“Yes,” she said excitedly. “I’m starving.”
“Me, too.”
“I don’t know how you can be hungry,” Abby said with a chuckle. “You ate all the popcorn.”
“I did not. Last I recall, that bucket was in your lap.”
“Yes, because I had to steal it from you so I’d get a little bit.”
“Not buying it,” I teased, pulling out of the parking space and heading toward the pizza place Abby liked.
Neither of us said much on the drive over, and after I paid for the pizza buffet and we filled our plates high and grabbed sodas, we secured a booth near the front, away from all the kids hanging out by the arcade games.
For a few minutes, I let her eat in silence while I looked around at all the people. Little kids were running around unsupervised, older kids were laughing and joking while they played the arcade games, a couple of people were trying their hand at the machine with the big claw used to grab stuffed animals that were too heavy for it to lift. And the people behind the counter were yelling pleasantries to customers coming and going from the restaurant.
I had absolutely no idea why Abby liked this place. It was like a pizza joint on crack.
When it became apparent she had no intention of chatting with me, I decided to kick off a conversation. “So, how’re things at school?”
Abby’s green eyes lifted to meet mine. “Better.”
“Than…?”
“Better than last year,” she said, shoving pizza in her mouth, probably in an effort to avoid my questions.
Abby was a sophomore this year, so I figured that was a large part of why things were better. Freshman year of high school sucked; didn’t matter who you were. New school, older kids, teachers who were hanging by a thread of sanity… It was no wonder it’d been so rough for her last year.
“And your grades?”
Abby rolled her eyes and smiled. “All As, as usual.”
That didn’t surprise me. Although she’d had a rough time, Abby had never let her grades slip, not even when she’d transferred schools in the middle of the school year.
“And your mom?” I probed.
“A pain in the ass,” she said, her eyes once again cast down at the table.
“In a good way or a bad way?” I knew that Paige had been overprotective since Abby’s suicide attempt, which I couldn’t necessarily blame her for. Shit, she’d been that way even before that. I figured it had a lot to do with Paige becoming a mother at such a young age.
“She’s better than she was,” Abby admitted. “It helps that the counselor is telling her to back off.”
Fifteen was a rough age for any kid. And since Paige had gotten pregnant with Abby when she was a senior in high school, and Abby’s father was a low-life small-time drug dealer who spent more time in jail than out of it, she’d had it harder than some kids.
“She loves you,” I reminded Abby.
“I know she does. That doesn’t mean she has to check my cell phone every day, or monitor my emails.”
I grabbed a napkin and wiped my mouth, watching my niece carefully. At fifteen, she looked a lot older than that. And she was very pretty. Too pretty, at times, and I knew that worried Paige. Abby had shown an interest in boys from an early age, and I knew my sister worried that Abby would go down the same path she had.
But Abby and I had had this conversation time and time again, and I could tell by the look on her face that she knew what I was about to say. Before I could get the words out, she put her hand up.
“Save it, Uncle Jake. I get it. I fucked up. I did something stupid.”
She didn’t need me to lecture her, but whenever I was with her, I was compelled to see how she was. And not the basic questions that meant little to anyone. Since that fateful day when she’d tried to kill herself, things had certainly changed for Abby. I would like to think for the better, and that was due to my sister’s devotion to getting Abby medical help for her mental illness. Shortly after the attempt, Abby had been diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, and according to the doctor, if left untreated, things would go south again quickly.
“You’re still taking your meds, right?”
“I am.” Abby sat up straight. “I promise I’m not that same kid anymore.”
Reaching out, I touched her hand. “I know that and your mom knows that, too. But you have to be patient with us all. We love you, Abs. That’s why we’re being a pain in your ass.”
I smiled, and she returned it.
“Thanks for taking me to the movie. Even if it was a crappy one,” Abby said, looking more like the little kid I used to see only on holidays. “It helps.”
“What? Seeing crappy movies?” I joked. “Whatever works, kid. I’ve got a list of all-time bad movies, so we’re set for some time if that’s what you need.”
Her laugh was genuine, and I could see the light had returned in her eyes, which made me breathe a little easier.
“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?” I offered.
“I know that. And Mom tells me the same thing. And I’ll talk. When I need to.”
“Still seeing the therapist?”
Abby nodded.
“Is it helping?”
Her gaze lifted once more and a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Actually, it is. A lot more than I’d ever admit to Mom.”
“Well, your secret’s safe with me.”
The two of us ate in silence for a few minutes, and when Abby’s plate was nearly empty, I forced myself to stop eating, leaning back in the booth and spreading my arms across the back. “What do you wanna do now?”
“I dunno.”
“We could go bowling.”
Abby gave me her perfected get real face and I grinned.
“You won’t catch me in those ugly shoes.”
“Okay, fine. How ’bout we go back to your house and I kick your ass at Halo.”
“You’re on. But, Uncle Jake?” She stared back at me, head cocked, one eyebrow raised.
“Hmm?”
“You haven’t kicked my ass once, so I’m not sure why you think this time’ll be any different.”
“There’s a first time for everything, kid.”
Chapter Twelve
Presley
Sunday night
“Honey, you need to get laid,” Blaze bellowed before tossing back another shot of tequila. “You know, by some outrageously hot guy who’s gonna pin you against the wall and make you beg for mercy.”
I tossed my shot back before I answered her. “Not gonna happen.”
“Please don’t tell me that Adrian was the last guy you got horizontal with.” Blaze’s expression turned serious. “That dude’s the world’s biggest douche.”
“Can’t argue with you there,” I told her, pouring another shot. The last thing I wanted to do tonight was talk about Adrian. Or anyone, for that matter.
I’d spent the entire day at the shop handling three walk-ins, all of whom had wanted tattoos that took more time to prepare for than to actually ink. And now, I wanted to sit back, get wasted, then pass out and sleep until I felt better.
“How was the sex with him, anyway?”
“With who?” I asked, playing dumb.
Blaze narrowed her eyes at me. “Adrian.”
I didn’t miss a beat before I said, “Boring.”
“Really?” Blaze snorted. “I always heard rock stars had it going on.”
“Yeah, well, I think rock stars are the ones who started that rumor.”
Blaze grabbed her shot glass. “You’re probably right about that.”
We downed two more shots, and our laughter continued until the front door opened and in walked Gavin.
As soon as he stepped in the doorway, he stopped cold, watching the two of us closely.
“Wussup, Gav?” Blaze greeted him, her words slurring. She looked at me and grinned. “He’s an outrageously hot guy,” Blaze said in what she probably assumed was a whisper but wasn’t.
> “I definitely am,” he agreed, that mischievous smirk on his face. “Is this party just gettin’ started? Or are we about to turn on the decision-maker lights?” Gavin closed the front door behind him and tossed his coat onto one of the barstools, his eyes never straying from us.
“The night’s still young,” Blaze informed him. “Can’t say the same about you, though.”
Gavin continued to watch us. “How much have you had?”
“Not enough,” I admitted, reaching for the bottle to pour more shots. “Now quit acting like an old man and come drink with us.”
“Hold up,” Blaze said, snatching the bottle out of my hand. “Not until he pays the ten-dollar buy-in fee.”
“Buy-in?” A crease formed in Gavin’s forehead. “What the hell’s a buy-in fee? This ain’t poker.”
Blaze pointed a finger in his direction. “I paid for the booze, and you gotta buy in if you want some. Ten dollars.”
Gavin grabbed his wallet out of his back pocket, flipped it open, and pulled out a five-dollar bill, then tossed it in Blaze’s lap.
“Dude, who’s the one who’s been drinkin’ tonight?” Blaze slurred. “That ain’t ten bucks.”
“No, but you bought cheap booze, so there’s a fifty percent discount.”
“Fine. Whatever.” Blaze snatched up the money and tucked it into her bra.
I smiled at Gavin. “Grab another shot glass.”
After a quick detour to the kitchen, Gavin returned, setting his glass down beside the other two, then dropping onto the couch beside Blaze.
With an unsteady hand, Blaze filled all three but ended up with more on the glass table than in the shot glasses.
“What’re we drinking to?” Gavin asked.
“Hot guys nailing us to the wall,” Blaze blurted.
I rolled my eyes.
“Ain’t no guy nailing me to the wall,” Gavin grunted. “Hot or otherwise.”
For whatever reason, I found that funny and ended up downing my shot and nearly shooting it out of my nose.
“I’ve got a question,” Blaze said when the laughter died down.
“No questions from you tonight,” I said immediately, glancing over at Gavin.
As usual, Blaze ignored me. “I wanna know why the two of you have never had sex.”
“Not a question,” Gavin grumbled.
“Okay, fine,” Blaze snapped. “Have the two of you ever had sex?”
“Eww. No,” Gavin and I said in unison.
“Are you fucking serious?” Blaze did not sound convinced.
I placed my shot glass on the table but waved Blaze off when she started to pour me another. “Dead serious.”
“Why?” She looked genuinely confused.
“Because he’s not my type?”
Blaze’s eyes bounced back and forth between us before landing on me. “But he’s hot.”
Yeah, well, I didn’t think so. “I don’t see him like that.”
Gavin was watching Blaze intently and I knew this wasn’t going to be good. For the longest time, I’d gotten the impression that these two had a thing for one another. Although Blaze pretended to be interested in other guys—or maybe she wasn’t pretending—I got the feeling that if Gavin told her to get naked, she’d do it in under three seconds flat.
“What about you two?” I asked, realizing the liquor was now talking for me. “Why haven’t the two of you hooked up?”
Gavin grabbed the bottle and poured another shot, but I noticed he didn’t answer. I looked at Blaze.
“Y’all are best friends,” she said, as though that made some kind of sense.
“So?”
“So, you and I are best friends,” Blaze added.
“Does that make us all best friends?” I asked, trying to do the math in my head.
“No,” Gavin noted. “It means we’re not willing to sacrifice that friendship.”
“Oh.” I watched the two of them for a moment. Then it dawned on me what he meant. “Oooh.”
Laughter erupted, along with a few snorts.
“I was tellin’ Presley that she needed to find some hot guy and get laid.”
“Can’t argue there,” Gavin said, but his eyes dropped to the floor.
I could tell something was wrong, but my head was too fuzzy to formulate a question. Not to mention, the room was beginning to spin.
I studied them both for a minute. “I think the two of you should do it.”
“Do what?” Gavin asked, his blond eyebrows lifting in question.
“You know … do it.”
They both gave me a questioning look.
“Sex,” I snapped. “Do I need to spell it out for you?”
“Actually, yes.” Gavin poured himself another shot, looking completely disinterested in the conversation.
“S-E…” I frowned. “What were we talking about?”
Blaze fell over sideways, her raspy laughter echoing in the room, right up until we all realized her head had fallen right into Gavin’s lap.
When her big brown eyes locked on Gavin as she sat up, I knew that was my cue to leave.
“I’m … uh…” I managed to get to my feet. “I’m gonna go to bed.”
“Presley, don’t go,” Gavin said, his tone serious.
“I’m wasted and if I drink any more, y’all are gonna be holding my hair back while I pray to the porcelain god.”
“Been there with you before. Not your finest moment,” Blaze noted.
“Exactly.” I stabbed the air in her direction. “So, with that said, I’m out.”
I stumbled toward the hallway, glancing back once to see the two of them staring at one another.
“Oh, hey…” I waited until they both looked at me. “If y’all wanna … you know … play hide the salami in the … uh … whatever … you’re both adults. So, do what you gotta do.”
“It doesn’t work that way, sweets,” Gavin said, but he looked somewhat sad. I didn’t want to ask why that was.
“Whatever.” I planted my palm on the wall. “But if you do … you know … be sure to use a condom.”
With that, I managed to stumble down the hallway to my bedroom. I made it the ten feet to my bed and face-planted. For the first time in forever, I passed out. And slept like the dead.
Chapter Thirteen
Jake
One week later, Saturday night
By the time seven o’clock rolled around, I was going stir crazy. My total word count for the entire week was a big fat fucking zero. And like I’d assured Liz when I talked to her on Wednesday, I had tried. Really.
Okay, mostly.
After I’d spent two hours at the coffee shop that morning and managed to research everything from tattoos to tater tots—on my phone, because, fuck, what the hell else was I going to do?—I’d come back to my condo, changed, gone to the gym, watched the midday news, showered, and fought the urge to clean more shit around the house that had no business being cleaned. Not by me, at least.
Same shit I’d done almost every day this week. And last week, now that I thought about it.
Now that the sun was down and the night was coming to life, I needed to get out of the building. To do something productive that didn’t involve staring at a blank screen or a blank page and wondering whether or not I would ever be able to write anything again.
So, that was the plan.
A night out.
I had moved to downtown Austin for the scenery. I’d lived in the area most of my life— with the exception of the five years I’d spent in New York—having grown up twenty-something miles north in the city of Round Rock. The suburban life had worked well for my mom and stepdads (all nine of them)—still did—but I needed something a little more … lively. My sister, Paige, thought I was having a midlife crisis. At thirty-six, I seriously doubted that. I was reserving that for when I turned forty.
As I was riding the elevator down to the lobby, my cell phone rang. After digging it out of my pocket, I glanced at the screen and sigh
ed.
Liz.
Great. It was eight o’clock in New York—on a Saturday, no less—where she lived and worked, so I knew this wasn’t going to be a hi, how are you? conversation. I answered anyway.
“Jacob Wild, where the hell are you?” Her raspy, take-no-shit tone made me smile.
“Elevator, why?” I asked, pretending I didn’t know what she meant.
“Where have you been?”
“Before I got in the elevator? Well, if you have to know, I was walking down the hall.”
My editor growled. Actually growled. And it wasn’t one of those sexy purring things that some women did. This was an all-out Gremlin sort of sound that made me want to laugh. I refrained. Barely.
“You should be at your desk.”
“Why?” I stepped off the elevator into the lobby. “Nothing going on there at the moment.”
My comment was met with silence, and I could picture Liz standing in the middle of her Manhattan apartment, hand fisted in her short blonde hair as she stared at the phone in disbelief.
Truth was, I liked Liz. She was one of the top editors in the publishing industry, and she always played me straight. After I had self-published my first book and it had done surprisingly well, and after my agent had landed me my first seven-figure, three-book deal, I had been working with Liz directly. I’d liked her so much, and my books had done so well with her help that I’d even signed another contract, for another three books—with, get this, an eight-figure advance.
Which, I knew, was the reason she was calling.
That was a lot of money to invest in someone, and the first book was due to her in roughly thirty days, and she’d come to expect me to be ahead of the game, as I’d frequently turned in my first draft manuscript way early. It probably hadn’t helped that I’d asked for an extension this go-round—a three-month extension.
“Where’s my book?” she demanded. “I was looking forward to spending the weekend reading your stuff, enjoying a bottle of wine, and now I have no choice but to go to that stupid gala.”
I barked a laugh. I couldn’t remember what it was she was doing, but I recalled her mentioning it had something to do with her husband’s public relations firm. From what Liz told me, she did not enjoy getting dressed up and going out. But I’d known her long enough that I recognized the lie for what it was. She did enjoy it; she simply didn’t want anyone to know she did.
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