“Wow,” he said, admiring Starla’s work.
“Like two little punk-rock princesses,” she said.
“If the tattoo thing doesn’t work out, you could always go to cosmetology school.”
“I did, actually,” she said, making an adjustment to Ashley’s hair. Then she shrugged and looked at him. “Wasn’t for me.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“Hey,” she said, a sly little smile curling her lips. “I didn’t say I wasn’t good at it, just that it wasn’t for me.” But no sooner had she quit speaking than her expression smoothed out and she turned her attention back to Ashley’s hair. “I guess it’s something I need to explore again, though.”
“Why? If you’re doing what you love, stick with it.”
“Things are…not good up there. For reasons we talked about. Reasons I probably shouldn’t have talked about.”
“Getting worse?” he asked.
“To tell the truth, not much has changed except for me. I don’t get why I can’t keep doing my job and just be happy. Like I used to be. I could always deal before.”
Jared glanced at Ashley, who sat in front of Starla busily digging through her collection of paints, and then at Mia, who was still gazing lovingly into her handheld mirror. Neither of them was paying an ounce of attention to the grown-up conversation, but still, he’d love to get Starla to himself under the stars with a couple of beers again. Not that he would be a lick of help in her situation.
“What’s happened?” he asked, easing himself off the couch and onto the floor with them. Starla glanced at him uncertainly. “Something has,” he went on. “You seem even more down about it tonight than you did before.”
“It’s stupid.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Well…he’s back at work. With Candace and the baby. It’s kind of thrown me into a funk. I’m sure I’ll get over it. And…” She trailed off, casting her sad brown eyes down and pursing her lips. “I shouldn’t talk about it.”
“Okay, of course you know that now you have to.”
She pointed at the back of Ashley’s head. Ah. Something they shouldn’t hear. “Girls,” he said, “why don’t you go play in your room and let me and Starla talk?”
“Dad,” Mia said suddenly, ignoring his request completely. “Can we take pictures to send to Mom?”
He barely suppressed a groan. And so it began. “Let’s not, all right?”
“Aww,” Ashley chimed in, with deflated shoulders and pleading, upturned face. “Please?”
“No. To your room. Now.”
“Do we have to take a bath?” Ashley asked, seemingly horrified at the notion of losing her new hair color so soon.
“Not yet.”
With that, they happily jumped up and ran off to their room. Starla chuckled. “You put the daddy voice on them.”
“It’s a necessity sometimes.”
“You convinced me. It made me want to get up and run to my room.” She winked at him. Naturally, the sudden image of taking her to his room flashed across his brain. He tried to subdue it, but it unfurled of its own volition…carrying her in, laying her on his bed, kissing a trail down her fragrant neck.
“So what’s going on?” he asked seriously, beating that fantasy back to where it belonged…which was tonight, after she’d gone home and the girls were sound asleep. “I’d invite you out on the patio again, but it’s pretty chilly out there.”
“Oh, that’s fine.” She absently began collecting her supplies, recapping bottles and screwing on lids, then putting them back in her bag. She also seemed to be collecting her words, so he didn’t rush her. Instead, he jumped up and got them a couple of beers from the fridge.
She accepted hers gratefully as he settled back on the floor next to her, on the old blanket he’d brought out of the guest room closet to protect his carpet from the chalks and paints and glitter. At last, she announced, “Our friendship is having a detrimental effect on one of my working relationships.”
He didn’t have to ask which one. Or why. But on that note, he cracked open his beer and took a big swig.
“I don’t want to make things worse than they already are between you guys, so don’t get mad at him or anything. And I don’t really want to talk about it, because it’s a delicate situation, and I have a habit of saying too much and starting trouble. I don’t want to do that. But it’s been really sucky the past week.”
“It’s wrong of him to give you problems at work,” Jared said, finding it difficult to talk through a tightly clenched jaw.
“It’s not problems so much as…atmosphere. I can just tell he’s pissed. It’s tense. Clients are even starting to notice a little. And it isn’t all him. I snap at him too much. I know that. But I’m mad at him for being mad, I guess.”
“Have you talked to Brian?”
“I’m trying to avoid Brian as much as possible.”
“You can’t, though. The guy’s your boss. He’s you’re go-to if you have a problem with another employee, that is if you and Ghost can’t work it out.”
“I can’t see us working it out, though, because my position is that it’s none of his goddamn business who I hang out with. It’s not like he would do me the same courtesy if the shoe was on the other foot. I like him, but he’s being entirely unreasonable about this, and my position is also that he can get over it or kiss my ass.”
What respect he’d had for the guy was fast dissipating, to know he’d give a coworker so much grief over something so ridiculous. To the point that she was thinking of leaving her job over it, especially.
“Okay, I see your wheels spinning,” she said, and he realized she’d been scrutinizing him for the past few seconds. “Do not do anything about this. Do not say anything about this. In fact, pretend I never told you this.”
“He’s that insecure?”
Starla clapped her hands over her ears. “I won’t listen. If I listen, I’ll want to speak, and I’ve spoken enough already.”
“All right,” he grumbled. He’d let her off the hook, since she was so distressed about it. But damn, the driving need to find that dude and settle a few things was like an itch under his skin. It would do nothing except cause trouble for Macy and Starla, and prove Shelly’s point. He knew that. Still, stupid, overly dramatic bullshit like that drove him nuts. Life wasn’t high school.
“On top of all that,” Starla said, picking at a loose thread on her shirt, “Max sent me roses. It just…ugh. It makes me want to go somewhere no one knows me. It creeps me out. He could be anywhere, watching me. Whenever my back is to the windows lately at work, I feel like he’s out there. Sometimes I have to look to make sure he’s not.”
“Starla, maybe you need to get help with this guy.”
She scoffed. “Like what? You go try to file charges on someone for sending you flowers and tell me how that works out for you. Or a restraining order? A joke. You think a piece of paper is going to stop an idiot like him if he gets his mind set on doing something stupid?”
He watched her grimly, noticing the slight tremble of her hands now as she fiddled with the errant thread, looping it and unlooping it around the tip of one index finger. Long, shimmering blonde hair curtained one eye, and the other was cast downward, but he knew, he just knew there was some real turmoil going on there.
“If you need me to do anything,” he said, hearing the rough, rugged edge in his own voice, “just let me know.”
Her gaze flickered up then, something blooming there he couldn’t identify. Something that looked like surprise, hope, or maybe just immense gratitude. It almost made him angry. He could not believe this girl couldn’t go to the people closest to her for help—even if it was for her own reasons. “I mean it,” he stressed, holding her gaze.
“I believe you,” she said. “I guess that’s what shocks me. You don’t know me.”
He shifted over so that he was facing her and leaned back against the couch. “No? Well, let’s see. You’re great with my kids. You’re a helluva cook. You’re devoted to your job, or it wouldn’t be causing you so much pain to think of leaving it.” He paused, surveying her expression as next he said, “You have more love to give someone than you know what to do with.”
But she didn’t let him in that time, didn’t let him see the effect of what he’d said. Face blank, she simply shrugged and said, “I guess you know how that feels.”
She had him there. “Yeah, I guess I do. Anyway, no, I don’t know you well. But I like to think I’m a pretty good judge of character. Yours seems pretty solid.”
“Give it time,” she said glumly.
“Oh, come on. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
“I’m not, really. I like myself. I think I’m pretty awesome. I just have this bad habit of”—she turned and checked behind her to make sure the girls weren’t in earshot—“fucking things up.”