Straighter than Parallel Parking

≈ t w e n t y - s i x ≈

{ Chapter Twenty-Six: Her Sun in Shining Leather Jackets }

JAMES KNEW THINGS WERE GOING TO GO POORLY the second he received a message telling him to get his lazy ass into a car at three in the morning (was it legal to be up at this time even?).

It's bad enough that his head's killing, his eyes are sore, and everything about the message threw off bad signals, but, nonetheless, he convinces his body to push through the task of his drowsiness, flicks off the lights in his room before slowly creeping out of his house (leaving his beautiful bed).

It's almost robotic, this routine, and the impact of his actions register only after he's halfway down the road. About how he should have brushed his teeth, brought a jacket that could fend off the cold, and put his phone on vibrate instead of dutifully picking up.

That, and how he hates his family.

Kori, I thought you stopped with late night hassles, James grumbles, his car shuddering in agreement. I should have pulled the tube of your incubator fourteen years ago when I had the chance. Dad should have covered the glove better, dammit.

Kori Ruth couldn't take home best sister of the world, not even if her life depended on it.

When James pulled up to the anonymous address that his sister sent him (literally all she sent him. He's probably walking onto a potentially life or death situation, but hey, who cares?), James expected his hysterical sister, maybe a dead body on the floor, even finally get to meet the 'so-called' gang his sister unfortunately got tangled up with.

However, running into Janice this early in the morning happened to be more than he bargained for.

And all he's worried about is that he hadn't even brushed his goddamn hair.

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ONCE JANICE STOPS GAPING AT HER MANAGER, who's standing in front of her with a similar expression of confusion, she realizes no one had answered her question about why exactly this six-foot-two statue is two feet ahead of her.

"Kori?" Janice whispers harshly. "I'm deleting your number. It's way too early to deal with all of this." When you think nothing could get any complicated, life throws a teenage god into the mix.

She blames her thoughts on lack of sleep. And hormones.

"Janice, what are you doing here?" James splutters, drawing Janice's attention to his hands gesturing wildly.

Before Janice can answer, Lexi moves forward. But instead of the previous sneer on her face, her mouth has morphed into an amused smile. She slings an arm around James's neck (which is impressive, because this boy is a skyscraper), and despite how awkward James looks, Lexi talks casually. "James, I haven't heard about you in a while."

Janice's jumping to conclusions—it's late, she's confused and really, really lost—but all she can think of is, holy shit, my manager is the leader of a gang. James Blond, Victoria Secret pervert by day, gang leader by night. I sure know how to pick 'em.

Simultaneously, while Janice feels hit by this epiphany, James is taking in Janice's ripped jeans, her leather jacket, her blunt sarcastic retorts, how protective she seems about Kori, chalking up (as much as he can with a leech caught on his neck), holy shit, my employee is the leader of a gang. I always knew there was something wrong with gingers.