by Cassie Cross
“I love food smells,” Marin sighs. “And there aren’t any strings attached?”
“Nope. I called Hayley last night to see if she knew anything about this, and she did. The venue’s legit, Jesse really did call in a favor. I sent the contract over to the lawyer this morning, and she gave me the okay to sign it. I’m going to go back over to the restaurant with Jesse and do that tonight.”
“Do you want me to come with?” she asks.
“Nah, I’ve got it,” I tell her.
“I’m sure Hunter’s thrilled by this turn of events,” she replies sarcastically.
“I don’t think Hunter knows.”
“And Jesse just did this because he feels bad for being an asshole?”
I shrug. “Apparently? If only all apologies were this great.”
Marin hands me my phone. “He liiiiiikes youuuuu,” she sings in this irritating voice that kind of makes me want to smack her.
The tips of my ears grow hot. “No way. Last night he said he realized that there’s a lot riding on this for the two of us, and he’s right. He was making a gesture that will help us both succeed.”
“Okay, sure.”
Annoyed, I ask, “What about that isn’t true?”
“Figuring out how to make one of the places we can afford work would’ve been a nice gesture, Alexa. Calling in a favor to get this amazing venue that just happens to be free? He. Likes. You.”
“Nothing’s changed since that weekend a year ago when he turned me down, Marin.”
“Don’t you think it’s possible that he lied?”
No, I don’t think that’s possible. “Why would he?”
“Who knows?” she says, walking over to my fridge and pulling out a bottle of water. “People lie to protect themselves all the time. Maybe he’s scared, maybe he’s not ready. But I do know that he likes you.”
I hate that I still get this warm, tingling feeling when I think about the way he used to look at me, or the soft smile he’d get when I made a joke. It’s taken me a while to get over the embarrassment of putting myself out there only to get turned down again. I don’t want to hear what Marin’s saying, I don’t want to let even the faintest hope bloom inside me because I know it’ll only get crushed.
“No,” I tell her. “No way.”
She raises her brow, then twists off the top of the water. “Okay. I’m gonna hire the deejay this afternoon, so we can mark that off our list.”
“Okay,” I sigh, grateful she’s changed the subject.
8
Jesse
Alexa meets me and my buddy Antonio at the venue sharply at eight. She hands over the signed contract and goes over the rules Antonio set one more time: the charge for damage to the building, the access the kitchen staff will have to the place in the time leading up to the party, that she’s allowed to decorate with non-permanent fixtures only, and they can’t damage any of the surfaces.
It doesn’t take long for them to work things out, and Antonio leaves with a smile and a handshake. When it’s just the two of us, Alexa stands in the middle of the place, looking around, figuring out what item on her massive to-do list she should tackle first.
She has her hair up in a messy ponytail, and she’s practically drowning in an oversized sweatshirt. The collar is so stretched that it hangs off her shoulder. It’s tattered and worn, like it used to belong to a boyfriend and she kept it in the breakup.
I want to rip it off, want to run my hands along the curves her tight running pants are showing me every inch of. A few loose strands have fallen out of her ponytail and lay gently across the slope of her neck. I want to put my mouth on that spot.
“Do you think you could—”
She turns and catches me staring. Last year, I let her go because I wanted to avoid getting wrapped up in this, but now? I’m getting wrapped up, and I don’t know how to stop it. I don’t know if I want to stop it.
“What’s that look for?” she asks.
“What look?” I say, scrunching my brows together, trying to play it off.
“Having regrets?”
About not taking my chance with her a year ago? Yes. Absolutely. Every day since. But that can’t possibly be what she’s asking me.
“Wish you hadn’t put your name on the line with a friend for me?”
What? “No,” I reply quickly. “Not at all. Why?”
She gives me a long look, then shakes her head as she looks down at the ground. “You were just looking at me like…never mind.” She pulls a set of keys out of her sweatshirt pocket and dangles them in front of her. “I’ve got some stuff that I should bring in before my car gets towed.”
“Let me help you,” I say, wiping my hands on my jeans. She looks surprised that I offered, and I’m only just beginning to realize how much damage my behavior the other day must have done with her.
I take the bigger, heavier stuff, and we get her car unloaded in only a couple trips. I let her walk in front of me, mostly to be a gentleman, but also so I can enjoy the view.
“What’s in here?” I ask as she sits crosslegged on the floor.
“A few light samples I wanted to try, some tablecloths and stuff like that. I wanted to get a feel for what they’d look like in the place.”
She flips open one of the boxes and pulls out a long string of lights. “Are you going to do that tonight?”
“I’m just going to organize this stuff a little, I’m not planning on staying too long. I don’t want to have to get my car out of impound,” she replies with a smile.
“You don’t pay someone to do all of this for you?”
“No,” she says with a bitter laugh. “In an ideal world, yes, and maybe I’ll get there someday. But for now, with this budget? I’m going to be doing a lot of this myself. Hopefully with Marin’s help, and…maybe someone who isn’t terrified of ladders could pitch in.”
“I’m not terrified of ladders.”
Alexa pauses unwinding the lights for just a sec; if I wasn’t so observant, I would’ve missed it. She smiles up at me. Christ, she’s gorgeous. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Can I help you with that?”
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “I think maybe it’s time to head out for the night anyway.”
I think that’s a good idea. I want her badly, and it’s difficult to remember all the reasons why I thought that I shouldn’t. Maybe they don’t matter as much as I thought they did.
Still, I don’t want to do something either one of us will regret later.
“C’mon,” I say, reaching for her hand to help her up. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
Over the next few nights, Alexa and I meet at the restaurant. I tell myself it’s to appease Hunter and be a little more social, that it’s better than sitting at home doing whatever in the hell it is I normally do night after night. Antonio’s place is in a great area, but my bodyguard instincts are always on, and I just can’t let her spend so much time there alone after her business partner has to leave for the evening.
There’s also a fact that’s becoming more and more difficult to deny: I’m drawn to Alexa; I feel lighter around her than I have in a long time. Happy, almost.
At first, she seems surprised that I’m there, and that I keep showing up. Eventually she puts me to work.
I hang string lights and move tables into one position and then another, back and forth so many times I can’t remember how they were originally set up. I haul different chair samples to and from her car. Whatever she needs me to do, I do it.
At first we make small talk, just sharing random details about our days. That gradually moves into more personal territory, like stories about her business partner, or how stressed she is now that Hayley’s wedding is only a week away. She tells me that she’s learning to cook and sometimes brings me leftovers.
As our nights draw to a close, I find myself wanting to be with her longer. When I walk her to her car, I linger.
I’m playing a dangerous game, and I don’t
want to stop.
“I need you to get back up on that death trap,” Alexa says, nodding toward the ladder.
“What for?”
“Are you here to help, or are you here to ask questions?” There’s a shit ton of lights strung across the ceiling at this point, creating a soft glow in the room that makes Alexa’s eyes sparkle. She’s so gorgeous, it’s taking everything I have in me to not press her up against the wall and lick every inch of her body.
“If you want me to get on that death trap, I think I’m entitled to know why,” I tease.
“More lights,” she replies, pulling another strand out from behind her back and doing this little dance that makes her hips swivel. She gives me a flirty smile, running her tongue along her front teeth.
“Fine.” I reach over to grab the lights, but Alexa puts them behind her back again.
I’m all for any game that lets me get closer to her, so I step in, bending down to grab the cord, crowding so close to her that I can feel her breath against my neck. Her hair smells like honey, and I pause—just a second—before I pull back.
“Got it,” I say, nearly brushing my lips long the shell of her ear. I don’t even touch her, but I feel the shift in the air when she shivers.
She playfully swats at me just as I move out of her range. “Just put the damn lights up, show-off.”
I climb to the top of the ladder and ask, “Where do you want them?”
Alexa doesn’t answer.
I turn and see she’s staring right at my ass. I hook part of the cord under my belt buckle. “Should I put them here?”
That startles a laugh out of her, and she closes her eyes, smiling. All I can think about is making her laugh again.
“Hang them right next to the other ones so they connect the two remaining strings. And don’t act all cocky now that you caught me noticing you have a nice ass.”
“You hadn’t noticed that before?”
I’m kind of an oblivious idiot sometimes, so it takes me a few seconds to realize the energy in the room has changed.
“Jesse,” she says. It’s barely more than a whisper, and I know the second I hear my name that I’ve gone too far.
I’m sure I’m confusing her. I turned her down last year, and now I’m practically jumping her bones when she hands me a string of goddamn lights. I’ve got to stop this or make a move.
All the reasons I had for turning her down last year seem so unimportant when I’m with her. Maybe…ah, hell. I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore.
“Here?” I ask, trying to shift our conversation back to the decorating for the time being.
Alexa seems grateful for it, if her smile is any indication. “Perfect.”
I connect the lights, and once they’re lit, I climb down the ladder.
Alexa is packing up, getting ready to leave for the night. She only has one box, and she could probably get it herself.
“Here,” I say, reaching for it before she can. “Let me.”
She gives me a shy smile, then tucks her hair behind her ear. “Okay.”
We walk out, and when her car is loaded, I’m not ready to say goodbye. I decide I’m going to do something about that.
“It’s still early,” I say, shoving my hands in my pockets like some kind of nervous kid. “Feel like going for a drink?”
Alexa bites her lip, and I spend the interminable seconds that pass staring at it, wondering what she tastes like.
“Yeah,” she answers. “I’d like that.”
9
Alexa
This is…a terrible idea.
One of the worst ones I’ve ever had, probably, if we’re ranking them.
Jesse’s ginormous bodyguard body is all scrunched up in the front seat of my—what I thought was a rather spacious, but apparently not—SUV. I totally forgot I’d been rocking out to my boy band playlist, so when Quit Playing Games (With My Heart) started blasting once my bluetooth synched up, I quickly turned off the radio. It was embarrassing, and a little too on the nose, but Jesse didn’t seem to mind. He’s had this enigmatic smile the entire time we’ve been driving.
“Take a right up here,” he says as we approach the next intersection. “It’s at the end of the next block.”
It being a cozy watering hole near Jesse’s apartment.
He guides me to a small parking lot behind the building where there’s a few empty spots.
“I’m not used to being able to park so easily,” I say, breaking the charged but easy silence between us. “This place is already great in my book.”
Jesse laughs as unbuckles his seatbelt. “That’s why I like it. It’s quieter, the kind of place where people can actually hear each other when they talk.”
He winks as he opens the door, and my stupid heart somersaults in my chest. Ugh.
I’ve enjoyed spending time with Jesse over the past week and a half. He’s just the way I remember him, which doesn’t do me any favors. It’d be easier if he was still behaving like an asshole because then I’d at least want to be around him less. But when I say goodbye to him at the end of the night now, I feel this ache in my chest when I get in my car and pull away. I know I’m probably being reckless and setting myself up for some major heartbreak, but I don’t care. It’ll be worse this time, I know it, but there’s this niggling echo of Marin’s voice in my head when he smiles at me.
He liiiiiikes youuuuu.
I’m starting to think maybe he does. It’s thrilling and terrifying at the same time, and makes me wonder why he said no in the first place. Makes me wonder if he’ll really mean yes this time, assuming a this time ever happens.
“You coming?” Jesse says, walking over to my side of the car. It’s not until he ducks his head down and looks at me that I realize I’ve been sitting here with my door open and still haven’t gotten out.
I shake my head and smile, then hop out and lock the car. Jesse’s hand hovers just above the small of my back; I’m so aware of him that I can feel the heat radiating off of him even though he isn’t actually touching me.
Inside, the bartender greets Jesse and gives us a warm welcome. He asks Jesse if he wants his usual. Jesse nods and asks me what I’d like. I order a beer, and the two of us take a small table in the corner of the bar. The windows overlook the street, and even though it’s dark and there isn’t much foot traffic in this area of town, it’s a nice view. Especially the way the streetlights cast Jesse’s silhouette in shadow.
Neither of us says much until our beers arrive. There’s this weirdly charged air between us, full of uncertainty and the promise of something that we’re both too nervous or hesitant to reach for just yet.
“So,” Jesse begins, fiddling with the label on his bottle. “What made you decide to start your business? You told me the Cliff’s Notes version before the meeting with Alice Buchanan…I’m interested in the whole story.”
It’s a raw subject for me. It’s not necessarily a story I don’t want to share with him, it just involves a lot of my own insecurities that I’m not all that proud of.
“What made you decide to start doing security for sweet sixteens?” I tease, giving him what is hopefully a playful smile.
“Touché,” he grins, laughing under his breath. The best parts of his stupidly handsome face are in full effect: his soft-looking lips, his perfect teeth, that stubbly jawline that belongs in a magazine. I want to climb across this table and set up permanent residence on his lap. “You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.”
“Okay,” I reply, then take a sip of my beer. “You go first, then.”
He raises his brows. “Those are the rules?”
I nod, leaning forward and putting my elbows on the table. Jesse’s eyes flit down to my chest for just a second—this top does make my tits look amazing, it’s nice to know that he notices—and he licks his lips. “All right. I’ll bite.”
I manage to stop myself before I ask him to promise.
He looks down at the table and sits back, and I can
see him withdrawing a little, building up a wall to protect himself from my judgment.
“Hunter busted me down to smaller cases because he thought I was getting invested in my job in a way that was…” He hesitates, struggling to either find the words or say them aloud, I’m not sure which. “In a way that was not entirely healthy, I guess.”
It’s an incredibly sore subject for him, I can tell. “Keeping people safe and alive seems like the kind of job that’s worth being invested in,” I say, trying to lighten the mood a little.
“He never had a problem with my work ethic or my work product,” Jesse’s quick to tell me, just this side of being defensive. “He thought it was eating away at me personally.”
I perch myself on the edge of my seat and fold my elbows on the table, giving him every ounce of my attention. “Was he right?”
Jesse shrugs. “I don’t know. When you believe something, it’s kind of hard to see reason around it, if that makes any sense.”
“What is it that you believe?” I ask softly.
With a sad smile, Jesse looks down at his bottle. He wraps his fingers around the neck and gives it a turn. “I’ve done a lot of jobs for a lot of different people. Celebrities, officials, just regular folks who are scared for their lives for whatever reason. Some of that work is proactive; planning for threats that have been made but not followed through on yet. Some of it is reactive.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, which makes me think the reactive part of his job is the one he’s having a problem with.
“I’ve had a taste of that,” I say lightly, reminding him of the weekend he spent with me last year.
“It’s difficult having someone’s life in your hands,” he admits. “To commit yourself to doing some of the things you have to do to keep them safe.”
Quietly I ask, “Have you had to kill people, or—”