Bad Wolf(74)

Jesse draped over a chair in my little kitchen is a sight not easily forgotten. He's taken off his hoodie, and his T-shirt is soft and stretches easily across his pecs and broad shoulders. I watch his long fingers curl around the chipped coffee mug I dug out of the cupboard, his sea foam gaze glinting over the rim, and my mind goes blank.

I'm going to regret this, but Kayla was right. He's such eye-candy, I can't help staring.

Just a touch. Just a taste.

Shaking my head at myself, I busy my hands with the coffee maker and keep my back to him. I need a moment to gather my wits.

"So, Embers." I hear the clink of his mug when he sets it down on the table. "How do you like it, being back here?" He taps his fingers on the table, like he did on the doorframe. "You did say you were from around here, right?"

Crap, I did. "It's okay."

"Just okay?"

Mug gripped firmly in both hands, I turn toward him. "It's fantastic," I say drily.

He grins and looks down into his coffee. "Yeah, I see you can't contain your excitement and joy. Going out on a limb, I'd say you hated it here and couldn't wait to skip town. Makes sense." He tsks. "Question is, why did you come back if it makes you so unhappy?"                       
       
           



       

Whoa. I'm not sitting in my kitchen with Jesse digging inside my head. Because that would be weird, wouldn't it? Like, Oprah weird.

Besides …  just no. Answer the question with a question. Boy, those visits to the psychologist are paying off.

"Are you from around here?"

He blinks, looks up. "No, actually, I'm not." He seems shocked I asked.

"So where are you from, and how did you end up here?"

"You really wanna know?"

His question could be a trap to get me to admit I really want to know, so he can tease me mercilessly about it.

Funny thing is, I find I really do want to know more about him. He's a puzzle, a riddle.

"Sure."

He blinks again, brows lifting. "I'm from North Dakota, near Bismarck. I think."

"You think?"

He shrugs. "Moved about quite a bit."

"You don't have an accent."

He sips at his steaming coffee, his face going blank. "I left a long time ago."

"Did something happen back then?"

A corner of his mouth curls up. "Didn't know you cared, Embers."

"I don't."

"I know. I was just joking." His hand clenches on the table.

"Sorry. I'm not good at getting jokes."

He laughs, and I just stare at him flatly, daring him to make fun of me about this.

"You're serious," he finally says, his eyes narrowing.

I shrug. "My parents used to tell jokes at the dinner table, explaining them to me, until I caught on. It's much better now, but sometimes …  sometimes I don't get them."

"How come? You're not stupid."

I chance a smile, my chest warming at his comment. "Yeah. I'm a bit dyslexic, though."

His pupils widen. "That sucks, I guess. Had trouble at school?"

"Some." My throat closes up and my smile falls. I take a sip from my coffee. "I'm not good with words. Never was."

"Kids tease you for it?"

I nod.

"Fuckers," he says, and he isn't smiling anymore, either. His eyes flash with strong emotion, and I watch, fascinated, as his grip on the handle of the mug turns white-knuckled. "Wish I was there to punch their teeth out."

Whoa. I shouldn't like him as much as I do right now, but I can't stop the smile returning to my face.

We sit for a while in silence. No sounds yet from Kayla's room. I can hear the pipes groaning in the apartment above.

Anything to avoid looking at him. But of course I can't help it. For the first time I notice the dark circles under his eyes. He looks tired.

As if to confirm my suspicion, Jesse puts his mug down and stretches his arms over his head with a yawn.

"Damn, I'm beat."

"Your T-shirt is, too. It's coming apart." I point at the seam along his side through which I can see firm, tanned skin wrapped around sinewy muscle.

So much for not staring.

"Oh fuck." He lifts his arm again, twists to have a look, and the seam tears wider, showing a good chunk of his flared ribs. "And it was one of my newer shirts."

I lick my lips, transfixed. "This is new? Looks as old as you are."

"Dammit, Embers." He locks his hands behind his head and sighs. "I've got nothing to wear at Asher's wedding. I really need to go shopping."

"Yeah? You make it sound like a trip to the ninth circle of hell."

"It is. Sorta." He lets his arms flop down at his sides. "I hate shopping. Kinda like you and parties, ya know?"

I blink. Okay. "Well, it's summer. Everyone's wearing ripped clothes."

"That's jeans, Embers."

"Expand the concept." I grin at him, and his pupils darken again, though this time I have no clue what he's thinking.

Why am I talking to him? How can I be so relaxed with him? I hardly know him. Plus, he's a jerk. Though, right now, under his blue-green scrutiny, I can't quite remember what it was he did that was so bad.

"Don't you have a pair of dark jeans and a nice shirt? I bet you'll get away with it. Asher and Audrey don't seem anal about dress codes."

"Anal." He chuckles. "Yeah, well. No, I don't have dark jeans and a nice shirt."

"Okay." I hum under my breath. "Jeans that aren't ripped and a nice shirt?"

He shakes his head.

"So what do you have?"

He looks down at himself. "My jogging pants and shoes. Two pairs of jeans, ripped, and a few more T-shirts. Oh and a sweater and a jacket."

My mouth falls open. "That's all?"                       
       
           



       

"I don't need more. I wash them and they're good as new."

"Except when they're falling apart."

"Damn." He rubs the back of his neck. "I'm serious. I have trouble shopping."

"Why? You don't mind being around crowds. So what's the issue?"

He doesn't seem to hear me. "Shit, I need to do something. The wedding's coming up in two weeks."

"Two weeks?" I squeak. "So soon?"

"You going, too?"

"Yeah. I guess."

"That's fucking awesome." He turns his attention back to me and his eyes crinkle at the corners. "Damn, I bet you're dying to go, aren't you, Embers?"

"Not funny. And stop calling me Embers. It's a shitty name, anyway."

He suddenly pushes his chair back, rattling the table as he gets up, unfolding his long frame. "Right. Well, I gotta go."

My mouth falls open and I close it with a snap. What the heck is going on? "Jesse."

"What?" he growls. He's already grabbed his hoodie and is pulling it on. His head pops through the opening, and he thrusts his arms into the sleeves. "You were right not wanting to let me in. Fuck, I'm surprised you did. All I do is fuck up-"

I push to my feet. "JJ."

He freezes in the act of straightening the black hoodie, lifting his gaze to look at me. It's right there, the same heartbreak that shone out of his eyes when I peeked through the peephole earlier.

I rewind the conversation, trying to remember the last thing I said. "You made fun of me for not wanting to go to the wedding."

"I fucking didn't-"

"And I told you not to call me Embers. Actually, I said … " It's a shitty name. That's what I said. "Talk to me."

"Fucked in the ass," he whispers so low I have to strain to hear, "as Helen would say. Still."

Who's Helen? What's this about?

He chews on the inside of his cheek, glances at the door, then at the window as if he's debating jumping out to avoid any explanation.

Which only makes me more curious.

"Fucking hell." He runs a hand over his close-cropped hair. "As if it fucking matters …  Embers. Embers was the name of one of two things that were important to me."

"Two thing? What things?"

"One was the leather band I lost." He licks his lips, glances again at the door. "And the other was a toy."

"A toy." I gape at him. "The two things that mattered in your life were a leather bracelet and a toy? Why?"

A muscle jumps in his jaw. He bends his head, kicks at invisible dirt. "The toy's the only thing that survived my childhood. It was a stuffed animal."

"What happened to it?"

"I lost it." He turns away and heads out of the kitchen. "I fucking lost it. That's what I do with everything that matters to me. Gotta run."

And this time he does leave, his scent lingering in my small kitchen.



"Why didn't you wake me up?" Kayla stumbles into the kitchen table, snatches my mug and gulps down my coffee. "How come I missed Jesse Lee lounging in our kitchen?" She waves the mug at me. "Couldn't you at least, I don't know, take photos? On your cell phone?"

"Last time he was here, you remembered an urgent chore and left." I wrestle her for the coffee and she gives it up, then pads over to the coffee machine and pours herself another.