5. Three Simple Rules - Jules
We’re a couple miles up the highway before Lesley’s maniac driving pulls me from my sexy stranger induced stupor. My cheek still radiates heat from the spot where he kissed me. I remember how his hand felt at the nape of my neck, and how the rugged scent of him made my head swim. I grow warm between the thighs just thinking about it.
“How was your flight?” Les asks, her voice instantly landing me back in reality.
“It was okay.”
And terrifying and exhilarating—an experience I wish I could do over again, just to see him one more time.
“You sound exhausted,” she says, swerving around a slower moving vehicle.
I grip my seat as she zips up Interstate 5 in her VW Bug. She’s gotta be doing twenty over. Traffic isn’t too heavy, but the scattered cars sharing the five-lane highway are moving along at a steady pace. Lesley races around them like she’s a professional driver on a closed course.
“Any chance we can get there in one piece?” I ask, only halfway ribbing her.
“Have you lost faith in my driving?” She quirks an indignant brow at me, but amusement plays on her dark-painted lips. Pink streaks her black locks. Her style has always been on the punkish side, and she’s embraced it here in Seattle.
“I think I’m still on edge from the flight.”
“Thought you said the flight was alright.”
“There was some turbulence.”
And a lot of hand-holding, not to mention an almost-kiss that was panty-melting. God, what would it have felt like to have those lips on mine? I’ll never see my sexy stranger again, so there’s no chance of ever finding out.
“Okay, I’ll be good and slow down,” she says, conceding with an exaggerated sigh. “But only because I know how much you hated every minute of that flight.” As Lesley eases up on the accelerator, she shoots me a questioning look. “So…you gonna tell me what happened back in Shit Town?”
She hates Whiskey Flats. She hates Chris even more.
“Promise no ragging on Chris?”
A shrug of her shoulder is all the promise I’m getting. “What happened, Jules?”
For the next ten minutes, I tell her why I fled Oklahoma. Keeping her eyes on the road, she chews over every word as the windshield wipers swish back and forth on the glass.
“I can’t believe that motherfucker walked out on you like that.”
“Can you blame him? I slept with another man.”
“Yes, Jules. I can blame him. In fact, I think he had it coming. He neglected you. He fucking messed with your head every chance he got. The jerk made you feel like a nag for wanting what any girl wants from her man.”
“He’s not a bad guy,” I say, wringing my hands. “Maybe we just weren’t meant to be.”
“I’m so glad to hear you say that. Finally.” Swiping her dark bangs back from her face, she shoots me a pointed look. “Because a real man puts his woman first. Chris didn’t. He cared more about drinking and goofing off with his buddies. He never fucking grew up, Jules.”
“Still, that’s no excuse for what I did.”
“Okay, so you made a mistake. It’s not the end of the world. But knowing you the way I do, you think it is, and you’ll punish yourself over it forever. Trust me, Chris isn’t worth it.” Lesley is accelerating again, her irritation with my ex dumping lead into her foot.
“Les, you’re speeding.”
“I always speed.”
“Well, I’d rather you not do it while you’re angry.”
“I’m not angry. I’m…outraged on your behalf.”
I bite back a snort. How ironic, considering I’m the one in the wrong. But Lesley won’t ever see things the way I do. After all, she’s the one who caught Chris kissing another girl at a party once when he was shit-faced. He’d groveled the next morning, and I’d forgiven him. Truth is, I’d been too scared to stand on my own without him, so I’d convinced myself it was only a bump in the road.
But Lesley is stronger than me, and she would call it game over if anyone ever treated her like that.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she says after the silence stretches too long. “Chris is a dumbass. And Perry’s a sleaze. Why him? I’m just curious.”
“I don’t know,” I say with a shrug. But my gut is burning with shame. “The worst part is, I don’t even remember it.”
She reduces speed before taking an exit and heading down a tree-lined street. “You don’t remember fucking your boss?”
“I don’t remember, Les. Nothing. It’s a complete blank.”
“How much did you drink that night?”
“Too much, apparently.”
Lesley makes a right turn then pulls into a driveway overrun with three other parked vehicles. She comes to a stop behind a pickup, nearly kissing the bumper. “I’ve never even seen you drunk, let alone blackout wasted.”
The night is eerily quiet after she shuts off the ignition, and her words seem to echo in the dark between us. Soft rain pitter-patters on the roof of the car, but not even that drowns out the roar in my ears. The fact that I don’t remember unsettles me more than I want to think about.
“Chris and I had a huge argument.” I don’t mention how it was over money, or how his drinking escalated the past few months. He’s never carried his weight since we moved in together, and that’s just one more reason Lesley hates him. “We both said some really hurtful things, and after he took off…”
“You decided to bury your heartache in a glass?”
“Yeah.” Looking back, I can see it clearly now. We’d been heading for an epic breakup for a while. A permanent one.
I just hadn’t wanted to admit it, even to myself.
“I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but you’ll get past this, Jules. Just give it some time.” Lesley moves to open the driver’s side door, and I take her cue and do the same.
Seattle is cooler than Oklahoma. And wet. Rain beats down on us as she pulls my suitcase from the trunk of her cherry red Bug. I inhale the chilly breeze, closing my eyes to the rugged smell of trees and rain and earth. It makes me think of my sexy stranger and how he likes the outdoors. I wonder if he hikes in the rain.
“You would have to pick now to run away from home. Last week, the weather was killer.”
“I don’t mind the rain.”
“Then you’ll fit right in.” She heads up the walkway to a home that looks big enough to house four members of an up-and-coming band, though the paint is faded and peeling in spots. We reach the porch, and Lesley pushes the door open. I take the handle of my suitcase from her after we enter the foyer.
Though the outside of the house is on the rundown side, the interior is tidy. A group of guys are lounging in the living room, taking up the worn sofas and comfy chairs as they fiddle with their instruments. I can imagine Les up on a stage with them, pounding on a set of drums.
“Guys, this is Jules. Be nice or else.”
I’d recognize Lesley’s brother even if we hadn’t already met before he moved to Seattle. The resemblance between them is hard to miss; he’s got the same inky black hair as Les. A few locks drape over his brown eyes as he plucks the strings of a bass guitar. He gives me a nod in greeting. “Nice to see you again, Jules.”
Before I can respond, another guy waves at me from a beanbag chair. He looks way too comfortable sitting there, one hand circling an open beer bottle. “What a gorgeous name you have.” His dark eyes are busy wandering over my body.
“Garen,” Lesley warns, “her eyes aren’t on her chest.”
Garen flashes her a cheeky grin. “Good thing I wasn’t looking at her eyes, Les.” He raises his gaze and his smile widens. “Not to say I don’t like ‘em because they’re as gorgeous as your name.”
Biting back a laugh, I roll my eyes.
“Chill out, man,” the third guy in the group says from the back of the room. I’m struck by how his dark blond hair sticks up in every direction. He comes across as wild and sexy, yet the way he’s strumming a shiny black guitar tells me he isn’t into bullshit. Maybe it’s the severe line of his mouth, or the slow motion of his fingers over the guitar strings.
His eyes are startling and bluer than the sky, and they’re latched on to Lesley. It’s an intense stare, one full of chemistry. “I’m Zander,” he says, swerving his gaze to me for a few seconds. “But you can call me Zan. Everyone else does.”
“It’s nice to meet you guys. I appreciate you letting me stay here.”
“We don’t turn away friends,” Garen says. “Especially cute blond chicks.”
“Oh my God, Garen. Put some duct tape over it already.” Lesley picks up a throw pillow and launches it at his head. He ducks, then flips her the bird with that obnoxious grin of his. Obnoxiously endearing.
“Jules is beat, so we’re gonna crash,” she says, grabbing my arm and ushering me toward a long, dark hallway. “See you bozos tomorrow, ‘kay?”
“Yep,” Zan says, his attention lowering to his guitar again.
As she leads me down the hall, my suitcase rolling on the rustic hardwood floor behind me, the shadows seem to reach for us from every direction. A shiver rushes through my veins. I despise the dark, especially when I’m exhausted.
Halting at the end, she pushes open a door and flips on a light. “This is it,” she says. “The bathroom is right across from us.” She points to a closed door on the other side of the hall, then gestures toward where we just came from. “Zan is in the next room over. My brother and Garen share the attic upstairs.”
“Where do you guys practice?”
“In the garage. It’s a kickass setup. We were lucky to find this place.”
“It’s great, Les.” And I mean it. Despite the nervous flutters in my gut—a side effect of uprooting my life so suddenly—I’m excited to call this house home…for now, anyway.
Until I can find a job. Then I’ll have a leg to stand on when I go apartment hunting. Money isn’t a problem for a few weeks, thanks to the inheritance my granny left me last year when she passed. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough to finance a nervous breakdown that transplanted me halfway across the country.
Lesley closes the door, shutting us off from the strains of music interspersed with the kind of trash-talk guys do.
“They seem cool,” I say, setting my suitcase against the wall.
“They’re pretty awesome.” She shoots me a smirk. “But watch out for Garen. The dude can sing a woman right out of her panties.”
“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”
She laughs. “Yeah, right. You think Leo would let me date a musician? Be glad you don’t have an older brother.” She spreads a sheet over a twin air mattress. “This is the best I can do. Hope you don’t mind sharing a room.”
“Of course I don’t mind.” And I don’t, despite an overwhelming flood of homesickness hitting me all at once. “It’ll be fun. We’ll talk shit like old times.”
She must have heard the sad note in my voice. “C’mere,” she says, opening her arms. I go willingly, needing comfort from my best friend more than I realized. This is why I flew out here. Les is the sister I wish I had, because Brit and I have never been close—not like we should be.
“We’ll talk shit as much as you want.” She tightens her arms around me for a few more seconds before I pull away. I blink rapidly, willing my eyes to stay dry.
“I just…I had to get out of there, you know? I felt like I was suffocating.”
“Everything’s gonna be okay. Have a little faith, because I’m telling you, Jules. You’re gonna love Seattle.”
The corners of my mouth tilt up in a weak smile. “I need to find a job first.”
“I’m like this”—she crosses her fingers—“with the manager at Java Juice. The tips aren’t bad either.”
I laugh, because she is the manager.
“Thanks for the offer, but you’ve already done enough. I need to learn how to stand on my own two feet for a change.”
I never want to feel so devastated again, and ensuring that doesn’t happen means focusing on me—on ‘Jules’ instead of ‘Jules and Chris’. I’ve been part of a duo for so long that I’ve forgotten how to be my own person. I need to find myself, because I never really did when I was with Chris.
Hopefully, I can find the version of myself that doesn’t blindly walk into trouble; the kind of girl that can follow three simple rules:
Never flirt with temptation.
Never lust after what I can’t have.
And never, under any circumstances, screw a married man again.
This should be easy enough, right?