“Are you just figuring this out now? That I’m impossible? Because I would have thought by now, you especially would realize what an impossible, stubborn ass I am.” My fists curled around the chair-arms as Josie settled the bandage into position.
“I know who you are, but what happened to the guy who made me believe he’d walk through fire rather than hurt one of his only friends? What happened to the guy who punched Roy Watkins at recess for calling me a prissy little bitch?” Josie leaned back, looking about as exhausted as I felt.
She was waiting for an answer, so I gave her one. “Someone he cared about f**ked him up good.”
Josie’s hands balled in her lap. “I know your dad’s hard on you. Why don’t you move out already? Get away from that toxic environment.” She grabbed the ointment again and dotted it on a few other areas on my face.
“My dad wasn’t the person I was talking about.” Why in the hell did I say that? I couldn’t even blame the alcohol for my momentary lapse into opening up like a goddamned pansy. When Josie’s eyebrows came together as she worked out who I was referring to, I gave myself an imaginary beating. I was already bleeding; no need to spill my guts all over the damn place too. I needed to change the topic. And the mood. I didn’t do vulnerable for a mountain of reasons.
So I slid that lazy smile of mine into place. The carefree, I-could-give-a-shit one that drove girls wild. Well, every girl but the one sitting a foot in front of me. It drove her wild, I guess, although in a totally different way. “So? You and Mason, eh? How’s that working out?”
“Better when some a**hole in a bar doesn’t pick a fight with him.” She shot me an accusatory glare as she capped the ointment.
“Whatever. Getting in a bar fight will be the single most exciting thing that ever happens to Colt Mason.”
“Yeah, because being with me or potentially marrying me one day wouldn’t even register.” She tossed the stuff back in the first aid kit, still taking out her irritation on something else instead of me.
“I guarantee if that son of a bitch even thought he had a chance at marrying you one day, that would be the highlight of his life.” I leaned forward, waiting for her to look at me. “But that douche has as much a chance with you as I do.”
She grabbed my hat and settled it back on my head, adjusting it until it was right how I wore it, just a hair off the brow. “He’s an awful lot like Jesse. What makes you think I’d never marry him?”
I wasn’t sure if she was intentionally baiting me, but it was working. “First off, that little dick is nothing like Jesse. Nothing. Other than wearing the same kind of hat, although Colt’s has never so much as seen a speck of mud, Jesse and Colt are about as alike as Jesse and me. Secondly, you’re not going to marry that boy because, well, you’re not going to marry that boy.” I lifted an eyebrow and waited for her to argue. Josie might try to deny it, but she couldn’t lie to herself. She was as likely to marry one of the Mason boys as I was.
“How descriptive.” She leaned back and crossed her legs. Damn Josie Gibson’s legs and that dress that barely covered them. It barely barely covered them when she went and crossed them like that. I tried not to stare for too long, but when I did manage to shift my eyes back to hers, she was giving me a look.
I cleared my throat and tried to forget about Josie’s bare legs a few inches to the side of mine. “Fine. Here’s just one of the million ‘descriptive’ reasons I’ve got for you.” I leaned toward her until I could smell her shampoo again, and I knew she could smell the whiskey on my breath. And then, I leaned in closer. I waited until her eyes met mine. It took a while, but when they did, my point was proven. “You look at me with more fire in your eyes than you do him.”
Her eyes narrowed, but they stayed with me. Continuing to prove my point. “That’s enraged fire, Black.”
Damn. At that proximity, forget the shampoo; I think I could smell her strawberry lip gloss. Which, of course, made me remember the way it’d tasted that night . . .
Get your shit together, Black. This is Josie. Josie Gibson. The girl I needed to stay away from for both of our sakes. When I leaned back that time, I was sure to give my chair a good slide to put some more distance between us. “It’s still fire. And if it isn’t there in the beginning, it sure as shit isn’t going to magically crop up out of nowhere.”
“Says the love non-expert.”
“I’m the expert because I’m the only person on the face of the planet smart enough to know better than to fall in love. That right there is the reason I’ve earned my expert badge in love.” I glanced toward the bar, hoping to catch Brandy’s attention, because a few shots right about then would really dull the pain. Both kinds.
“You’ve got one warped view of love.”
“Why, thank you. That’s the best compliment I’ve heard all week.”
Shaking her head, Josie stood, grabbing her purse and first aid kit. “You want a ride home? Now that I’m dateless and covered in your blood, this girl’s Friday night is a wrap.” Josie smiled at me, that same gentle ghost-of-a-smile she’d given me the second day of kindergarten when I realized I was either going to marry her or no one. It took me until the end of the school year to realize I’d never marry Josie Gibson. For all of the reasons I was being reminded of.
Just like that, I dropped the curtain on those memories and the small part of me that didn’t feel permanently hardened. It had become like second nature over the years. I gave Josie a slow, crooked smile. I don’t know why I even gave her that smile anymore. She’d seen through it the first time I’d tried it on her. She was immune, unlike the rest of the girls. “What kind of a ride are you asking about?”
“When you find that guy who had my back instead of plotting for ways to get into my panties, let me know okay?” I was still in my seat, but she gave my chest a solid shove. “I’m sick of being treated like the other girls you’ve banged. I might have made a mistake, but I still deserve your respect. Until you figure that out, I don’t want to be around this new Garth. I’m not so hot on him.” Sweeping her eyes over me, she shot me one last glare before marching toward the door.
“You call the sex we had a mistake? Because the first word that comes to my mind is mind-blowing,” I called after her. I was partly hoping she’d come back and give me one more shove and partly hoping she’d keep on marching. “The kind of sex that makes a man keep his fingers crossed for an encore production.”
That stopped her in her tracks. She spun around, crossed her arms, and lord . . . If I thought I’d seen fire in her eyes before, I’d been wrong. “It wasn’t just a mistake. It was the biggest one of my life. I lost two of my best friends in exchange for the a**hole with his nostrils packed with tissue in front of me now.” She didn’t give me the chance to reply before shoving through the door and out of the bar. Which was good, because I didn’t have a f**king clue how to respond.
Garth Black. Brought to his legendary, come-back knees by a few words from Josie’s mouth.
“It looks like you need another shot.” Brandy stopped beside me and slid a glass in front of me.
“No, I don’t need a shot. I need the whole f**king bottle.”
Chapter Two
HALF A BOTTLE of whiskey later, I’d closed down the bar. After telling her three times that I didn’t want to pay for my night of drinking with her in the back room, Brandy finally took my money. She called me a name even I wouldn’t dare repeating that close to Sunday and told me to get out and never come back.
I wasn’t planning on it. At least not until next Friday night.
Brandy’s bar was a fifteen-minute drive from my place, but it took a little longer since I probably had about as much alcohol in my bloodstream as I did white blood cells. The general consensus was that a person shouldn’t get behind a steering wheel after drinking a bottle—or was it closer to two?—of whiskey, but I had a tolerance that would put the Irish to shame. I wasn’t seeing double, my vision wasn’t blurred, and my reflexes weren’t sluggish. I was good.
Of course, if I got pulled over and tested, I’d be up shit creek without a paddle. The one and only positive thing about having Clay Black as a father was that the cops and the law gave us both a wide berth. The cops had had enough experience with my dad to know they didn’t want a repeat, so they turned a blind eye on our minor law breaking and basically forgot the two Black men were part of their jurisdiction.
I’d lost count of how many times that unsaid agreement had kept me out of jail.
About the time I turned down the overgrown drive leading back to the trailer, the alcohol had worn off just enough that thoughts of Josie were returning. Well, they were flooding back. Whatever curtain I’d dropped, whatever dam I’d built, whatever I’d constructed to keep her out of the forefront of my mind crumbled. I was swimming in thoughts of her. The way she’d chewed her lip as she doctored my face. The way she looked at me with disappointment on her whole face before walking out. The way she’d felt that night a couple years back.
After pounding the steering wheel with my palm, I slapped both of my cheeks. Josie Gibson was off limits, and if I kept thinking about her, I would have to find someone who could remove the part of my brain that kept long-term memory in good working order. So what did my mind go and skip to after issuing that ultimatum?
The last day of kindergarten. The bus had just picked me up, and I was furiously wiping my nose with my sleeve, hoping my nose would stop bleeding before my sleeve got soaked through. I’d accidentally woken Clay when I’d been checking the cupboards for something that could constitute breakfast. I’d finally settled on a dry package of ramen noodles. My punishment for rousing the sleeping bear had been the backside of his hand across my face. It had caused a bloody nose that wouldn’t stop.
The bus driver barely noticed. He’d grown accustomed to my bloody noses and swollen lips, along with the rest of the kids on the bus. For some reason, that morning, someone noticed and scooted into the seat next to me.
“Here. Use this.” Josie, complete with her pigtails, had pulled a napkin out of her lunchbox and held it out for me. A note was written on the napkin, along with a few hearts. At the end, it said, Love, Mom.
“I’m not using your special note to wipe my blood off,” I’d said, trying to will my nose to stop bleeding.
“It’s okay. She leaves me one every day in my lunch.” Josie’d shrugged, holding the napkin out for me again.
I remember being shocked, floored by the fact that Josie had someone who loved her so damn much that not only did they pack her a lunch every day, but they actually took the time to write a note on the napkin. I wasn’t familiar with that kind of love. It was a kind I didn’t even know existed. That day, Josie had opened my eyes to the realization that love wasn’t just a bullshit concept. To some people, it was so much more than circumstance and disappointment.