❝I could throw as much water as I needed.
I could hold my breath and dive in.
Jesse would burn me every time.❞
When Jess lands himself in hot water, Shar has no choice but to jump after him. He needs cash, quick, but the only way to get it is to...
I found my mom in the kitchen, jamming to old-school hip-hop from the nineties. Feet propped on the table, Abigail Davis' slender brows were furrowed in concentration as she painted her toes fire-engine red. Youthful and pretty, she was often mistaken for my sister, which came in handy the few times I allowed her to drag me to the bar. Even with her eighties-style blue eye shadow, her makeup was flawless, with a soft shade of pink blush accenting cheekbones I sadly had not inherited. What I did have were her large, honey-colored eyes, deep brown skin, and toned limbs acquired from track and field. We both loved to run-from the past, especially.
"So, Mom, why'd you break up with Joe this time?" I strolled to the fridge, grabbing a bottled water.
Mom swung her feet from the table, capping her polish with a bright, unconcerned smile. She was only nineteen years my senior, which put her at a whopping thirty-eight. Odds were, we'd die in the same nursing home, together, her babbling gaily as I scratched the walls in endless suffering-a parent's dream come true.
"I didn't break up with Joe. I simply enlightened him." She flipped her long, spiral curls over her shoulder. "He's forty--the drive-through no longer qualifies as an acceptable dating arena." I snorted, laughing through a mouthful of water. "If I don't get my kicks, neither will he is what I'm saying." I gave mom a celebratory high-five. She may not have had a good track record with men, but a low self-esteem had nothing to do with it. "Where's Jess?"
"Hopefully suffering," I replied, leaning against the counter.
"Shar..." As Mom turned in her seat, I turned from her gaze. "Have you decided whether to tell him? I really don't think he'll be that upset--"
"You're right, he'd be furious." I sighed, staring down at my half-empty water, too sober for the conversation at hand. "And telling him won't change anything. So I guess I won't." Problem solved.
Jesse would never have to know...
We heard the distant tinkle of breaking glass; Jesse strolled in the kitchen moments later. He shot me a murderous glance-which I fully deserved for lying and locking him out-then proceeded to kiss up to my mother for breaking the window in the living room. I slipped out of the kitchen, making my way upstairs, to my pink-papered bedroom, decorated with old high school memories and the new ones from college.
After graduating from high school last year, I enrolled in online classes at Harbor Village University, lowering the cost of student loans and effectively freeing my schedule for a full-time job. As the leading concierge of the Village's most exclusive hotel, being a paid smarty pants gave me the release each us know-it-alls each so dearly crave.
I sat down at my computer desk and logged in to my classes, double checking tomorrow was still clear of assignments. A pregnant coworker had asked me to work a few hours of her shift, promising a picture of the day's sonogram in return. Since I was a freak with no social life, I agreed. At this point, taking care of others had pretty much become second-nature.
With homework checked, the only thing left on today's list of errands was dinner. Since his release coincided with a Sunday, mom had convinced me to cook Jesse's favorite meal - a tasty dish from his homeland that left you stuffed for hours - Sunday roast with Yorkshire pudding. Six years ago, Jessie's dad had swept my mom off her heels, and I had finally figured out the hard truth: Yorkshire pudding is not actual pudding. Go figure.
I exchanged my street clothes for leggings and a tank top, setting my curls free just long enough to sweep them in a pineapple. In the hallway, as my door closed, Jesse's opened. He leaned against the frame, arms folded as he flashed his dimpled smirk. He was fresh from the shower, still wrapped in a towel, the tantalizing scent of his soap and cologne a calling card to his bedroom. I had to admit, he looked pretty damn good for someone just out of jail. And he had clearly been lifting weights. Beneath the jungle of complex tattoos stretched from his right shoulder to his left hip, and spidering down both arms, his golden skin was more defined than the last time I had seen him. The ankle monitor provided the final touch to his bad boy image. Realizing I was staring, I cleared my throat, ripping my gaze from v-cuts the likes of which I had never seen...
"There was a mint on my pillow." Destined for the laundry room, Jesse switched his bundle of dirty clothes to his other arm. "Was it poison?"
"Depends, did you eat it?"
He grinned. "Aye..."
"Then, yes, it was. Enjoy."
"Y'know, Shar, it's really quite difficult to stay out of trouble when you keep messing about." He stepped into the middle of the hallway, his glare offset by a crafty grin. "I bet you torture your boyfriend."
"Nope, he dumped me for being too secure." I joined him in the hall, face-to-face but never eye-to-eye - and not just because he was a foot taller than me. "Now I spend my time torturing you."
"Well, if you consider cleaning my room, picking me up, and fixing my favorite meal torture, then I can't wait to see what else you'll do to me." Challenge by double entendre. Classic Jesse.
And classic me for feeding into it.
I turned on my heel and marched down the hall and to the kitchen, before he could see the heat and embarrassment in my face. I preheated the stove, then got my pots and pans together. One thing about trading the crown for a real mortgage - the counter space. I was in the process of cutting the chicken, dicing them to bits with a butcher knife, when an old face made a new appearance.
"Must be nice having Jesse home. You get him all-l-l-l-l to yourself." Kerry Jane. She leaned nonchalantly in the kitchen doorway, arms folded across her ample chest as she purveyed me through malicious green eyes. She dragged her manicured nails through her hair, shaking out long, golden waves.
"Yes, please, Kerry, do come in without asking. I see you've dressed for the occasion..." Like Hugh was missing a bunny from the mansion. I turned back to the chicken, rolling my eyes. Six weeks of radio silence and Kerry was finally showing her face again. After Jessie's arrest for drunkenly tackling the cop sent to arrest his father, Kerry hadn't dropped by once to ask about Jessie, or how we were coping in his wake.
"Now that Jessie's back, I really hope we can be friends, Shar." Kerry's voice was cool and slow, like water running over stone - but the kind of water deep enough to sweep you away, never to be seen from again.
"Are you sure about that?" I turned, one hand propped beneath my elbow, the knife dangling lazily from my fingers. "Because you once told me you hoped I'd die in a fiery car crash."
"Water under the bridge, sweety. Besides, I was insecure at the time. I was worried you didn't think I was good enough for my boyfriend--"
"You aren't. And Jessie's not your boyfriend. Not anymore."
"But he will be. And for your sake, I just hope you can accept that this time around."
Wait a minute, was that a threat? I frowned, setting down the knife, just in case shit was about to get real. "Alright, Kerry." I nodded in faux agreement. "And what if I don't?"
"Hmm..." Kerry smiled sweetly, pulling her bottom lip between her straight white teeth. "Then I guess Jesse might find out it was you who turned his dad in. And that would really suck."
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