If Pam had balls, they would have shriveled in my fist. But she didn’t, so she simply tilted her chin up in mock defiance, batted her eyelashes when she realized she’d chosen the wrong person to talk shit about her daughter with, and stepped back. Jesse selected the exact same moment to drag her ass back downstairs, skipping two steps at a time with a black leash in her hand. I successfully suppressed the mental image of collaring her with it and taking her on a nice, lengthy stroll inside her fancy bathroom before fucking her in front of what I bet was a Jack and Jill mirror. And by ‘successfully’, I meant not really.
Same. Fucking. Difference.
“Ready?” I asked. Jesse’s eyes darted from her mom to me, her face rippled with concern. I offered her an easy smile that hopefully conveyed she had nothing to worry about. It was the first time I truly felt sorry for Snowflake. Because even after everything she’d been through, she was tough as nails (and just about as friendly). But being betrayed by your own parent…that’s a whole new level of fucked up. I knew because I wanted to be sick in my mouth every time I thought about who I came from.
Pam’s eyes finally flickered to Jesse. “So. Bane Protsenko, huh? Least now we know you’re my kid.” She snort-laughed, shaking her head.
Of course Pam knew who I was. I was an official gigolo, the Lululemon housewives’ favorite toy. I spun around to stare at Jesse’s mom, this time without the coat of indifference and fake politeness, but with my real expression. The one I saved for people who overstepped their boundaries.
“Is there a problem, Pamela?” I didn’t call her Mrs. Morgansen because I didn’t want to show her respect, and ‘Pam’ felt too friendly. Pamela was a nice fuck-you way to address her without using the b word.
“You tell me.” She took a step toward us. “I just want to make sure your intentions for my daughter are nice and pure.” She tongued her lower lip again. “I would like to discuss your relationship with Jesse privately.”
What she wanted was for me to dick her down until she was buried in orgasms. I smiled tightly. I was going to play her little game. I needed to make it perfectly clear to her that I’d never touch her. It would also put Jesse’s mind at ease.
“Tomorrow afternoon,” I said dryly.
“Perfect. I’ll meet you at your café.”
Bitch knew everything worth knowing about me, apparently. It was perfectly possible she’d tried to hire me sometime the last couple years, and I’d just never noticed, because I didn’t take any unknown calls since I’d closed my list of clients.
“Perfect,” I echoed, my tone implying it was anything but.
Jesse and I were out the door a minute later. She helped Shadow climb up the back seat of the Rover, then rounded her vehicle and slipped in. I started walking over to my Harley across the street.
“Where to?” I asked over my shoulder. She rolled her window down, her brow worried and her eyes inquisitorial.
“What was all that about with Pam?” With Pam? What the fuck kind of family was that? My mom would club me with a jar of pickled cabbage if I referred to her as Sonya and not Mamul.
“Guess she’s worried about you.” I shrugged, turning to face her. I wasn’t going to add that she’d hit on me. I was in the business of saving Jesse, not hurting her. And she was a smart girl. She didn’t need me to spell it out for her.
“She is worried about getting laid.” A flame kindled in Jesse’s eyes. “If you take her on as a client, I won’t hang out with you anymore. It’s not an ultimatum. I know you have a business to run. I’m just letting you know.” Her voice was firm and resolute. It was the only time I could recall that the idea of punching a woman—Pam, in this case—felt somewhat appealing.
“There you are.” I grinned. She cocked one eyebrow, waiting for an explanation. “The old Jesse. I was waiting for her to make a cameo.”
Snowflake shook her head, pretending to be exasperated, but I knew she secretly liked that I saw her as more than just her reputation.
“So. Where to?” I repeated my question. I wasn’t going to address her question seriously. We were friends. We hung out. She was supposed to trust me not to bang her mom.
Snowflake gave me the address, but she still looked hesitant, tapping her fingers over the edge of her opened window.
I flipped my keys in my hand. “Meet you there.”
“So. About my mom…?” She trailed off. I stared at her like she’d tried to rub a hedgehog on my cock.
“Of course I’m not going to fuck your mom, Jesse. What kind of asshole would do that?”
“Nolan would,” she muttered, then amended. “Did.”
I stopped on my tracks. Nolan had been in high school when he and Jesse were still on speaking terms. Was he a senior or a junior when he’d sampled Mrs. Morgansen? I turned around to the girl with the Pushkin tattoo.
“Is that a figure of speech all the cool kids are using nowadays?”
“Nope, it’s the figure zero in loyalty when it comes to Pam Carter. My mom likes them young. So please excuse my suspicion.”
“You’re shitting me.”
She gave me a pointed look then sighed. “I really hate men.”
“As a species or as a concept? And does that include me?”
“As everything. And unless you have a secret vagina, yes, you’re included.”
“Pretty sure I’d know if I had one. It’d make a great place to stash pot.” I groomed the tip of my beard with my fingers, something I did more and more when Jesse was around. Normally I didn’t care what people thought of me. With her, I didn’t not care.
“Too bad. That would mean eighty percent of the women of Todos Santos were lesbians, and that would explain why all the guys here are such angry douchebags.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. It was the lightest thing she’d ever said to me. In fact, I nearly toppled over laughing. Jesse Carter had been burned, but that only made her hotter than hell. She wasn’t emo about what had happened to her. She was angry. And rightly-fucking-so. A weird, stupid regret slammed into me—for never properly meeting the girl she’d been before the attack.
She was good, and funny, and broken. But it was only the last part that defined her. In her eyes, anyway.
“Know what, Snowflake? I think you officially graduated from creeper to a mild weirdo. You’re ready to give me a ride. Least you can do for dragging my ass through a fucking maze.”
“Did I win you over with my lesbian talk?” She batted her eyelashes, plastering a hand to her cheek.
“Yes. I want to hear all about lesbians the entire ride to the vet, please. And make it graphic.”
“Not happening, and no thank you.”
“Look at us, bantering like old friends.” I opened my arms wide. Shadow barked from the back, a gentle reminder that he was feeling like crap. “See? Even your dog agrees.”
She redenned, and that was my cue. I circled her Rover, getting into her car, into her realm, and under her skin. She stared ahead as she reversed and slid back from the roundabout parking area. Shadow whimpered, and Jesse twisted slightly, reaching back and patting him. Her scent hit my nostrils and sent my head tipping back against the seat. Ever been punched in the face? I had. Plenty of times. The first few seconds, you’re disoriented. Not really sure what time of the day it is. Where you are. That’s what Jesse smelled like. Like a punch in the fucking face. And, honestly, women should find a way to bottle it as perfume. Very powerful stuff.
“What are you so happy about?” she asked, suspicious of my smirk.
I shook my head. “Green apples and fresh rain.”
Experience had taught me that there were a few types of silence.
Embarrassed silence. Intense silence. Sexy silence. Mysterious silence. Sorry-I-fucked-your-wife-she-said-you-were-cool-with-it silence. Jesse and I had settled into a new type—companionable silence. It felt like her variation of small talk, and sat between us like your favorite uncle who always made great fart jokes.
I got it. She was slowly getting used to hanging out with someone new. Not just someone new, but an actual man, who smelled and looked and acted like a guy. It couldn’t have been easy. Her life story was like a bitter winter, one that covers everything in a thick layer of ice you need to crash your way through. It was in the air, crackling between us. I was working my way to the flame that danced inside the old Jesse.
After the ride, I carried Shadow out of the back seat, because Old Sport, as she’d called him, was damn heavy and didn’t seem to be getting around very well. The forty-something receptionist at the vet looked between us, obviously half-worried that I’d kidnapped Jesse, before buzzing the intercom on her desk. Two minutes later, Snowflake walked into the examination room with Shadow. There was a glass window overlooking the reception area, so I could see them both, along with the vet, Dr. Wiese.
Dr. Wiese was a man.
A man who didn’t know Snowflake.
A man who therefore tried to shake her hand, and watched how she very awkwardly pretended not to notice, talking in fast spurts of words and turning fifty shades of red. She took desperate steps away from him as she helped Shadow hop onto the metal examination table, all while Dr. Wiese—oblivious to her condition—kept on getting closer to her to show her a batch of Shadow’s fur that he plucked out, or something in his ear. I paced the reception like a wild animal in captivity, trying not to think about how her discomfort resulted in me feeling like a pile of shit.
Not your problem.
Not your issue.
Step away from the crazy train, Bane. That shit is moving way too fast and doesn’t have a return ticket.
Sometimes, when you know you’re in too deep, you try to give yourself excuses. Mine was that it wasn’t about Jesse. I wouldn’t have wanted any girl to feel sexually harassed, even if by a handshake. I braced my arms over the back of a chair in the waiting room, shaking my head. The receptionist wrinkled her nose, her eyes still on her monitor.