Fall for Me

by Jc Emery

  “This was a bad idea,” she hisses and leans in to peek over my shoulder. Yeah, it was a bad idea. But it was my idea, so of course it was bad. Needless to say, I’m not feeling real terrible about it. He really should know that old saying “be careful what you wish for” is serious business. “He’s going to kill me.”

  “Girl, you’re golden.” I muster the courage to meet her eyes and give her a confident grin. It’s not enough to coax the disapproval off her face. We haven’t hung out lately, and I know she feels a bit abandoned. “This is on me, not you.”

  “Have you ever seen H get mad?” she asks. She props her hands on her hips. She’s wearing flats under her dress blues, and I’m wearing heels, so for once we’re eye to eye. Royal’s striking blue eyes fixate on mine, and she’s squinting in a way that brings out the angry, and I’ll admit it’s kind of intimidating. “Really, he’s an asshole when he’s pissed, and he doesn’t care who he takes it out on.”

  “Can’t say I’ve dealt with him angry, but there’s a first time for everything.” This is only half-true. I’ve just never seen him angry at me.

  “You really could have warned me that you’re insane before I gave you my blessing to marry Jay,” she says and reaches for the phone as poor GLORIA- RED disappears from his contacts list.

  I narrowly dodge her and scoot toward the first stall. I hang his phone over the water. I knew Hennessey was a player, but the fucker has a color system in his phone, and that shit is just plain wrong. He’s lucky Royal talked me out of Plan A, which was to send an intimate picture of him that I found in his photos to every chick in his contact list who has a color next to her name. Except for my sister. I’m so not sending it to my sister. She’d tell Jameson, and he’d ask me if I really did see a picture of his brother’s dick, and well, I don’t want to cop to it. I know better than to look through his phone this thoroughly. He’d deserve the crazy that would come from sending the pic, but Royal had some good reasons to talk me out of it.

  “That wouldn’t be any fun, now would it?” With a raised brow, I challenge her to try to take the phone from me again. “Come on, Hayes. This is what you’ve trained for—rescuing innocents and all that jazz.”

  “Do. Not. Flush. That. Phone.” Her tone is full of warning, and her eyes are hard and cold, but it’s her mouth that gives her away. Hennessey is a dog, and she knows it. She wouldn’t have swiped his mobile if she didn’t think so. It’s just her pesky conscience that’s creeping up on her now. “And for the record, I’m trained in fire rescue, not psycho pseudo-girlfriend-on-the-loose phone rescues.”

  I jerk my head to the side in confusion.

  “Yes, I know what you’re doing,” she says. “When are you going to learn that I inherited my mom’s sleuthing abilities? I know just about everything.”

  “Noted. Pity, though,” I say and with a wicked smile I let go of the phone. Her gasp is enough for me and with a speed she doesn’t know I have, I catch the device with my other hand and tuck it into the top of my strapless dress. “You really do think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

  She shakes her head and holds out her hand.

  “Batshit,” she says and signals for me to hand the phone over. You know, as if I didn’t see the waiting palm she’s holding out. Persistent much?

  “I don’t want you to get in trouble, so I’ll return it to him myself.” I slip past her and quickly dart out of the women’s restroom and into the hall under the main staircase. All I hear behind me are a string of curse words that would make a sailor blush.

  Slipping through the crowd at the edges of the dance floor, I keep my eyes peeled for Hennessey and that dumb little tart he invited. They’re hard to miss—he’s gorgeous, and she’s an idiot. I’ve never met her and know nothing about her except her name—Joy—and what she looks like courtesy of her profile picture on Facebook. Hennessey gave me the link to her profile, and she is one crazy mutha. I think they may have invented the term badge bunny in her honor. I can’t believe after all the whining he did about this Joy chick he was trying to shake that he brings her to the Heroes in Action event. Royal catches up to me in no time and places a hand on my elbow.

  “You’re lucky I like you, because being friends with you after this is going to be difficult for me,” she says. I nod in response. I know she’s going to take a personal hit for being my coconspirator no matter how much I deny it. I’m still in shock that she spilled about the ranking system in his phone when I asked how big of a player he really is.

  “No it won’t.” I brush her comment off. “Jameson won’t let Hennessey give you crap for this. In fact, neither will your parents.”

  “But I owe you, anyway,” I say. “You should have seen the way Hennessey looks at the new bartender at Port of Call. When he looks at her, I see the same look I used to see on Jameson before we got together.”

  She just shakes her head and mumbles, “No shit,” in astonishment. A slow smile creeps up on her that I don’t think she wants there. She’s trying to be mad at me and all responsible and disapproving, but it’s not working. She hitches her thumb to the middle of the room.

  My eyes follow hers and land on the devil himself. His brown hair is styled in a fauxhawk that doesn’t budge despite the way he’s moving around to the high-tempo song playing through the speakers courtesy of the cover band on stage. I move in closer and stand just a few feet away. The petite blond in front of him has her perky tits pushed up so high in her big poufy dress that I’m afraid they’re going to fall out every time she bounces. I love this song—well, the original anyway—and am normally all about the bouncing. But not here at a society event. What a tacky bitch. She’s got way too much eye makeup on, and her hair is disturbingly still. Even her ruby lips look cheap with her hair color.

  I really wouldn’t hate on her if I Hennessey hadn’t dropped a little bit of truth on me that Joy has flirted with Jameson and has gone as far as to say that she doesn’t care that he’s with me. For that alone, I want to shake Hennessey of her.

  Before I approach, I check my hair to ensure not a single honey-colored hair is out of place and make sure the girls are as high up as they can get. As quickly as I can, I pull Hennessey’s phone out and open the camera, turning it around to face me, and check my makeup. My deep, smoky eyes are smudge free, and I don’t have any of my red lipstick on my teeth. I tuck the phone safely between my breasts and straighten my back. Okay, so I see a tiny bit of resemblance between her and me, even if I don’t want to admit it, and have to mentally apologize to her about a thousand times for being so mean. I just . . . get carried away, and Hennessey isn’t helping matters. How is he ever going to be a better man if this how he chooses to spend his time?

  The last few weeks have been a roller coaster ride of emotions. From the scary crazy stuff at the firehouse and the bar to the amazing that is knowing what it’s like to love and be loved by the man of my dreams. I think I’m fighting so hard for Hennessey to stop being such a pig because I know what I have with his brother and I want him to have that same joy. Just not this Joy. She’s crazy.

  “Excuse me, handsome,” I say and approach the dancing pair just as the song ends. I say a little “thanks” to God for that one. I was a tad worried her boobs were going to try for an up-close-and-personal greeting and no freaking thanks. Joy notices me first with a friendly smile and signals to Hennessey. His eyes widen just slightly as he clears his throat.

  “I found your phone,” I say and pull the device out of my cleavage with my thumb and middle finger. Slowly, I offer it to him with my best fake smile plastered on my face.

  “Really now?” His blue eyes look dead and cold in their lack of reaction and so does his voice. Instead of taking the phone from my hand, he pats down his suit, and sure enough, he finally realizes that what I’m offering him really is his phone.

  “How nice of you,” Joy says. She looks at Hennessey and raises her brows. Still, he doesn’t react.

  “Wonder how my phone slipped out,” he gri
nds out in frustration. That temper Royal’s talked about is budding to the surface, and it scares me a little. The chords of his thick neck tighten in a series of motions. I gulp in response. “Couldn’t be that you lifted it?”

  “Might have.” I cross my arms over my chest and decide this little plan was just that—little. It’s not enough. It was his idea that I interrupt them tonight. I just improvised a little with the phone. He’s still playing the rude-ass bad boy who needs to be knocked off his game. “I was looking up signs of syphilis. You know that rash you gave me?”

  He closes the space between us and snatches his phone from me. Joy fades into the background with a gasp and some kind of admonishment that I don’t care to hear. He’s a pig. He’s a liar. Yeah, yeah, Joy. Get in line, girl. We get it. I’m trying to make him neither of those things, but he’s not making it very easy when he falls in bed with every easy girl he meets.

  “That was a bit far,” he says and shakes his head. “If Jay heard that, he’d be pretty pissed.”

  Maybe I shouldn’t have had as much champagne as I have, because I’m having that “loose lips sink ships” problem again. Oh well, too late now. I needed it to calm my nerves. This place is crowded, and the only reason Jameson agreed that we could come is because security is out of control this year. Dad made sure nothing would tarnish Mom’s benefit or impair my safety.

  “Do you think he’d get so mad he’d put me over his knee and paddle me?” I ask with wide eyes. Hennessey scowls and visibly shudders at the suggestion, while I warm to the thought. I’m growing fond of the idea of being paddled by my man.

  “By the way, what does purple stand for?” Actually, I’d rather not know what the color associated with my name means, but my mouth has once again got me into trouble. I’m like a damn yappy Chihuahua that doesn’t know how to shut up even when it’s in my best interest.

  “Family,” he says. I place my hand on my chest and pull him into a hug.

  “That’s so sweet,” I say, so happy to be accepted by the Hayes family like I have been. I think Janet’s already mentioned to her priest about marrying me and Jameson next summer. All I heard through the phone yesterday were the words church, summer, and available before Jameson said, “Ask Lulu,” and hung up on his mother. Taking a step back and a deep breath, I try to calm the fluttery happy emotions that are overtaking me. I’m on the verge of tears with my eyes wet and my mascara in danger of running.

  When I look up, I find the most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on. He smiles a slow and sexy smile that should come with a purr because it just looks that smooth and does amazing, incredible things to my body that I can’t really stop evidence of since this year I decided to go commando. He crooks a finger at me, and I slip through the people and wrap my arms around his waist. This is home, right here, with Jameson.

  “Hennessey thinks of me as family,” I say quickly. It’s been what, a freaking week? And yet it feels right. So right. I’ve had a year to adjust to loving Jameson and being a part of his family in an informal way. Now that I have him, I don’t want to slow down. I can’t, really. He’s everything that matters, and I can’t think of wanting anything or anyone else. I just want him in every way I can get him.

  “Dance with me,” my Mr. Gorgeous says moments after a slow song begins. He spins me around the dance floor, keeping me close.

  The song ends, and he leads me to the bar where he drops me with Hennessey and Joy. He’s a lost cause, apparently. I cross my arms over my chest and wait for Jameson to get back. He slipped off, telling me that he was going to request a song for me. I already know he’s going to have them play “Lulu’s Song” because he’s that freaking romantic. God, I’d marry him tonight if he’d just ask. I know a few people in this room who are authorized to do it. Not that it’d be legal without a license or that I’ve looked into this or anything.

  “Mel?” a soft feminine voice calls out. I turn to my side and find Lydia standing there.

  My face falls, and I have to remind myself that I’m no longer the woman in love with her man. He’s my man now, and aside from that one tiny little kiss over a year ago, I’ve never done her wrong. Well, if you don’t count the whole accusing her of harassing me business.

  “Lydia, hi,” I say.

  Her eyes travel around the crowded space, and when she’s confident in what she sees—or doesn’t see—she approaches me and reaches out, touching my forearm. It’s gentle, but this is Lydia and me, so every little movement and word is loaded with a sordid history that I’d rather not repeat.

  “Sorry about the—” I say and stop. I don’t know how to finish that thought. She shakes her head, though, and offers me a sad smile. This is so not good. Where in the hell is Jameson when I need him?

  Chapter 22

  Melanie

  “You had every right to think it was me who was harassing you. I’m sure after he told you what I did, you hate me. I don’t blame you. I just wanted to tell you that I hope you know the gift you’ve been given.” Her eyes lift for a moment before she straightens her back and her attention is back on me.

  “We are talking about Jameson, right?” I ask. I’ve been making an ass out of myself all evening. I can’t bear to do it again. Not with her. I almost miss her comment about how I probably hate her. I don’t even know what she’s talking about, but I plan to find out.

  “I wanted to be it for him so bad. He was it for me,” she says with a nod to confirm my suspicions. “Just, please appreciate it. He’s different with you. You scared me.”

  I could be angry with her for telling me to take care of him, like she’s suggesting that I might not be able to. But instead I choose a different route. I’m tired of making questionable choices with her.

  “I’m different with him, too,” I admit. My eyes well with tears because the longer she stands in front of me, looking so defeated, the harder it is to not feel her pain myself. “It killed me to see him with you.”

  “I guess we’re still in love with the same man,” she says, and tears rush to her eyes. I have to take a deep breath to keep myself from crying for her. I don’t even like her all that much, but that’s got nothing to do with who she is as Lydia and more to do with who she was as Lydia, Jameson’s girlfriend.

  “I’m sorry you lost him,” I say and can’t stop my face from scrunching up. I don’t like being this honest with her when I’m not even sure it won’t get me into a catfight, but it’s like the floodgates are open. “I know now what you had, and I don’t think I’d ever get over it if I lost him.”

  Thick, muscled arms wrap around my waist as Jameson pulls me to him. He doesn’t say a word and just acts as though he’s not really there. Lydia flinches but doesn’t look surprised by his presence. I let myself relax into his chest no matter how awkward it may be as I’m spilling my guts to his ex-girlfriend who has every reason to hate me.

  “What you have with him is so much more than what I had,” she says and her eyes lift to meet his.

  I choke up at her words, and a tear falls down my cheek. Shit. She’s supposed to be awful, and I’m supposed to be able to hate her, but she’s not making it very easy.

  “I’m sorry,” she says to him with her eyes full of tears. What the hell did she do to him? There’s obviously more to their breakup than he’s shared with me.

  “We both fucked up,” he says softly. “You’re going to find a guy who will be better to you, Lyd.”

  Something about his comment strikes her especially hard, and she places her hand over her mouth and lets the tears fall freely. I want to pull away from him, barely able to handle this crazy-insane emotional display in such a crowded room. I totally forgot about all the people surrounding us. We’ve drawn a small audience, most of whom are trying to pretend they’re not watching this little heart to heart that is really quite inappropriate for such a public venue.

  She excuses herself and darts for the ladies room while trying to cover her face. Jameson holds me closer and dips his lips to my e
ar where he places a soft kiss on the shell. “Lulu’s Song” starts up in the background, and he sways us from one side to the other gently before whispering, “She’ll get over it.”

  I think he means she’ll get over him, but I doubt it. She’s lost something amazing and irreplaceable. There’s no getting over a man like Jameson Hayes. Even the thought of trying leaves darts of pain in my gut.

  “No she won’t,” I whisper. He pulls me toward the dance floor. He presses his forehead to mine and takes a deep breath.

  “I’m ready,” I whisper. My hands shake and my knees feel weak. What if he just said he wanted us to live together and to get married and have babies because he was lost in the moment of our first time and it was real but not in a right now kind of way? What if he’s not ready?

  “For what, baby?” he says. His eyes are still closed, and he’s still got his forehead pressed to mine. It’s so intimate and beautiful that I hate to share this moment with the world, even if nobody’s paying attention to us.

  “I’m ready to steal your pillow in our bed and to wake up to your morning breath. I’m ready for my dad to give me away, and I can’t wait until I have your last name and your babies, because this . . .” Tears fall down my cheeks, and I have to stop to gasp for breath. “Because this is what my love looks like—ready for everything, always.”

  When I open my eyes and pull back from him just a bit, I see that I’m not the only one totally moved by our moment. His eyes are red, and he swallows hard. He’s breathing heavy, and his face scrunches like he wants to smile but is afraid it’s not real. I don’t want to force him, though, so I’m quick to continue. “But I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give me, because even the tiniest little bit of you is better than nothing at all.”

  “I don’t have a ring yet,” he says with a laugh, and he finally smiles. His hands find their way into my hair, and he holds me so our lips are nearly touching.