JONAH’S RIGHT ABOUT the scene.
Not my people, but I’ll make the best of it.
The club he brings me to is crowded with the tattooed and pierced. Grunge is alive and well in Seattle. Surprisingly, I fit in amongst the hipsters with my plaid shirt and jeans with the knees ripped out. Unlike most of the pants here, mine tore because the denim wore thin over the years. At the moment, these are the only pair I own not stained with grass clippings and dirt. I should probably do laundry more often. I know I’ll be washing these clothes tomorrow. The whole place smells like they mop with beer and haven’t aired out the room since smoking in clubs was legal. This wonderful combination sinks into my pores and clothes by the minute.
The music combines the desolation of country lyrics, a heavy galloping drum beat, and raw electric guitar played at the loudest decibels possible without feedback. Most of the time. Conversation is impossible in the throng of fans squeezed in front of the small stage.
These are songs to thrash out any emotions you might be feeling. Or so it seems from the crowd. Everyone bounces and thrashes around in a semi-polite mosh pit. Jonah’s at the very front while I hang near the back. My body moves with the pulse of the crowd whether or not I want it to. I’m jostled and elbowed as the lead singer screams out lyrics about losing his best hunting dog and woman in the same weekend.
Deciding I need another beer to survive this experience, I shove my way in the direction of the bar. Once I untangle myself from the crush, I almost stumble as I regain my balance to stand on my own feet.
The wait for a bartenders’ attention is three or four people deep in most places, so I pick a spot and try to catch their eye. When I get close enough to place a hand on the sticky wood of the bar, I have to shout to be heard as I order a beer.
The petite bartender with short, asymmetrical white hair and a ring piercing her septum holds up her index finger.
I should probably get Jonah something. I indicate two as a hand presses against my lower back. The size and pressure feel female. Twisting my head to look over my shoulder, I’m met with familiar green eyes and wild auburn curls.
Staring down at Ashley, I forget how to speak. Scanning her body, I memorize her outfit. She’s wearing a black leather jacket with a low-cut white tank underneath and tight black jeans with the knees ripped out. The glimpse of skin on her legs is sexier than if she wore a mini skirt.
Her mouth falls open. “Twice in one day? Are you stalking me?”
I swallow my surprise. “You’re the one touching me.”
Her hand drops immediately. “I wanted to order a drink while the bartender was down here. I’ve been waiting forever. I was beginning to think I’m invisible. Or I need a penis to get a beer around here.”
Ashley stares down the woman when she sets the two clear plastic cups of amber liquid on the bar.
“What do you want?” I ask, holding up my hand to keep the bartender from disappearing.
“One more of those.” Ashley points at the beers.
I order another and reach for my wallet. Ashley stops my hand.
“You don’t have to pay for me,” she shouts at the moment the song comes to a screeching halt. Instead of lowering her voice, she laughs and continues at top volume, “Great now I sound like a hooker offering a freebie.”
I bite back the snort of laughter at her declaration. Of course I’m going to pay for her drink. I was raised to be a gentleman. “You can buy the next round.”
She huffs, but accepts the beer when I hand it to her. “Fine.”
I lift my cup in a toast.
Her hand doesn’t move.
“Don’t leave me hanging.” I wiggle my cup of beer.
“What are we toasting?” I hear the hesitation in her voice.
“You owing me one?” I give her a half-smile.
“I’d rather pour this out on the floor than toast to that.” She tips the cup in threat.
“Suit yourself.” I swallow about a third of my beer. “What you do with it is up to you. Social rules say you have to buy me another one.”
“Why are you such an asshole?” She scrunches up her nose like I smell.
“If I had a free hand, I’d place it over my wounded heart.” I grin at her. Stupidly, I love it when she swears and gets riled up.
“Given you’re the medical miracle of a man without a heart, that’s impossible.” She sips her beer and faces the stage.
I step beside her and remain silent. There’s no point in trying to shout over the music.
As she relaxes, her shoulders lower from around her ears. I don’t know if it’s me that makes her tense or something else. I don’t know why it would be me.
Shortly after the band announces a break, a sweaty Jonah bounds through the crowd, hopped up on adrenaline and pure happiness from the expression on his face. When he spots us, his attention bounces between me and Ashley a couple of times before he speaks.
“Red Dragon!” he shouts and throws a damp arm around her shoulder.
She gags and shrugs him off. “You’re so sweaty and gross.”
“Give me a hug, baby sister.” Jonah holds his arms open wide and steps closer.
Ashley hides behind me, her hands clutching my T-shirt near my hips. Using me as a human shield is the first time she’s knowingly touched me in years. At least on purpose.
“Don’t even think about hugging me,” I tell Jonah. Holding out his beer, I make a peace offering.
“You’re the best.” Taking the cup, he proceeds to chugs it half down.
The threat evaded, Ashley releases my shirt and steps next to me, keeping my body between her and Jonah.
“Glad you could make it down tonight, Sis.” Jonah wipes his face on the sleeve of his shirt. His genuine smile emphasizes the truth of his words. “I miss you.”
“You saw me a few hours ago.”
“True, but these days I only see you when it’s work related. All work and no play and all that.”
“I’m not turning into a psychopathic axe murder.”
“Yet.”
She bats away his attempt to ruffle her hair, but fails to defend against his chokehold. His smug triumph ends when she elbows him in the stomach.
I wonder if they’ve always been close. Growing up, I never paid much attention to Jonah. A little older and always kind of intimidating, he stuck to a small group of friends. He’s always been kind of a loner and an odd duck.
Erik and I are each other’s best friends, and at times when we were younger, our worst enemies with the knowledge to destroy each other with a single word.
Somehow, I doubt Jonah and Ashley have the same kind of relationship. He’s always protective of her, even now. No one talks trash about her in front of him. At least never more than once.
“Carter?” Jonah snaps his fingers in my face.
Jonah and Ashley stare at me with questions in their eyes.
“I asked if you wanted to stay for the second set or check out another band down the street.” Jonah jerks his head toward the door.
“What do you want to do?” I ask both of them, but I’m focused on Ashley.
“I’m meeting a friend here, so I’m stuck until he shows up.”
He.
Of course.
“Anyone I know?” Jonah asks the question I can’t.
Fidgeting, she pulls her hair into a lose knot at the crown of her head. A loose curl hangs against her long neck. My fingers itch to twist the wayward strand into the messy bun. Or wrap it around my hand.
“No one you’ve met.” Her vague answer tells me all I need to know.
“We don’t want to ruin your date,” I blurt.
A slow smile twists her lips. “I never said it was a date. I think I specifically said a friend.”
She’s got me there.
“You’re allowed to have guy friends.”
A thin line appears between her brows as her lips form a frown. “Allowed? Are you giving me permission?”
“I, uh . . .” I fumble with finding the right words to dig myself out of the hole I find myself surrounded by. My eyes seek out Jonah for assistance.
“No, nuh huh.” He holds up his hands, palms facing me.
Stepping close, Ashley pokes her index finger into the middle of my chest, right over my solar plexus. She must’ve taken a self-defense class, because that shit hurts. I grab her finger and hold it an inch from my shirt.
The fire is back in her eyes. “I don’t need your permission, or anyone else’s to live my life. My life. Approve, or don’t.”
Jonah laughs . . . no, he guffaws, next to me.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t assume.”
“That any guy I hang out with I’m having sex with? Isn’t that what you mean by a date?” She pulls her finger away, but I hold on tight.
“Now who’s putting words into my mouth?” If she’s sleeping with this friend, then I already hate him.
We stare at each other in a silent battle as she tugs her finger from my grip.
“Okay, don’t make me send you both to naughty stools in the corner.” Jonah interrupts our staring contest.
Ashley shakes her head and the loose bun falls, sending waves of fiery copper hair spilling around her shoulders, coming to rest on the curves of her breasts.
As a kid I compared her to Ariel the Little Mermaid with her long red hair and asked if she ever wore a shell bra. The kick to my shins proved she had legs like a girl and not a mermaid’s tail.
Looking back, there’s an obvious pattern to our relationship.
Me crushing on her.
Her being nice to me.
Me being a jerk.
Her calling me on it.
Repeat with variation.
I’m a hamster on his wheel, exhausted but unable to get off.
Pun intended.
Maybe if I go a little harder, faster, smoother, I’ll achieve my goal.
Instead of spinning in pointless circles, never getting closer to winning her heart.
“We can wait for your friend,” Jonah speaks for the both of us.
“You really don’t have to. I don’t want to cramp your wingmen activities.” This time she stares at me as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. If I didn’t know her better, I’d say it was a nervous habit.
A tall guy, like basketball player tall, strolls into the bar. He easily scans the room because he’s a good half-foot taller than almost everyone else in the place.
I watch him search for someone until his gaze lands on Ashley. Then I know. This is her friend. From the way he stuffs his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and hunches over, punk country isn’t his scene. Or he’s on the run from the law and doesn’t want to be recognized. The crowd parts for him as he makes his way over to us.
Once he’s a few feet away, I recognize him.
Not a basketball player.
He’s the baddest bad boy of Seattle football.
Anderson McPhee is one of Roslyn’s clients. Or former clients. I’m pretty sure she fired him. I know Ashley does work for Roslyn’s PR agency, so maybe they’re business acquaintances? Who hang out at bars together on the weekend?
I’m sure there’s a simple explanation not involving sex.
Because I’m not sure I could take down a hemlock-sized man.
But I want to and I’m willing to try.
Every cell in my body is screaming that she’s mine. She’s always been mine.
Trouble doesn’t find Ashley.
She seeks it out and chases after it.
Gone is the girl who believed she’d go to hell for any small thing she did wrong. The teenager who cared about what everyone else thought of her.
In her place is the woman who doesn’t care and will happily drive the bus full of sinners to their eternal damnation. She’s happy to be called a bad girl and will remind people it’s usually the bad girls in history we remember.
Some might even call her a hellion. Or probably have. I’m sure she’s been called worse by most folks around the island.
Jonah and Anderson grip each other’s hands and do some sort of forearm bump. I introduce myself but keep my hands by my side until he extends his giant paw. I add extra pressure when we shake, letting him know he doesn’t intimidate me in the least.
Not at all.
Who cares if he’s semi-famous, wealthy, and a pro athlete? Women probably throw themselves at him all the time. Hell, the way Jonah’s smiling at him, I bet he has fanboys, too.
If Ashley wants to be part of a harem, no one’s going to stop her.
The idea churns the acid in my stomach.
I’m the last person who can compete with a guy like McPhee. Former groundskeeper and now goat herder, I’m so far out of the same league I’m playing T-ball to his World Series.
Anderson rests his paw on Ashley’s shoulder while she giggles at something he’s said.
I suck down the remainder of my beer and think about stealing the rest of hers. Let Big Shot buy her another one. He probably has a titanium credit card.
Jonah puts me out of my misery by suggesting we get a move on to see the other band. Lucky for me, Ashley declines his invitation to join us. Apparently, McPhee knows about a party at some Bellevue house on Lake Washington.
At the next bar, I don’t bother to pick up anyone or even flirt with women. Seeing Ashley killed my mojo. Imagining giant paws touching her ruins my mood. The whole night ends up being a waste of time.
Jonah picks up on my foul mood and suggests we head back to catch the ferry.
Once we’re loaded on the boat, I tell him I need fresh air. On the passenger deck, I walk to the bow and lean over the railing. Whidbey lies like a dark shadow on the water ahead of me. The lights of Seattle brighten the sky to my left. Somewhere amongst the sparkle and glow of the city Ashley lives out a life she thinks is her destiny. Or her punishment.
Where do I fit into her world?