by Jamie Howard
“This house has four bedrooms, not that you’d ever know.” Gail slowly shook her head. “This way.” She picked her way quietly through the room and I followed, my gaze flitting over everything we passed—the picture frames, the dining room, the half-eaten bag of marshmallows on the kitchen table.
Gail sighed as she scooped up the marshmallows, threw on a bag clip, and stuck them back in a cabinet. She glanced at me over her shoulder. “You handy in the kitchen?”
I bit my lip. “Only if you need me to make PB&J.”
“How about coffee?”
“That I can handle.”
While I turned on the coffee maker and measured out some grounds, Gail pulled a mammoth-size carton of eggs, a loaf of bread, and a gallon of milk out onto the counter. She kept rummaging and unearthing more things—vanilla, brown sugar, cheese. Frying pans found their way onto the stove and in no time at all things were sizzling and crackling, the scent of coffee perfuming the air.
Gavin was the first to wander in, his eyes half slitted and his shaggy black hair a giant mess on top of his head. His T-shirt had more wrinkles than a hundred-year-old man, but at least he was wearing one this time. He dropped his hands on Gail’s shoulders. “Morning, Mama Mathis.”
“Morning, Gavin. You know where the coffee is.”
“That I do.” He gave me a nod as he poured himself a steaming cup of caffeine. “Hey, Jules.” He pointed to the table. “Is that my pie?”
I drummed my fingernails against the side of my mug. “Well, it’s the pie, I’m not sure it’s your pie.”
The chair creaked as he collapsed into it, fork in hand. “Don’t argue semantics with me at seven o’clock in the morning.” He proceeded to eat the pie straight from the box, looking like he was still half asleep. His hand snuck up to the back of his neck, massaging. “I’m so not getting stuck in the recliner again tonight. Swear to God.”
By the time a huge platter of scrambled eggs, bacon, and French toast made it onto the table, we’d been joined by an equally rumpled Ian and Bianca, who looked like she’d stepped straight out of the pages of a magazine. Somehow I got the feeling that she could walk through the middle of a hurricane and still come out the other side looking perfectly put together.
Felix was next, and the wave of irrational glee that rushed through me when his eyes locked onto mine was nearly indescribable. I was nothing but a web of smiles and hope. It was all sunshine and glitter and this glorious feeling that started in my chest and spread all the way out to my fingertips. I was drunk on this. On him, on us.
He shoved the chair next to me out of the way, and then his hands were on my face, his knees bumping mine, as he kissed me in a way that was completely inappropriate in front of Gail and his friends, in the middle of the kitchen.
I didn’t care one single bit.
“What are you doing here so early?” His hands landed on my thighs. “You should’ve woken me up.”
I ran my hand over his cheek, loving the way his stubble scratched my palm. God, how was I going to go weeks without this? “You looked too cute to wake up.”
“So cute,” Ian chimed in, his mouth full of eggs. He leaned back in his chair and hooked a finger through an empty coffee mug, holding it up in the air as Rachel scurried into the room. She plucked it from his hand without a word and six pairs of eyes tracked her movement to the counter, all zeroing in on her flushed cheeks and pinched lips.
“You all right, Rach?” Bianca asked, her forehead creasing.
“Fine.”
Ben popped into the doorway and, well, he looked about the same as he always did—grumpy, unsmiling, serious. Someone needed to teach that boy to smile. His first stop was at the coffee pot too and as his shoulder brushed Rachel’s, her entire body went tense. We all watched as his mouth opened, but absolutely nothing came out.
I winced for both of them as they took the two last seats—at opposite ends of the table. I caught Gail’s silent sigh and the flicker of unease that flashed across Ian’s face. The second I had a free minute in my schedule, we were having a girls’ night because I was dying to hear all the details to this situation.
Gavin cleared his throat, tapping his fork against the table. “Soooo . . . who wants pie?”
Chapter 18: Juliet
Perfect was a difficult word to live up to. It implied that something was flawless, lacking any mistakes. I’m not certain the past few days were perfect in the true sense of the word, but it was about as close as any I’d ever lived through had ever come.
The kind of bond these guys shared was rare. Enviable. Or maybe it wasn’t all that uncommon, but growing up the way I did, I missed out on all the parties and sleepovers. The close-knit group of friends that passed notes during school and spent countless hours calling or texting the latest gossip.
I snuggled a little closer to Felix, enjoying the feel of his arm around me, the solidness of him beneath me as I stretched my legs across his lap. On the couch, Ian’s fingers plucked out a nameless tune on an old, beat-up guitar, the notes quick and sharp as they flew through the air, painting a picture of hot summer days, turquoise waves crashing along the shore, a spicy glass of sangria in hand. Bianca’s foot bounced along to the rapid tempo and on her other side Rachel hummed along under her breath.
Gavin startled us all as he slapped his hands against the doorframe, hanging onto it. “Guys, this is boring as hell. What’s next, are we going to break out the mahjong tiles?”
Ben snorted from the recliner.
“C’mon,” Gavin whined. “Let’s get out of here. Do something. I’m going stir crazy.”
“AKA someone’s itching to get laid,” Felix whispered in my ear.
I put on my most serious face. “Pickle problems.”
Felix’s chest shook in silent laughter, which only earned him a glare from Gavin.
“I wouldn’t mind a trip to Last Call.” Ben stood and ran his hands through his short hair, looking absolutely everywhere but directly at Rachel. Being around those two was exhausting. I’d never seen two people try so hard to pretend they weren’t into each other.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about.” Gavin grinned. “Who else is coming? Ian? B?”
The two of them exchanged a look—one filled with whole sentences and an actual conversation. Bianca shrugged. “Sure, why not.”
“Rach?” Gavin circled around behind her and gave her a little shake. “C’mon Rach, you know you want to. Peer pressure.”
“Fine.” She swatted him away. “What the hell.”
Which just left us.
The odds I’d get recognized were pretty high. They always were. But with these guys, I wasn’t sure I’d mind all that much. They were bound to attract some attention of their own, and worst case, I had them to back me up in case things got crazy.
But of the two of us, I wasn’t really the problem. Felix was.
A part of me thought I understood what he was trying to do, but at the same time I wondered if what he was really trying to do was hide from his new reality. Like if no one knew about the accident, then it made it less real. It was all right to visit the land of make-believe, but I wasn’t sure it was all that healthy to live there.
One thing I did know was that the guy sitting here with me on the couch wasn’t the same guy I met at the photo shoot. This guy smiled easier, laughed more, and had more confidence in his pinky finger than the old Felix had in his entire body. Quite possibly, this was the old Felix, slowly coming back out of his shell.
It felt like the entire room held their breath as Felix looked at me.
I shrugged. “Whatever you wanna do.”
He rubbed a hand over his jaw as I watched the struggle play out on his face—worry, indecision, a twinge of fear. His shoulders lifted as he sucked in a breath and blew it out. “Yeah, we’re in.”
We sent the boys to get us drinks, so it was just us girls at the table we managed to snag in the back of the room. The lighting was appropriately dim, the scarred wooden
table unsurprisingly grubby. An endless supply of music pumped from the jukebox on the other side of the room, the edges of it outlined in neon tubing. A small knot of people danced in front of it, and for a Sunday night, the place was pretty packed.
Bianca threw a glance behind her, then hopped up from her chair and sat back down between Rachel and me. “All right, Rach. You’ve got about three minutes before the guys come back, and I think we both want to know what went down between you and Ben this morning. So talk fast.”
Rachel twisted the edge of her sleeve between her fingers. “Why do you think something happened?”
I spotted Ian shoving some bills across the bar top. “Your face, his face. Spill it.”
“It wasn’t really anything.” She rolled her eyes. “I have a tendency to be clumsy, and when I got up this morning, I got a little bit tangled in my blanket and I fell. On him.” A flush spread up her neck and sunk into her cheeks. “On all of him.”
I placed my chin in my hand. “And was there a lot of him or . . . ?”
Rachel’s face turned twelve different shades of red, and when it seemed clear that her unintelligible sputters weren’t actually going to produce an answer, Bianca plowed on. “So, then what happened?”
Rachel finally found her words again. “We just kind of . . . stared at each other.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.” She sighed. “I told you, it’s just not going to happen.”
“What’s not going to happen?” Ian asked, sliding a glass of wine in front of Bianca and a Long Island Iced Tea over to Rachel.
“Dancing,” I blurted. “Apparently Rachel’s not a fan.”
“Well, I could’ve told you that.” Ian took a swig from his beer.
Felix appeared at my elbow and handed over my gin and tonic.
I frowned into the gloom. “Where’d the other two go?”
Felix gestured with his chin back toward the bar. “Gavin is doing what Gavin always does, and somehow he connived Ben into being his wingman.”
“Just out of curiosity, does Gavin have any standards or is he pretty much good with whatever crosses his path?”
“As long as it’s a good-looking female, Gavin doesn’t discriminate.” He paused. “Except redheads. Absolutely no redheads.”
“Really? He draws the line at women with red hair? Why?”
Condensation dripped from Felix’s beer bottle as he pushed it back and forth between his hands. “Have you ever had food poisoning?”
“A few times, the worst was this shrimp salad.” I shuddered just thinking about it. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“So, how do you feel when you see shrimp salad now? Do you want to eat it or run in the opposite direction?”
His point finally clicked in my head. “Gavin got food poisoning from a redhead.”
Felix winked at me. “You got it.”
“That must’ve been some redhead.”
“Never met her.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he took a sip of his beer. “She’d already done her damage before I came along.”
My gaze sought the two of them out through the crowd. Gavin was in his element—his charm on high, flirting game on point. With a woman on his right, another on his left, the self-satisfied smirk was well deserved.
Ben stood just a little outside their circle, the bar at his back and a brunette planted right in front of him. Her fingers wandered up his arm, gently touched his waist, whispered over his chest. Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one watching.
Rachel set her glass back on the table, the ice cubes rattling around the empty glass. “Who needs another drink?” Her eyes circled around the table, surveying our mostly full glasses. “No? Just me? That’s fine.” Her chair screeched across the floor as she pushed it back.
I wrapped my fingers around her wrist. “Hold on, I’ll go with you.”
Even though I was nowhere near needing a refill, I certainly wasn’t going to let her wander up there alone. She led and I followed, and I could feel everyone at the table watching us weave through the tables. Watching us saunter up to the bar and slip into the empty spot right next to Ben.
Oh joy.
But I underestimated Rachel. She didn’t make a scene, barely even looked at Ben. The most attention she paid was to his glass, which was either vodka on the rocks or ice water. I wasn’t entirely sure.
She smiled at the bartender, who was an average-looking guy with sandy blond hair, a scruffy goatee, and a lip ring. “Two shots of tequila, please. The big ones.”
“A double shot then?”
She held up two fingers. Oh, I guess that meant I was getting one of those.
The shot glasses slammed into the bar and the bartender eyed me over the upside-down bottle of tequila. “I know you. You’re Juliet St. Clair, aren’t you?”
My heart sank but my smile stayed upright. “That’s me.”
“Damn, I thought that was you,” a voice said to my right. “Girl, you look even better in person. Here, let me buy those drinks for you ladies.” The guy stood to dig into his front pocket.
“I’ve got it.” A small stack of bills appeared in front of us, the hand on top of them belonging to Ben.
“C’mon, bro.” The other guy skimmed his gaze over me, Rachel, and the brunette attached to Ben’s side. “There’s three of them and two of us. Plenty to go around.”
Rachel turned toward me, pushing the shot glass into my hand. Gold liquid spilled over the sides, soaking my fingertips as we both ignored the interrupting asshole. “Bottoms up.”
I tipped it up, squeezing my eyes shut as the tequila burned down my throat. It’d been awhile since I’d done shots, like several years. In fact, the last time I’d had tequila involved an out-of-control after-party, more shots than I could count, and a playdate with a toilet.
When I met Rachel’s eyes again, they were watering, her lips pinched together like she was forcing herself to swallow the noxious liquid. She shook her head, her brown hair floating over her shoulders. “The last time I—”
A hand skimmed down my hip, dropping lower. “Such a sweet, sweet ass. Has anyone ever told you that?”
I shifted away from him, fighting back a snarl. “Surprisingly, yes.” I went to take a step away from him, but his hands were on me again, spinning me around.
“Come on now, baby doll, you don’t have to be like that. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
“For you, maybe.” My hand met his chest, exerting pressure. “It’s time for you to go now.” In my mind I was already calculating my next steps, picturing the way I’d take him down. Sadly, it wasn’t the first time some douchewad got grabby, and it probably wouldn’t be the last either.
His fingertips bit into my skin. “Now, listen here—”
“Get your hands off her.” The words were a growl from behind me. I didn’t even have to turn around to know who they were from. Dread lodged in my throat as I glanced over the douche’s shoulder, amplifying when I got a look at Felix’s face. His eyes were icy daggers, his lip curled back in a snarl. Everything about him was rigid, straining, defiant.
This situation was a ticking time bomb and I was holding the damn explosive in my hands.
The drunk asshole grinned at him. “Back off, Hot Wheels, a woman like this needs a real man.” He leaned a little closer to whisper, “One who can fuck her real good.”
“You son of a—”
Magically, drunk asshole floated off his stool. Or no, not magic, Ian. With a hand fisted in the neck of his shirt, Ian yanked him up and then shoved him away. “Get the fuck out of here.”
I felt the space around me close in and it’s a good thing I wasn’t claustrophobic because Rachel was trying to climb in my shirt. She had Ben at her back, Gavin right behind him, and Felix as close to our side as he could possibly get.
“Chill, man.” Asshole held up both his hands and backed up. “Stupid cunt’s not worth it anyway.” He sneered at me. “Whore.”
&nbs
p; His words were like tiny, plastic bullets, bouncing off my skin and clattering to the floor without any affect. Was that really the worst he could do?
As he hurried out the door, even the air around me seemed to relax and I could finally breathe again. The impossibly tight knot in my chest began to ease, unraveling, until I looked down at Felix. A muscle clenched in his cheek and his hands were gripped so tightly around his legs his knuckles were as white as a sheet of paper.
I reached for him, but my fingers brushed empty air as he backed away, his eyes trained on the floor. “Can we get the fuck out of here now?” He was moving toward the door before anyone even had the chance to respond.
Ian cursed under his breath. “Well, that could’ve gone better.”
Chapter 19: Felix
I wanted to hit something. Slam my fist into it hard enough to make my knuckles bleed. Preferably that fucker’s face. I was aching to get my hands on him. I’d been so close to launching myself out of my chair and tackling him to the ground. I didn’t care if it would’ve hurt, I didn’t care what it would’ve looked like. All that mattered was that prick would’ve gotten exactly what he deserved.
I flexed my fingers around the edge of the sink, squeezing so hard I was surprised the white ceramic didn’t crumble to dust. A growl of frustration ripped up my throat, shredding it to pieces. I couldn’t even properly take my anger out on the mirror or the wall; it wasn’t my fucking bathroom.
My fingers twisted through my hair, pulling until my scalp cried out in pain. I’d never felt so goddamn useless in my life. That little punk would’ve cowered in a corner if he’d come face-to-face with the old me. He was a twig I could’ve easily snapped in half.