by JB Salsbury
“Yeah, but I can’t take that shit. I hate the way it makes me feel.” I slump back in my seat and watch her sip her coffee. “Listen. I’m sorry about yesterday.”
She smiles as if it was nothing more than a game we were playing that she obviously won. “I noticed you guys didn’t get home until after seven last night.”
“You’re spying on me now? I need to get my own place.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“I asked her out; we had dinner. It was nice, but then . . . I don’t know what happened. She closed up on me.”
“Why didn’t you just ask her?”
“Why do you always make things sound so easy? ‘Why didn’t you just ask her?’” I say in my best Layla girl-sass voice.
“You laugh, but you’d be surprised how much information you can get from a woman by just asking.”
“AJ’s not like most women. I can’t put my finger on it, but . . . she’s changed. It always feels like she’s holding back. She’s locked up tighter than a vault.”
“She’ll open up when she’s ready.” She checks the time on the microwave. “What time will she be here today?”
I flip my phone over in my hand a few times, wanting to read the text again but refusing myself permission. “She’s got plans today, probably with Mr. Hotel Casino.” The bitterness in my voice would be embarrassing in front of anyone else, but Layla seems to get it.
“Are you sure he’s who she’ll be with? I mean, did she say that?”
“No, but where else would she be? She lives with the guy for crying out loud. I’m sure they’re doing . . . ya know . . . whatever rich people do on a Thursday. Maybe it’s clean-your-toilets-with-hundred-dollar-bills day.”
“I wouldn’t make assumptions, not yet.”
“I asked her to come to the wedding with me.”
Her face lights up. “You did? And she said yes, right?”
“I didn’t know if she was going to at first, so I made clear it’s a friends-only type thing and she agreed.”
“It’s a start.” She drums her fingers on her coffee mug. “So, no AJ, what will you do with yourself all day?”
I flip my phone around again, again, one more time, then think of Zach. “I’m going to hit the gym with a friend.”
“That should be fun.”
Pulling up his contact info, I fire off a quick text asking if he’s down to workout at the UFL gym.
He gets right back to me.
I’ll be there by 10.
“How about you?” I sip my coffee. “Mom said you guys have some last-minute things to do for the wedding—why are you staring at me like that?”
Her eyes drop to my coffee cup and then dart between it and my mouth.
“What?” I look down to see what she’s seeing, and the visual smacks me upside the head so hard that if I didn’t have my ass planted firmly in my seat I’d have fallen to the floor. “Whoa.”
“Yeah, whoa.” The excitement in Layla’s voice is contagious. “How did you do that?”
I hold up the coffee then bring it to my lips, sip, and put it back down. I repeat that a few times before Layla slams her palms on the table, saying, “Tell me!”
“I don’t know. I just . . . did.” I put the cup down and flex my fingers. “Huh . . . crazy.” I look to Layla for confirmation and see tears brewing in her eyes. “Oh no, don’t start that shit.”
She sniffs and a single tear falls from her eye, but she quickly swipes at it. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She turns away and moves to the opposite side of the kitchen.
“Dude, why is it every time I walk into a room you two are at each other’s throats?” My brother comes in to see his wife sniffling while pretending to fuck with the coffee maker. “What did you do to make her cry, asshole?”
“Blake!” My mom comes shuffling in all dressed and coiffed for the day. “Don’t call your brother an asshole.”
“Mom!” My jaw drops open. I have never in my entire twenty-five years of life heard my mother cuss.
She shrugs and leans around my brother to check on Layla. “Honey? Are you okay?”
Layla nods, still sniffing.
Blake glares at me.
“Stop it. I didn’t do anything.”
“Yes, you did!” Layla’s facing me now.
My eyes pop wide open. “Are you trying to get him to kick my ass?”
“Someone talk,” Blake growls while rubbing his wife’s back, “right fucking now.”
“Oh, stop it.” Layla wipes her eyes. “They’re happy tears.”
“Huh?”
I lift my coffee cup to my lips with my right hand in over exaggerated ways until both my mom and Blake catch on.
“No shit,” Blake mumbles.
“No shit,” my mom whispers.
“Mom, what is wrong with you? You’re starting to sound like him.” I jerk my chin toward my brother.
They both ignore me.
“How did you do that?”
“I don’t know. I’ve just been using it more and trying not to baby it. Guess my brain and arm reconnected.” I lift my arm, extend it, and yeah . . . it’s a lot more flexible.
“Have you tried to write with it?” My brother crosses to me, his eyes on my hand.
“No. Small things are hard to get my hand around.”
“Huh,” he says thoughtfully. “So, no jerkin’ off then.”
“Ew,” Layla sounds bored.
“Blake!” Mom sounds offended.
I just shake my head and smile. “Dickhead.”
“You know what this means, right?” There’s mischief in my brother’s eyes, the kind he used to get when we were little and he’d suggest we sneak in to play with Dad’s knives. “If you can hold a coffee mug, a ten-pound weight . . .”
Excitement explodes in my chest, and my eyes dart to the back door. “You think?”
“Think? No, I know.”
“Meet me out back in five.” I jump from the table, race to the kitchen to put my cup in the sink, kissing both Layla and my mom on the cheek. I almost slam into Blake as he runs back to his room while I dart out the back door to my place.
If only AJ were here to see this.
~*~
AJ
I’m dragging ass when I scoot off the elevator into the penthouse. I don’t know if it’s from a day filled with changing up contracts, sifting through every tiny detail of menu options, or if it’s because I plain ole hate my job. Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful for the work, the income, and I get to set my own hours, but this kind of life just isn’t for me.
My back aches, my neck sore, and I haven’t even used my muscles for more than holding my body up to stare at a computer screen while warming a leather desk chair.
Andre’s back to his old schedule since the night of the charity event and doesn’t get home until well after I’m asleep. Whereas before he’d take nights off so we could hang out or at the very least take a dinner break so we could share a meal, now I hardly see him.
Not that it matters. I don’t have any new information for him, and I know that’s what he’s waiting for: my final verdict on whatever it is that’s happening between Braeden and me.
He’s not the only one.
Every time I think I’ve made progress, that Brae and I are on the road to connecting again, something happens and he pushes me away. I thought the more time we spent together the more he’d realize, as I have, that we belong together.
So far? Nothing.
I slip my heels off at the door and head to the kitchen to grab a snack. My feet slap against the cold marble floor, and I freeze at the sound of voices from the patio.
I check the time on the oven. It’s almost seven o’clock at night.
I grab an apple and move to check it out but freeze solid.
A woman is standing at the railing, her long blond hair blowing in the breeze and her face alight with excitement as she takes in the view. I’d guess she’s around my age, but the innoc
ence in her face makes her seem younger somehow.
And Andre is standing right next to her.
He doesn’t follow her line of sight to the multitude of Vegas lights below, but rather keeps his eyes on her. He’s not smiling, but he’s not wearing his usual scowl either. He looks . . . content.
I brace for the slap of jealousy or the weight of betrayal, but it never comes.
He must feel me watching because soon Andre spots me. He meets my eyes through the glass door, studies me for a calculated second, and his brows drop low.
His lips move, and when the girl nods, he heads my way.
I don’t run or try and hide. After all, he wouldn’t bring a woman to the penthouse at the same time I get off work if he didn’t want to get caught.
Stepping inside, he closes the door behind him and moves to me. “You’re home.”
“I am. Same time I get home every night.”
His expression remains stoic, but his cheeks flush.
“What are you doing, Andre?” I nod to the young woman outside. “This is clearly for my benefit.”
“I never said I’d fight fair.”
“I didn’t realize we were at war.”
His eyes search mine, and whatever he’s looking for, he doesn’t seem to find. “You’re not jealous.”
No, I’m not.
I imagine for a moment that it was Braeden out there on the balcony with another woman, and before I can even conjure the image in my head, my blood roars with envy. The thought of his hands on someone else, or worse someone else’s hands on him, makes me grit my teeth and . . . no.
“I’m sorry, Andre.”
His hands are tucked in his suit pockets, and he drops his chin. Defeated. It’s an odd look for him, one I haven’t seen before, and I hate that I’m the one who’s made him look this way. “I suppose I have my answer.”
Realization of exactly what’s happening in this moment makes my eyes burn.
Andre has forced me into a choice.
And without even trying, I’ve made it.
Whether Braeden wants me, whether he’ll consider something more between us, I choose him.
I choose Braeden.
I force back my tears, afraid Andre will misinterpret their meaning.
When he brings his eyes back to mine, my back stiffens. His gaze is cold and hard, his lips in a tight line. This isn’t the Andre I’ve come to know; this is the GM of the Kairos, Mr. Monroe. “You have three days to secure a place to live and move out. Give Tyler your new address, and he’ll arrange a mover to bring your things.”
Before I’m even able to nod or say okay, he’s turned his back on me and is headed back outside. With his hand on the glass door, he stops but doesn’t face me. “Adeline.”
“Yeah.”
“I suggest you start searching for a new job. Consider this your two-weeks’ notice.” And with that, he’s out.
I scurry to the kitchen, and not wanting to take advantage of Andre’s things, I set the apple back into the fruit bowl. Once to the spare bedroom, I strip out of my dress shirt and slacks, feeling like I’m shedding old skin. I dig through a box in my closet that’s filled with the clothes from my old life and slide on a worn pair of cut-off shorts and a tank top. My blood thrums with excitement as I slip into a pair of flip-flops and grab my keys.
My mind whirls with all I have to do, but even in the fear and confusion, my excitement takes the lead.
I snag my purse and head for the elevator, only to run face first into Andre and the blonde.
The three of us share an awkward stare-down before I break the tension by introducing myself. “Hi, I’m AJ, Andre’s temporary roommate.”
“Nicole.” She slides her beautiful blue eyes from Andre to me then back to him.
I hit the elevator button. “I assume you’re going down?” I cringe at how bad that sounds. “I mean since we’re on the top floor.”
She looks at Andre, who simply nods while taking in my clothes with a fair amount of disgust. And God, it feels good to be back where we were—him hating my clothes while being short and cryptic, me feeling good in my own skin.
The elevator pings and the double doors open. I head in and press my back to the corner while Andre puts his hand on Nicole’s lower back to guide her in after me.
The doors close, and the uncomfortable silence is stifling. “So, Nicole, is this your first time at the Kairos?”
Her eyes dance with excitement. “Yeah, I just moved here from Michigan.”
I look at Andre, who has his eyes forward as if he’s pretending I don’t even exist. “Have you tried Escalante yet? They have a killer chocolate soufflé. And their wine list is a mile long.”
“Not long enough,” Andre says in almost a mumble. “There’s no Strawberry Hill.”
Nicole claps her hands and bounces. “I love Strawberry Hill.”
I’m smiling to myself just as the elevator carriage pings. I shove out and catch Andre’s eyes. They’re soft again, and just as I’m about to turn away, the corner of his mouth turns up flashing a hint of dimple.
“I’ll see you around.”
And with that, I’m gone.
Thirty-one
AJ
I haven’t seen Braeden in days, and yet it feels like weeks.
I stayed busy searching for a place to live and updating all my files for whomever takes my place at the Kairos. Since it’s Friday and it’s not like Andre can fire me twice, I popped out of bed before the sun came up and decided to take the day off.
When I found out the weather was going to be unusually cool for this time of year, it gave me an idea. I fired off a quick text to Braeden, figuring he wasn’t up yet. His addiction to alcohol seems to keep him awake at night and forces him to sleep in, so I was surprised to see him reply immediately.
He agreed to jogging at our spot, the park we went to the morning after what was supposed to be a weekend fling. If I’d only known then what I do now, I would’ve ended things before they began—closed myself up tight to the sexy Marine so he couldn’t crawl up under my skin and straight to my heart.
The AC in my car is still broken, but it’s a balmy seventy degrees, and I’m not complaining. I pull into the parking lot at the park, and I’m thankful to find a spot right under a big Palo Verde tree. If the sun manages to peek through the clouds, the shade will keep my little car from turning into a Dutch oven.
Grabbing my water, I push out from the car, lock it, and head to the grassy area we agreed to meet. I tug at my shorts, wishing they had a couple of extra inches of length, but hopefully the coverage will be enough—
“Hey.”
“Holy shit!” I jerk away from the voice with my hand on my chest.
Braeden laughs, his smile so big it makes my pulse kick harder than the scare did. I haven’t seen him smile like that since before he left on deployment.
“You scared the shit out of me!”
The scarring that runs up the side of his right cheek makes his grin more lopsided than it used to be but no less effective. God, he’s so beautiful. “Sorry.” But he doesn’t look sorry. “I saw you pull in.”
We continue to walk to the grassy area near the running path. “I didn’t realize I was late.”
He tugs on the bill of his hat, lowering it more over his face, and I wonder if he’s doing that to try to hide some of the damage. “I got here early. I was waiting for you over there.” He points to a tree. “People watching.”
“That’s not creepy.” I flash him a smile, and he smiles right back.
What’s put him in such a good mood?
Our sneakers hit the grass, and I set down my water bottle and tuck my car key into my sports bra. Last time we jogged this trail, I didn’t wear a tank top, but I was in a lot better shape back then. My Soffes and tank are a stark contrast to the spandex combo I used to wear. As Braeden stretches his quads, I notice he, too, is wearing clothes with a bit more coverage: a long-sleeved tee and athletic shorts that hit his knees.
The only scarring that’s visible is on his neck and cheek.
“I should warn you I’ve been working on my cardio since our last run.”
“Good.” I bend over to reach my toes and stretch my hammies. “I wasn’t looking forward to holding your hair back while you puked again.”
“I’m not saying I won’t spew chunks. I’m just saying I might actually get a couple of laps in before I do.”
“You ready to put that confidence to the test?” I shake out my legs and move to the concrete path.
He follows. “No. But something tells me you aren’t giving me a choice.” He sidles up next to me.
“I’m not exactly in top athletic shape myself, so . . .” I start at a slow jog, and he mimics my pace, staying right at my shoulder. “We make the perfect team.”
I see his head jerk around from the corner of my eye, but I keep my eyes forward.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “I guess we do.”
His eyes return to the path in front of him, and we remain silent as we jog side by side around the perimeter of the park. It’s impossible not to get a weird sense of déjà vu as the memories flood in of our first morning together. And along with the memories come the feelings.
Why do I feel like a completely different person than I was only one year ago?
The naïve girl from Dallas who believed in dreams has been replaced with someone I don’t even recognize.
Our feet hit the pavement in almost soundless scuffs.
Upon our second pass, we pick up the pace a bit. We’re both breathing a lot heavier than we were the first time we ran this park, but neither of us give up. Sweat drips from my hairline, and my hip and pelvis begin to ache. I internally curse the screws and pins that hold the bones together and push through the pain.
On our fourth pass, it becomes too much, and I slow to a jog. Braeden slows right along with me until we’re both walking and wiping the sweat from our foreheads.
“Damn, I’m glad you gave in first. I wasn’t sure I had another lap in me.”
I’m sure he’s just saying that to make me feel better, but that’s okay. I’ll take the mulligan. I lift my hands to lock them on top of my head and catch my breath while continuing to walk. “Yeah . . . I think . . . four is my max.”