His face relaxed.
“Damn.” He blinked several times, a laugh crackling in his chest. “You’re hard up. Who is she?”
I exhaled slowly.
Didn’t see the point in keeping this shit to myself anymore. Not when I no longer had it.
“Think you know her,” I said, setting my bottle on the rail. “That girl you’re always going to see at Whitecaps …”
Jamie stepped closer, halting me.
“You’re fuckin’ seeing Legs?”
“I’m talking about her friend, jackass. Back up.”
He backed up, but he did it looking ready to tear my flesh off if I didn’t explain quick who I was specifically talking about, conclusively eliminating Legs as an option.
I wasn’t the only one pining for someone.
“Girl’s name is Sydney. She works with Tori. Lives with her, too.”
“Who?”
“Legs,” I grated impatiently.
“Not her,” Jamie snapped. “Christ, I know her fucking name. Just ’cause I don’t call her by it doesn’t mean I don’t hear it every time she shoves it down my throat. I’m talking about yours. Which one is she?”
“She just started a month ago. Red hair …”
“Oh …yeah, okay.” His mouth twitched. “I know who she is. Bit nicer than her friend, though she kinda sucks at waitressing. Woman is constantly messing up my order.” He lost the smile and studied me. “How’d you meet her? You never go to Whitecaps.”
I hesitated answering and turned back to the water, took another swig of beer, this time finishing it off, swallowing, then held it over the railing and dropped it into the trash can we kept below for such purpose.
I hesitated for one reason I wasn’t sure I wanted to disclose.
I was gone for a woman I’d never fucking met.
Pathetic?
Maybe.
Did I give a fuck when that shit was kept personal?
Not one damn bit.
But I was about to blow the lid off and air it out, confide in my friend, who could very easily bust my balls over this indefinitely.
I stayed silent for a minute, then decided to hell with it. Again, what the fuck did I have left to lose at this point?
Let him talk shit. Let everyone.
Like I said before, I no longer cared about consequences. So I told him everything about Syd. Every fucking thing. I didn’t leave nothing out.
And he listened, taking it all in while remaining silent and looking surprised at some of the shit I was saying, but also looking like he got some of it, too. He understood.
I knew that when I reached the end and Jamie finally spoke.
“This girl was healing you,” he offered quietly.
I shrugged.
She was. Didn’t know how it was possible coming from a girl I couldn’t even get to, but she was.
“Know what you need, man?”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
He gripped my shoulder, attracting my attention then, and once he got it, he grinned with self-satisfaction brightening in his eyes.
I glared. “What?”
“Saturday night. We ain’t got shit to do.” He dropped his hand and shrugged. “Might as well throw a party.”
That was the last thing I needed.
“I don’t want a bunch of assholes in my house.”
“You need a distraction and a bunch of assholes is a good distraction,” he argued. “We’ll get some kegs, play some beer pong, I’ll get laid a couple times.” He smiled. “It’ll be good for everybody.”
I shook my head.
“Not in the mood for this,” I said, giving him a hard look. “Seriously, man.”
Bastard wasn’t hearing me. Knew he wasn’t—he was grinning like an idiot and already planning shit in his head. I could tell.
Once Jamie had his mind set on something, that was it.
I was going to have a bunch of assholes in my house.
“It’s happenin’, Dash. Gonna be a fuckin’ blast, too. You’ll see.” Jamie took a few steps backward in the direction of the slider, hit me with a chin jerk, then turned his back on me, speaking as he walked toward the house, “I’ll get Cole on invite duty. He’ll get the word out. BYOP.”
I shook my head.
Bring Your Own Pussy.
Fuck.
Chapter Twelve
SYDNEY
I felt the couch dip near my feet.
Tori’s hand found my ankle through the Christmas quilt covering me and gave it a squeeze.
“Just wanted you to know,” she began in a gentle voice, hand still wrapped around my ankle. “I’m seriously debating driving to Raleigh and setting your old house on fire with Marcus trapped inside, so speak now if you got any attachment to that house or the things in it because once I light the match, I’m following through.”
Tori was reacting to the vegetative state I’d adopted since Thursday night, fetal position on a comfy surface, which I switched up every few hours, going between the couch and my bed, thinking it was stemming from the phone call with Marcus and thinking that because it was the only thing I informed her of when she crawled beside me in bed Friday morning and we had our talk. She still had no idea about Brian, our history, or our ending, so the blame for my depression was fully and solely on Marcus and now she was getting creative in her act of retaliation against him.
Yesterday morning she wanted to chew him out on the phone. Last night she thought about sending a hateful letter.