by Clara Stone
I push up to a sitting position and pull out the ear buds. “Hey, What’s up?”
“I can’t take this anymore,” Cat blurts. “I’m sorry, girl. I am. I probably should have told you where we were going, but I didn’t know, Jessica. If I did, I never would have blindsided you like that. You know that, right?”
I tilt my head to the side and wonder what’s she’s going on about.
“The fight? I swear, girl, I never would have done that if I’d known you were gonna freak like that.”
Oh. I wrap the wire of the headphones slowly around my fingers and put them carefully inside my notebook. She’s right, I’ve been somewhat withdrawn ever since I fled that horrible scene. But I didn’t know how to explain my behavior and felt embarrassed, so instead, I fell back into my old ways—I retreated into the safety of music. “It’s fine. Really, it is.”
She places her hands on her hips and her nostrils flare. “No, it’s not. I’ve been your roommate for over three months now, and this is the kind of stuff I should know. You should have told me you have a thing about violence. I feel like the worst friend ever for dragging you there.”
“Cat,” I say to her, slow, calm, trying to get her to stop for a second. “It’s okay. Really. You didn’t know.”
“Then why have you been avoiding me?” she asks, dropping her hands from her hips.
I lick my lips, feeling my throat go dry all of a sudden. “I wasn’t avoiding you.”
“You totally were.” She pinches the bridge of her nose in frustration. “I asked you if you wanted to hit the bar last night and you totally brushed me off to work on your music.”
“I have work to do for the band,” I say, hedging.
She narrows her eyes; she knows there’s another reason and that I’m stalling. “You’ve been cooped up in here for the last two days and you took time off work. You never take time off.”
She has me there. I did take time off, because I didn’t want to risk running into Harrington. I sigh. “I just needed some time, and I can’t go wrong with music.” I look around the room and realize just how messy it is. I flinch a little.
“And some rodents,” Cat says as she follows my gaze. She picks up the empty glasses and plates scattered across my room and then starts to straighten up the huge pile of paper strewn all over the floor as she speaks. “Well, if you weren’t avoiding me, then there’s only one other explanation.”
I knew this conversation was inevitable, especially after I opened up to her about Harrington. She knows I liked him. Maybe even more than liked him. And that’s part of the problem. Now I don’t know how to feel. Disgusted. Attracted. Afraid. Conflicted, to say the least.
She places the papers in a neat pile on my desk beside the gathered dishes and utensils, and then comes over to sit in front of me, one leg tucked under her butt. “You want to talk about it?”
I swallow. “It’s stupid, really.”
She looks me hard in the eye and places a hand on my shoulder. “Nothing that has you running that hard and fast is stupid, Jessica. We all have our battles to fight. And as your self-proclaimed best friend, I want to listen. I promise, no judgement here. I mean, I’m far from perfect and you wouldn’t believe the things I could share with you about my life.”
“You’re not perfect?” I exclaim in mock horror.
She swats at me, laughing. “Trust me. The story I told you about how I learned that my parents were swingers is just the tip of the iceberg. But right now, I want to know what had you scared shitless the other day, because I don’t think it was just over finding out your potential boyfriend’s into cage fighting. ”
I look at her, pulling my bottom lip into my mouth. I’ve only ever shown one person all my scars. Opening yourself up, baring your innermost soul with all its flaws and scars isn’t easy, no matter what people try to tell you. But Cat did open up to me a week after I moved in, after I found her sleepwalking out in the street in her bra and panties, and I know I can trust her.
So, for the first time in a long time, I open up to someone other than Vincent. “Well, my mom died giving birth to me. So all I had was my dad, and eventually my step-mom, Grace. I was only two when they married, so I don’t remember the good times. If there ever really were good times. I just remember thinking that Grace always seemed to hate me for hogging his attention. And then, when I was twelve, my dad died. Stroke. Supposedly. But I’m not so sure.”
I choke on the memory, emotions I’d tried to forget surfacing again in a painful flood. Grief, anger, pain, it was all there. “Things got really ugly after that. Grace started dating and partying, and I was left to fend for myself. As I got older, her lovers started to become more interested in me than her. And when I wouldn’t give them what they wanted, they’d hurt me and tell me all the things they’d do to me when Grace wasn’t around.” I pause, my throat tightening.
I look down, rubbing my arms and wincing at the memory of pain embedded in them. I remember all the nights I escaped over to Vincent’s, hiding, and how, even at two years younger than me, he’d always taken care of me. He protected me. He always has. Even now.
Cat’s eyes brim with tears. “Why did you stay with her for so long?”
“I dunno. I guess sometimes it’s just easier to stay where you are than it is to change. But I couldn’t handle her anymore. And I finally had the courage to leave. You know? ”
She wipes her tears and wraps her arms around me. “Well, I’m glad you did, chica. And I’m so glad you decided to come here.”
I smile. “Me too.”
She lets me go and adjusts her position, sitting cross-legged, her hands in her lap. “So, what are you going to do about Killshot?”
I shrug. “Honestly? I don’t know.”
She gives me a small smile and pats my knee. “Well, whatever you decide, just know that I’ll support you.” She sighs heavily. “This little heart to heart has my hormones all over the place. I’ll be right back.” She jumps off the bed and shimmies backward. “Stay right there. It’s time to pop that bottle of wine and box of chocolates.”
She bounces away and out the door before I have time to respond. So instead, I grin at the doorway she disappeared through. I may not know what to do about Harrington, but I still somehow feel lighter than I have in a long time. And for now, that’s good enough.
“THIS BAT-SHIT CRAZY man is buying us all a round of drinks,” Fisher bellows, squeezing my shoulders in an awkward sideways hug.
“He’s been buying drinks all fucking night, man,” Lincoln says, slamming down the last glass I paid for.
Krish downs his last gulp too and belches like an earthquake. “You shouldn’t have bet against me, sucka. Maybe then you wouldn’t be such a sore loser.”
They go at each other and I tune them out, their bickering drowning in a sea of thoughts.
I shake my head and idly turn the glass on the table in front of me, my eyes sweeping the club. We made a shitload of money on my fight last week. And Lincoln, the treacherous bastard, bet on the other guy. He’s still pissed he missed out on a cut of the winnings, and I’m pissed that he had such little faith in me.
But none of that really matters. Not compared to the special meet-and-greet I got from Stamos after. Or the way Jess had looked at me before she ran from the club.
“She’s over there,” Fisher murmurs in my ear.
“Who?” I try to brush it off. But he’s right, I was looking for her without even realizing it.
“Don’t shit with me, douchebag. I know you better than you know yourself. Just go talk to her.”
“Says the guy who got rejected . . .” I twirl my finger in the air. “Four? Or is it five times in the last three hours?”
“Ha.” He crinkles his nose. “Don’t worry about my downfall, asshole. Worry about yours, because your woman is over there getting picked up by the CEO of Wigs R Us.”
I scoff. “She’s not my—”
The words cut off when my gaze lands on Jess. A guy wi
th hair so fucking black it has to be a wig “accidentally” gropes her hip with the back of his hand as she takes orders nearby. The sight is worse than watching a cat gag up a hairball. She shoots him a glare, and he quickly pulls his hand back.
“Ha!” I say, feeling a bit smug.
“Really? Then what was that?” Fisher asks, a knowing smile on his face. I want to punch it right off him.
“Out of 100,000 sperm, you were the fastest?” I ask. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. Well,” —he throws an olive at me—“that’s coming from a white crayon.”
“Whatever, dumbass.” I finish the last of my drink and slam it on the table before I get up.
“Where are you going?” Lincoln asks.
“To take a piss. Wanna come along?”
Krish tilts his empty glass at him. “Linky here loves gossip. And isn’t that where all the ladies go for gossip? I’m sure Linky would love to join.”
That earns him a kick under the table.
“If you two idiots are done, I think I’d rather piss in a stall.”
After a much needed break, I head to the bar and slap my hand on the counter, looking out over the assembled crowd while I wait for the bartender to come by.
A glass slides to a stop right next to me. I look down and realize it’s whiskey. I glance up quickly and find Jess walking away from me, disappearing down the hallway that leads to the restrooms. “What the hell?”
Downing the shot, I shove a ten into the tip jar, and run after her. The sad thing is that my legs make the decision before I even have the opportunity to consider what I’m doing.
Maybe I shouldn’t have had that last shot.
“Jess.” I grab her hand and spin us around so that she’s standing between me and the wall behind her. She shoves at me with her other hand, but I don’t move. Instead, I grab ahold of her wrist and pin it up above her head.
“Oof,” she grunts. “Let go of me.”
“No,” I say. “Not until I know what the hell is going on.”
She shakes her head. “What are you talking about?”
“You, avoiding me.”
The corners of her eyes crinkle as she squints, biting her lower lip.
“Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?”
Her chest heaves. “Don’t call me that.”
“What? Sweetheart?” I know I’m being patronizing, but she’s getting on my last nerve. “You never had a problem with it before.”
“Yeah, well, I do now.” She pulls at her hand. “Let me go, Killshot.”
Not a chance in the world; not until I know what happened. “Why?” I demand, barely holding back a growl of frustration. Why won’t she just talk to me? I don’t understand what could have caused this sudden shift in her mood. Is this really all because she saw me fight?
“Let. Me. Go.” She seethes, tugging against my hands. “You don’t scare me.”
“Oh. You’ll know if I’m trying to scare you,” I assure her.
Her eyes breathe fire. “Is that what last week was?”
So I was right. It is about the fight. I lighten my grip, just enough, and she takes the opportunity to get free. But I’m on her like a bee on honey. I snake my arm around her waist and pull her back to me. My eyes fall to her mouth as she exhales with an “oomph.”
My heart beats like a jackhammer against my ribs. I haven’t felt this kind of adrenaline in a while. Her cheeks are flushed, and the way her mouth quivers . . .
I want to run my finger over it and then follow it with my tongue. I lean forward, drawn to whatever lure she has over me.
“Jess.” Her name escapes like a plea.
“You lied to me,” she says.
That stops me from kissing her again. Hell, that stops everything inside me.
“Okay, maybe you didn’t straight-out lie, but withholding information is the same damn thing.”
I want to let her go, but now that I have her talking, I’m afraid she might run. So I don’t, trying, once again, to figure out how I’m going to get around this without telling her everything. She’s right, of course. I have withheld information, but only because I don’t want her caught up in all this.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Her eyes go cold. “What does that have to do with anything?” She pushes against my chest, trying to break free. She shoves hard, and I finally let her go. She starts to walk away. Then she turns around and stomps right back to me, jabbing me in the chest. “It makes a whole world of a fucking difference. That’s what it has to do with anything.”
Then she’s gone, heading right to the back and toward the restrooms, while I stand there, stunned out of my fucking mind, trying to understand what just happened.
My phone rings in my pocket. It’s Neil. I answer it immediately. “Tell me you got some good news, man.”
“Wilson wants to talk to you. He needs you to come in for debriefing.”
I curse under my breath. “Did you tell him what I said?”
“Yeah. That’s why he wants to talk to you.”
I run my hand down my face and let out a heavy sigh. “Fine. I’ll come meet him as soon as I can. Did you find anything on Lincoln Madison and Krish Patil?”
“Yeah, actually. Let me see.” The click, click, click of typing comes through in the background. “Lincoln has drug charges from back in 2010, and Krish has a handful of DUIs. He also got arrested for punching an officer.”
I run my hand over my jaw as I take that in. “Good. This is good. I think I can trust these two. But they aren’t a charity. Can you talk to Wilson and see what we can do about wiping their records in exchange for their cooperation? If I can offer to wipe their slates clean, they might actually play for our team.”
“Yeah. Of course,” Neil says.
“Thank you, Harris. I know I can always count on you.”
“It’s always a pleasure, Agent Lovelly. Goodbye.”
The line on the other end goes dead and I quickly come up with a plan to bring Lincoln and Krish on board. But in the meantime, there’s one more person I need to call and update. As the phone rings to Wilson’s private line, I make my way to the back, trying to find a less noisy place. Just as I make it to the back door, Jess walks out from the storage room and time seem to still for a second. A range of emotions passes over her face as we stare at each other, the tension between us palpable.
“Wilson,” he answers, his voice gruff and raspy.
I look away, breaking the spell, and shove the back door wide open, stepping into the cool night air. “Harris said you wanted to talk.”
SEEING HARRINGTON AT the club was harder than I thought. But only because I still can’t erase the image of him, blood smeared over his face and hands, from my mind.
I have no right to feel betrayed; I barely know him. And besides, it’s his life. If he wants to use his fists to make a living, then he should.
Somehow though, that thought just doesn’t sit well with me.
Emotions are a fickle thing, and even though I want to stay far away from him, the thought of doing so makes me crave him all the more. Kind of like when you constantly keep thinking about chocolate and how you shouldn’t eat it, and all you want to do instead is take that bite, even if it kills you.
“Are you expecting someone?” Cat asks, peeking around the doorframe to my bathroom, clearly having just come from the shower herself.
“No,” I respond around the brush in my mouth. I lean forward and spit into the sink. “Why?”
“Because there’s someone at the door, and it sounds like they’re ready to break it down.”
“What?” I quickly sip some water and swish it around in my mouth, before spitting that out to. “What do you mean there’s someone at the door?”
“Darlin’, you’re either deaf or so lost in your thoughts that you ought to be.” She points in the general direction of our front door. “You hear that?”
I shut off
the water and stretch out my hearing. Sure enough, there’s a loud banging noise at the front door. I wipe my mouth with a hand towel and shuffle my way toward it, shouldering the towel.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
The sound is loud and anxious. How the hell did I not hear it before? I pull the door open and blink. There in front of me is Fisher, grinning.
“I really don’t think she wants to see you, Fisher.”
“I know.” His grin spreads wider.
I shake my head, trying not to smile. “You have a death wish, you know that?”
“What can I say? I like my girls feisty.” He pauses. When I don’t say anything, he asks, “So, can I come in?”
“Nope.”
His mouth parts a little, confused shock on his face.
“Sorry, Fisher. You seem like a nice enough guy, when you’re not being a dick to my friend. But I can’t let you in. I hope you understand . . . women before dumbasses and all, you know?”
“Yaw-ouch.” He rubs his chest like I just stabbed him in the heart. “I can see why Harrington can’t stop talking about you.”
That catches me off guard.
His teeth are on full display as he grins a mega-watt smile. It almost makes me think that maybe that statement wasn’t as innocent as it seems.
“Who are you talking to, Jessica?” Cat calls from behind me.
I turn around, startled. Before I can stop him, Fisher steps inside and walks right past me, heading toward her. Cat, who’s wrapped in nothing but a towel, stares wide-eyed. There’s a sort of surprise and something that isn’t exactly anger in the way she watches him walk toward her.
“What the hell—”
Before she gives him a piece of her mind, he’s engulfed her in his arms and is kissing her passionately. She beats at his chest for all of two seconds before she wraps first her arms, then her legs around him. A second later, he disappears down the hall with her, carrying her toward her room.
I shake my head at how ridiculous they are. Over the past few months, Cat has hooked up with plenty of guys, but not a single one ever made it through our door. So, even though she pretends she doesn’t like him, I know there’s something else brewing inside that head of hers. But until I know what that is, she comes first.