Fearless For Love (Lovelly #3) (8 page)

THIS WAS A bad, bad idea. Like worse than Sam’s plan to rid the Mark of Cain from Dean Winchester’s arm.

“It’s our day off. We couldn’t go somewhere else?” I wince, feeling the warmth of whiskey burning its way down my throat.

“And pay for our drinks?” Cat asks, her body slightly slanted to the side. “Hell to the
no
!”

I laugh, because really, what else did I expect? I’m tired and running low on energy. Between work and practice with The Torque, I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in almost two weeks. And now, instead of falling face first on my very comfortable bed, I’m here. Playing wing-woman to my one and only girlfriend.

“See anyone interesting? And please, this time can you pick someone who doesn’t look like he’s desperate to get laid?” I add, quickly diverting my thoughts.

Cat puts her hands up and says, “What, you didn’t like being asked to go somewhere private so you could be mauled?”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not
that
desperate!”

“But you would be, if the right brand of man-candy came along.” She grins, wiggling her eyebrows.

I told her about my little run-in with Harrington—aka Killshot—by the river a couple weeks back, and she hasn’t let it go since, taking every opportunity to remind me, tease me, and basically make me wish I’d never opened my mouth to begin with. She grabs my hand and pulls me behind her.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“I didn’t dress up in these killer shoes so we could sit in a corner of the bar.” She drags me through the crush of bodies on the dance floor until we’re in the dead center. Then she lets me go and starts moving her hips to the blaring beat of the music ricocheting through the club.

“Nah-ah!” I say loudly, unable to stop the laughter from escaping. “Killer shoes or not, I’m
not
dancing. I suck at this. Like bad.”

She laughs. “Nobody sucks at dancing, darling. You just move—like this, and this.” She draws a sort of eight with her hips. “See? Easy.” She looks at me, grinning. “And if you want to get down and dirty, you just need to get a bit closer.” With that, she turns around and snakes her way down before coming back up.

“Easy for you, maybe!” I yell over the loud music.

She shrugs and takes my hand, then starts swaying side to side with our hands up in the air. The music changes and some guy grabs a hold of Cat at the same time another lays his hand on me.

I stiffen and look over my shoulder. He’s a little taller than my five-foot-five inch frame and is sporting blond locks that reach just about to the nape of his neck. His blue eyes sparkle when he looks at me. I notice Cat dancing with her new partner, so I turn around to face him.

“We’ve been watching you girls from the bar—not in like a stalkerish way or anything.” He runs his fingers through his long hair, nervous. “I’ve just been trying to figure out how to talk to you.” Then he adds, looking over my shoulder, “I’m not very good at this, unlike my friend over there.”

“Funny you say that . . .” I say, feeling myself slowly moving to the music. “Because I feel the same way. I’m only here for my roommate.”

He smiles down at me, understanding. “So, what would you like to do then? Dance? Or grab a drink? My treat.”

The buzzing of my phone, tucked safely away inside my bra, interrupts us. “One sec . . .” I say, putting a finger up and fishing out my phone.

Vincent. Why is he calling me so late?

“I’m so sorry, but I gotta take this . . .” I tell the guy.

His mouth hangs open, but I don’t wait for his response. I press a finger into my ear to dim down some of the noise and yell, “Hello? Hello? Vincent? Wait, I can’t hear you. Hang on.”

I walk out through the narrow hallway that’s labeled “Employees Only,” which leads to the dumpsters outside. The night chill hits my face like a breath of fresh air when I shove open the door. “Hey, can you hear me now?”

“Yeah.” Vincent’s voice comes loud and clear. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No. Actually, it couldn’t have been more perfect.” I lean my back against the brick wall and wrap one arm under the other for support. “How are you? How are the boys?”

“Good. At least, they’ll be good.”

“What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

Something is definitely off, and I have feeling it might have to do with his half-brothers. Last year, when he caught his step-mom doing drugs again, leaving his younger brothers to starve for nearly three days, he called social services. He’s been working hard to make money and show he’s fully capable of taking care of his three younger brothers ever since then. And with Rock graduated and off on his own, he’s had no one around to help.

“No, everything is fine. I just wanted to hear your voice and make sure you were doing okay. Everything still going good?”

I nod, understanding that he’s not ready to talk about whatever it is that’s weighing him down. “Yes. John’s been amazing, when he wants to be. And Cat, well, she’s something! I can’t wait for you to meet her.”

“Good. Good.” His response is so distant, I feel my heart seize with guilt. I should be there for him. But I couldn’t stay in that hell hole. Even though leaving him behind was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.

“Vincent . . .” I say.

“Yeah?”

“You know I only moved away in person, right? I’m still your best friend.” I lean my head back and look up at the starless sky. That’s one thing I do miss about home—stars. Everything’s too bright here.

He sighs. “Just give me some time, Jessy-girl.”

I give a sad smile, though I know he can’t see it. We stay silent a moment longer.

“So, tell me, how did your auditions go?” he asks finally.

For the next ten minutes, I tell him everything about the band—how Tom’s hated me since I stepped foot in the audition room, and how touchy-feely Jarod is.

“Well, if you ask me,” Vincent says, “they’re lucky to have you. You’re an amazing drummer.”

I laugh. “You’re biased . . . since you’re my best friend and all.”

He chuckles. “Maybe. But even if I wasn’t, I’d still think you’re pretty amazing. Miss Winters always thought you’d be amazing too. Remember how she tried so hard to get you to join the marching band?”

I sigh into the cold night.

“Hey, Jess?”

“Yeah?”

“You are happy, right?”

I think about it. I think about Cat and John and all the laughs I’ve had since moving here. About my job, the band. And Harrington. But most of all, I think about living on my own and not having to worry about what the night might bring. “Yes. Yes, I’m happy.”

“Good,” he says, and I hear a satisfied smile in his response.

“I miss you like crazy, though. And our talks.”

“Me too, Jessy-girl. Me too.” A loud cry comes from the background. I hear muffled voices on the other side.

“Vincent? Vincent?” I call. What happened? I start to panic and wonder if I need to call 911 when I don’t hear anything from him.

“Hey, I gotta go,” Vincent says, a little breathless. “Carl knocked Chucky over and it looks like he’s bleeding. I need to get him taken care of.”

“What? How? Wait, the kids with you? Does that mean—”

“I can’t right now, Jessy-girl.” He cuts me short. “But I’ll talk to you soon and tell you everything, okay?”

“Okay,” I say, my voice small.

“Hey. I love you,” he says before hanging up, not even waiting for me to respond.

“I love you too,” I whisper into the cold night.

I miss him and the boys. They were only things that kept me happy in my old life. And now I’m so far away from them that he probably doesn’t want to burden me with whatever it is he’s dealing with. That’s so like him. Knight in shining armor for everyone but himself.

I know he wasn’t happy with my choice to move away. But he didn’t try to stop me either. In fact, he helped me get out of my mom’s trailer and helped me land my new job by putting in a good word for me with John, whom he’d met through the car shows he used to attend with my father. But now . . . does he think I moved because I don’t care for him, or that I’m too busy to talk to him?

That doesn’t sound like the Vincent I know.

“Ugh!” I groan into the night sky. Why can’t things just be normal?

The back door opens and I jerk my head toward it. A familiar face comes into view.

Speaking of normal . . . or
not
so normal.

Harrington.

He shoves his hands into his front pockets and looks everywhere but at me. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop from smiling. I seem to be doing that a lot when I’m around him. Smiling. It’s so weird how, before him, I rarely even looked at boys, let alone
spent time
with them. But everything feels different when I’m with him, normal. Like it had with Vincent—without the fucked up situations of our families, of course.

“Hey you.” He smiles in that adorable boy-next-door way I can’t resist.

Something stirs at the bottom of my stomach. He’s smiled at me like that the last few times we met. But this time, it just feels . . . warmer, personal. Like it’s only meant for me. Which sounds crazy.

Maybe I’ve had one too many tonight.

I shiver.

“What are you doing here?” I blurt. Because, hell on wheels, I wasn’t expecting to see him or feel whatever hormones are raging through me tonight.

“What, no
hello
,
or how’s it going?” He makes his way toward me, the corners of his mouth crinkling into a smirk.

I shake my head, holding back my own smile. “Hi. And you didn’t answer the question.” I hesitate, just for a moment, because I don’t know if I want to know the answer. “Are you here with Stamos?”

His expression is unreadable, stoic. I don’t know what to make of it. “If I said yes, would that bother you?”

I look down at my hands. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

He leans his shoulder against the wall next to me. “You went missing for so long I got worried.”

“That implies that you’ve been watching me.” I look up at him. He’s staring at me with smoldering hazel eyes and I forget what I was so worried about. “I wasn’t gone for
that
long.”

He doesn’t respond to my accusation. Just raises one perfect eyebrow, that smug smirk still curling the corner of his mouth.

“You
were
watching me,” I state.

He admits nothing. Instead, he says, “I’d have come earlier to rescue you from that asshole, but didn’t want to undermine your ability to handle him.”

I laugh. “You’re so . . . weird.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Well, that’s a first. No one’s ever called
me
weird.”

“Well, there’s a first for everything, mister.”

“I certainly hope so,” he says.

He leans closer, like he’s drawn to me, and I follow his lead. If I’m being truthful, all sorts of crazy sparks have been shooting off inside my head. I don’t know what to make of him. I mean, he obviously likes me in some capacity, seeing as how he’s
always
flirting.

But these days, you never know. Flirting doesn’t always equal liking. He could simply be looking for “fun.” Like a friends with benefits situation or something.

Argh!
I’m thinking too much.

“Quarter for your thoughts?” he asks. I can feel the faintest heat from his breath against my skin.

“Huh?” I blink. “Wait, isn’t it a penny? Not a quarter?”

He closes some more distance between us. “Your thoughts are worth more than a penny, sweetheart.”

“But not more than a quarter?” I say, turning fully toward him.

What are you doing
,
Jess? What are you doing?

“Well, I want to know all of the thoughts in that pretty head of yours,” he says, his tone deep and husky. “And I want to be able to afford them.”