“That leaves Ocean. He’s funny and nice all around. If you set your sights on him, I have no objections.”
“Okay, good to know.”
I wait for the next one, but she just sips at her tea. After a long moment, she looks up and lifts her copper brows at me. “What?” Her eyes narrow. “Wait…Not Jesse. Not the manwhore.”
“I haven’t said anything”
“Yeah, only your eyes lit up like fireworks when I mentioned his name. You don’t even like the guy!”
“Never said I do.” I stare into my tea. “Why are you so set against him?”
“Because he is… Have you listened to a word I’ve said? The man is a slut. He has screwed half the town.”
“You’re telling me the others haven’t? Micah exempted, of course,” I hurry to add when she scowls.
“Well, I wouldn’t know. They don’t parade their conquests at every party. They try to be discreet. I don’t think Jesse would know the meaning of the word discreet if it bit him in the face.”
No bit surprises there. “What’s his story anyway? Kayla didn’t know to tell me, said to ask you.”
“Oh God…” She plunks her mug on the table, toes off her sandals and gathers her legs under her. “You got it that bad, do you?”
I don’t reply. I won’t dignify her words with an answer.
“Jesse…” She sighs again, and what’s up with that? It’s like I’m tiring her. “He doesn’t really talk about his past. But I overheard Zane tell Dylan how he found Jesse more than a year ago, on the street. He’d been a real mess, He had… a fresh tattoo on his chest, badly made and infected.”
I shudder. “What about his family?”
“No family, apparently, and he said his only friend was gone. He’d escaped from a group home. Or transition home. No idea. Zane somehow saw an artist in him and took him on as his apprentice.”
No family. No home. His friend gone. “The leather band was given to me by someone who meant a lot to me. Later I lost her, and that’s all I have left of her.”
“Doesn’t mean all he said was true,” Ev says.
“But it could be.”
“Yeah, it could. Anyway…” She picks up her mug again and her mouth twists. “Too late to convince you not to have a crush on him, right?”
“I don’t have a crush on him. Why do you say that?” I push my hands into the back of the arm chair, between the cushion and the back. My fingers curl around something thin and rough.
“Are you seriously asking me that?” She snorts. “You’re funny, Amber, you know that?”
“Why does everyone assume I have a crush on Jesse? I don’t. I’m just curious.”
And that’s all there is to it, I think as I pull out a worn and battered string of leather from the back of the chair.
Jesse’s leather band.
***
Standing in front of Jesse’s door, I shift from foot to foot in my flat sandals and tug on the hem of my blue summer dress with one hand.
The other clutches the worn leather band. I lift it, inspect one last time the faded letters inked on one side. ‘Helen’.
I’d guessed she was the one who gave the bracelet to him, but it was still a small shock to see her name there. So far she’d been a whispered name, a vague reference.
She’s real. Or was?
So many questions torturing my mind, lying on the tip of my tongue, waiting to spill out. But when the door finally creaks open and Jesse is standing in front of me, half-naked and drop-dead gorgeous, they evaporate into thin smoke.
“Embers?” He lifts a dark brow, and I try to unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth.
Kind of hard with all that muscled, male, inked flesh in full display in front of me. He’s shirtless, and oh God, I’d forgotten his nipples are pierced. The silver hoops threaded through the small brown nubs gleam. His bare chest is sculpted and hard, from his pecs to the cut abs and the fine dark trail of hairs leading into the waistband of his gray jogging pants.
Sweat glistens on his skin, on the colorful ink covering his arm, the swirls and lines dipping from his left shoulder down to a defined pec. A demon is tattooed there, stylized wings and a monstrous head, fading into the purple and blue of other, older-looking tats. And then of course there’s the cobra I noticed on his arm the other day.
“Hey,” I say vaguely, my brain on shut-down. I swallow hard, try again. “What does the cobra stand for?”
Both his brows arch now, eyes wide, their green-blue irises crystalline in the morning light. He glances down at his arm, then back at me. “What?”
“What does the snake stand for?” I wave in his direction, wondering if I should cut my losses, turn around and run away right frigging now. Being antisocial is one thing—seeing it in action is another.
As I’m about to make my escape, one corner of his mouth tips up.
“You’re funny,” he says, and it stops me in my tracks.
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are, trust me.” He grins. “How about we start again? Good morning, Embers.”
If flames jump from my cheeks, it won’t surprise me. “Morning.”
“Would you like to come inside?” he says, that sexy grin lingering on his full lips. “There might be coffee.”
“No, thanks.” The need to flee is worse than ever, only I’m caught in his spell and can’t move. He’s staring at me, giving me a lazy, slow once-over, from the top of my head to my toes curling in my sandals.
“What, no pet name for me today?”
Oh God, what am I doing here? “Cut it out, Jesse. Don’t be an ass.”
I expect a witty comeback, but instead something shutters behind his bright eyes, and strangely, I feel guilt wash over me. He rubs a hand over his face and slumps against the doorframe, muscles rolling in his arms.
“This is who I am, Embers,” he drawls, closing his eyes. “What you see is what you get. I told you that you’d get tired of me soon.”
But for the first time, I’m not so sure about that. And on top of it, I feel even worse for letting him think that.
“I found it,” I blurt out.
He sighs, opens his eyes to look at me, and instead of anger, I find something totally unexpected: defeat. “What did you find? Organic coffee? The leopard thong I lost the other day? The end of your patience?”
For some reason, I start to laugh. It’s not that what he said is all that funny—come on!—but the image of him in a leopard thong is in equal parts hilarious and hot.
What the hell’s wrong with me?
Takes me a moment to realize he’s laughing, too, but quietly, forehead pressed to the doorframe, his broad shoulders shaking, abs clenching in his belly. At least, I assume he’s laughing. From where I’m standing, it looks an awful lot like he’s crying.
Definitely going crazy, I decide, my laughter dying, though I can’t stop myself from stepping forward and placing a light hand on his arm.
“JJ? You okay?”
He doesn’t move, a fine tremor going through him. Under my hand, his muscles shift and bunch, and he lifts his head. His face is inches from mine, golden skin, eyes that seem wet but maybe only seem brighter from up close, soft lips that part to let out a shaky exhale. The light musk of his sweat and a hint of cinnamon soap mingle with the minty scent of his toothpaste.
“Embers,” he whispers, shifting until he’s pushing me back on the doorjamb. It’s digging into my spine, but I barely feel it as he presses his tall body to mine and frames my head with his arms, imprisoning me between them.
He dips his face, long dark lashes fanning over his cheekbones. His eyes glimmer like gems, and his mouth that says so many funny and dirty things is so close… God, I’ve never wanted to kiss someone so badly. Never wanted to be kissed like I do now.
As he shifts slightly, his warm breath washing over my lips, something long and hard pokes me in the hip.
“What are you doing to me?” he hisses, pressing his forehead to mine, and I realize what I’m feeling is his cock through the thin fabric of his pants. He’s rock hard—for me.
“JJ…” My pet name for him. I shouldn’t call him this, but I keep doing it. I have to stop, have to…