I tear my gaze from his face, glancing down at his bare arms. One of them is heavily inked with swirling colors and a snake.

A cobra, I think, done in red and green, curling on his thick bicep. And underneath the riot of colored ink swathing his arm from shoulder to wrist, faint crisscrossing lines catch my eyes, some thin and some thick, dark and raised.

Scars.

His voice startles me. “This place sure looks different when it’s not full of people.”

“You mean it looks empty.”

He chuckles, warm and delicious like a treacle of melted hot chocolate. “And nice.”

“Although there’s no blonde wrapped around you and no sucking involved?”

His eyes widen. Then he tries to speak and chokes on the words.

“You…” He shakes his head as he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. “Shit.”

Yeah, I’m not only antisocial, I also don’t have any control over my mouth. Double whammy. Who wouldn’t want to be around me?

“So what do you want?” Might as well get this over with, so we can both go on our separate ways—he, back to his blonde and the sucking, and me, to my room and my beads.

He flinches, a barely there twitch that has me wondering if I even saw it. “I lost… something. A leather wrist band. I can’t find it since the party here, and I thought to ask in case you saw it anywhere.”

I remember seeing the band on his arm that night. “It was an old thing, wasn’t it?” Old, worn and starting to fray.

“It’s…” He rubs his forehead, frowning. “It’s important to me.”

He’s been an ass. Sort of. He’s been pushy. Kind of. He scares me.

But the uncertainty is back in his eyes, and now I know I didn’t imagine it. And although I’m not sure what to do with it, this glimpse beneath the sunny surface that defines Jesse Lee, I wish… I wish I could. I wish I had the courage to prod and break the brittle skin, the scab over a wound I can only guess at.

“I haven’t seen it,” I say, and his jaw tightens. Wow, this bracelet really seems important to him. “But I’ll look around. We’re still cleaning after the party from hell.”

“Thanks.” His mouth quirks. He shifts back and leans against the wall, and I try hard not to notice how good he looks in a faded green T-shirt and low-slung jeans, not to stare at the bulge between his legs.

Oh God, I’m checking out his package. Crap, no way. I have to stop.

“So…” He shifts, and damn if my eyes don’t drop again to his crotch. “Why did you hate the party so much?”

“I didn’t hate it.”

“Liar.” He’s grinning. His mouth is made for it, I think, so wide and sensuous. Sexy. Kissable.

Oh no. You don’t go there, girl. Enough of this.

I perch on the couch and bite my lip, trying to gather my scattered thoughts. “The party was fine. The problem is me. I’m not sociable and outgoing, if you haven’t noticed. I’m working on it.”

There. See if he doesn’t run from me now. The antisocial freak nobody would want to hang out with.

“Working on it?”

I shake my head. Maybe this was a bad idea, too, because I don’t want to explain. Counter-attack it is. “What’s the story of your wrist band?”

“There is no story.”

I lean forward. “Now who’s the liar?”

He grimaces, a twist of his lips, morphing immediately back into a smile. It always returns, that smile. A default setting.

Like my glare.

“I need to get to work,” he says instead of an answer to my question—and accusation—and I slump on the couch.

What did I expect, that after three minutes of conversation he’d open his heart to me? That we’d be best buddies?

Come on, Amber. Just goes to show how little you understand people. Besides, it’s not like you opened up, so why would he?

But as he turns to go, a long-fingered hand already gripping the door handle, he hesitates. Those broad shoulders tense, a ripple going through his back.

“The leather band…” He draws a long breath, lets it out. “It was given to me by someone who meant a lot to me, back when I was a kid. Later I lost her, and that’s all I have left of her.”

My heart falters, then starts again. A lump forms in my throat at the naked, raw pain in his voice. There’s so much I want to ask him, but he opens the door, steps out.

“Hey.” I hop off the couch and start after him. “Wait.”

He turns, a brow lifting. “What is it?”

I shrug. “Sorry for calling you names… earlier.”

“You may regret saying that,” he mutters, but some of the tension leaches from his shoulders. He gives me another of those faint smiles that make my chest warm. “I deserve those names. I’m a pain in the ass.”

“I doubt that,” I mumble, wondering why I’m saying this. Ten minutes ago I would’ve agreed whole-heartedly. “You’re not that bad. Goodnight, JJ.”

His smile spreads, brightening his eyes. “Night, Embers.”

I cock my head at him as he leaves, trying to figure him out. It’s not until later when I realize I called him JJ again.

Crap.

Chapter Six

Jesse

The day passes in a blur, with her words echoing in my mind. She said I’m not that bad. Ha. I’m worse than she can imagine.

I wipe down a table, annoyed when I realize I’m grinning. How can this girl have so much power over me?

And she called me JJ again.

I bow my head, breathe out a sigh. Her calling me by this silly nickname shouldn’t feel so good. It doesn’t mean anything, no matter what I keep saying. People give each other nicknames all the time.

Then why do I want to laugh out loud? Why do I find myself stopping whatever I’m doing, thinking of her?

Fucking hell, this girl. She makes me feel and I don’t wanna do that. Thought I got rid of feelings long ago. In fact, I shouldn’t see her again, should avoid her, find another chick to work out this restless energy, this stiffening of my dick every time I think of her.

To get rid of thoughts of her naked underneath me as I push into her, fucking that sweet pussy until she screams my name, and—

“You okay, J?” Megan appears by my side, and I remain bent over the table, doing my best to hide a massive hard-on.

“Yeah.” My mouth is dry, voice gone raspy. “What’s up?”

“Nothing. You keep spacing out today.” Her dark eyes meet mine squarely. She’s a pretty girl with a core of steel. No wonder Rafe can’t live without her. “I’ve been meaning to ask you… Is everything okay in that apartment of yours?”

I blink, not sure what’s she asking. It’s as if there are hidden words inside her question. “Yeah. Why?”

“Oh, you know.” She tugs on her ponytail. “You’ve complained about your roommates, now and then. I just hope it’s nothing serious.”

What is she asking me? I straighten, cock my head at her. “You’re worried about me? I can take care of myself, Meg. I’m a big boy.”

She smiles, shakes her head. “Worry is an irrational thing. Something you feel for someone you like. That’s how friendship works, J.”

I stare after her, long after she’s vanished at the other end of the café, taking care of customers. Well, I don’t know much about friendship, or any other normal relationship. Who was gonna teach me such things, huh? God knows Helen tried, but then she was gone.

The thought of her hurts. I breathe around the spike of pain in my chest and do my best to switch off my mind for the rest of the day.

Fat chance.

***

Spending my whole shift at the taco joint with a hard-on for a girl who doesn’t much like me is a first. Not a pleasant experience, either. I can barely walk with a boner like an iron pole between my legs, and keeping my mind on the customers is near impossible when all I can see in my mind is her.

She looked feral, with her dark hair loose, her blue eyes smoky and that off the shoulder white blouse, half-transparent in the slanted afternoon light, the flower prints doing little to hide the dark shadow of her bra and the swells of her breasts, or the sweet dip of her waist above the flare of her hips.