by Jo Raven
Will she be okay?
Then I’m blinking, and there’s Amber. Amber… Her face doesn’t fit in with my memories, and yet seeing her calms me down and wraps a warm band around my chest.
Still… Can’t recognize this place. The steps are all wrong, and what is she doing here? My brain’s muddled from sleep and I’m disoriented.
I should… Should be careful. Walk away. My jaw hurts, and my ribs smart. Not a good sign, and it’s the kind of pain my nightmares feed on. It’s probably why I have so much trouble getting my brain to let go of the dream.
But her hand is on my arm, fingertips digging lightly into my muscle, and I let her pull me to my feet, bracing my other hand on the wall. The street lights blind me as I stagger down the steps, following her onto the street. The headlights of a passing car stab my eyeballs, and I curse under my breath.
“Why aren’t you sleeping in your bed?” she asks, her small hand slipping down to slide into mine, and I curl my fingers around it, a weight lifting off my chest—as if I’ve caught a lifeline in the storm.
“My bed.” My apartment. What the hell? I was back on the streets for a moment there. Kinda missed a whole year of my life. “I don’t…”
Memory returns in fits and starts, and I bite back a groan. Oh yeah, I remember now. Dammit.
She glances at me, probably waiting for an answer.
“Shit happened.” Real enlightening, J, very smooth.
“I thought you’d still be at work at this time.”
“Yeah, well, I left early. Had something I needed to do.”
“And did you?”
“Nope.” That’s the problem. Everything went wrong, every single damn thing, tonight of all nights. A night that’s bad by default.
Except for Amber finding me and putting her hand in mine. Yeah, that’s the only thing that gives me hope, though for what, I can’t imagine.
The rest of the way I turn the night’s events over and over in my head until it hurts like a mother, and I barely notice when she stops at a building entrance and unlocks.
That’s when I realize she hasn’t led me to my apartment, but to hers.
Thank fucking God.
“Have you eaten anything tonight?” she asks, and I take a moment to figure out she’s talking to me, too distracted by her scent and the warmth of her skin against mine as we go up the steps.
“Don’t think I have.” As a matter of fact, I can’t recall eating anything after a hurried breakfast. Had to leave early for the shop. Taking on Seth’s shift means I don’t go running as often as I’d like to, but hey, cleaning is a decent workout, I guess.
“Come on in.” She tugs her hand free of mine to open the apartment door, and I resist the urge to snatch it back.
“Kayla in?” I amble into her living room and switch on the lights. It’s tidy and clean and smells of some floral cleaner.
“She’s out.”
“Just you and me, then, kitten?” I flash her a grin when she turns to give me a look from where she’s hanging her purse on a hook behind the door.
“Cut it out, JJ.”
Still not taking my shit. I almost reel with relief. Back on solid ground after a night of spinning like a damn merry-go-round.
“I know.” I wink at her and lick my lips. “I’m a big dick.”
Doesn’t stop a flush from rising to her cheeks, and I grin wider.
Gotcha.
I love getting under her skin. Fuck, I love getting skin-to-skin with her even better, but after our last encounter and the way it ended… Because of my knee-jerk reaction to anything having to do with Helen and my past.
“I wouldn’t know the size of your dick,” she deadpans, slipping off her sandals and padding quietly across the room to close the curtains on the two windows facing the street below. “But from your need to talk about it constantly, I’d guess it’s very small.”
“What?” I sputter and cup my crotch protectively. “This is small? Who the hell said that?”
“So you’re big. Just how big are you?”
I gape at her, even as my dick starts getting interested in the proceedings, hardening against my palm. “Big.” I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with her, with Amber. My gaze strays to the swell of her tits under her tight, green top and my dick jumps under my hand, making me hiss. “Big enough.”
“We’ll see about that.” She winks at me heading to the kitchen, and I choke on my inhale.
What the fuck just happened?
What happened is I walked right into that one. Shit, that’s a first. This girl’s messing with my head, throwing my teasing back at me.
That’s a first, and damn if I don’t like it.
“Is it good?” She pushes a glass of juice toward me as I inhale the last of the spicy tuna rolls she put in front of me less than a minute earlier.
“Terrible,” I say with my mouth full and lick hot sauce off my fingers. “A health hazard. I think you’re trying to poison me.”
She giggles, but then her eyes focus on my finger-licking and widen a little before she turns away.
“I’ll let Kayla know how much you hated her rolls,” she says.
“Oh, she made them?” I could have eaten another ten of the tiny things, but I gulp down the juice instead. “They’re really good. Maybe she could show me how to make them one day.”
“You want to learn how to cook?”
I put my glass down, shrug. “Yeah. Is it weird? I’ve watched Mel at the taco stand, but I can’t eat tacos every night.”
She blinks at me, looking confused. “Can’t you cook something else?”
“If I knew, I would.” Now my belly’s full, my eyelids are drooping. I stifle a yawn. “It’s strange, having a kitchen, you know, where you can store food and cook and stuff. On the street you just grab what’s cheap and ready.”
Her face falls, and yeah, I’ve shoved her into the shitty reality of my past again. I keep forgetting most people have no clue what that’s like.
Not sure whether I should say I’m sorry for speaking out or cut my losses and shut up.
But then she says, “I’m sorry.”
What is she sorry for?
“Well, I’m not. Having a kitchen is damn cool, let me tell you that.”
She huffs a little laugh and pushes at my shoulder with her hand. “Shut up. You know what I mean.” When I stare at her, lost, she swallows hard and sits back down across from me. “I’m sorry you had to live like that before. It makes me sad.”
I hate pity. All my life I’ve fought it. I’m a proud person, although I’ve had to crack down on my pride quite a few times to avoid checking out of this world. Still… I’m glad she’s not pitying me, because otherwise I’d be out the door already.
And thinking she’s sad on my behalf sends those bands of warmth tightening around my chest until I can hardly breathe.
“Today…” I turn the cool glass in my hands, making it squeak on the table. “Today’s Helen’s birthday.”
I have no clue why I’m telling her this, sitting at the little table in her bright kitchen, spilling my guts out. I haven’t talked about Helen since the day she vanished. What’s wrong with me?
And worse still, why can’t I seem able to fucking stop?
“I always toast her with a shot of brandy on her birthday. She liked the stuff. I save a bottle in my room for special occasions.” I force my hands to still on top of the table. “I asked Mel to let me leave early. Not because of Helen, just…”
My fists are so tight my nails bite into the flesh of my palm, and yet I can’t feel any pain. Numb.
“What happened?” Her hands slide over mine like cool water, covering my fists, until I relax them and let my hands lie flat on the table. “When you got home?”
“Things went to hell before that.” I draw a breath and find myself trembling, so I pull away my hands and let them fall on my thighs. “On the way, I met Jason. He’s a hooker, still works the streets. He’s the one who fou
nd me that night when I was attacked, three years ago.”
“The night you got the scars?”
I find myself scratching at them unconsciously, and make myself stop. “Yeah. Jason has been on my case since then to report what happened to the police. I refused. Guy who cut me up is a gang leader. He’ll have my head on a spike if he finds out.”
She pales as she bows her head, taking this in. “I understand.”
Not fucking likely, not without knowing the whole story, and fuck if I’m ever telling her.
“Yeah, well. Jason insisted I should report the guy, said he’s been harassing everyone in the neighborhood. Harassing people I know, that I lived side by side with.” I heave a breath that seems stuck in my chest. “Jason was right. The guy attacked another homeless boy early this morning, cut him up. Kyle is his name. He’s at the fucking hospital. I don’t know the boy, but if I had reported the sicko back then, if I had done something… this wouldn’t have happened. Fuck, this is on me.”
A screech alerts me to the fact she’s pushed back her chair. I look up to see her walk around the table. She kneels at my feet. I have no clue what she’s doing, not even when she takes my hands in hers and squeezes.
“And then what happened?” she asks softly, so softly that I have to tell her, have to keep talking, because for once in my life someone is paying attention. Yeah, Zane and Rafe and the guys asked me some questions, but they mostly let me be, and I was grateful.
But now it’s not enough. Not anymore. I need… someone to know, to understand. I need Amber to understand. It’s never been so important to me before.
I want to wrap myself in her and just be.
“Then I returned to the apartment. I went to get my bottle of brandy, and it was fucking gone. Fucking roommates.”
“They took it?”
“Assholes.” What a clusterfuck. I can’t look at her, too raw, too pissed. Tonight of all nights… “They can’t respect my stuff. It’s not the first time. Just because they have money and can buy more of whatever they feel like at any moment doesn’t mean I can, too. Fuckers.” I realize I’m shaking again, and I don’t know why. “I punched Gage, and he gave as good as he got, then Travis got between us. Sorry, Embers. I’m just…”
I shake my head, unable to explain anything, and turn my baseball cap around, hiding my face in the shadow of the brim.
She squeezes my hands again and I force myself to lift my head and meet her eyes. She doesn’t look upset by my cursing and strange mood. She only looks… thoughtful.
“Come with me,” she says and gets to her feet, pulling on my hands until I get up and follow her. She leads me out of the kitchen and into the empty living room. My feet drag, heavy as stones. I’m suddenly so exhausted I can barely keep my eyes open as she tugs me to the sofa and pushes me down on it.
I land with an oof on the lumpy cushions. “Decided to satisfy your burning curiosity after all?”
“Curiosity?” She doesn’t join me on the sofa, which should be a big fat hint she isn’t really interested, but I’m too tired to care and to stop my mouth from spewing words.
“About the size of my dick.”
“Oh, there’s no doubt you are a big dick.” She shakes her head. She’s a quick study, this girl. “Stay here.”
I open my mouth to ask where she’s going, then openly stare at her pretty ass encased in a mini-mini jeans skirt as she leaves the room.
She returns, holding a bottle in her hands.
A bottle of brandy.
This time she does climb onto the sofa next to me, curls by my side like a cat, tucking her feet under her, and unscrews the top of the bottle. She raises it toward me, and there’s a sadness in her eyes that resonates inside me, because my heart hammers against my ribs.
“To Helen,” she whispers, and I take the brandy bottle blindly from her hand.
Saluting her, I take a long swig straight from the bottle to drown whatever it is that’s welling inside me. It feels like a tidal wave that’s gonna pull me under.
“To Helen,” I say.
Thank you for saving me when I had nobody. I won’t forget you.
“Do you have to work early tomorrow?” She’s curled under my arm, just like a kitten, big blue eyes staring up at me. The brandy bottle has ended up half-empty, and I’m clutching it at my other side.
“Nah. Did my two cleaning shifts this week, and I have no training tomorrow.” I let my head fall back on the backrest of the sofa. “Dammit. Zane’s pushing me to do more pieces, and I’ll fuck up, I just know it.”
“He’s your teacher. If he thinks you’re ready, then you fucking up is his problem.”
“Yeah, right. You think if I lose him a customer, and worse still, if I give his shop a bad name, he won’t chuck me out?”
She sits up and makes a grab for the bottle. I let her have it. After all, it’s hers. “No, I really don’t think he’ll chuck you out. What’s more, I don’t think he’ll let you do any real damage. He’ll be there, won’t he?”
She has a point. How can I make her understand my fear? “I always screw up. I was placed with a couple families over the years.” I roll my head away from her. “They couldn’t deal with me.”
“Bastards,” she mutters, and I blink in shock. I turn back toward her, needing to see her face, sure she’s making fun of me.
She looks dead serious and kinda pissed. Cute, too. Sexy.
Damn.
“They were good people. They took in lots of kids. I caused too much trouble.”
“You are trouble.” She puts the bottle down on the coffee table and places a hand on my cheek. Soft. Smooth. Warm. “I can’t imagine anyone giving you up, though. I wouldn’t want to.”
“You’re drunk, kitten.” I smile, turn to kiss her palm, and see her eyes darken.
She lets her hand drop on my shoulder. “If I am, you have to trust me. Drunk people always tell the truth.”
Hell, I feel like I’m cracking open for this girl.
“Why…?” I shake my head. “Why are you saying these things? Why do you keep asking me questions and… and being nice to me?”
She kneads my shoulder, and my eyes all but roll up in my head with pleasure. “Because you’re interesting.”
“I’m not interesting, Embers. I’m just fucked up.” And that’s the sad truth.
“And kind. And funny.” She leans into me, her warm breath caressing my neck, and lightning bolt desire shoots down my balls and into my dick. “And I like you a lot.”
I tighten my arm around her, sliding my fingers over the curve of her hip, and lick my dry lips. The need to kiss her is staggering, huge. Impossible to resist.
She draws back. “Come to bed, JJ. We both fit there, and Kayla won’t wake you up when she comes in at some ungodly hour.”
My brows shoot up to my hairline. She’s drunk.
I shouldn’t.
But she doesn’t even slur her words, and when she gets up, she seems perfectly steady. It occurs to me I was the one holding the bottle. She only had two to three sips this whole time, so maybe…
“You sure, kitten?”
“Yes, come. I have a spare toothbrush you can use.”
Toothbrush. Last thing on my mind.
She grins and pulls on my hand, small, sharp tugs. “It’s late. Let’s catch some sleep.”
Only problem is, I don’t know how the fuck I’m supposed to go to sleep with her lying by my side.
Her bedroom is small, done in shades of cool purple and red, from the drapes at the window to the bed cover and carpet. Books line the two shelves on the wall, and a closer inspection reveals books about art, jewelry, artisanal beads and strings, and fittingly, traveling. Escaping.
I’m thumbing through an account of a journey to Borneo—is that in Africa? Not sure—when a pendant hanging from a nail on the wall catches my eye.
A copper wire, and threaded on it is a small stone carving of a lion, no bigger than the tip of my thumb. The stone is black and
shiny, and cool to the touch.
I don’t hear her until she’s right behind me and touches me on the small of my back, making me jump three feet off the floor.
“Jesus! Warn a man first. Fucking hell.” I clap a hand dramatically to my heart, and she snickers.
“Your turn in the bathroom. I left the new toothbrush there.”
I’d answer, but my tongue is currently busy being stuck to the roof of my mouth. Holy motherfucking shit. She’s changed into tiny red shorts and a loose white blouse that is so soft it molds to her tits and hips, and I’ve gone from soft to hard in a heartbeat.
I stifle a moan as I reach down to adjust myself inside my jeans, and fuck if her gaze doesn’t follow the movement, widening a little.
Yeah, see what you do to me, kitten.
“You, uh…” She tears her eyes off my crotch and gestures at the pendant. “Like it?”
“Uh, yeah.” I realize I’m still staring at her pretty tits, and it’s my turn to force my gaze away. “It’s a lion.”
“Yeah. I made it, years ago, when we left to go to Chicago.”
“You said you left because of the bullying.”
She flinches at the word, and unconsciously I reach for her. I pull her against my side, curling an arm around her slender frame, as if I can protect her from any hurt.
“Yes. My parents decided leaving would be best. And they were right. It gave me the space and peace I needed to rebuild some of my confidence and self-esteem.”
I tighten my hold on her, the thought of anything bad happening to her hurting like a jagged glass stuck in my chest. “Good.”
“That was when I started getting seriously interested in art and crafts. My dad, he comes from the East Coast, from Rhode Island. He had this stone he found on the shore when he was little and other kids picked on him. He was a scrawny thing, unlike me.”
“Good,” I tell her truthfully. “I like you the way you are. You’re perfect.”
She snorts, and I bury my nose in her hair. It smells of coconut and sunlight. “Anyway, he got the stone and convinced himself it was some sort of ancient talisman that could protect him from any violence. Its shape already roughly resembled an animal. He gave it to me, and I carved and polished it, hung it around my neck.”