Voices outside distract me from my thoughts. Men. One of them is Jason, but I don’t recognize the second. I push away from the kitchen table with a frown and move to the window, finding Jason opening the back door to his house, calling for Birdie. There’s something different about Jason and I’m so intent on figuring out what it is, I don’t realize the second man is staring up at me from the driveway. I recover with a jolt, sending him a tentative wave, which he returns while shaking his head and laughing.
Birdie comes out of the house in pajama pants and a hoodie, shaking hands with the second man. Altogether they move toward the stairs and I realize they’re coming here. To my place. “Oh shoot.” I hop back from the window with a squeak, throwing off my silky pink honeymoon robe, trading it for the blue maxi dress I wore today. A couple of pinches of my cheeks in the mirror and they’re already knocking. “Some notice would be nice,” I mutter, padding to the front door and pasting on a smile. “A simple phone call. Anything.”
“I don’t have your number,” Jason drones through the door.
I bury my face in my hands for a beat, then pull the door open. “Hello!” Without waiting for an invitation, Birdie sails past me and hops onto my kitchen counter, leaving Jason and the unknown man standing in the doorway. I extend my hand to him and he takes it, squeezing warmly. “Naomi Clemons. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Kyle Musgrave at your service.” He smiles charmingly, and I realize he’s quite handsome with his cleft chin and light, sun-scorched hair. The antithesis of Jason’s dark, could-be-man-or-could-be-bear appearance. “Sorry for the last-minute visit,” he says. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, too.”
There’s no help for it. I have to send Jason a prim look. See? A proper greeting isn’t so hard. “Think nothing of it. Please come in.” I step back with sweep of my arm. “I gather you’re a friend of Mr. Bristow?”
He smirks at Jason, who sends him back an eye roll. “Mr. Bristow and I were in the service together. I showed up unannounced at the marina today and he’s been kind enough to put a stray dog up for the night.”
Jason’s frown is fixed on something and I have to turn in a circle to find out it’s my silk robe in a heap on the floor. Maintaining my smile, I scoop it up and toss it into my bedroom, closing the door behind it. Thinking about it out of place makes me antsy, though, so I slip into the bedroom, hang it on a peg and reemerge to Jason’s shaking head. What is it about him that’s tugging at my curiosity? After a moment, the smell of beer reaches me and I realize he’s been…out. Drinking in a bar. These two rugged warrior men have been out on the town. A vision of Jason surrounded by dancing women rises unbidden in my mind and I shake my head to loosen it. It’s none of my business where he’s been.
Yet the back of my neck remains tighter than a pickle jar.
“Can I offer you gentleman something to drink?” Telling myself it’s ridiculous to be miffed with Jason for enjoying his evening, I enter the small kitchen area and open the fridge. I hesitate a moment before sliding two bottles of Budweiser out of their sleeve in the cardboard six-pack holder. Jason’s gaze nearly burns a hole in my back, but I manage to snick open the bottles without fumbling the play. “Would you like a Coke, Birdie?”
Her bare feet bump the lower cabinets in a low rhythm. “I’m good.”
I turn and hand off the beers to the men, catching my breath when the pads of Jason’s fingertips brush mine. Is it my imagination or did Jason grow several inches since yesterday? Maybe seeing him shoulder to shoulder with another, regular-sized man drives home exactly how large and intimidating he is. Don’t look at his hand around the beer bottle and remember what you saw it doing. Don’t…too late.
He winks at me, as if reading my mind.
I frown back. “Where do you reside, Mr. Musgrave?”
“Please call me Kyle.”
“Save your breath,” Jason mutters. “We’ve known each other for a month and we’re still not on a first-name basis.”
While Jason and I engage in a very impolite stare down, Kyle takes a long pull of his beer. “Mind me asking why that is?”
My chin lifts all by itself. “He gets his way far too often.”
Jason snorts. “We both know that’s not true.”
I’m pretty sure my face is the color of cotton candy. Lord, I’d like to smack him. “So. Kyle. You were saying you reside in…?”
“Oooh,” Birdie croons behind me. “She went there.”
Jason’s eyes smolder at me down the neck of his beer.
Kyle looks like it’s killing him to hold in his laughter. “Nashville, ma’am. Music city. That’s where I grew up—my mother was a country singer. Daddy played bass in her traveling band.”
“I don’t have to ask if they were lovesick fools for each other. It’s right there in your voice,” I say, reaching out to squeeze his arm. “Did they take you on the road with them?”
“First ten years of my life were spent in the back of a converted yellow school bus.” He gives me a charming smile. “Probably why I can’t sit still now.”
“Well, your affliction is our gain. It’s so nice to meet you.”
“Christ, is this how you’d have been talking to me this whole time if I’d—”
“Answered the door like a gentleman and not smeared motor oil all over my hands?” I pick a speck of imaginary lint off my shoulder. “It’s likely. Yes.”
Jason hoists his beer. “Thank god I’m not a gentleman, then.”
My gasp is rife with outrage.
“Are they always like this?” Kyle asks Birdie.
“Only on days that end in Y.”
Jason saunters in one direction around the table, moving in that slow, king-of-the-castle manner I’ve noticed before. Loose and casual, while somehow projecting a wide array of lethal abilities. He’s got even more of that deceptive swagger going tonight than usual because this is obviously not his first Budweiser. Not that he’s drunk or slurring his words, but his energy is more relaxed.
“Place looks different,” Jason remarks. “You’ve been busy.”
I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or a complaint, so I say, “There’s a lovely indoor farmer’s market just off of King Street. I’ve gotten in the habit of picking up fresh flowers.”
“They’re nice.” When our eyes meet, I see his have softened and a shiver goes through me. I don’t know which side of Jason alarms me more. Sweet or sour. He’s about to say something more, but his attention drops to the screen of my laptop and whatever he sees there darkens his expression faster than a bolt of lightning. “Looks like we interrupted your work.” Before I can respond, he’s already draining his beer and setting it down on the table with a thunk. “We should leave her to it. It’s not exactly standard protocol for the landlord to drop in on a tenant with guests, is it?”
The way he refers to me as a tenant is like a hot poker to the midsection. That distance, the separation of them and me is what I tried to achieve in the beginning, but it was unrealistic. It didn’t work, because I care about Birdie. And it’s impossible to hold someone’s hand in a moment of weakness, the way I did with Jason, and not…become a concerned party, right? We’ve traded confidences. That’s why my throat feels raw in answer to his dismissive attitude.
A light goes off in my head.
The email. He saw the email I started to Elijah.
My symptoms increase tenfold, the bolts tightening on either side of my throat, my stomach caving in. Guilt. “Can I talk to you for a minute, please?”
I’m not sure why I make the suggestion. What could we possibly say to one another here? But he’s already striding for the door. “Yeah.”
“Excuse us,” I breathe, following. As soon as the door is closed behind me, I’m pinned to it. Not by Jason’s body. No. By the pure anger he directs at me. “I’m sorry you saw that.”
The words come out in a blind rush.
They give him pause. They give me pause. He takes a purposeful step closer. “Why
?”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly.
“You beautiful, little liar,” he pushes through his teeth.
Jason calling me beautiful threatens to derail my focus, but I hang in there. “I’m not lying. We have th-this relationship that consists mostly of arguing. We needle each other constantly…and because of that…the non-fighting moments in between make no sense to me. Where do they come from? Are you always like this with a woman you…”
“Want to fuck? Nah, baby. That would just be counterproductive. But I’m not usually looking to get tail from a woman who’s got her sights set elsewhere.”
His words are meant to be a slap, but I feel the sting for another reason entirely. “Is that what you were doing tonight, Blackbeard?” I whisper. “Prowling for a woman?”
Oh Lord. I can’t believe I asked that. It’s the least important part of the statement he just made. And I have no right, especially after he saw the beginnings of my email to Elijah. Something inside me calms nonetheless when Jason’s angry expression turns to one of utter disbelief. “It’s a testament to how deep you’ve gotten under my skin that I didn’t even look, isn’t it?” He presses his hands to the door above my head, dropping his mouth to the space just above the curve of my neck. An inch away so I can feel his heated breaths. “Jealous. Aren’t you, beauty queen?”
I give a slight nod, unable to do anything but be honest when my body is practically humming out loud, giving me away. I am jealous. And a hypocrite.
“Good,” he rasps in my ear, his tongue brushing the sensitive lobe, his teeth worrying that same spot until I’m preparing to be taken against the door. “Try sleeping jealous. I’ve been doing it for weeks.”
Jason backs away and raps twice on the door. “Musgrave. Birdie,” he calls, still looking at me. “Let’s go.” Then just for my ears. “You want to stop tossing and turning and come claim responsibility for this hard dick, you know where to find me.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ColdCaseCrushers.com
Username: StopJustStop
Good gravy. Next thing I know, you’ll be throwing out Bigfoot theories.
I’m out of here. Good bye, Internet, forever. And I mean it this time!!
Jason
The joke is on me. Despite taunting Naomi last night about tossing and turning through her jealousy, I barely slept a goddamn wink. Several times, I had to talk myself out of kicking down her door and apologizing. Or possibly starting another argument. I probably wouldn’t have made up my mind until she answered the door. If she’d had the nerve to answer my knock in that silk, pink robe, though? In the wake of seeing her email to another man? I might have put her over my knee. Shredded that thin, pink tease of a garment in one hand and spanked her yoga-tightened butt rotten with the other.
This is it. I’ve lost my fucking mind.
Because I know damn well if Naomi answered her door a second time with that vulnerable expression she was wearing when she admitted to being jealous, I would have gotten down on my knees and asked for forgiveness. The fact that she might have spent a night unnecessarily jealous makes me want to quit my morning run, lean over the ocean wall and lose my breakfast. And I feel this way even though she’s planning on returning to another man.
I’m pretty sure that makes me a damn fool.
Or I’ve been horny for this woman so long, my self-respect is waning.
Could be both.
If I could go back and do last night over, I wouldn’t have walked away so fast. I would have checked my own jealousy and talked to Naomi. She exposed herself by admitting there’s something between us, and I played dirty instead of taking the opportunity to get inside her head. Now the progress we made is lost in the rubble of the fight.
And when the hell did I start believing progress was possible?
When did I start to want it?
An unfamiliar row of houses brings me up short and I realize I’ve missed the turn for our street. With a curse, I turn and kick up my pace to a sprint, wanting to get home before Birdie leaves. Last night, she stayed up late playing poker with Musgrave and me—until she fell asleep facedown on the table, chips stuck to her forehead. When I carried her to bed and threw the covers over her, I remembered my earlier resolve to talk to her more. Attempt to be more of a brother, rather than a last-ditch guardian. I woke up after my one hour of sleep even more determined to try. Saturdays are pageant cramming days, so she’s usually up and out the door by eight, running with Naomi or practicing in the church basement. Maybe I have time to catch her.
I glance up at Naomi’s apartment as I slow to a halt at the backdoor, fishing the house key out of my sweatpants. No sign of her. God, I’d give anything for her to turn her nose up at me through the window right now, so I’d know where we stand. This whole wondering if she’s got hurt feelings business is going to give me a stroke by noon.
The house is mostly quiet when I walk inside, apart from the music traveling down the hallway from Birdie’s bedroom. I grab a towel out of the linen closet and mop off the sweat drying on my back and chest, falling into a kitchen chair with a glass of orange juice moments later. As I’d guessed he would, Musgrave took off this morning before we woke up. Didn’t even bother to leave a note, the bastard. He’ll probably do this again in a year or so. Show up long enough to reminisce without getting too deep, then hit the bricks.
You won’t be here in a year.
I wait for the sense of purpose to flood in—the one I usually get when I think of throwing myself into another seemingly endless round of deployments. This time it’s more like a trickle, though. I’m distracted from my confusion when Birdie trips to a stop at the end of the hallway, high heels tucked under her arm. “Hey.” She looks around. “Did Kyle leave?”
“Off into the sunset. Knew he wouldn’t stick around long.”
“Seems to be a running theme with you guys.”
“Yeah.” I clear the new discomfort from my throat. “I’m here now, though. What’s, uh…what’s going on?”
She raises an eyebrow at me from the coffee pot. “Huh?”
“What are you doing today?” I nod at the heels that now sit on the kitchen counter. “You have to wear those when you practice walking?”
“Always. They never come off. I might as well have them welded on.”
“That sounds tough.”
“It’s…” My sister does a double take at me, as if she just realized we’re having a conversation. “Um, it’s not so bad. I kind of got used to them and now I feel fancy.”
“What about the dance? How’s that coming?”
She dumps some milk into her mug. “Why are you so interested?”
“Hey, I showed up to watch you waltz.”
“You showed up to watch my coach.” She holds up both hands. “Totally understandable. Not judging. She looks like two angels had a baby, but some of the devil’s DNA snuck in and gave her really nice boobs and legs just to fuck with you.” That left turn has me shifting in my chair, sending Birdie into a fit of laughter. “This isn’t going as you planned, is it?”
“No.” I do my best to stop thinking of Naomi’s tits. It’s not easy. “I guess I’ve been pretty obvious about, uh…”
“Wanting to couch the coach?”
“Jesus, Birdie.”
“Sorry.” She smiles into a sip of coffee. “This is the longest you’ve talked to me since you got home and I’m ruining it.”
A weight presses down on my chest. “I don’t want that to be the case. I need to do better.”
Her eyebrows knit together. “Need to or want to?” She lowers her coffee revealing the tugged down corners of her mouth. “I know you’re not here by choice. I don’t expect you to magically be a happy camper. Mom and Dad were like, here you go, Jason. Here’s your awkward and disturbingly emotional sibling. Good luck.”
“That’s not how it went down and that’s not how I see it.” I stand up and her eyes shoot wide, as if terrified I might try to hug her. “I wan
ted to be here with you, okay?” Worried I might be throwing to much brotherly love at her at once, I jerk my chin toward the cabinets. “I picked you up some sugar-free chocolate syrup. You still like to drizzle it on your cereal?”
“Yeah. Natalie used to gag every time I did it.”
Thinking back to Naomi’s story about her mother’s frown stopping her from eating potatoes, I make a mental note to never comment on what a woman chooses to eat. One dumb move and an entire food group can be ruined for them forever. “I’ve eaten expired MREs in a pinch, kid. I’m gag-proof.”
Birdie nods, watching me out of the corner of her eye as she goes through the process of testing her blood sugar and injecting insulin.
“When was the last time you saw the endocrinologist?”
She tidies up the scraps of paper and disposes of the needle. “Um. A few months ago?”
I frown. “Did I know about it?”
“No, I just went. I’ve been going alone since high school started.” In the process of removing cereal from the cabinet, she sends me a smirk over her shoulder. “It’s pretty fucked up that I have the only disease where the doctors don’t hand out lollipops after an appointment, right?”
“Yeah. It’s fucked up.” I’m not talking about the lollipops, though. My sister has been shouldering a lot on her own, without complaint. And I’ve been oblivious to it.
Naomi chooses that moment to breeze into the kitchen, looking incredible in some gauzy green shirt that has little cutouts for her shoulders. “Oh.” She smooths her hands down the thighs of her white jeans. “I saw you leave for a run. I thought…”
“It’s fine,” I say. Because suddenly I’m one hundred percent devoted to reassuring women. Hell if it does me any good, though—I can’t tell a damn thing from Naomi’s schooled expression. “I was just going to ask Birdie about her plans for the day.”
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