“I know who you are, but what happened to the guy who made me believe he’d walk through fire rather than hurt one of his only friends? What happened to the guy who punched Roy Watkins at recess for calling me a prissy little bitch?” Josie leaned back, looking about as exhausted as I felt.
She was waiting for an answer, so I gave her one. “Someone he cared about f**ked him up good.”
Josie’s hands balled in her lap. “I know your dad’s hard on you. Why don’t you move out already? Get away from that toxic environment.” She grabbed the ointment again and dotted it on a few other areas on my face.
“My dad wasn’t the person I was talking about.” Why in the hell did I say that? I couldn’t even blame the alcohol for my momentary lapse into opening up like a goddamned pansy. When Josie’s eyebrows came together as she worked out who I was referring to, I gave myself an imaginary beating. I was already bleeding; no need to spill my guts all over the damn place too. I needed to change the topic. And the mood. I didn’t do vulnerable for a mountain of reasons.
So I slid that lazy smile of mine into place. The carefree, I-could-give-a-shit one that drove girls wild. Well, every girl but the one sitting a foot in front of me. It drove her wild, I guess, although in a totally different way. “So? You and Mason, eh? How’s that working out?”
“Better when some ass**le in a bar doesn’t pick a fight with him.” She shot me an accusatory glare as she capped the ointment.
“Whatever. Getting in a bar fight will be the single most exciting thing that ever happens to Colt Mason.”
“Yeah, because being with me or potentially marrying me one day wouldn’t even register.” She tossed the stuff back in the first aid kit, still taking out her irritation on something else instead of me.
“I guarantee if that son of a bitch even thought he had a chance at marrying you one day, that would be the highlight of his life.” I leaned forward, waiting for her to look at me. “But that douche has as much a chance with you as I do.”
She grabbed my hat and settled it back on my head, adjusting it until it was right how I wore it, just a hair off the brow. “He’s an awful lot like Jesse. What makes you think I’d never marry him?”
I wasn’t sure if she was intentionally baiting me, but it was working. “First off, that little dick is nothing like Jesse. Nothing. Other than wearing the same kind of hat, although Colt’s has never so much as seen a speck of mud, Jesse and Colt are about as alike as Jesse and me. Secondly, you’re not going to marry that boy because, well, you’re not going to marry that boy.” I lifted an eyebrow and waited for her to argue. Josie might try to deny it, but she couldn’t lie to herself. She was as likely to marry one of the Mason boys as I was.
“How descriptive.” She leaned back and crossed her legs. Damn Josie Gibson’s legs and that dress that barely covered them. It barely barely covered them when she went and crossed them like that. I tried not to stare for too long, but when I did manage to shift my eyes back to hers, she was giving me a look.
I cleared my throat and tried to forget about Josie’s bare legs a few inches to the side of mine. “Fine. Here’s just one of the million ‘descriptive’ reasons I’ve got for you.” I leaned toward her until I could smell her shampoo again, and I knew she could smell the whiskey on my breath. And then, I leaned in closer. I waited until her eyes met mine. It took a while, but when they did, my point was proven. “You look at me with more fire in your eyes than you do him.”
Her eyes narrowed, but they stayed with me. Continuing to prove my point. “That’s enraged fire, Black.”
Damn. At that proximity, forget the shampoo; I think I could smell her strawberry lip gloss. Which, of course, made me remember the way it’d tasted that night . . .
Get your shit together, Black. This is Josie. Josie Gibson. The girl I needed to stay away from for both of our sakes. When I leaned back that time, I was sure to give my chair a good slide to put some more distance between us. “It’s still fire. And if it isn’t there in the beginning, it sure as shit isn’t going to magically crop up out of nowhere.”
“Says the love non-expert.”
“I’m the expert because I’m the only person on the face of the planet smart enough to know better than to fall in love. That right there is the reason I’ve earned my expert badge in love.” I glanced toward the bar, hoping to catch Brandy’s attention, because a few shots right about then would really dull the pain. Both kinds.
“You’ve got one warped view of love.”
“Why, thank you. That’s the best compliment I’ve heard all week.”
Shaking her head, Josie stood, grabbing her purse and first aid kit. “You want a ride home? Now that I’m dateless and covered in your blood, this girl’s Friday night is a wrap.” Josie smiled at me, that same gentle ghost-of-a-smile she’d given me the second day of kindergarten when I realized I was either going to marry her or no one. It took me until the end of the school year to realize I’d never marry Josie Gibson. For all of the reasons I was being reminded of.
Just like that, I dropped the curtain on those memories and the small part of me that didn’t feel permanently hardened. It had become like second nature over the years. I gave Josie a slow, crooked smile. I don’t know why I even gave her that smile anymore. She’d seen through it the first time I’d tried it on her. She was immune, unlike the rest of the girls. “What kind of a ride are you asking about?”