Jack

There’s nothing like a little hair of the dog that bit you, right?

I wait for the locker room to clear out to take my final swig of cheap vodka and orange juice out of my water bottle, before stowing it back on the shelf. My head loosens up and the burning in my throat eases. Right as rain. It’s rare that I wake up with a hangover anymore, but you can bet your ass I tied one on after that kiss in the park last night with Katie.

What the hell happened?

She asked me to tell her a story. Through the whole thing, straight through to the end, she’d been interested. Watching me, holding her breath, waiting. I started to wonder what else I could do to hold her interest, outside of bed.

What do you want me to see?

After the way her searching questions and honest vulnerability stripped me down without a single piece of clothing removed, though, I’d been prepared to sign over my kidneys for that kiss. Both of them. Maybe I’d been desperate to come to my senses and kissing her was the only way to achieve that. No way the kiss could live up to the girl, right? With all her teasing smiles and wit and intelligence and that rack. Only, the kiss had turned my blood to rocket fuel. I’d thought, no way, no way we’re ending the night any other way but naked, sweaty and filthy. But she’d walked away, leaving me standing there with a beating heart in my throat and a boner that took seven shots of whiskey to kill.

I still haven’t recovered. The academy is the place I least want to be on most days, but this morning? I’m counting the minutes until I see her again. Get those steady, yet curious eyes on me and hold them. Hold them longer this time. That damn kiss threw me off my game so bad, I didn’t even get a phone number or the name of her hotel last night. If she doesn’t show up tonight, I have no idea what I’ll do. Facebook is an option, but there has to be five thousand Katies in Ireland. There’s only one that’s got me itchy, though.

It’ll go away. This itch. Soon as we get between the sheets and I bang her into next Thanksgiving, I’ll go back to being good old Jack, the one who takes nothing and nobody seriously. The downwards slide after Katie might be even harder than usual, but she’ll be worth it.

Although, what if I don’t feel like shit after I’m with Katie? I’ve begun to think the crash into regret after sex is something I speed towards on purpose. What happens if it’s taken away?

Maybe with Katie I won’t feel used and shitty afterwards. Is this the time?

My stomach drops. Do I even want to feel good afterwards?

Hands everywhere, my head stuffy with the scent of floral perfume, low laughter, heavy breathing.

The vision hits me out of nowhere and my hand shoots back into the locker, wrapping around the water bottle of vodka and drawing it out. It shakes in my grip as I bring it to my lips.

“Garrett.” Danika’s voice whips straight through the center of my ugly thoughts. My oldest childhood friend is standing at the entrance to the men’s locker room—the girl has no boundaries—and she’s giving me that tilty-headed stank face she does so well. “Drills are about to start. Are you waiting for a formal invitation?”

“A simple Evite should do it,” I quip into the bottle, taking another drag.

“Cute.” She crosses her arms, letting me know she’s not in the mood to shovel my bullshit. It used to take a lot more to make her angry with me, but her irritation seems to be coming easier lately. We lived in the same building on 10th Avenue growing up and were friends for three years before I got the nerve to tell her why I never invited her over to watch television. But she’d already figured out what my mother did for a living. While I sat there gaping like a fish, she’d socked me in the shoulder and told me she’d aim higher if I ever held out on her again.

Danika is the only person I love, besides my mother. That love is ironclad. It means I’ll go to the ropes for her any damn day of the week. When her first boyfriend got angry and clipped her in the chin “on accident,” I tied him to a fire hydrant on the West Side Highway and stole his pants. Then two weeks later, I stole his new girlfriend.

I tell anyone who asks that Danika is my sister. They don’t believe me, on account of her being Colombian, but I don’t care. That’s exactly how I feel about her.

And right now, she seems to be feeling murderous towards her brother.

“Put that shit away.” She wants to tap her foot. I can tell. “Would it kill you to show up on time once in a while without being dragged?”

I shut my locker door and make for the exit, giving Danika puppy dog eyes as I approach. “Aw, don’t be mean to me, D.” When she doesn’t budge from the doorway, I tap her on the nose. “Maybe I just don’t like walking alone.”

She crams her lips together on a sigh, then digs in the pocket of her uniform. A second later, she pops a breath mint into my mouth. “You should know by now that I’m not going to swoon over your helpless bachelor act.”

“You think this is an act?”

“I used to.” Chewing her lip, she looks like she wants to say more, but the clock on the wall over my shoulder makes her curse. “We don’t have time for this. Move your ass.” I follow her down the concrete hallway towards the gymnasium, balancing myself on the wall when my feet get tied together. “Lieutenant Burns is introducing a new instructor and he’s being all furtive about it.”

“Cool, cool. And furtive means . . .”

“Secretive.”

“I knew that.” I wink when she throws exasperation at me over her shoulder. “When is the L.T. not being furtive?”

Danika stops at the gymnasium door, spine snapped straight. “How would I know? I don’t pay attention to what the man is doing.”

Like I said, I know way more about women than any man should. “Try not being so defensive next time and I might believe you.”

Light blinds me when my “best friend” smacks the gym doors open—totally purposeful—and stomps off towards our regular mat. We aren’t even close to starting drills, which has me weighing the pros and cons of dipping back to the locker room for one more swig. But when I see our roommate and pal, Charlie, lying under the oversized halogens with a sappy smile on his face, I remember. This thing with Katie has me so distracted, I actually forgot I’d participated in a flash mob yesterday afternoon, right before going to visit my mother in the Kitchen. A flash mob designed to win back Charlie’s girlfriend, Ever. Along with the fact that he never came home last night, the smile on his face is a clear indication that our public humiliation was effective.

“Charlie boy.” I drop down onto the mat, ignoring the way the room tilts. “You’re going to sprout a pair of tits if you don’t stop mooning like a schoolgirl. You’ve gone straight past creepy couch-jumping Tom Cruise and smack into uncharted territory.”

“Ever is spending the night at our place tonight.” Apparently Charlie can’t hear a damn word I say over the birds chirping in his head. “I need to wash my sheets.”

Danika’s nose wrinkles. “When is the last time that happened?”

“No clue.”

She groans. “Some Febreze wouldn’t go amiss, either.” Her elbow meets my ribs. “That goes for you, too, Garrett.”

“And yet the complaint department has been totally silent.” I think of Katie walking into my room and what her reaction would be. Would she laugh at the Rat Pack bobblehead collection my mother gave me for Christmas or head straight for the bed? Would she ask me to tell her another story? The tightness in my chest makes me force the curiosity away. “Does Ever staying the night mean we should invest in some ear plugs, Charlie, you dirty dog, you?” A full minute of silence passes in which I have completely lost my bro to the power of pussy. “You all right over there, man?”

“Oh, uh . . . yeah. Yes, I would look into ear plugs.” His dreamy sigh is straight up unacceptable coming from someone with testicles. “Because we’re going to be doin’ it.”

“Thanks for the clarification,” Danika says dryly. “Do you want to give me the birds and the bees talk, too?”

Now here’s an opportunity for some fun. Not to mention a way to get back on Danika’s good side. I hate it when she’s mad at me. “Well, you see, honey. When a man and a woman have established a mutual respect for one another—”

“Stop.” She’s laughing as she smacks both hands over her ears. “Make it stop.”

That laugh means I’ve earned another day of friendship and my relief makes me double down, digging my fingers into her ribs, same way I used to do when we were kids. And on cue, she loses it, squealing and batting my hands away. If I was sober, I still wouldn’t give a shit that everyone is watching, but I especially don’t give a flying fuck now.

Not until the lieutenant walks into the gym.

Charlie’s brother, Lieutenant Greer Burns, is a world-class prick. At age thirty, he’s been decorated by the department so many times that his shit has ceased to stink, at least in his mind. I’ve never once seen him crack a smile. His face is made of stone. But if he thinks I haven’t noticed his interest in Danika, he’s not as much of a genius as everyone thinks.

Or else he just assumes I’m stupid.

His jealousy snaps in his face like a live wire when he sees me tickling Danika. I would assure him he has nothing to worry about—I’ve never had romantic feelings for my best pal, worthy though she is—but he should worry. Because over my dead body will Danika get run over by that emotionless dickhead.

Growing up, she looked out for me. The code of friendship demands I return the favor. In terms of favors, I am way behind, too. Before the academy, I was content to work on the docks forever, unloading cargo ships at night on the West Side for decent cash. Enough to get my mother out of the brothel. Danika wasn’t content with my half-ass life plans, though. She threatened me with violence if I didn’t pass the department-required amount of junior college credits, which I justified to myself by admitting my days were open, might as well give those studious ladies something nice to look at besides a book. Once I’d racked up the credits, Danika tricked me into taking the written civil servant exam with a sucker’s bet about the Knicks making the playoffs. To this day, I can’t believe she managed to con me into the academy. Or that I ever bet on the Knicks.

Nor will I ever understand why women don’t run the world.

“Keep your damn hands to yourself, Garrett,” the lieutenant growls.

Danika shoots to her feet, back straight, heels clicking together. A split second later, she’s annoyed with herself for doing so, but holds her position with gritted teeth. Me? I throw the son-of-a-bitch a lazy smile and don’t even bother standing.

My smile slides right off my face when Katie—my Katie—walks in.

At first, I think someone slipped a hallucinogenic into my water bottle. Something way stronger than vodka. Because why would Katie be here? Holding a clipboard? Maybe I never even got out of bed this morning and I’m having a whiskey-induced dream. If I was imagining Katie being in the gym, though, wouldn’t my brain put her in the same jeans and tank top she wore yesterday? Instead, she’s wrapped up in these sleek, black spandex pants and a tight as fuck academy T-shirt. Oh, and rest assured, everyone with a dick—with the exception of the Burns brothers—is sitting up and taking notice of Katie. My Katie.

“Listen up, recruits,” Greer shouts, still watching Danika and me with annoyance. “This is your new arms instructor, Katie McCoy.”

Pretty sure my jaw hits the mat. “Fuck. Me.”