With his dark hair and light eyes, the high cheekbones and full lips, with that physique that tells anyone looking that he can hold his own in a fight, he's turning heads.
And it's a ringing silence inside my mind as he spots us and smiles before heading our way.
Whoa, he's gorgeous.
Powerful.
Mine.
"Woo." Sydney fans herself. "He cleans up nicely."
"Why are you acting like you haven't seen him in years?"
Come to think of it, why am I?
"You can't expect me to get a good look in a club while trying not to get punched by some douchebag," she says.
Okay, good point.
And that reminds me. "What happened with your boy, the one who vanished?"
"He's not my boy. Jeez, Gigi, how many times do I have to say it? And … I don't want to talk about this right now."
I frown at her, but Jarett reaches our table, and she gets up, all smiles.
"Hi, Jarett." She sticks out her hand. "I'm Sydney."
I roll my eyes.
"I know," he says slowly, but takes her hand. "Jarett. In case you'd forgotten."
She laughs.
Jarett turns to me. "Does she need saving today? No? Just checking."
"He's funny!" Sydney gasps.
He lifts a brow. "Yeah, I don't always just hit people."
Was this a mistake? I just wanted my bestie to properly meet my boy. I mean, we're not officially together, and everything Merc said keeps playing in a loop in my mind, but we spend every night together, and whenever he has time, he calls me.
We talk about our day. He tells me what he intends to do with me during the night.
I can't focus in class, or when I try to study at home. I keep doodling, drawing his face, seeing his face in front of me.
I'm all his. Does he know that?
Is he mine? Could he ever be?
"No saving needed today," Sydney says. "And I had no idea Gigi asked you to look out for me, Jarett. Sorry if I bit your head off when you were helping me the other night."
I glare at her. Jarett never told me this.
But he just sits down beside me and takes my hand. "That's fine. I'd promised Gigi to take care of you, and I keep my promises."
I give him a watery smile back. Is this my answer? Once he promises something, he can never break that promise? That means he won't leave the gang, ever.
Her brows climb up. "Okay. Well, let me get you guys something to drink. As a way of saying thank you."
He nods. "Black coffee, no sugar."
"Sure thing. And a latte for my bestie. Coming right up."
My heart is heavy. How many times does he have to say it for me to finally grasp that he won't fight to be with me?
But with his warm hand wrapped securely around mine, his eyes on me, I push away the worry once more.
He's here now, and as long as he's here, there's hope.
Jarett's humming a melody while fixing a broken kitchen cabinet, and I'm staring, trying not to drool, as he wields the tools, his brow creased in concentration.
He's pretty good with his hands. And the heat spreading over my face at the thought of just how good his hands can be doesn't surprise me anymore. Flushed and breathless seems to be my natural state around Jarett.
He's singing now, his voice a nice bass.
My ears perk. "What are you singing? Didn't know you could sing that well."
"I can't." He grins sideways at me, and my thoughts falter. He's hot when he's brooding, but when he smiles he dazzles me.
"Sounds good to me."
He hammers a nail into the cupboard, his grin twisting. "Don't stroke my ego. It doesn't need it. I'm arrogant enough as it is."
But I'm not so sure about that. I touch my hands, where they touched his. My neck where he kissed me. My lips, still burning from his kisses. He likes to tease, but he's not arrogant. He can be rough when he wants me, but also gentle.
This boy. He once accused me of thinking too low of him, but he does an even better job of it himself.
"If you think you're so bad, tell me, would you change anything about yourself?"
He stills, then glances at me. "Is this a trick question? The list is fucking endless."
"I don't believe you."
He grabs another nail and lifts the hammer. "Even if you could erase my past, sweets … erase my record about shoplifting and the destruction of property, and my time spent in juvie … You know what I'm caught up in now."
I hang my head, sadness welling inside me. "I'm no saint, either, you know. I also went through a shoplifting phase, back when I was a teen. Drove Mom up the wall."
His eyes widen as he turns them on me.
Then he shakes his head. "You're nothing like me, girl. I'm a selfish bastard. I pissed on every couple who thought about adopting me cuz I didn't want them. I thought they couldn't replace … " He sighs. "Never mind. What I thought doesn't matter. I was a stupid little shit. I should have told my foster dad how grateful I was to him for seeing past that and taking me in. I should have … " He puts the hammer down on the counter. His eyes fall shut. "Should have told Mrs. Lowe what she means to me."
Oh God. I step closer, put my hand over his. "I'm sure they all knew. You're a great guy. Much more than you give yourself credit for. And for the record, I wouldn't change anything about you."
He blinks at me. "You wouldn't?"
"I know you, Jarett. And I like you."
More than you'll ever know.
His mouth curves into a faint hint of a smile. "You're crazy to like me. But I'm not gonna complain." He turns and wraps his arms around me, crushing me to him.
Then he dips his head and kisses me.
So softly.
The world halts.
Every memory of a previous kiss is wiped clean the moment his mouth covers mine.
I'll never want another man the way I want Jarett. I'll never love another the same way, and that's the truth of it.
The truth of me.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jarett
"What the hell is this?" My boss at Fat Burgers, by the name of Gus, waves a pocket of fries in my face. "Burned, that's what this is."
"I'm not the one frying those things today." I jab a thumb over my shoulder. "Jimmy there-"
"Shut your fucking mouth, and go get our customer a pocket of fresh fries."
I shut my fucking mouth, and go away to get fresh fries, because replying won't get me anywhere, as I've quickly found out in the past weeks. Logic won't get me anywhere.
Justice won't save me, cuz I've betrayed it.
And everyone working in here knows it.
I'm working on finding another job, but it ain't that easy. Gus told the neighboring businesses and all his goddamn friends not to hire me, and I can't take a job too far away because I need to keep an eye on Mom and Sebastian, and Angel doesn't want me far in case the gang needs me nearby.
I'm fucked.
But Gus's the one in the right. Not me. I shouldn't fucking complain. I chose my path in life. Made my choices. I'm twenty, for fuck's sake. A grown man.
Doesn't make this any easier, though.
I check with Tilly who's the one on frying duty right now, and she passes me a pocket with unburned fries.
Turning to take them to Gus in the hope he'll forget to be pissed at me for two seconds, I stumble over something,
Although I have an oh-shit moment, arms wind-milling, fries flying everywhere, I still think I won't fall, that I'll regain my balance.
Then my bad knee gives away, and I faceplant on the greasy floor before I even know what's going on.
The side of my head smacks on the linoleum and the impact rattles my bones, all the way down to my goddamn feet. Dark stars blink in and out in my eyes.
Fuck.
"Aw gosh," Gus says, smirking as he leans over me, "did it hurt? That was on behalf of the coffee shop your gang smashed to fucking pieces last week."
I wasn't even there. I'd missed the text message, balls-deep inside Gigi, and Angel later threatened to break my bones if I failed to show up again for gang business. Angel thinks he's running the mafia, not just a gang. As if it all matters at all.
"You even listening to me, dickhead?" He kicks me in the stomach, and I curl in, around the pain. "You and your buddies will never amount to anything. Fucking punks."
He's right. He's damn right.
"Now get up and get back to work, cuz I'm telling you, boy. I'm looking for an excuse, one damn excuse to kick your sorry ass out of here. If you're late, and I don't care why, I don't care if your house is burning or your uncle dying, you're fired. Got it?"
"Got it," I mutter, and roll to my knees, then get my feet under me, slowly, testing my knee.
At least this, this arrangement-me against the odds-is a familiar one. I'm not giving up the fight, not now, not while I have something to fight for.
Even if that's my moron of a brother. I'm keeping this job, and I'm keeping my place in the gang to safeguard his stupid ass.
That's my promise to myself, and like I said before, I keep my fucking promises.
After work, and after one more "accident" involving a bottle of mayo and an elbow in my ribs, I head out to the apartment to clean up and change.