Jack

When my roommates walk into the kitchen Wednesday morning, they stop in their tracks and stare at me as if Jesus Christ Himself has descended to make them pancakes. To be fair, me getting up early and making breakfast is as regular an occurrence as a solar fucking eclipse, but they don’t need to rub it in. I pull my weight in other ways, don’t I? When Charlie was messed up over Ever, who was the wingman who helped him drown his sorrows? Jack. When Danika needs something off a higher shelf? You guessed it. This guy.

All right so maybe me making pancakes is a tad unusual, but I’m on a roll in the unexpected department. I haven’t had a drink in two days, since Katie was introduced at the academy. It’s no secret that I’m the least dedicated recruit and yet, getting asked to leave a training exercise was kind of a gut punch. Even then, staying sober wasn’t the plan, but . . . it’s weird. I can remember ever single second of being in Central Park with Katie. Every word spoken, every gust of wind is still so clear in my mind. It doesn’t take a MENSA member to realize the clarity came from being sober. I liked it.

Not that remaining this way has been easy. My skin feels too confining, my throat has an itchy soreness going on, even though I’m not sick, and I can’t seem to relax. This anxiousness isn’t like me. At least, I don’t think so. It’s been a long time since I allowed the numbness to wear off for such an extended period.

Lying there in the darkness last night, I was too aware of my thoughts. Without the benefit of passing out, too many memories bombarded me until my stomach began a sickly clench. My head drummed. The bedclothes beneath my tossing and turning body felt like sheets from a different time and place. Sweaty, scratchy ones that rubbed redness into my back and arms. Echoes of feminine laughter and the smell of stale, floral perfume made the half a bottle of Ketel One under my bed seem like a land mine, just waiting for me to step on it. At least if I blew myself to pieces with the contents, I wouldn’t have to think anymore, right?

Not knowing how Katie has spent the last day and a half has not helped whatsoever. I’ve cursed myself a hundred times for not getting a contact number for her in the park. If that oversight doesn’t tell you my game is missing in action around this girl, nothing will. The way she knocks me off balance already has me at a disadvantage without adding booze to the equation. This jumpy, anxious state I’m in will be worth not having to retrace my steps tomorrow or attempt to recall things I said. I made a promise to Katie, too, and I can’t fuck that up.

Those old memories aren’t going anywhere, though, making this new clarity a double-edged sword. The more my interest in Katie grows, the more worried I get over the prospect of sleeping with her. Does thinking about it get me hot? Better believe it. Hotter than I’ve ever been for a girl. But will I feel shitty afterwards? I really don’t want that to happen with Katie.

Bottom line? I need somewhere to funnel my energy. So. I’m making some fucking pancakes. And if Charlie and Danika don’t rave about them, I might move out.

“Ever,” Charlie calls over his shoulder towards the bedroom. “You have to come out here and see this. Jack appears to be sleepwalking.”

“Funny, dickhead,” I say. “Guess who’s getting the burned pancake.”

Charlie’s blonde girlfriend, Ever—a catering chef—hops out of his bedroom while putting on a sock. “Need a hand? I have macadamia nuts in my bag.”

“Oh my God.” Charlie slaps both hands over his face. “That’s so cute, I can’t stand it.”

“Those aren’t the only nuts she’s carrying around,” I remark.

Ever lays a smacking kiss on Charlie’s cheek, then slides towards her purse, courtesy of her socks on the hardwood floor. She joins me in the kitchen a moment later, using the end of the knife to crush the nuts on a paper towel, since we don’t have a chopping board. I notice Charlie’s eyebrow raised in my direction from where he sits—arms crossed—on one of the kitchen stools, beside an observant Danika. That eye-off-my-girl expression gives me the urge to fling some batter at him. “Jesus. If you want me to put on a shirt, go grab one off my floor.”

Until now, with all this annoying clearheaded thinking I’ve got going on, I’ve never really stopped to wonder if Charlie actually thinks I’d make a play for his girlfriend. It started as kind of a joke, but right now, his usual territorial pissing around Ever makes me kind of . . . uncomfortable. Look, I get it. Everyone and their mother views me as nothing more than their guide to a sinful good time. But ever since Katie called me the Big Bad Wolf, I’m not sure I find that label so harmless anymore. Not that I haven’t earned it. I’m just not sure I like it now. Especially when it keeps sending my redhead running in the opposite direction.

Or maybe my lie did that.

To hide the discomfort over the reminder that I lied to Katie about how often I drink, I catch the T-shirt Charlie lobs in my direction, yanking it down over my head. When I can see again, I notice Danika watching me funny and turn my back. “You have any syrup in that magic bag of yours, Ever?”

“No dice, but butter is fine, right, guys?”

“Considering I was planning on scarfing down a granola bar on my walk to the academy? Damn right butter will work.” Danika pauses and I can all but hear the gears in her head turning. “Why the sudden urge to cook, Jack?”

Ever dumps a handful of nuts into my batter and I begin stirring them in. “I had a sex dream about Rachel Ray last night,” I lie smoothly, winking at my best friend over my shoulder. She stares back, tapping a fingernail against our high, square table. “Woke up feeling inspired.”

Charlie appears to my left—the guy can’t sit still for long—and he begins to make coffee with our old, taped-together, secondhand pot. “I guess we should be thankful it wasn’t a Guy Fieri sex dream or we’d be having chili dogs for breakfast.”

“Thanks for that image,” Danika mutters. “Can you take a nap this afternoon and have dream sex about Giada? I’m in the mood for Italian tonight.”

My hands slow their whisking motion, because I definitely just felt a bolt of guilt over hypothetical dream sex with a Food Network star. No further proof needed that I’ve got it bad for Katie. “I won’t be around for dinner,” I say without thinking.

Normally my roommates would probably just assume I’d be out drinking in the old neighborhood, but these are future cops I’m living with, so the brittle tension in my tone piques their interest. I can practically feel them circling me like beat detectives, looking for an alibi. “No?” Charlie does not pull off casual by any stretch. “Where are you going to be?”

“Yeah.” I hear Danika hop off her stool and approach from behind. “What are your plans?”

“Looking for new roommates.” I pour pancake batter onto the pan and a slow sizzle invades the small kitchen. “Ones that appreciate my attempts to feed their sorry asses and mind their own damn business.”

Charlie’s head ticks back and forth as he scrutinizes me. He’s lucky I like him or he’d have a face full of Bisquick by now. “Been something different about you the past couple days.”

“Noticed that myself, Burns.” Danika props a hip on the stove. “Right around the time a certain redhead with a cute accent showed up.”

Ever reaches around Danika with the spatula and flips the first pancake. “If you guys are teasing him over a girl, at least wait until we’ve all been fed so it stays civil.”

Funny, I actually don’t mind them ribbing me about Katie. It’s kind of . . . nice. Really nice. She could very well decide I’m not worth risking her job over, but for this moment in time, I’m being linked to her. As if we’re an actual thing. I haven’t been part of a thing since high school and even then, calling someone my girlfriend—for a day or two—was just a formality. It never made me prideful the way being paired with Katie does. “McCoy is letting me make up the first class tonight. Happy now?” Remembering who Charlie is related to makes me backpedal. “It’s . . . there’s nothing weird or hush-hush about it. She’s a professional.”

Danika frowns. “Why do you have to make up the first . . . oh.”

I don’t like the way she trades a look with Charlie. Like they’re lab partners and I’m the bug under their microscope. My skin stretches tight, making my neck muscles feel like they’ve been wound around a fist. “Could you drop it now? You got me. I have a thing for the shooting instructor.” I stick a fork in the first pancake and drop it onto a waiting paper plate. “Not sure if you noticed, but so does everyone else.”

“Except me,” Charlie qualifies, cutting a slice off my finished, golden brown pancake.

I smack his hand away with a stern look.

“Or me,” Danika echoes. “Even if she does have great boobs.”

A chuckle escapes me. “I knew there was a reason we stay friends even though you nag me to death.”

Danika’s features cloud over for a split second, making me regret my choice of words. She only gets on my case about the drinking because she cares about me. After witnessing my body’s reaction to being without alcohol for less than two days? I don’t think I can deny anymore that she’s right and I might have a problem. The question is whether or not I want to do something about it. Two nights with a clear head was a hard enough, but imagining an endless cycle of staring at the ceiling and remembering the past sounds like a nightmare I’d rather avoid at all costs.

All I can do is focus on the next hour. And the hour after that. When the craving starts to bombard me, I’ll remember the fountain spray hitting me in the face the other night. The feeling of Katie in my arms. Walking home without stumbling or feeling like I forgot something. How vivid those experiences were. Katie is in town for only a short window of time and I want to remember every second. Breaking my promise to her is the only thing that sounds worse than tossing and turning in my bead, haunted by memories.

“Hey.” Charlie elbows me and I glance over, surprised to see him looking slightly offended. “You know I don’t run to my brother with gossip, right? If you want to see the instructor, it stays between us. What happens on the East Side, stays on the East Side.”

I elbow him back by way of apologizing for my assumption. “Good to know.” Ever pours twin pancakes onto the pan and the sizzle nudges me back to the present, forcing me to shake the weight off my shoulders. “Anyway, it might not work out. Apparently there’s something in the Irish water that makes their women immune to me. It’s an international conspiracy and I have calls into the United Nations, so . . .”

“Oh shit.” Danika backs away from the stove laughing. “Don’t tell me Jack Garrett got turned down.”

I hold up the fork and mime jabbing it into my eye. “Twice.”

My best friend snatches up a marker and begins writing on the dry-erase board fastened to the kitchen wall. “I have to make note of today’s date.”

“I’m glad you find my blue balls hilarious.”

“Not even Rachel Ray could take care of those?” Ever asks, flipping a pancake. “Man, they say to never meet your heroes . . .”

Charlie comes up behind his girlfriend and wraps both arms around her waist, watching over her shoulder as she tends to our breakfast. For the first time, I’m not completely eye rolling their coupledom and taking mental bets on how long such a thing can last. I’m kind of envious, actually.

Christ, being sober is a mind fuck.

“Don’t count me out just yet,” I tell the room at large, trying my best to sound confident even though for once, I feel no such thing. “The third time will be a charm.”

“Word to the wise,” Charlie says, his chin resting on Ever’s head. “Don’t piss her off while she’s holding a firearm.”

Being shot by the woman I want to sleep with would definitely be a first. In that moment, I had no idea exactly how many firsts were on that night’s agenda.

My stomach bottoms out hard when I see Katie for the first time in two days. She’s in stretchy-looking black pants and a gray tank top. That red hair in a swingy ponytail, the ends brushing against her neck. And her eyes are full of awareness. For me. As I approach her in the dim empty gym, she’s balanced on the balls of her feet, like a cat. Like I give her a need to move somehow, some way or she’ll pop. I know the feeling, because that’s what she does to me.

And look, I’m a man. A horny-as-fuck man who’s stone-cold sober. Lust punches me in the gut hard around Katie, but it’s noisier now. It doesn’t raise a hand and wait to be called on. It just speaks up and it’s loud, more purposeful and right. I’ve grown used to feeling like garbage because of the one time I wasn’t in control of my body. The situation. Katie doesn’t make me wish for hell, though. I’m more than a means to a satisfying end around her. She’s here, right now, because she believes I should be given a chance to make up a class, isn’t she? I mattered enough. She’s hung out with me three times because she likes me. Likes Jack.

I’m relieved as hell to see she’s safe. So much that I make a hoarse, embarrassing sound in my throat that has no place coming from someone with a scrotum. She’s survived two days alone in the city and my hands still want to run over every inch of her body, looking for injuries.

There’s also the fact that I want to fuck her so hard she slaps me across the face afterwards.

“Hi, Jack,” Katie says in that amazing voice. “You’re even early. I’m impressed.”

“Don’t tell anyone. They’ll start calling me teacher’s pet.” I’m not sure how she’ll let me greet her. A hug, a kiss. A handshake, for chrissakes. My question is answered when I reach her a moment later and she turns in a fluid motion, heading towards the stairwell that leads down to the firing range. Not a great sign, but I’m in an optimistic mood, so I shake off the disappointment and follow. “How have you been keeping busy the last two days?”

“Touristy things, mostly.” She hands me goggles and headgear as we enter the range, but neither of us puts it on just yet. Apart from a sharp intake of breath when her fingers brush mine, she’s not giving me any sign of what she’s decided. About us. “I went back to Central Park and had my caricature drawn. Have you ever gotten one?”

“Sure.”

“Tell me about it?”

Satisfaction spreads down my limbs at her interest. “You know customers are more likely to stop at a caricature booth when they see someone is already having their picture drawn?” She shakes her head and waits, interested. “When I was a kid, I was looking to make a few extra bucks and found myself up by the park. One of the artists paid me to sit there all day. He would just retrace what he’d already done, but sure enough, tourists would stop to ooh and ahh. He gave me a cut every time I lured someone in.”

“The cheek of you.” Her lips tug at one end. “What was the picture?”

“Me holding a lightsaber.”

Her hum makes me want to get closer. “Well, I didn’t get a cool Jedi weapon. They gave me a giant nose, so I’ve been spending a fair bit of time today worrying about it. I always thought it was my ears that were too big, so I’m reevaluating every truth I’ve ever known.”

“Your ears and nose are perfect, Snaps. It’s your eyes that are too big.”

She blinks a couple of times. “Too big?”

“For my sanity, yeah.” Following instinct, I lean down and drop a kiss onto her cheek. “Hi, Katie.”

“Didn’t we say hello upstairs?” she asks softly, her breath hitting my cheek.

“Yeah, but that was the kind of hello you give your third cousin.”

So subtle I almost miss it, she turns and inhales, clearly testing my breath for alcohol. “Hello, Jack. It’s nice to see you again,” she murmurs. “Is that better?”

I give an uncertain hum on my throat. “Maybe we’ll be better at saying goodnight.” Her look of reproach makes me hold up both hands. “I meant an innocent goodnight outside on the sidewalk. Man, a couple days roaming the city and your mind is already in the gutter.”

She pokes me in the stomach. “I think it’s you putting it there.”

“Yeah?” I let my mouth hover an inch from her temple where wisps of red hair curl. “What other bad thoughts am I putting in that head?”

Her breath escapes on a shaky laugh. “I swore I wouldn’t let you knock me off balance, yet you manage it in under a minute. Honestly, rambling on about my ears and nose. It’s so embarrassing.”

Something tightens in my chest. “It’s the cutest goddamn thing in the world. I like when you say anything at all. Anything.”

“Jack . . .” She pushes away from me, her fingers messing with the hem of her tank top. “I can’t tell if . . . are you so persistent with all your women?”

“What do you mean ‘all my women’?” I ask the question louder than intended, so I sigh and soften my voice, even though my stomach is pitching. “Explain what you mean.”

Katie looks at me quietly. “You know what I mean.”

There’s no denying we’re on the same page. Katie is too smart and perceptive to think I’m some kind of monk. Hell, the night we met I admitted I didn’t know how to have a conversation on a park bench without the expectation of something physical. Is my past with women what’s going to screw me over here? Or the drinking? God, I must be a checklist of things Katie doesn’t want in a man. Which means, I have nothing to lose here. And I think that’s why the honesty slips out. “No, I’m not usually this persistent, Katie. Most of the time, I can barely stand how women look at me long enough to close the deal.”

Her face goes pink. “And by close the deal, you mean—”

“Sex.” The word tastes sharp on my tongue. “And afterwards . . .” My laugh is missing any trace of humor. “Afterwards, I can barely stand to look at myself.” Concern moves into her expression and I know she’s going to ask me to elaborate. To explain why sex doesn’t have the usual dude effect on me. Most guys fall into a coma afterwards or make a ham sandwich, while I just need to be as far away from other humans as possible. But I’m trying to win this girl over and I don’t want to appear any more freakish to her than I already do, so I divert her attention. “Look, Snaps.” I sling on my goggles. “Sex is how my mother made money when I was growing up. It’s just something that’s a part of me. It’s not a big deal.”

Silence passes. “If it’s no big deal to you, Jack, then why can’t you look at yourself afterwards?”

Christ, had I really come here feeling optimistic? I hate everything I just said out loud to this sweet girl. Telling her sex is no big deal, being flippant about my mother’s profession when it was anything but inconsequential. I wish I hadn’t even come here. Why am I bothering to pursue Katie when she’s obviously turned off by everything about me? Maybe she met a chef or a graphic designer since the last time we were together and this whole makeup class is a chore for her. “Look, Katie . . . let’s just get started, huh?”

Her movements are slow as she puts on her goggles and stoops down to pick up a nylon gun case, setting it down on the carpeted hatch that serves as the barrier between us and the range. I catch her peeking over at me from beneath her thick eyelashes as she unpacks a rifle, complete with scope. When I was in the range on Monday, I didn’t pay attention to the weapons being used, but compared to the standard issue Glock we’ve been training with, it’s a monster.

“I didn’t mean to bring up something uncomfortable,” she says quietly. “Or to make you feel bad.”

“I know you didn’t, Snaps. It’s fine.”

She doesn’t look even a little convinced, but suddenly I feel completely unequipped to reassure her of anything, especially myself. So I just wait for her to ready the rifle, listening as she explains the features and functions, her voice matter-of-fact. The musical tone draws me in, despite the fact that the night was fucked from the word go. What did I think? I’d swagger into the gym and this beautiful Olympian would throw herself at me? I am an idiot. The painful tick I’ve been experiencing in my head since Monday is back, making my right eye throb. My throat feels like sandpaper and I know what’s going to happen, soon as I walk out of this place. I can already feel the glass in my hands and I resent my last two days of trying to abstain. Trying only led to confirmation of the problem.

When Katie slips on her headgear, I follow suit, stepping back while she demonstrates firing at the target, hitting it with no problem. God, she’s so damn incredible. It never occurred to me I was going to be testing myself in front of an expert, but I might as well make tonight’s shit show complete, huh?

After setting down the rifle, she turns solemn eyes on me. “Ready?”

Ready as I’ll ever be. I nod once and step into the booth, lifting the gun and propping the butt of it against my shoulder. I’m surprised how natural the weight of it feels, even though I’ve never held a weapon this heavy before. The metal is cool in my hand, smooth against my cheek. When I close one eye and focus on the target through the scope, the throbbing in my head lessens, which is most surprising of all. There was a small tremor in my hands this morning upon waking, but it’s tapered off through the day and it’s gone now. Gone. Everything is so . . . steady. That balance finds me right in the middle, evening me out until I can’t hear anything in my ears. Just the whisper of my shirt against skin as I adjust to the left, bringing the target into better focus. A breath. Another breath.

I fire and hit the target.

For a moment, I can only stare straight ahead, positive my eyesight is at fault. But when the sound rushes back in, I hear Katie’s shocked exhalation to my right and realize I’m not mistaken. “Beginner’s luck,” I mouth at Katie. “Next time I’ll probably hit the ceiling.”

She shakes her head. “Go again.”

The astonished pleasure she’s directing at me is so new and unexpected, I stare at her until my throat starts to tighten. Ducking my head, I reload the rifle, feeling the pop and slide in my veins. I’m almost eager to have my focus narrowed down again, it was so fucking nice last time. And it comes quick the second time around, like the silence was waiting for me. There’s the familiar stillness, like I’ve had amnesia and I’m finally recognizing an old friend. Katie is helping, too. Her confidence is radiating from her and infecting me with heat. My spine feels straighter by the second, my bones more substantial, purposeful. It takes me a moment to realize I feel . . . encouraged. This is what encouragement feels like.

This time when I fire, I hit slightly to the right of my mark, but I hear Katie’s laughter through my headgear, so the disappointment it short-lived. Especially when she eases the gun from my hands, sets it down and motions for me to remove my headgear. “Are you telling me you’ve never handled a weapon like this, Jack?”

“Yeah . . .” Realizing I’m jerking my shoulders like I’ve had an electric shock, I force myself to stop. “I haven’t.”

“Well . . . shite.” She’s sputtering a little and it makes me desperate to kiss her. “No one hit the mark at the first session on Monday. Not even close. And you’ve basically just done it twice.” A beat passes while I just stare at Katie, trying to sort through the pounding in my chest. “And it’s not only the accuracy, it’s the way you shifted your weight to accommodate the feel of the rifle. It was so natural and I didn’t prompt you once. I—Jack, I think you have a serious talent for marksmanship.”

I scoff while taking off my goggles. “No.”

“Yes. I’m the instructor and I say so.” She stamps her foot, then seems surprised at herself for doing it. “Oh, you confuse me so bloody much.”

“How?”

“I don’t know.” She chews her bottom lip while scrutinizing me. “When I say you’re good at something, I kind of assume you would expect to be. Good at things. Don’t you have high expectations for yourself?” Her voice softens. “Or have I judged you completely wrong and I should just go stick my head in the toilet or something?”

My wink and a smile happen on command, but for the first time, it feels wrong on my face. “I think we’ve established what I’m good at.”

I think Katie gets me, right here in this moment. Or comes really close. She’s looking through her own personal rifle scope and seeing my target. Truthing me, the way only she has ever done. I’m stripped down and defenseless because of one transparent comment and I watch as knowledge trickles into her gorgeous eyes, see it soften her mouth at the edges.

Katie thinks she knows why I default to sex. And with her standing two feet away, so present and breathtaking, I want more than anything to hand her those confusing pieces of my puzzle and see what she can do with them.

Take them. Take them.

I don’t have a chance to say the words out loud, though, because she speaks first. “You’re showing me your teeth on purpose. The Big Bad Wolf doesn’t do that. He doesn’t bring secret umbrellas or carry backpacks, either. I shouldn’t have called you that.” She tips her head towards the range. “It’s up to you to establish what you’re good at. Not me. But I know you’re more.”

She blinks, as if coming out of a trance and starts to turn away. I’m paralyzed on the outside, but my chaotic insides are the exact opposite. How am I so . . . elevated when I’m stone-cold sober? I feel every breath that scrapes out of my lungs, the whiz of life rushing in my ears. I’m clearheaded enough to realize I can’t reach for Katie the way I reach for a bottle. Can’t use her to drown out this crushable optimism and numb myself instead, where I’ll be safer.

She’s given me this gift, though. Even if believing I’m good at something only lasts a little while, even if I wake up tomorrow and it’s all a dream . . . I need to thank her. Need to share how I feel with her. It’s an urge stronger than anything I can remember.

Above us, one of the fluorescent lights buzzes loudly, then goes out, dimming the room. Katie turns towards me with wide eyes and my body releases me from paralysis, allowing me to pull her into my arms.

“Thank you,” I whisper against her mouth, before we moan into the most insane kiss.