“Hey, no need to thank me,” he says. “That guy he was looking for disappeared years ago. I didn’t fucking know where to find him. All I did was say so.”
“Right.”
He grunts and grips the bar. “Still, though. Lucky thing the guys were in the back checking a price for me when he came in. They mighta thought that Jackson Christian sounds an awful lot like Jake Chris.”
Might have. Depends on who was working that day. No question though, I got lucky. I don’t know who that guy was who came looking. Someone my dad sent? Someone my stepmom sent? Someone else? No option is good, because I don’t want to be found. I guess I shoulda picked a better name to hide under. I was a punk kid, and kids aren’t known for their stellar foresight.
“Yeah. Anyway. Thanks. Again.” I’m backing toward the door now. Cassie’s sent me another text, asking if we can meet to talk more about the car thing. I don’t want to answer her until I leave. Which I’d like to do soon, because this conversation with Dante is turning in ways I don’t like.
“No sweat,” he hauls himself up to the bar and proceeds to knock out pull-ups.
“Well listen, I’m gonna head out. Thanks again.”
“Hey. Question.” Dante drops to the floor with a sudden whoosh of breath. “That chick from the bar. She seemed nice. You guys a thing? Kinda felt like you were cock-blocking every time I tried to get time with her.”
We’re not a thing. Not even a little and I should fucking say so. In light of this favor Dante did for me, I should back off and tell him to go ahead and ask her out while she’s still in town.
He did me a favor, and I owe him. Not to mention the leverage Dante would have if he ever decided we weren’t buddies anymore. He stood there just now and slapped me in the face with the fact that he knows the real me.
I can’t bring myself to give him my blessing where Cassie is concerned. I tell myself it’s still all about protecting her. Instead, I back out the door with an angry clench to my jaw: “Yeah. Dante. Keep it in your pants. She’s mine.”
Jake
I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking with that shit. Telling Dante to step off because Cassie’s my girl? So fucked. Totally and horrifically.
With my luck Dante’s gonna say something to her, and she’s gonna be pissed. Especially after what happened. I said what I said to keep Dante and his ulterior motives out of her pants, but what is that for an excuse? At some point I need to stop trying to protect her. At least I can acknowledge what I’ve been doing. That’s something.
So instead of letting her be a grown-up and handle her own shit from here on out, I’m waiting on a bench at Grove Park like a dumbass. If nothing else, it’s a gorgeous day to be outside. The weather is sunny, but clusters of trees provide lots of shade. There’s no playground here so I don’t see many little kids, but a few school-agers are playing soccer at one end of the field. I can see it would be a good place for jogging if I ever got my ass up that early.
I guess there are worse places to spend my Sunday afternoon off. I tap the bench, trying to decide how long it’s polite to wait before I leave.
I don’t have to wonder long. She comes up a couple of minutes later balancing a couple of bottles of water and a paper bag, looking sweeter than she did the night we met with her soaking wet clothes and her vulnerable smile. Prettier than the day she came into the shop carrying a box full of muffins.
It’s not so much how she’s dressed—which is fine—attractive but relaxed. She’s wearing faded blue jeans and a tank top better than anybody has a right to. It’s her smile, the set of her shoulders. She looks self-assured and easygoing.
Until she spots me, anyway. Then she’s back to nervous. Shit. Aren’t I a prize?
“Hey. Let me help you with that stuff.” I reach out for the bag she’s carrying. The water bottles are clamped under one arm and they’ve started sweating, leaving a wet splotch across her side.
“Oh. Thanks. I brought food.”
I stick my nose in the bag. “Smells pretty fucking great. What’s in here?”
She gives me a wicked grin. “It was chicken and dumplings day at the nursing home. They let me take a doggy bag.”
I give her a look. I guess she was expecting that, based on the supreme amusement all over her face. “We’re having dinner from the nursing home?”
“Right?” She laughs. “Seriously, though. I had some. It’s pretty good.” She tears into the bag and pulls out an apple. “I eat granola bars and Ramen for dinner every day. These folks are living it up over there. I’m telling you, I wanna go check in.”