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“Wait.”
I shove the door and step outside, the noise of traffic slamming into me. I start down the avenue, wishing I had my smokes with me.
“Jethro.”
Fuck, she’s followed me out. I ignore her as best I can, opening my stride, no clue where I’m going.
It’s gonna be fine, I tell myself. I will control the urge to press my body to hers, my mouth to her lips. I’ll keep my head down and work. I’ll help Joel regain his sex drive and get the girl, and once in a while I will allow myself to jack off to fantasies of them together.
I kick a
t a wall in passing, garnering sour looks from passersby.
It sucks. But I’ll get over it. Got over lots of much worse things in the past. This is nothing. Just because I want her doesn’t mean I get to have her.
God knows I learned that lesson, received the message loud and clear many times over.
Screw you, too, life. Bitch.
“Jethro!”
I realize I’ve stopped in front of a liquor store. Should I go in and buy something for later on? Get some buzz going. Unwind.
“Hey.” She’s breathless as she catches my arm again.
I pull free easily.
I wish the grip were stronger. That she’d stop me from going, not let me go. Need someone to hold me down, keep me still.
My feet won’t move anyway. I place a hand against the glass of the storefront, lean against it. My head is heavy so I press my forehead to the smooth, cold surface.
She stands beside me, looking into the store. I steal a glance at her. The little frown. The long lashes. The smooth cheeks and neck.
This isn’t her fault, but I’ve made her feel bad. No matter how much I wanted a minute to myself, she’s here, a warm presence beside me.
“Hey.” I nudge her, and she shoots me a surprised look. “Everything’s okay. You shouldn’t feel bad, Sugar Pop. If nothing else, you gave me a job. Wanting you is my problem, not yours.”
“It’s not…” She draws her lower, plump lip between her small teeth and damn, I’m getting hard already. “Not like that.”
I wait for her to elaborate, explain what she means, but she only shakes her head, her cheeks coloring again.
Cars pass behind us. Someone honks. A dog barks.
Her hand slips over my arm again, and this time I let it. Let its slight weight, let its warmth seep through the thin cotton of my shirt and settle into my skin.
“You’ll do fine at the bookstore,” she says. She leans into me, and a sigh escapes me. Her glasses hide her eyes, drawing all my attention to her soft mouth. “At the concert you said you lost your job. Like, suddenly.”
I give a non-committal grunt. I told her that? Damn.
“Can you talk about what happened?”
No. “I kinda… lost it.”
And I snap my mouth shut, tension rising up my back, curling around my spine.
“Lost it?” Her repeating that painful word should cut like a knife, but her voice is so soft. Like kitten fur.
Words start spilling from my mouth. “I worked at this bar. A guy got shitfaced and started shouting, then started smashing things and his fist into people, and I…”
