The more it hurts, the more my dick stiffens when I think of her and the more I want to crack that shell of hers.
Yeah, I'm a fucked-up son of a bitch.
As I turn around, taking the tray back to the bar and grabbing my next order, I wonder how long it will take until this nice group of people who do their best to like me realize the truth and run away, just like everyone else in my life.
Zane shows up at the taco joint where I work, his spunky girlfriend Dakota in tow, soon followed by Dylan and his supermodel-lookalike chick, Tessa.
I didn't expect to see them. They used to come by before Megan got me the job at the café. I guess someone must have spilled the beans to them about me keeping this job.
Zane is giving me one of those looks that say he wants us to talk, or rather he wants me to talk, and hell to the no. Besides, there's nothing to talk about. Everything's cool.
Too cool to be true, in fact.
Yet, as I look at them standing there, talking and laughing while ordering their street tacos and tortilla soups, I allow myself, just for a moment, to believe things will remain this way, that this illusion of stability and peace won't shatter into a million pieces come tomorrow. That I won't fuck it up.
Yeah, right.
Automatically I reach for my leather band, to rub it as my ritual goes, but of course it's not there.
Lost it. The one thing I have from her. From Helen. So instead I put my hand on my right pec, over my demon tat.
I know I promised to try, Helen, and I am giving it my best shot, I swear.
"How's everything, fucker?" Zane drawls. Figures he wouldn't waste any time asking. "Your roommates? I see you haven't killed each other yet."
"Then that's all you need to know," I tell him cheerfully and turn to the next customers-an old man with a pretty girl who has to be his daughter. "What can I get you?"
They order their burritos and drinks, and I pass the info to Mel at the back, who's whistling a Metallica song completely out of tune. The pan sizzles with chilies and onion. Damn, it smells good.
"That all?" Mel growls and throws the meat into the pan. "Not much traffic tonight, is there?"
"Nope," I agree and try to memorize what he's doing. I wish I could cook up something like that, but the kitchen at the apartment is like a war zone, full of minefields.
Not that I know the first thing about cooking. I don't even remember setting foot inside a kitchen up to a year ago, unless it was to nick something to eat and leave before I get caught. My efforts to create something edible have most times backfired, quite literally.
Sweat sluices down my back and face. I wipe at my brow with the back of my hand. Everything around me smells of fried onion and grease, and my mouth waters. I'll have to grab a taco as soon as there's a lull in business.
I also wouldn't mind sitting down for a bit. I've been on my feet all day, but Mel is talking to me.
"Do they want extra cheese?" he asks, and I grunt, because I always forget to ask the question.
Turning back to the old man and the girl, I open my mouth to inquire as to their cheesy preferences and freeze. The guy has his arm around the girl's shoulders, way too close, way too personal.
Not her dad. Not his daughter.
Something dark flashes at the back of my mind, a trickle that turns into a gushing torrent, burying rational thought. I don't see her face anymore. Dark eyes superimpose blue, dark hair flow over blond, and it's Helen in the old man's arms, fear marking her features.
Fuck. Muscles tensing in my back and legs, I take a step forward. My hands curl into fists.
"Jesse. Come here, fucker," Zane calls.
My legs shake, and the face in front of me is going in and out of focus.
Christ. "What?" I grunt.
"Bring over the chili sauce, kiddo."
I blink, lick my dry lips. It's not Helen. I know that girl's not Helen, so why does my brain keep seeing her? "Dylan has the sauce." I point at the bottle. "Wait your turn like a good boy."
"Dammit, Jesse, get your ass over here."
Seriously? I owe him everything, but can't he let up? Can't he see I need a minute?
"And I mean now." Zane leans on the counter, gripping it tight, as if about to vault over to get to me.
Yeah, obviously not. What the fuck does he want? Why now?
Slowly I turn toward him and lean on the counter so that we're almost nose to nose. "Sorry, man, that's all the fucking sauce we got. Take it up with the manager if you want."
"Jesse!" Mel hollers from the back. "What the hell are you doing? Apologize to the man."
I wince.
"It's okay," Zane hollers back. "I know him. No harm done." Then to me he says, "Take a walk with me, J. A short one, I promise."
Fuck you.
"Go on," Mel says. "Take a break. Five minutes."
Zane leads the way down the street to a bench. He offers me a cigarette and I take it. We light up and sit. The night is clear, though I can see no stars from where I'm standing. Too many lights from the city obscuring the sky, I guess.
Hiding in the light. I always thought that was some magical shit. I could see the stars from the boy camps I escaped from, and let me tell you, not even the beauty of the night sky out there in the wildness could make the camps pretty. I've never been able to associate the stars with anything good since then.
Good riddance.
The silence stretches for so long I start to get antsy. Zane is observing me over the glowing embers of his cigarette, his dark eyes narrowed to slits.
I swallow hard, choke on the smoke and cough. "Shit."
"Something's up with you," Zane rumbles.
"Come on, Z-man." I stick the cigarette back into my mouth and draw the smoke into my lungs, smothering the cough and forcing myself to take it, like everything else. "If you changed your mind about taking me in, then say it. I won't take it personally."
He lifts a brow at me. "You think I'm gonna ditch you?"
I shrug. "Who would blame you? I'm a pain in the ass."
"Says who?"
He's confusing me. "I dunno, man. Everyone."
"You mean Amber?"
The mention of her name catches me short. "Amber said that?"
And why the fuck does the thought tighten painfully around my chest like a band of steel?
"Fucker … " Zane shakes his head, his blue Mohawk catching the light of a betting shop behind us. "What's the story between you and Amber? Spill."
"There's no fucking story." I sit back, disgusted with myself for my moment of weakness and stupidity. "Why are you asking?"
"You seem interested in her, is all. Very interested."
"And how's that weird?"
"First time you do that, fucker. You may chase after every single skirt in town, but you never seemed to want to actually talk to a chick before."
Amber … doesn't think I'm funny. Doesn't fall for my teasing. Sometimes I think she hates my guts. It's safe. As safe as it can be when my dick is hard as a rock every time I see her.
"I have no fucking clue what you mean by that."
"Yeah, I think you damn well do." Zane throws the stub of his cigarette down and crushes it under his black boot. "You followed Amber to the ladies' restroom, but chrissakes."
"I was just checking on her."
"Yeah, right." Zane snorts. "You dig her, don't you? More than other chicks. You wanna get into her pants because she's so serious, is that it? Fess up. I know how your mind works."
I shake my head, because no, that's not it, and besides, nobody knows how my mind works, including me. "It's just … she reminds me of someone."
Though for the life of me I can't remember who that might be, and why am I telling this to Zane, after all? Wasn't I all set on keeping my thoughts to myself? Shit.
"What, like you knew her before?"
"I doubt it." If anything, I wouldn't have forgotten such a pretty face coupled with those sexy curves … And there goes my mind down the gutter, 'cuz, man, I really wouldn't mind getting into her pants at the end of the day.
"As long as you're not thinking of jumping her bones and then walk out, like you normally do. She's Ev's friend, for fuck's sake, and she's had her share of rough times, so play nice, okay?"
He gets up and stretches his long frame.
Play nice. Okay, so now it makes sense. It's not me he's worried about. It's Amber. After all, he always looks out for his own.
Am I one of his own? He acts like I am, but the doubt can never leave me alone.
Then his words sink in.
"A rough time? What sort of rough time? What the hell do you mean?" My heart is booming, and I don't know why. "Zane."
But the asshole is already walking away, his warning ringing in my ears and more questions than before crowding my aching head.
Awesome.
When I unlock the apartment door and trudge inside, the first thing I hear is the unmistakable sound of a headboard thumping rhythmically on the wall, and long, loud moans. I'm frankly amazed at the volume two naked people can produce at one in the fucking morning.