PJ jerked as her mother’s head popped around the door. “Going to Johnny’s,” she said with a cheesy grin. “Cajun-style chicken on the stove. Don’t wait up, okay?”
“Sure, whatever.” PJ rolled her eyes and snatched her phone from the table. Cajun-style meant burnt.
“Love you, Janie Lou.” Francine blew her a kiss before disappearing from the room.
PJ looked down at the device in her hand and blinked, her gaze landing on the name lighting up on its screen. Holy crap. Beau Browning had just texted her.
PJ’s pulse leapt as she scrambled to a sitting position in her bed. Then she tugged the boy short—induced wedgie out of her butt, smoothed her faded FunWorld T-shirt, and yanked the length of her hair around her face like a curtain. When she’d finished fidgeting, PJ kind of wanted to slap herself. She was being stupid. She needed to calm down. It wasn’t like the guy had just rung her doorbell. He’d only sent one little text. Taking a deep breath, PJ finally peered down at it.
Beau: Heard you went out in a blaze of glory at school today. Maybe you should check into this.
PJ snorted at the man’s words before her gaze dropped to the web address he’d sent beneath them. It looked like a link to a website with information on the Louisiana HiSET exam.
PJ paused as she stared at it, a funny feeling taking root in her belly. She hadn’t even considered testing out of high school. Did she have the grades to pull it off? PJ tried to remember what her last few report cards had looked like, but her recollection was kind of hazy. She’d made it a point to avoid those things, and Francine had never been one to harp. Still, PJ was fairly confident she’d at least been passing all of her classes.
Dots appeared on her phone. Then another message popped up.
Beau: Little Grayson is getting his GED next week.
Then another.
Beau: All the cool kids are doing it…
PJ laughed as that funny feeling in her belly blossomed into something warm and unfamiliar. She was used to Beau’s uptight asshole side. She was used to lusting after him despite it. But as she stared at those teasing little ellipses, it almost seemed like the guy was being nice to her. Maybe even flirting. And, fiddley-fucking-dee but did that do some crazy shit to the inside of her belly. And the inside of her thighs. And her hands were kind of shaking too because she didn’t really know how to respond. Maybe she should call him.
Hell, no. No one actually called anybody anymore. And if she did, she’d probably go overboard with him like she always did, saying the most outlandish crap just to get a rise out of him. And then he’d get all hot and annoyed, and his voice would slip into that dangerous, sexy drawl of his, and her fingers would probably slip into her panties, which was some seriously pathetic behavior considering he’d probably never had a lusty thought about her in his life. No, it was safer to stick to sexting. Fuuck! Texting.
Snap out of it, chick! PJ gave herself a mental bitch slap and started typing.
PJ: Wow, news travels fast. Maybe I’ll check into it. Thanks for the link.
She hit send, then frowned. Maybe that wasn’t the best reply. It didn’t exactly scream for a response, and PJ really wanted a response. Maybe a bit of provocation was necessary. PJ tapped out an addendum.
PJ: And Little Grayson is pretty damn hot.
Dots immediately fired up on her phone, and PJ grinned at the speed of the man’s next text.
Beau: Little Grayson is pretty damn TAKEN. Or did you forget about the girl we rescued in Sac?
There he was. PJ’s favorite argyle asshole. Her nose flared in excitement as she tossed out another grenade.
PJ: Didn’t forget about her. Kory’s even hotter.
Beau: And the mysterious boyfriend in San Diego? He’s the hottest, I suppose?
PJ: That’s right. Andy is the hottest. Anybody would be lucky to have HER.
There. Take that. PJ jabbed viciously at the send button. Maybe that would shut Beau up about that damn side trip to SoCal once and for all. Seconds later, the dots flashed on her screen again.
Beau: So, you’re telling me you conned the Colonel into taking you with us to Sac so you could hook up with your girlfriend?
No. She’d conned the Colonel into taking her with them because she’d suddenly had some time off from school, and because she’d wanted to spend it hanging out with a guy who more often than not seemed really annoyed with her. Because she was an idiot. But she wasn’t about to tell him that.
Beau: Forget I asked. Who you date makes no difference to me. It was the timing I found inappropriate.
PJ: First off, not gay. Will cop to some occasional bi-curiosity but generally prefer the D.
Beau: God Almighty! Do you ever stop?
PJ: Nope. Secondly, Andy is a really old friend from school. Probably the best I ever had because even though she hardly ever looked me in the eye, when she did she always made me feel like she truly liked what she saw. That doesn’t happy to me very often. I miss her.
PJ stared at the words she’d typed in a rush. They were too raw. Too honest. For a moment, she considered deleting them, but then her traitorous finger hit send. After a minute the dots were back. And in the next they were gone. PJ watched them disappear and reappear as she gnawed on her lip and squirmed in her bed. Finally, his response pinged on her phone.
Beau: Thank you for sharing that with me. I think I may have an idea how you feel about your friend. I have someone in my life who makes me feel like that pretty often. Unfortunately, I needed to get back to him while we were in Sacramento, and I had to cut the trip short. I’m sorry you didn’t get to see Andy.
PJ drew in a breath as she absorbed his words. Hells bells, they were nice words. He was being nice to her. Legit nice. And she didn’t quite know how to handle it. So she typed out the first thing that popped in her head.
PJ: No worries. On the reals, I don’t think you’re an asshole.
Beau: Thanks. I’ll try not to let that go to my head.
PJ: But I do like your ass. It’s pretty damn hot.
Beau: Goodnight, Prudence.
Fuuuck. Maybe there was such a thing as too much honesty.
PJ: Goodnight, Double A.
Chapter 8
Four weeks later, PJ found herself in another office. This one was significantly smaller than the one at CSA, and the woman seated across from her appeared significantly kinder than PJ’s former headmistress. She was also a lot taller. Even taller than PJ, and it wasn’t often PJ could say this about another chick. For some, this would be intimidating. For PJ, it was comforting. Every minute that had passed since she’d met the site supervisor at Journeys, she’d felt just a little less likely to hurl. Job interviews were definitely not her thing.
Ms. Patrice Lawson tapped the rumpled paperwork on her desk before asking PJ another question, her deep voice ringing out in the room. “Miss Bruister, according to the work history you provided, you’ve had some experience taking care of children. Would you like to tell me about that?”
PJ really didn’t, but she had scribbled this down on the application she’d rescued from her cat, and Ms. Patrice was smiling at her encouragingly. PJ sat up a little straighter, her knees bumping the edge of the desk and rattling the jar of jelly beans on top of it. “Well, I watched my neighbor’s kid once. We binged on Minecraft together. That was cool. Then there’s my sisters, Rain, Bella, and Simone. They just turned four in January. I spent last weekend with them in Lafayette, so my dad and stepmom could have a break. I’ve also volunteered in the daycare at Fit Bods a few times. I’ll be honest, I think that’s a little easier than watching the triplets, but it’s all good.”
Ms. Patrice laughed, the rich musical sound of it almost magical. It was the kind of laugh that whole-heartedly invited you to join in, and PJ couldn’t stifle a nervous snort as the woman’s chuckles died down. “Don’t I know it,” she drawled. “You think triplets are hard? Try raising teenage daughters on the spectrum.”
Ms. Patrice motioned towards
two girls sitting in the large common room outside her office. One was painting the other’s nails. The other didn’t look too thrilled with her sister’s progress. Ms. Patrice shook her head. “It’s salon day at the center. Cherise loves to give her sister manicures, but Marissa doesn’t like the smell. This probably won’t last long.”
“Y’all should try Piggy Paint. It’s low-odor. Did I mention I’m really good with makeup?”
“Oh, I believe it.” Full bronze cheeks dimpled with amusement as the woman’s gaze swept over the masterpiece PJ had applied to her face that morning.
Iridescent teal eye shadow, pale pink blush, and tiny gold crystals glued about her temples completed the look. PJ had carefully arranged the little jewels in the shape of a star. She’d wanted to appear committed, but maybe she’d overshot it.
PJ glanced towards the common room, noting the two therapists overseeing the salon day action. Both were dressed casually in jeans and sneakers, and appeared to be inputting data into ruggedly cased tablets. Neither were wearing a great deal of makeup. “I can tone this down,” PJ said, with a quick swipe at her violet lashes.
“Maybe just a touch. Some of our clients have sensory issues and might find it distracting.” Ms. Patrice smoothed at her flawless burgundy lip stain. “But I know how it is. I do love me some MAC.”
PJ thought she might love Ms. Patrice. “Did I also mention my availability is really open right now?”
“You did.” The woman peered down at PJ’s application. “And I must say your educational history is quite diverse, Miss Bruister—”
“It’s PJ. PJ or Jane.”
“I think I prefer Jane,” she said thoughtfully.
“Sure, whatever— I mean, yeah, that’s fine.”
Ms. Patrice leaned forward, eying her with sudden intensity. “Well then, Jane, I only have one question left for you.”
“Shoot.”
“Why do you want to work with autistic children?”
Shit. PJ squirmed in her seat. This seemed like one of those tricky essay prompts on the HiSET exam she’d barely managed to pass a week ago: ostensibly, a pretty straightforward question, but digging into it was complicated and almost guaranteed to produce a whole bunch of babbling.
There was probably a very wrong way to answer it and a very right one. Very wrong would be admitting that she had a slight obsession with a dude whose son may or may not be attending the clinic. Very right would be explaining that she had a deeply rooted psychological predisposition towards helping people. The ones who really needed it. Not those picky idiots whining about their takeout order at Eataburger.
“Well, they seem like cool people,” PJ began, her sights shifting outside the office. Through the window she spied an older teen pacing with headphones, a bunch of kids going nuts in a ball pit, and a therapist being pushed around on a computer chair by a chubby boy with freckles. The whole scene was colorful, wild, and a little wonderful. PJ turned back to Ms. Patrice and leveled her with an honest look as she shrugged. “I think I could use some cool friends right about now.”
Ms. Patrice accepted this with a slight tilt of her head, and something about her mysterious smile had PJ thinking she might have landed on a halfway decent response. “You can start next Monday—”
“Yes!” PJ almost jumped from her chair as the woman chuckled.
“You’ll be in training for the next two weeks. You can shadow Brecken out there.” She waved at the guy being zipped about in the chair. “But you can’t run sessions on your own until you pass our ABA exam and turn eighteen.” Ms. Patrice cast another quick glance at the paperwork in front of her. “Looks like that will be soon enough though. You’ve a birthday coming up in April?”
“Yes, ma’am.” PJ stood on shaky legs, bumping into the desk again as she leaned forward to shake the woman’s hand. “Thanks so much! I won’t let you down.”
“You know, I do believe that too. Welcome to Journeys, Miss Jane.”
***
As soon as she left the building, PJ tapped out a quick text to Andy. With the time difference on the West Coast, she knew her friend was in class and probably wouldn’t reply, but PJ was too excited not to share her big news right away. Hitting send, she pocketed her phone, then stripped off the one blazer she owned and tied it around her waist.
It was beautiful out. One of those rare Louisiana days when the humidity wasn’t a thousand percent, and the sky was almost as vibrant a blue as all the green bordering the road in front of the clinic. PJ took it all in with a hopeful smile as she dropped her board and kicked off. A gentle March breeze stirred the scent of honeysuckle into the air as she came to a stop at the end of the sidewalk.
The traffic on Glenwood was already starting to thicken as the schools in the area let out. To the east was Finkerton High and Jefferson Prep. To the west was Treymont and CSA. PJ headed west. If she booked it, she might be able to catch Francine on a break at the gym, and maybe they could hit the La Fonda across the street. PJ was starving. She’d been running on one Slim Jim and a handful of jelly beans, and her stomach was now grumbling for real food. She needed tacos. Celebratory tacos and a Shirley Temple.
PJ popped her earbuds in as she skated and was just about to fire up some celebratory jams when the sudden blaring of a horn behind her had her jerking hard to the side of the road. Unbalanced, she tumbled from her board, rolling with her arms slightly bent the way her dad had taught her when she was a kid. When her hands found the soft purchase of grass and the world stopped spinning, PJ looked up to see Troy Latimoore’s Mustang cruising by, windows down, laughter pouring out of it. Adrenaline had her surging to her feet and firing up her middle finger.
“You asshole!”
From the passenger seat, Wade Hollis peered back at her with a malicious smirk. PJ had seen that look before. Up close and personal. It was a look that made her want to claw out his weaselly amber eyes or yank on another testicle till he cried like a bitch. Fortunately, she wasn’t subjected to it for long. Troy gunned the engine, and the Mustang took off.
Bending to retrieve her skateboard, PJ grimaced when she noticed the fresh tear in the knee of her jeans and the grass stains marring her blazer. She wiped at them angrily, her cheeks burning as she sniffed back tears. Then she stiffened at the sound of another car approaching.
Great. This was all she needed, a good Samaritan.
PJ straightened to find a navy blue Audi Q7 pulling off to the side of the road, slowing to a stop a few yards from her. She knew that car. And the dude climbing out of it. Beau Browning was her good Samaritan, and he looked all kinds of pissed. PJ swallowed as he stalked towards her, his dark gaze tracking the disappearing Mustang before it landed on her and softened.
“Are you okay?” Beau asked, concern evident in the tense line of his features.
“I’m fine.” PJ ignored the sting radiating from her right knee and brushed the last bit of dirt from her pants. “You didn’t have to stop.”
“Are you kidding me?” Beau was back to looking pissed. “Those idiots ran you off the road. Do you seriously think I’d just cruise on by? What kind of asshole do you take me for?”
PJ glanced in the direction of Troy’s car. “Well, not that kind of asshole—”
“Gee, thanks,” Beau muttered.
PJ dropped her board, her gaze fluttering to it as she sighed. “Look, they didn’t actually run me off the road. They just honked. I got spooked and scrubbed.” PJ flushed as she admitted the truth. “Loud noises have me a little jumpy lately.” She looked up to find Beau nodding.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I get it."
PJ could tell that he did. It had only been a month since Beau had backed her up against the side of that truck in California. And yes, the fantasy of that experience had been hot as hell for about five seconds. But the reality of it had also been scary as fuck, and apparently, parts of it were still messing with her head. In a bad way. PJ didn’t like it. She frowned and pushed off on her board, suddenly wanting
to get away.
Beau stepped in front of her. “Whoa! Where do you think you’re going?”
PJ pulled up with a snort. “To the gym, dude. I need to work out. Can I go now?”
He watched her silently for a moment. Then, quick as a flash, he bent and snatched up her board before she could formulate a protest. All she seemed capable of doing was standing there with her mouth hanging open as he stalked back to his ride and shoved it in the backseat. When he turned and leveled her with a piercing stare, she finally found her words.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m taking you to the gym.”
“I can make it on my own, thanks.” But even as she said this, PJ winced.
Beau’s gaze dropped to the blood stain spreading over the knee of her pants. “You’re hurt.”
“Must have taken some skin off in the gravel. It’s not a big deal.”
Beau covered the distance back to her in a few brisk strides and slipped his arm under her right shoulder. “Don’t argue with me, Prudence. Let’s go.”
“Yeah, okay. Whatever.” PJ wasn’t really paying attention to her knee anymore. She was suddenly a lot more interested in all the warm heat pressed up against her side, and the spicy scent of Beau’s aftershave teasing her nose. When he carefully lowered her into the passenger seat of his SUV, PJ couldn’t stifle a whimper. The sound had very little to do with her injury.
Pretty Jane (The Browning Series Book 3) Page 6