by L. B. Dunbar
“Your mommy and daddy are so in love, Harley man,” I coo at him with a sickening tone, but in my head, I add, And they are so lucky.
We are just finishing up our dinner as Speakeasy begins to fill up. Tomorrow will be another long day of splitting my time between the law practice and Building Buddies, so I need to put an end to my evening.
“Oh my God,” Scarlett whispers, reaching over for my wrist as we’re settling the bill.
“What?” I glance up, curious at her lowered voice.
“Louisa Miller has found herself a new man.”
Craning my neck, I stare across the room at the youthful, raven-haired woman who had a thing for Bull Eaton when Scarlett arrived on the scene.
“Stud alert,” I mutter, and Scarlett turns her attention back to me.
“What?” She chuckles.
“That’s Stud. The man behind her.” Standing at Louisa’s back is a man all too familiar to me. The same man who hours ago had his hand on my neck and his face next to mine, whispering calming words into my ear as I thought of Ian. “That’s Jake.”
“That’s Jake? Your Jake?”
“Well, he isn’t mine—”
“Rita, he isn’t hot.” Her incredulous tone has my gaze remaining on Jake as he escorts Louisa to a table in one of the most possessive moves ever—his hand on her lower back. It’s a sign of “we go together,” and now I have a Grease classic playing in my head. I hate that hand on Louisa’s back.
“Well, I—”
“He’s fricking hot.” Her grasp on my wrist tightens. “He’s flaming hot. He’s sex on a stick hot. He’s—”
“I get your point, lady. He’s hot.” I chuckle as the simple word does not do him justice, but Scarlett has to take it over the top.
“We need to get him away from Louisa.”
“We need not do any such thing.” My voice rises with the real fear that Scarlett will cross this restaurant and make a scene.
“But he can’t be with her.”
“Yet it looks like he is.” The two of them take a seat, and Louisa drags her chair closer to Jake. Maybe she just wants to hear him better. It’s loud in here with the high ceilings and the wood accents. Of course, I’m only making excuses. If I was on a date with Jake, I’d want to sit closer to him, too. Alas, I am not on a date with him. I haven’t been on a real date in seven years. “Time to go.”
I hastily stand, sending my chair scraping across the wood floor, adding to the symphony of noise in the place. Keeping my head lowered, I lift Harley’s diaper bag as Scarlett already holds the baby. As I glance up, I notice Jake across the space looking at me. Our eyes lock as they did at that first AA meeting, in the Busy Bean, and on occasion at the building project. Then he leans toward Louisa and whispers something in her ear.
Relax, he said to me earlier, like a lover’s voice before he slips inside. Deep down low, my belly flips with the thought, and I swipe fingers over my brow, pinching at the tight skin of my forehead. Jake stands, and I watch him cross the bar for the restrooms.
“On second thought, I think I need to use the bathroom before we leave.”
Scarlett tips up a brow. “Should I wait for you?”
“No . . . I just need a minute.” I clutch at my belly, implying a clearly embarrassing stomach issue, but she’s my friend, and us women share a lot of shit with each other. No pun intended.
“Go get ’em,” She growls like a tiger, and I burst into laughter.
“It’s not like that,” I say. Then again, what am I thinking?
“Love you, Rita,” she says.
“Love you too, chickie. And you too, little man.” I lean forward and press a kiss to Harley’s head before swiping my hand along his pudgy cheek.
Heading toward the bathroom area, I smooth my hands down my hips and nearly run into Jake as he exits the men’s room.
“Rita.”
“Jake.”
We stare at one another for a second, neither person moving. Everything rumbles inside me like a furnace ready to burst. I fight the words, desperate to escape, wrestling all accusations. I even roll my lips inward, hoping to keep myself quiet, but I cannot stop myself.
“Louisa Miller? Really Jake?”
He tips his head, roaming his gaze down my body. “Gonna tell me she’s not my type?” His question recalls what I said to him at that first AA meeting.
“She’s . . . she’s not.” It isn’t fair of me to pass judgment. I have no idea if Louisa is or isn’t his kind of catnip. She’s beautiful and young. Maybe that’s it. “She’s something like ten years younger than you.”
His brows lift at my outburst, and then his eyes narrow. “Age is only a number.”
I snort. An uncontrollable, unattractive honk. Jake steps closer to me.
“And what should be my type, Rita?” His gaze scans down my body once more, and the scent of cinnamon wafts off his breath. “A woman wearing power suits and hiking boots that clash with her outfit.”
My mouth falls open.
“Or maybe it’s a woman with red-rimmed eyeglasses, gray streaks in her hair, and a know-it-all attitude.”
Immediately, my hand lifts for my mousy brown hair with silver striping, heavier in some areas than others. While I’m slow to register what he’s implying, I’m quick to note the tone of his voice and the insinuation that I’m unattractive to him.
“Or is it someone who thinks she knows me when she doesn’t.”
“I—” My mouth falls open, but I don’t have a response for him, and I’m quickly cut off from all thoughts.
“Want to join us for a drink?” His voice is full of disdain.
My eyes narrow. My glare is flames. “You did not just ask me that.” He knows I’m a recovering alcoholic. He’s been to a meeting which I chaired, and he’s due at the next one.
As he glares back at me, it takes a moment for him to comprehend what he’s just asked, but I don’t care. I don’t care if he doesn’t like my comfortable boots, or my snarky red glasses, or the changing of my hair. I don’t care if he wants a younger woman or to drink his night away. I don’t care about him, and I don’t know why I followed him to this hallway.
Turning on my booted heels, I give him my back and stalk away, cursing myself. I was so close to giving in to him earlier. He almost kissed me, and I would have kissed him back. It would have been my first kiss in years.
And one of the biggest mistakes, as well.
6
Jake
Fuck. I don’t know why I said what I said to her. I don’t know what I was thinking other than she’d gotten under my skin earlier, and I had to push her back. Rita was getting too close. She muddled my thoughts and stirred shit that didn’t need stirring, not from the likes of her.
Still, what I’d just said was a total dick move.
“Rita, wait,” I call out to her, but she’s quick in those hiking boots, easily exiting the restroom area, and although I reach for her, I’m too late. She slips back into the main area of Speakeasy and hastens for her table. I don’t want to make a scene, but I quickly follow her.
Other than to the Busy Bean and Building Buddies, I haven’t been out since I’ve been released. Meeting Louisa the other day at the coffeehouse was a fluke. I thought I’d get lost in her, finally dipping my wick and relieving the tension inside me, but before I knew it, I was asking her out to dinner.
Then Rita had to be here, and my thoughts have gone to hell, reminding me I almost kissed her earlier. Fuck.
“Rita,” I call out one more time as I near her table where she’s grabbing her coat. Whoever her friend was, she left with her baby. Rita doesn’t respond to her name but moves forward as if not hearing me. She’s ignoring me.
My eyes drift to Louisa, awaiting my return to the table. Despite my eagerness to fuck someone and rid my thoughts of Rita, Louisa’s slow smile does nothing to quell all thoughts of Rita. I turn my attention toward the front door. My head tells me to forget her. My body warns me this is a mistake
. I cannot be interested in Rita Kaplan. She’s the supervisor where I work. Where I work because I’m on parole from prison.
She’s also an attorney, which means she’s smart, and she wouldn’t want to be mixed up with a dumbass criminal like me. She’s also so freaking cute, and regardless of what I said, I’m attracted to her. I love that her hair shows her age, and her smile says she doesn’t care about such a thing. I love those quirky, bright glasses although I can’t always see her eyes, which are bright and kind behind her glares. I love her sass while I hate her know-it-all attitude.
Her reaction to that small spark earlier tells me there’s a story behind her power suit and hiking boot veneer. She’s afraid of fire, and that detail adds to the list of she shouldn’t be my type. She isn’t going to want an arsonist, even if the accusation is false.
Still, I’m drawn to Rita, and I can’t pull my gaze from the door she’s disappeared behind. Glancing back at Louisa, I hold up my finger, indicating I need a minute. Then I stalk off after Rita.
“Rita!” I holler as I enter the dark parking lot. Her petite legs work fast, so I break into a jog to catch up to her. “Rita, wait.”
Drawing near, I reach forward to cup her elbow and tug. She’s forced to turn and face me, but her eyes avoid mine.
“What?” While her hip juts to the side, she gives me the side of her face, staring off into the distance.
“I’m sorry. That was . . . that was uncalled for.” She’s a recovering alcoholic, and it was insensitive of me to imply she should join me and my date for a drink.
Fuck. I am so fucking this up with both women, yet the only woman I want to make this right with is the one before me.
I don’t like how Rita isn’t looking at me. She isn’t giving me that glare she gives through those glasses. She isn’t huffing in my face. Her mouth isn’t close like it was earlier. Her cheek isn’t gently rubbing against mine. Her entire demeanor dismisses me. Isn’t that how I knew she’d be? Yeah, I know her type, too, and it isn’t me.
Removing my hand from her elbow, I hold it up high, surrendering to her. “Fine.”
“Fine.” Her neck quickly twists so she looks at me. “That’s all you have to say?”
“I just apologized. What more do you want?”
Her chest heaves like it did earlier today. Those damn glasses are reflecting the lamplight in the lot, and I can’t see her eyes. I want to see her eyes.
“Nothing,” she replies, shaking her head. “Absolutely nothing.” Her gaze lowers to her feet, and she kicks at the gravel surface.
“Your boots are okay, Rita. They look good with your outfit,” I lie. “You rock the Working Women vibe, all power savage and determined to take on the world.”
“Now, you’re just being cruel.” Her head pops back up, and I just know she’s giving me that glare. I can feel it, just like I felt her watching me during that first AA meeting, wondering who I am. If only I had that answer. The glare is a flame lighting something inside me I don’t recognize, can’t seem to control, and don’t know if I want to.
Dammit, Rita.
“No, sweet. This would be cruel.” I cup her cheeks and drag her to me, meeting her in the middle of the space between us. Then I crush her mouth with mine, sucking at those pouty lips. This is cruelty because I want this woman when I shouldn’t. Her sass. Her attitude. Her trust. I want it.
The second she responds, meeting my lip’s lead with her own, my tongue joins the torture, sweeping into her mouth and tangling with hers. I haven’t kissed someone in seven years—seven long fucking years—and she tastes so good, like freedom, and futures, and faith. This feeling is more than an irritating itch that needs a good scratch. This is Rita. I don’t know what it is about her, but I want her nails to dig in and her heart to open.
Then reality hits me. What am I doing? Just as quickly as I started down the slippery slope of desire, I pull back. Rita follows me, leaning into the space I put between us, chasing that kiss. Her eyes remain closed for a second as her lips seek mine, and I’ve crossed a line again.
“Fuck. I’m sorry, Rita.” Her lids flip open, and she stares at me. I should not have kissed her. Every part of my being screams, I should not have kissed her!
“I’m so sorry,” I repeat in a whisper, releasing her face like she’s scorched my skin and turning away from her once again.
“Rough night?” my brother asks. Nolan has no idea. Then again, as I glance over at him in his wheelchair, I imagine he does.
“Fuck, man. I fucked up.” I toss my head back on the couch in the house we share. It’s the same home where we grew up and inherited at our mother’s passing. The small house had a mortgage on it when my father left, and we were still little kids. My mother worked night and day to pay what she could, so we’d have a safe place to live, as she called it. I’d worked construction jobs as young as I could to help out, and we eventually paid it off. She died one night on a snowy mountain road.
“How was your date?” Nolan’s voice matches the wiggle of his brow. My brother is a horny bastard. It’s how he got in trouble when he was sixteen and ended up a father too young. Now, he doesn’t date. Losing sensation in the lower half of his body from a back injury has curtailed his extracurricular activities. Still, he’s a horndog.
“It went to hell.” Louisa deserved an explanation after I chased Rita, but I didn’t tell her that I’d kissed my supervisor, the woman who could make or break my probation assignment. Louisa didn’t know that my employment is actually a restorative program from prison. Instead, I explained that Rita was my boss and I’d forgotten to tell her something at work. The thing I actually had not forgotten, though, was my desire to kiss Rita.
I don’t know why I did it.
“I’m a dumbass,” I say, swiping a hand into my hair and holding it at the top of my head.
“Sounds like a story,” Nolan teases, and I hear his chair shift. When Nolan left the hospital, modifications had to be made to the house, and I wasn’t here to help accommodate his new condition. I was arrested while he was still heavily sedated. Arrangements were made for him as best I could from inside a cage. Thank goodness most of the volunteer firemen he worked with were good men and handy. They pulled together and did what needed to be done to make this house wheelchair accessible.
For some reason, I don’t want to tell Nolan exactly what I did tonight. Instead, I tell him what I didn’t.
“I don’t think I’ll be seeing Louisa again.”
“Why not? She wouldn’t put out on the first date.”
My head snaps up, irritated at the remark, although that’s exactly why I asked her out in the first place. I wanted in her pants without really knowing her.
“No, asshole. She didn’t. But I also didn’t ask her to.”
Nolan shakes his head. “You know that’s a waste of a perfectly good dick.” He nods at my lap, and I instinctively cover myself with a pillow from the couch. Guilt riddles me. Nolan’s condition isn’t my fault. I didn’t do what I’d been accused of doing, so there’s no way I was to blame for his injury. Still, I felt responsible. I’d always been responsible for my younger brother. Three years younger than me, he was only a kid himself when he got his girlfriend pregnant, and Rory came along. We’d lost our mother, and he took comfort in his girl. Idiot. We’d talked a hundred times about keeping himself wrapped up to prevent such a thing. I had played the role of father most of his life. When our mother died, I took her place as well.
“Don’t be looking at my junk. It might shrivel up and fall off.”
“Gonna fall off from disuse,” he mocks.
“Yeah, well, ain’t that the truth.” Whose fault is that? I almost state the sarcastic question, but I bite my tongue. Nolan surely isn’t at fault either that I got caught at the wrong place, at the wrong time, and accused of a crime I didn’t commit. Falsely accused. I had my suspicions about who did start the fire, but it never made sense. It didn’t seem logistically possible, so the accusation never crossed
my lips. I’ll take it to the grave. Either way, I took the punishment, and I did what I did to protect someone not entirely innocent but still not guilty enough to go to jail.
It was an accident. I had to believe it was an accident.
“How was work today?” Nolan asks, interrupting my thoughts.
“It’s fine.” It’s going to get worse, though, as I kissed my boss. Leaning forward, I place my elbows on my knees and swipe both hands over my face.
“You okay?” Nolan’s concern feels like a role reversal. I’m the one constantly worrying about him, not the other way around.
“Yeah, just a lot on my mind.”
“You think too much.” He used to tell me I worked too hard. All work and no play. I was always serious, he joked, but someone had to be the adult, and it wasn’t him. I’d always taken care of him, and that was an issue. As I look at him, shame washes over me because I want my freedom. I want to rid myself of the memories and the past, and that means separating from my brother, who is another reminder of what happened. When I met my ex-wife, a small part of me was relieved. She was my excuse to put some much-needed space between my brother and me. He was a man then and could stand on his own. Now, he can’t stand without support.
“I’m not thinking,” I mutter in response. I certainly wasn’t thinking tonight when I followed Rita to apologize and then kissed the crap out of her. Her mouth against mine lingers on my lips, and I chew the lower one as if I can still taste her. Her taste was unfamiliar, but like a hit of good coffee, I want another sip. “And speaking of work, I need a recyclable lunch bag. Something environmentally safe.”
“Yes, dear,” Nolan teases, and I scowl at him.
“Your peanut butter and jam sandwiches could use some improvement, too,” I mock, although I’m grateful he wants to do something for me. He feels just as bad as I do that I went to prison, serving time for a crime I didn’t commit. Add in his injury, and I know he wishes I’d been here with him. At seventeen, his son had to grow up too quickly, just like Nolan did.