s wearing her tiny black skirt and black, laced suede boots that go up to her mid-thigh. I haven’t seen those things in years.
As I approach, I can see she’s unsteady on her feet. Her body movements are exaggerated and unnatural. Yeah, she’s clearly had a few too many. Whatever she’s drinking, the glass in her hand is nearly empty.
One of the guys says something and she laughs, too loudly. God, it’s really weird seeing her like this.
“Hey there, Sam,” I say.
Her eyes swing in my direction and fumble around a bit before landing on me and staying there. Her face lights up. “Jack!” she says. She half walks, half stumbles in my direction, grinning and saying “Oh, Jack! Hi!”
She throws her arms around my waist and gives me an unbalanced hug. I hang on to her to keep her from falling. Also, just because. She’s pressed all the way against me and I might be an asshole but she feels really, really good in my arms.
Still hanging on to me, she looks up and gives me a smile that I feel ballooning up in my chest. I smile back down at her. God, I’m really trying not to, but I fucking love her so much. Then she furrows her brows together. “Hey wait,” she says loosely, “I’m mad at you.”
“Again?”
She pushes herself off my chest, fumbling a bit with her nearly empty glass, the brown liquid swirling around in the base. She’s fumbling with her feet too, for that matter. I hold her elbow to steady her. “I don’t know,” she says, frowning. “Did we make up?”
“I thought we did.”
Her frown deepens as she looks back up at me, like she’s trying to remember. “Oh no, no, no,” she says in her ornery tone, turning back and heading for the guys, who’ve been doing their own bit of scowling in my direction. “I remember,” she says. “I’m mad at you and your fingers.”
What?
“So run along now,” she says, half leaning against, half falling into the guy who had his arm around her
before. He puts his arm around her again, his hand dangerously close to her ass. He gives me a satisfied smirk, but he’s a moron if he thinks he’s winning this battle. No fucking way am I leaving her like this. With him or anyone.
“Come on, honey,” I say reaching out my hand to her. “Let me take you home.”
She shakes her head firmly and downs the rest of her drink in one fell swoop. “Be a doll and get me another one, would you, Chad?” she says, handing him the glass and smiling at him with half-lidded eyes.
Be a doll? Wow, her flirting really suffers when she’s drunk. Still, Chad holds the empty glass out to one of his companions, who swaps it for a full one, which he then gives to Sam. Now I see how she’s working around Nick’s drink cap. Assholes.
“Hey,” I say firmly, as she starts to drink up, but begins to lose her balance doing it. The guys laugh, watching her recover. “You’ve had enough, Sam.”
“Back off, dude,” Chad says.
I ignore him, coming right up and taking the glass from her. She makes a grab for it but I hold it out of reach. Chad straightens and puffs up his chest. I give him a murderous look that means business, and I see him hesitate, sizing me up. Just try me, buddy.
“Hey!” Sam protests, as I shove her glass toward another guy, who takes it just in time to keep it from spilling all over him. “I want more.” She’s practically pouting.
“No way,” I say. “You’ve had enough.”
She huffs and scowls at me. “You know, Jack, if you’re going to ride my ass, you should at least pull my hair.”
Even pissed as I am, even drunk as she is, my cock responds to the idea of riding her ass and pulling her hair. Fucking hell.
I take her hand, but she yanks it away. “Uh-uh, you. I’m going home with this one here.” She jerks a thumb in Chad’s direction.
This looks like news to him, but he smiles at her in a way that makes me want to knock his teeth out.
“Isn’t that right, Chad?” she asks, but she’s not looking at Chad. She’s scowling at me.
Chad exchanges grins with one of the other guys. They’re all grinning ear to ear. “Anything you want, baby. We’ll take you home.”
Yeah. I don’t think so.
“I’m not leaving you here for a gang bang,” I say, glaring at Chad, who narrows his eyes. I try to take her hand again, but she pulls back, scowling.
“You don’t own me, Jack Thomas Anderson.”
The guys laugh, but I ignore them. I’m done fucking around. I bend over, heft Sam over my shoulder, and start walking back through the bar.
“Jack! Hey! Put me down!”
Her boots kick and her little fists pound on my back a couple times but I keep walking.
“Put me down right now or I’ll puke all over your jeans!”
“They’ll wash,” I say, raising a hand to Nick, who’s watching the whole thing and laughing.
“Jack, put me down!”
On the way out, I wave to the bouncer.
“See ya, Jack,” he says. “Bye, Sam.”
“Frank!” Sam hollers at him. “Frank, help me!”
Apparently she realizes Frank’s not going to come to her rescue, because she says, “Ugh!” and flops down against my back.
I walk up to my truck, set her on wobbly legs, and open the passenger door. “Get in.”
She folds her arms and scowls up at me. We stand there in silence, sizing each other up. She’s getting in that truck even if I have to toss her in myself.
She huffs and turns toward the seat. She’s trying to climb in, but can’t seem to aim her foot properly. I put my hand under her arm to help steady her, but she bats it away.
“I can do it myself.”
I sigh and let go of her, but after she practically falls backward trying to lift her foot again, I catch her deftly and set her on the seat.
“See?” she says. “I told you I could do it.”
“Yes, yes, you’re a big girl,” I mutter, shutting the door and going around to the driver’s side.
By the time I buckle her in and start heading for her house, some of the fight seems to have gone out of her. She’s leaning back, wedged between the seat and the door, her knees together and her feet angled out in opposite directions. We drive in silence for a while, which suits me fine because I’m catching my breath from the whole thing. What in the hell’s going on with her? I can’t believe I just had to haul Sam out of a bar like that.
Thank god Nick called me. The thought of her going home with those snakes makes my blood boil. She never would’ve been even talking to guys like that if she weren’t so smashed.
I look at her, leaning back in the seat and frowning out the window. Why is she so smashed? My heart softens as I wonder if something horrible’s happened to push her to drink like this.
“Any reason why you’re drunk off your ass on a Monday night?” Or any night?
She lifts one foot and puts her boot on the dash, stretching out her leg. My eyes linger on her, my heart starting to pump. “This is all your fault,” she says.
“How is it my fault?”
She brings up the other leg and rests it on the dash as well. My cock responds to the sight of her lounging all over the seat and I face forward, squeezing the wheel. “I’m mad at you, Jack.”
Well, that’s helpful. I already know she’s mad at me. Again. Hell if I know why.
“I’m going to throw up,” she says.
I look over sharply, wondering if I have time to pull over. She’s leaning back, legs still stretched out, staring out the windshield with a somber expression. Of course it can be hard to tell, but she doesn’t look about to throw up, so I take my chances and keep driving.
There’s a minute of silence, then, “Where’s Emily?”
I squeeze the wheel. “Home.”
“Do you love her, Jack?”
“Uh—” I say, caught off guard by her question. I’m saved having to answer though, because she goes on.
“I bet you do. What’s not to love? She’s beautiful and smart and funny and tall. How tall is she?”
“Five ten.”
“What?! Holy hell. See? You only have three inches on her. I once had sex with a guy who was six five. Remember him. What was his name?”
“Hell if I know.”
“It was odd, too, because his pecker was kinda tiny. We made it work though.”
“God, Sam.”
“Hey, how many girls have you made fall in love with you?”
I look at her sharply again. Say what? “I don’t make girls fall in love with me.” If I could, I wouldn’t fucking be in this mess.
“Let’s see, there was Trisha,” she says, counting off on her fingers, “and, uh, that blonde one. What the hell was her name?” She puts up another finger. “And Sharice.” Three fingers. “Remember that girl? She had the great big hair.” She holds her hands out from her head to indicate.
When she brings her hand back in front of her, she’s not holding up her fingers anymore. She frowns. “Wait, how many was that?”
“Do you have a point over there?”
“Yeah. You totally shouldn’t make girls fall in love with you. It’s kinda crappy. I mean, what if someone doesn’t want to be in love with you?”
“Well, no one has to fall in love with me. Geez, Sam.”
“Ha!” she says loudly, pointing at me. I stare at her. What the hell? She falls back against the seat and takes to looking out the windshield. “Shows what you know.”
I go back to staring at the road. “You’re so fucking drunk,” I mumble.
“Meh. I’m really mad at you, Jack.”
“Yeah, well, I’m mad at you, too.”
“What did I do?”
I don’t answer and she doesn’t talk any more either.
By the time I get her home and am helping her into her bedroom, she’s mellowed and so have I. I’d let her just pass out on her bed fully dressed, but she’s got these long, freaking boots on.
I
sit her on the edge of the bed and kneel in front of her, looking for the end to those laces that zig zag all the way up the front. I’m trying really hard not to look at the base of her short skirt and the dark triangle of shadow there. She’s a bit unsteady, even sitting, and has a hand on each of my shoulders. I imagine her putting her hands on the back of my head and pressing me in closer to that dark triangle—I can’t help it—and my cock throbs in response. Fuck.
“Ugh,” I say, giving up on the damned boots. “How the hell do you get these things off?”
“There’s a thing,” she says pointing. She lifts the top of a black suede flap that runs down the length of the boot. “A thing,” she says again, then I see it.
“Oh, a zipper.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s clever.” Thank god, because I’m in no mood to deal with all that lacing. I pull down the zipper and start to question the wisdom of this plan. As the boot opens up to reveal more and more of Sam’s bare leg, the crotch of my jeans starts getting uncomfortably tight.
As I start to pull off the first boot, she tries standing to help make things easier. Even though her hands are still on my shoulders, she wobbles again. I grab her by the hips to keep her from falling, then gently set her back down. “God, Sam,” I say softly. “Why’d you drink so much?”
One hand absently caresses my shoulder and runs down my bicep. Holy hell.
“I fucked up,” she says quietly. “I didn’t mean to.”
I sigh. I’m unzipping the other boot and looking at that soft skin and telling myself under absolutely no circumstances can I caress her leg. Or do any of the other naughty things I’m dying to do to her.
“I didn’t mean to,” she says again.
“Okay, honey,” I say. “You’re all right. You’ll have a fun time working this one off, though.” I grab the boots and lean away a bit so I can toss them near the closet.
Her hands grip my shoulders. “Don’t leave me, Jack.”
“I’m not. I’m just putting your boots over here.”
Then Sam slides off the bed and onto my lap, her arms around my neck and her head tucked onto my shoulder. “I don’t want to be alone.” My heart is pounding. Part of me wonders what on earth happened to her to make her act like this, and the other part of me—selfishly, like a bastard—is grateful for whatever it is because I’m holding Sam in my lap and she feels so, so good. She smells so good. She squeezes me and I squeeze her back. I rub my hand down her side and to her waist. Then I force myself to freeze, because I don’t want to stop there. I don’t want to stop there at all.