Chapter SIXTEEN
Stick
I don't know how I feel about seeing the guy I have such convoluted history with. But I know I don't care for the way he's looking at Scherri one fucking iota. Like he's the wolf and she's the innocent little lamb. The fucker cups both hands around hers so she's trapped in his grasp and I want nothing more than to slap him away from her. I've never been a jealous guy, or particularity possessive but now, no one touches my girl.
“Put her down, Jacket,” I half growl at him. “You better come in the house.”
Is it my imagination that Scherri's falling for that bastard's charm?
“Does my fame precede me?” he asks her, when she catches on who he is, always a smart cookie.
“I might have mentioned you in passing,” I put in, not allowing him to initiate some flirty conversation with her.
“Yeah? Stick and me have got some backstory,” he tells her.
“Oh,” she murmurs, so we both look down at her mouth rounded into a perfect O, so delectable. The kind of delectable you want wrapping your dick. “You call him Stick too.”
“Yeah, on account of that whacking great big monster in his jocks.”
“Jeezus, Jacket,” I grit out, wondering whether I could deck him right here on the walk, in front of Scherri's mother still standing at the door.
“Sorry, Dude. Inappropriate talk in front of your sister,” he says with that shit-eating grin directed at her.
I open my mouth to correct him on the issue but Lyndsey is eyeballing the three of us with heightened suspicion so I leave it for a later date.
We head up the steps to the porch and Jacket saunters along, his hands shoved down in his pants pockets. Lyndsey looks at us like we've just rolled in shit and walked into her house, until Jacket turns his magic on her.
“This is a friend of mine from the service,” I inform her. “We were in Syria together.”
He extends his huge hand like a Prince at a royal banquet and clasps hers.
“Jack Ettsy at your service, Ma'am. Big Stick never told me his mother was young enough to be another sister.”
That smarmy bastard knows how to win women over in a few words and Lyndsey is no exception. It's not only the shaggy hair and beard, the eyes firing out tempting desire and the body you know is built for riding and being ridden. Sinful pleasure exudes from every pore of Jacket. If there was a poster boy for sexy, Jacket is it.
“Why, thank you.” All the irritation slips from Lyndsey's face and her hand flies up to smooth her already impeccable hair. “And I hope you'll stay for dinner.”
“That's very kind. I'd be delighted to spend more time with you and your family.”
The way he says 'you' for sure makes her believe she's the only one he wants. I don't know how that bastard does it and so long as he keeps his attention off Scherri, I don't give a fuck.
“Why don't you settle down in the family room and I'll grab you all some beers,” Lyndsey tells us so that Scher and I gape at each other, awestruck by the sea change in her mother.
Jacket wanders along with us and flops down on the couch like he's lived here all his life. Completely at ease with himself. I have to admit to a stab of envy at how his life still seems to flow with no resistance. But then again, you never know what someone else is living with inside themselves.
“So where you hanging now, Dude?” I ask once we're all relaxed with a beer in our hands and Lyndsey's in the kitchen preparing a, no-doubt spectacular, meal.
“Here and there.” He shrugs with a grin.
“But where are you based?” I push him.
“Not really anywhere. I'm on the road. Everything I got in the world's on that bike.”
“But where do you sleep?” Scherri inserts, not letting him wriggle out of telling us about himself.
“I can usually find a warm spot to slide into for the night,” he says with a filthy glint in his eye.
“You dog,” I laugh despite myself. But I don't like the way Jacket is looking at her, his eyes blazing.
“Wow, you're just free and easy, no ties, no responsibility,” she says.
I can tell Scher's discombobulated by him but I can't yet figure out if she returns the desire in his eyes. I mean, a girl can look but still belong to another man, right? I don't own Scherri. She's way too much her own girl for that. But still, I've made my claim on her and she's mine now. If I have to defend that, I will.
“For now I am,” he says. “I go where I want and take what I want.”
I don't know whether Scher's still pissed at me from earlier about shielding her from the information about our parent's affair. Or whether I'm on edge with her attention directed elsewhere.
Jacket's presence at the dinner table smooths over the tension that's been lurking there like another, unwanted, guest. He indulges Lyndsey's flirting with perfect mastery and distracts our parents from the all too obvious sexual heat flying between Scherri and I. He also headlong tackles all of Dad's digging questions about our deployment, even deflecting some directed at me. Like he somehow knows the inner turbulence they rake up every time Dad wants to talk war.
The evening continues with more beers in the den and Dad even drags out some rye for a chaser. He's good and tipsy when Lyndsey tells him it's past their bedtime. We three stay up, unwilling for the night to end yet. Jacket looks back and forth between Scherri and me like he's trying to work out a complex equation.
“You guys have been through a lot together,” Scherri says quietly, almost a whisper. Her eyes burrow into mine and I can tell she's forgiven me.
“We know each other better than anyone else,” Jacket says. “Maybe even you.”
Scherri and I share a secret smile at that. No one knows me better than her. Even with this afternoon's hitch in understanding.
“You remember that night you made us cry like sissies, Big Stick?” Jacket asks. “The bombs going off all over the city, us guys all lying in our bunks waiting for a call to action and someone suggesting a game.”
I nod my head, distracted by the look in Scherri's eyes. A look I've never seen. One that makes my cock twitch for her.
“One of the guys,” Jacket continues “Pinkerton, wasn't it? He says, 'who can recall their first kiss?'”
A sudden stab of memory hurls at me. Soames was one of the dudes lying on his bunk, joshing me about the sappy story.
“This guy, I'll never forget it.” Jacket jerks his head toward me. “He had us tough fighter dudes close to tears with some story about his dog and a girl he'd loved forever.”
“She doesn't wanna hear about that,” I say, now I recall where this is heading.
“I do,” Scherri says.
“Yeah, it's a heartbreaker,” Jacket tells her. “'Cuz all the guys were talking about some cheerleader they balled or some girl's mother, for the first time, ya know. Then Stick finally comes out with this tale. His dog, what was his name, the big ol' black lab with the sensitive heart?”
“Stone.”
“Duh, of course. How did I forget? Stick 'n' Stone.”
“So his dog isn't himself. No energy, sleeping all day. Stick finally takes him to the vet and it turns out the old boy is on his last legs with cancer, not gonna last another week.”
I look at Scher and her eyes are already brimming over. She fidgets around so that neither Jacket nor I notice, but I can hardly miss how she's feeling. Especially as it's hard to bite back my own emotion. Her eyes find mine and either she traps them or I pin hers, maybe it's both of us at once. But together, we lock eyes and relive the moment Jacket's vividly narrating.