Declaration (9 page)

“Shit,” I mumbled, my shoulders falling in defeat. “Fine. I’ll talk to Boss Man.”

He grabbed me and clapped my back, nearly tackling me. “Thank you, thank you,
thank you
.” I wanted to say
no problem
, or
glad I could help
, but I wouldn’t have meant any of those things. It was straight back to the drawing board, looking for a second job and cashing my dad’s checks. “Shit,” I said again, reaching for my cigarettes.

“Dude, I swear I’ll do whatever I can to help you find another job. If the club were hiring, I’d hook you up, but I don’t think Rick’s looking for anyone else right now.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll figure something out. I should’ve thought about all of this before I jumped on that damn plane and moved my happy ass here.”

Jackson was more relaxed now, all the tension washed from his face. He walked to the fridge and helped himself to a beer. “So have you heard from the girl? What’s her name, Kate?”

“Yeah.” My pulse involuntarily accelerated with his question. I so wasn’t in the mood to talk about Kate. “Damn it!” I winced, remembering that I didn’t call her back when I promised her I would. Knowing Kate, she’d automatically think I was still purposely avoiding her.

In a way, I guess I still was.

“What’s wrong?” Jackson asked, sitting on the sofa.

“Nothing, you just reminded me I was supposed to call her back, and I didn’t. I was busy helping Whitney.”

The beer Jackson was drinking stilled at his lips. “Helping Whitney?”

And for the 40th frigging time that day, I cursed myself. “It’s nothing. Hey, I gotta grab a shower and catch a bus. I’ll see you at work tomorrow?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Jackson sprang up from the couch and powered after me as I made a move for the bathroom. “Helping Whitney what?” He slipped past me and stationed himself in front of the bathroom door, blocking me.

My shoulders fell, once again in defeat. There was no getting around this, I had to tell him. I’d just have to skimp on the details. “Since I drove Emma home that night, she’s been having a rough time. I’ve just been helping Whitney keep her company, that’s all.”

A flicker of pain flashed over Jackson’s face and his jaw muscles tightened, his ashamed look focusing on the floor near my feet. “I can’t believe this.”

“She’ll be okay, dude. She just needs some time.”

“I did this to her.”

“She’s dealing with a lot more than what happened with you, Jackson. Don’t carry all of the weight, okay?”

He started to flex his fists at his side, his guilt forming little anxious creases around his eyes and brow. With a heavy breath, he started past me toward the door, setting the beer he’d hardly touched on the counter as he went. “Take care of her for me, okay, man? Thanks for…everything.”

“Jack,” I called out after him. “Damn.” The door shut and he was gone, but I couldn’t waste time standing there. I couldn’t fix this. I couldn’t help him. It wasn’t my business, and it was all beyond me. Right now, I had to get to Emma’s to help Whitney. I hurried into the bathroom to grab a shower, wondering when I’d squeeze in that call I owed Kate.

It would have to wait.

***

“Oh thank God, you’re here,” Whitey heaved a deep breath, tossing a pile of trash into a garbage bag. She was standing there in the kitchen, looking exhausted.

“Long day?”

“You have no idea. I had to clean double the rooms I normally clean because the season is starting to pick up, and on top of that, I had three of my biggest money-making rooms this week stiff me on tips.”

“Ouch.”

“My thought, exactly.”

I reached over the kitchen counter to help her collect all of the empty chocolate ice cream containers. “Emma’s still drowning in ice cream, I see.”

“Yup. And once again, I can’t get her out of her room. I’m starting to think she’s locked up in there in some sort of ice-cream-induced coma.”

I laughed, although it wasn’t really funny. Poor girl would be puking her guts up soon if she kept up with that diet. “So what are your plans for luring her out of her cave this evening?”

“I’m not sure yet,” she said thoughtfully, tossing the last ice cream box in the trash bag. I hadn’t bothered asking why Whitney asked me to come back over tonight. Once again, it didn’t seem like Emma needed double babysitting duty. But one look at Whitney’s stressed demeanor, and I knew the “why” didn’t really matter. She still needed the help. Even if I was only there to give her a little support while she helped her friend, then I was happy to be there.

“You’re exhausted. How about you go take a bath and kick your feet up, and I’ll finish cleaning up here.”

“You’d do that?”

“Of course I would. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t ask you here tonight to play housekeeper, Montgomery.”

“I know you didn’t. I’m going to clean up anyway. I won’t take no for an answer.”

Her stubborn look softened and the tips of her cheekbones revealed a reddish tint. “You know what would really help me?”

“What’s that?”

“A night out.”

“A night out?”

“Yeah, like, a night out of this apartment. I need a drink and some fresh air. I want to hang out, just me and you, minus all the Emma drama. You wanna take a stroll on the beach with me?”

For some reason, her words made my heart leap with excitement. Damn, I could use that, too. “Sure, but what about Emma?”

Whitney’s shoulders rolled in complete resolution. “She’s in there, passed out. I’m not sure what else I can do for her today. I’ve cleaned up, held her, loaded her Kindle with a ton of new releases she’s been waiting for, and made her soup.” Setting the trash bag at her feet, she exhaled and chucked the wet rag in her hands on the counter, eyeing the sparkly granite in tired satisfaction. “My work here is done. I’d rather go out than sit here for the rest of the night.”

“Well, if you’re sure…”

“I’m positive.” She clapped her hands and gave a little hop—a very girly hop that sent her breasts bouncing against her frilly t-shirt. Fuck, she was sexy. I stepped behind the counter and discreetly adjusted my groin, hoping this hard-on business wouldn’t be a problem for the rest of the evening. One glance at the curve of her neck and that wild mass of black, silky hair on her head, though, and there was a twitch in my pants, assuring me the problem was here to stay.

After a quick shower, Whitney joined me outside while I finished a smoke and then we walked down to the beach, removing our shoes to let our toes hit the sand. The black sky was littered with bright, vibrant stars and the shore was filled with all kinds of seafood aromas and boisterous swells of festive music. Hotel bar after hotel bar illuminated sections of the shoreline, just enough to give us some light as we walked the beach. We didn’t make it very far before Whitney was pulling me over to one of the hotel’s patio Tiki bars. Stringed lights hung above us and margarita menus lined the bar counter, while the warm Gulf breeze brushed my skin. The sound of gentle, lapping waves instantly relaxed me, and I gratefully accepted the beer Whitney had ordered for me.

“You’ll have to visit the Keys now that you live here,” she said, leading me back out onto the beach, margarita in hand. She took a big sip, moaning in appreciation. “That’s what I like about where we live. It’s not like Miami, not like the Southeast coast. Here, it feels like the Keys. Laid back and easygoing, through and through.”

“The Southeast is different?”

“Oh yeah, way different. Miami’s a party spot. The whole area has a different energy. It’s more relaxing here. Cozier.”

“I wouldn’t know, I guess,” I laughed, taking a big gulp of my ice-cold beer.“I’ve never been to Florida, so…”

“Are you starting to feel at home?”

“I think so.” I shrugged. Truthfully, I wasn’t really sure. “I still feel like I’m going to have to pack up and go home soon.”

“You feel like you’re on vacation.”

“Yeah, a little,” I admitted with a shy grin.

She nodded and took another sip of her drink, stopping to sit down in the sand. I followed, easing my way down and pulling my knees up to lean on them. We faced the Gulf, watching the moonlight shimmer over the pitch black mass of water.

“Are you liking your job?”

“It’s okay. Keeps me busy. Just wish I hadn’t stolen Jackson’s hours. I feel bad about that.”

“Stolen them how?”

“Eh, he got me the job at the boat shop and did me a favor by giving up some of his hours so our boss could accommodate me on the schedule. Only, now our boss wants to basically can Jackson altogether to give me more hours.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Not really sure. Something about him catching word that Jackson has another job. He seems to think I could use the hours more than Jackson could.”

“Could you?”

I sighed, recalling my earlier conversation with Jackson. I shouldn’t have agreed to pass on those hours. I needed them, damn it. “Yeah, I really could.”

“But you won’t take them,” she said, her tone knowing. Her head tilted as she pinned me with narrowed eyes.

“I can’t do that to Jackson. He’s in a financial jam and he needs the money. I owe him.”

“Sounds like you’re in a jam, too, though. You need to put a roof over your head as much as he does.”

“Uh, yeah…about that.”

Whitney swiveled to face me head on and pulled her knees tighter to her chest. “What is it? Spill, Montgomery.” She tapped my shoulder with her glass and waited with curious eyes.

“He doesn’t exactly have a roof over his head right now. More like a…cabin. It’s a long story, and I probably shouldn’t say anything. It’s not my news to tell.”

“Oh, now you
have
to tell me.” She gave me a playful shove and I laughed lightly, sipping at my beer.

“I can’t tell you. Then Emma would find out, and it would blow up in my face. It’s not my business, so quit being nosey, lady.”

“If I pinky swear not to say anything to Emma, will you tell me?”

“Pinky swear? Are you serious? What is this, first grade?”

“Hey.” She stuck her pinky finger in front of my face and leaned forward to look me straight in the eye. “I might joke around about a lot of things, but I don’t play around with pinky swears. They mean business.”

“You’re like a sister to Emma. You’d be breaking some kind of girl code if you withheld this kind of info from her. I’m not looking to make enemies. I’m new in town, remember?”

“Mr. New Guy,” she mused, looking dreamily into the distance. “Yeah, yeah,” she snapped out of it, “normally you’d be right, but this sounds like it also involves you. And you, Mr. New Guy, are my friend now, and therefore I’m invested. I want to know. Please, come on.”

My cheeks puffed out as I held my breath and let it go harshly, knowing for certain I’d probably regret what I was about to do. But when she looked at me like that, all damn determined and sexy, with smoked-out green eyes, I just couldn’t say no to her.

“Fine. But you have to honor the pinky swear to keep this quiet or I’ll never forgive you.”

“Deal.” She reached down with her little finger and hooked it around mine, kissing our fingers as she linked them tight. Her lips were soft and moist as they brushed my knuckles, making me wish I could taste them.

“Jackson’s been living on his dad’s old sailboat down at the marina.”

“What?” Her head jerked back and eyes widened. “Why the hell is he doing that?”

I contemplated telling her the whole truth, but I figured fewer details were better. I didn’t want to spill Jackson’s business entirely, even if this
was
a pinky swear. “He’s having money troubles.”

“Wait, wait, wait. You said something about him having another job?”

Oh, for the love of Britain.

“Shit,” I mumbled, turning my head slightly as I tried to figure out how to talk my way out of this one. “Some…some theatre or something out in Cape Coral. I’m not sure.”

“A theatre?” Whitney cocked her head, pondering the possibilities. “What, like a dinner theatre? I don’t think we have any of those out that way.”

I took a drink of my beer, stifling a laugh. “Yeah, something like that. Anyway, Jackson still needs the extra hours to make ends meet and to save up money, and I don’t want to get in his way. So I’m going to turn down the extra hours.”

“No way,” Whitney dropped a hand to her side, digging her fingers into the sand. “You can’t do that, Montgomery.”

“Can you, uh, stop calling me Montgomery? It’s kinda makin’ me feel like a detective or an assassin or something.”

That comment earned me an arched brow and a saucy smirk. “When in the hell have you ever heard of an assassin named Montgomery?”

“It could happen.”

“No. No it most definitely could not.”

“Fine, then. What do you think Montgomery sounds like?”

“I dunno,” she shrugged, bunching her lips, “a little league coach or something?”