by Jane Anthony
The same one that sparkles when a man walks into the bar.
A spark of familiarity strikes like a match. He returns her grin, waving as he saunters across the half-empty space. I narrow my gaze, trying to place the face I know I’ve seen before. Like déjà vu, it gnaws at my brain. The dark hair sweeping his heavy brows, long in the front and short in the back. The way he walks with a strut in his step and the sharp angle of his jaw as it comes to a dimpled point. It hits me hard like a sack of bricks. A physical feeling socks me in the stomach, stealing my breath for just a moment.
It’s him.
The dick by the pool.
That cheating motherfucker.
Wren stands to greet him, pushing to her tiptoes as he drops a kiss to her cheek. “Hey! Jesse, this is Asher,” Wren introduces, looking up at Asher with this pathetic look of love that feels like a fork twisting my guts.
This is it. The moment my living hell and only fantasy collide before my eyes.
The stink of daddy’s money permeates the bar as Ritchie Rich offers me his perfectly manicured hand.
“Ah, the infamous Jesse. I’ve heard a lot about you,” he says, still wearing the same goofy grin. It’s obvious he doesn’t remember me, but I sure as shit remember him.
Bile rises in my throat. I swallow it down, but the idea of vomiting all over the guy’s designer shoes brings an evil smirk to my lips. “All lies, I swear.”
He snickers, his chocolate gaze sizing me up as he wraps an arm around her back. It’s a purposeful tactic. He’s marking his territory. But what he doesn’t realize is I’ve already laid claim to this girl. I’ll burn this entire fucking town to the ground before I let some rich pretty-boy step in here and take what’s mine, but I play nice for now. Meanwhile, thoughts of dragging her back to my house and fucking Ritchie Rich out of her system play on a loop in my brain.
“I’m heading back. You coming?” I ask, gesturing to the door with my head.
“Let’s do it!” Wren replies.
I turn my back when she locks hands with Asher. Sucking a deep breath into my lungs, I let it out slowly. The testosterone flooding my veins has me blind with rage. I taste it on my tongue like a bitter pill. It burns in my throat, but I swallow it anyway, washing it down with another generous helping of barley and hops.
We head around back, and Wren introduces Asher to the guys. What the fuck kind of name is that anyway? Asher? That’s not a name. That’s a few letters thrown together as pretentiously as humanly possible. I bet this guy uses the word summer as a verb, too. What a joke.
“I got winner,” I announce, leaning against the wall. I cross one ankle over the other, silently stewing in my contempt as I watch them together. Wren’s body language screams at me from across the room. When he leans in to talk to her, she listens and smiles, but I can tell she’s not all that enthralled by him. She’s controlled, cautious. The playful girl I spent the day with checked her humor at the door the second Asher walked in. He changes her, turning her into someone else, and I don’t like it.
The crack of billiard balls echoes off the walls. Mick and Ryan fling insults back and forth, but I’m not paying any mind to the exchange to my left. I’m too busy observing the way Wren’s lids drift closed then open again, the soft flutter of her pulse as she catches me watching.
The smooth timbre of Ryan’s voice rings out as the last ball rumbles into the pocket. “Jesse, you playing, or what?”
It’s not until Wren lifts her gaze with a smile that I realize I’ve been asked a direct question. “Yeah.” I round the table and take the cue from Mick’s slender fingers. “Asher. C’mon.”
“I’m not much of a pool player,” he argues, lifting his palms in surrender.
I grab the triangle to corral the balls inside, the colors twisting as I shake it into place. Alcohol swims in my bloodstream. I snatch a cue off the rack and hold it out to him. “Neither am I. Just a friendly game, man.”
“Okay.” He takes it and rounds the table to the opposite end as I lift the triangle and throw it to the side.
I smell her before I see her. Wren’s sweet fragrance floats in from behind as she wraps her petite fingers around my bicep.
“Be nice,” she warns.
“I’m always nice.” I dig into my pocket for a pack of Tic Tacs. Her eyes flare with familiarity as I flip open the flap with my thumb, then bring it to my lips and dump a few citrus treats into my mouth. “You want some?” I ask, holding the pack between two fingers.
Her gaze rolls down my neck like a bead of sweat clinging to my skin. It slides across the room and lands on Asher then ping-pongs back.
“No, thanks. Orange was never my flavor.”
She challenges me, but the quiver in her voice gives her away. I affect her. She doesn’t want me to, but the truth roils in her bold green stare. There’s something between us. I’m not sure what it is yet, but the eyes don’t lie.
“Suit yourself,” I say, turning back to the game.
Asher bends over the table, working his cue through his thumb and forefinger. With a mighty heave, he smacks the cue ball and sends it flying into the others. Colors ricochet across the table, bouncing off the mossy fabric. “So, Jesse,” Asher starts. “What do you do?”
“I hang drywall.” Searching the table, I eye up my shot. “Five ball, corner pocket.”
“Hanging drywall is a noble profession,” Asher replies.
“Three, side.” I snap the cue against the ball, and it flies into the pocket, rumbling under the table until it cracks against the five sitting in the trench. “The world needs ditch diggers too, right?”
Asher’s glare locks on mine from across the table, the blood seeping from his face. I stare hard, making sure he knows who I am without saying a word.
Wren quickly changes the subject. “Jesse’s an amazing artist. He’s gonna be famous someday.”
I pinch my lips together. I don’t need her to talk me up. What I need is to put this motherfucker in his place the way I should have that day on the job site. I slip around the table and shoot. The four disappears to join its solid friends below. “And you? Any plans for after college?” Other than living off your family’s wealth, that is.
“Just finished. Columbia. Law school.”
Great. Just what this world needs. Another shady lawyer.
“Legacy?”
“Yes, actually.” Asher’s lips curl in a malicious grin as I miss the next shot. The burgundy ball bounces off the ledge and smacks one of his stripes teetering on the edge of a hole. He knocks it in and punches a fist in the air. “Why don’t we make this more interesting?” He fishes in his pocket and pulls out a billfold. My eyes widen at the neatly folded stack of bills.
“Asher . . .” Wren warns.
“It’s a friendly game, a friendly wager. Day laborers make an adequate living. You could afford a hundred bucks. Can’t ya, Jess?” Asher replies, his hard gaze boring into me, daring me to back down. It’s a show. He wants to make sure I know he’s the alpha dog, but he’s in my part of town now. I own these streets.
And I was going easy on him before.
He wants to challenge me? I’ll wipe his ass up and down this table and take his girl home as my trophy.
I square my stance, holding the cue with both hands. “I got three balls in, bro. You got one. Feeling cocky?”
His expression grows stern. His nostrils flare as he flips between Wren and me standing side by side. He’s not stupid. A guy knows when he’s losing his grip, but his secret’s safe with me . . . for now. I will not be the one who ruins their relationship. Something tells me he will do that all on his own.
“Yeah. Guess I am.” He shrugs. His voice is casual, but his words are laced with warning. Stay away from my girl. I’m impressed. Daddy’s boy is ballsier than I thought.
“You get off on embarrassment?” I tip my head to the side, wondering if he’ll bite.
He glances at the table and shrugs. “I’ve never been one to back away from a ch
allenge.”
“Make it a thousand, and you got a deal.” I grin playfully for Wren’s behalf but challenge Asher with a hard stare.
Wren’s eyes narrow into mossy slits. “Jesse, stop.”
“What? He made the bet. I just upped the ante. What do ya say, Asher? A thousand bucks is nothing to you, right? Unless you’re afraid to lose.”
“You’re on.”
“Whoa, guys. Why don’t we chill for a minute and get some wings?” Mick interjects.
I’ll chill with my thousand bucks after I kick Asher’s ass. “Dinner’s on me. When I win.”
“Now who’s cocky?” Asher counters.
“You’re up, Asher,” I retort, punching the Ash for effect.
He sidles up to the edge of the table and lines up another shot. “Twelve. Corner pocket.” Blue stripes flip ass over end and disappear into the pocket. Chewing on the inner corner of my mouth, I nervously wait as he bends down again. Murdering this fucker for hustling me would put a serious damper on my relationship with Wren.
When the fourteen ball takes an evil curve and veers away from its intended pocket, I breathe a sigh of relief. Scanning the table, I eye my next shot. The six, the two, the one, the seven . . . they all fly into their pockets one by one as I clear the table of all but the eight. It hangs at the back corner, huddled by a circle of stripes in a group hug with no opening large enough for the cue ball to fit.
Asher purses his lips. “You’ll never get that in.”
A slow smile spreads across my face. “Just watch me.”
The whispered sound of my name floats off Wren’s tongue, but I keep my eyes on the prize. The alcohol swims in my stomach, twisting with the surge of adrenaline-fueled testosterone fighting through my blood.
One shot is all I need to end this shit and walk away victorious.
I don’t have his money, his power, his connections, or his fancy degree.
But I do have my pride.
And I’m not going to allow a guy like that to beat me.
I could back down. I could be a nice guy and give Asher a fighting chance. It’s what Wren would want, but I hover over the table, angling my cue just so as Mick, Ryan, and Leigh watch from their seats. Wren grumbles and turns away. I jump the cue ball over the offending ball blocking its way and knock the eight. It wobbles to the pocket, crawling across the felt. On the edge, it settles. I hold my breath, willing it to move, my heart rioting in my chest as it seesaws on the lip before . . . slowly . . . tumbling . . . in.
Mick and Ryan lurch from their stools, wooden legs screeching across the concrete.
“Holy shit, dude!” Ryan hollers.
I drop my stick and hold out my palm. “That’s game.”
Asher’s expression turns to stone. His Adam’s apple bobs with his heavy swallow as he rifles through his wallet and counts out the bills, dropping them all in my waiting hand.
“It’s been a pleasure.” I offer a salute and saunter to the door, feeling as if I’m floating above the shitty floor as I go, but the vicious look on Wren’s face brings me down to reality.
I fucked up.
Big.
I throw open the doors, letting the warm evening pull me into its embrace. With a heavy breath, I look at the sky, but I’ve no time for the solitary moment of quiet contemplation I was hoping for.
“Jesse.” The anger comes off sharp on Wren’s tongue as she follows me to my spot near the bushes. “What the hell was that all about?”
“What?” My attempt at nonchalance breaches my lips as sarcasm instead. I cross my arms over my chest, resting my ass against the brick façade.
She adjusts her stance, cupping her hand around her jutted hip. “What is your problem? Asher’s been nothing but nice to you.”
My fingernails dig half-moon shaped divots into the palms of my hands. “He made the bet. What was I supposed to do?”
“Back down!” Her eyes glow bright and fierce in the yellow lamplight behind her.
“Guys don’t back down, Bird.”
“That’s your first mistake. Don’t be just another guy. The world has enough guys. Be a man.”
Her words are steel, her glare razor-sharp. They cut into me, leaving me wounded, but I don’t bleed out that easily. I’m a fighter by nature. Push me down, I’ll get back up and come at you harder than I did before.
“Like your man Asher?” I spit his name onto the concrete and stomp it with my boot.
Wren inhales deeply and shoots me a look that could kill me on sight. I wish I could go back thirty seconds and suck in my sarcastic remark, but out it came, and there it is, floating awkwardly above us as I stew in my bitter contempt.
Chest to chest, she stands firm, the tic in her jaw tightening with each panting breath. Wren and I are similar creatures. Backed into a corner, she doesn’t hesitate to strike for the throat. “Oh, get off your high horse. You don’t even know him.”
“I don’t have to know him. I’ve been dealing with guys like him my whole life, and I will never back down,” I seethe through gritted teeth.
“Then you’re a bigger asshole than I thought.” The shrillness in her voice falls flat and even. She turns on her heel, but I reach out, grasping her by the bicep.
“You can’t possibly be serious about this clown.”
She searches my face, the gleam in her eyes burning fierce and feral. I stare through her, waiting for an answer she doesn’t give.
She can’t.
Because we both know she’d be lying.
“He’s not the man you want to be with.” The pink hue on her cheeks darkens to a deep crimson that spreads across her trembling lips. I want those lips. I want to touch them, taste them, feel them suckling my cock as I own her mouth. A single step is all I need to close the distance and make them mine, but the dark timbre of a man’s voice stops my haste.
“Everything okay out here?”
My gaze travels to the stern look on Asher’s face as he storms toward us. Immediately, I release my grip, and Wren falls back.
She soundlessly curses, her pleading eyes begging me not to start a war. “Yeah, Ash,” she snaps.
“You sure?” His jaw clenches, but he stands there cool as a cucumber, not making any moves.
Adrenaline courses my blood. My knuckles tingle with the desire to crush his smug face. “Didn’t you hear? She said everything’s cool.”
He puffs out his chest as if he’s some sort of big deal. He’d better watch his ass. I walked away from a fight with him once, and it will not happen again.
“Wren, darling. Could you give Jesse and me a minute alone?”
She shoots him a look of wide-eyed wonder as he squares his shoulders. “This will only take a second,” he urges, waiting for her to turn around and walk away like the subservient princesses he’s used to.
To my surprise, she does it.
Without another look, she turns on her heel and stomps across the pavement, her skirt swishing around her thighs as the darkened bar swallows her from my sight. The heavy door closes with a thud. Asher stares down in a vain attempt at asserting his dominance, but I’m not scared.
“She won’t believe you, you know.”
I casually thread my hands behind my head, throwing on a sarcastic grin. “Believe what, Asher? That you’re a lying, cheating scumbag?”
His nostrils flare as he licks his lips. “Call me what you will, but Wren sees what she wants to see. Whose side do you think she’s going to take? The man she’s been with for the better part of a year, or some hood rat who just crawled up from the gutter? You try to talk shit about me, she’ll drop you like a bad habit.”
“Fuck,” I whisper under my breath, subconsciously pressing my hand to my tightening chest. He’s right. She won’t believe me. Not for a second. I have to earn her trust back first, and with Wren Irwin, that’s no easy feat. “I don’t have to tell her. Eventually, she’ll see for herself. And the second you break her heart, I’m going to be there to put it back together.”
Jesse
WHY AM I HERE?
My old idling Ford rumbles under my ass in Wren’s driveway as I argue with myself in the stifling cab. I acted like a jealous idiot. I know I need to apologize, but for some reason, my ass doesn’t want to leave this truck.
With a heavy sigh, I push open the door and force myself out. My boots pound the pavement as I meander up her walkway and knock on the bright red door. A door I imagine will be slammed in my face the moment it’s opened.
Quick footsteps scurry inside and get louder as they approach. I rub my palms on my jeans, but my stomach somersaults as the door opens, and Wren materializes on the other side.
In a sports bra and shorts.
Nothing else.
My brain explodes. My cock twitches against my zipper as my gaze quickly scans the plains of bare, creamy skin broken up by two insignificant pieces of black Lycra. Pink caresses her shoulders and swoops across her collarbone, darkening the light freckles that kiss her chest. When she folds her arms across her torso, I try not to notice the way her tits rise from the low curve of her top, but it really can’t be helped.
Fuck.
Wren isn’t just beautiful; she’s stunning.
“Hi,” I manage, recovering from the sight of her gorgeous, half-naked body on display.
“What do you want, Jess?”
“I went to the diner, but they told me you were off this morning.”
One orange eyebrow arcs high over her emerald eye. “And?”
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry about yesterday.”
“That’s supposed to make it okay?” She purses her lips, eyeing me warily.
“What else do you want me to say?”
“How about you’re a self-righteous asshole? How about you’re a big stupid baby who threw a tantrum because he was afraid to get beat at his own game?”
The taste of crow is bitter on my tongue, but I chew it up and swallow it down. “You’re right. I am a self-righteous asshole, and I’m sorry.” This was a bad idea. The look of death hardening her features cuts across my chest, leaving a gaping wound. If I don’t get out of here now, I might just bleed to death right here on her walkway. “Well . . . um . . . I guess that’s it.”