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  The brunette bends to slide her hands up Jet’s thighs, reaching for his free hand and tugging. When he doesn’t move, she leans in to whisper something in his ear. She straightens, still holding his hand, still tugging. Jet gives her a polite smile and shakes his head. While she is perceptibly disappointed, the girl doesn’t continue to try to change his mind. Her eyes flicker to me once and then she concedes, moving to the guy sitting closest to Jet on the other side, putting her wiles to work on him right away. When she leans forward to flash her ample cleavage in his face, I notice that her eyes are still on Jet.

  I focus on Jet to gauge his reaction, but he’s still staring straight ahead. When I glance toward the stage area again, it’s to see the redhead is now approaching. She, too, attempts to lure Jet into doing . . . something. Whatever it is that guys do with these types of girls at bachelor parties. But again, he resists.

  He says nothing and neither do I. I question whether it’s going to be like this all night, but then the music changes. I’m relieved when it seems to signal that this portion of the night’s . . . entertainment has come to an end. But it doesn’t really. It only triggers another surprise.

  All the service girls, the ones who look like pinup bunnies, file into a single line in front of the stage. With a crescendo in the new song, each reaches for the center of her little satiny outfit and pull. It breaks away, leaving each woman in only her fishnets, some tiny black panties, and black sparkly pasties.

  As they stand before the crowd, posing in their feminine beauty, I scan their faces. It’s with growing dread that I see that a few of them are already eyeing Jet. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why he is prone to excess. If this is the way women react to him on a regular basis, which I suspect it is to some degree, it’s no wonder he has trouble saying no.

  I see a particularly interested waitress with short brown hair glancing repeatedly at Jet. So when the girls disperse, I’m not the least bit surprised to see her make a beeline for him.

  I glance at Jet again. His face is set in stone, still showing no reaction whatsoever. If it weren’t for the tic at his jawline, I would think he’s made of steel. But that tiny tell is all it takes to show me what’s really going on inside him.

  I lean up slightly, scooting to the edge of the cushion, uncertain whether I can sit through another girl throwing herself at Jet. Unwittingly, I draw his eyes. In them, I see the battle that’s waging.

  And that’s why I act.

  At least that’s the reason I give myself.

  I tell myself that I want to help, but that I just don’t know how. And that that is why, without second-guessing it, I turn my body and stretch across him, pressing my chest to his, and I kiss him.

  At first Jet doesn’t move. I think he’s as surprised as I am. But it only takes a fraction of a second for him to recover. And I know the moment that he does. I know because that’s the very instant that I’m as lost to his allure as everyone else in this place.

  His lips soften first. I feel the change and it startles me, shaking me from my insanity. I start to pull away, but Jet’s big hands come to either side of my neck, his fingers sliding into the hair at my nape to hold me still.

  He tilts his head, drawing me further into the kiss. I feel his lips part and, as though they move independently of thought, mine part as well. When his tongue slips between them, I sigh into his mouth, reveling in the taste of him—the tang of beer, a dash of mint, and a dark sweetness that’s as dangerous as the man himself.

  His tongue licks at mine, tasting me in long, leisurely strokes then moving to explore the inside of my mouth. I melt into him, enjoying the way he moans against my lips. I swallow it, taking in some part of him that makes me feel dangerous and exhilarated.

  I don’t know when he turns and pulls me into his lap; I just become aware of the hardness against my hip and the warm hand that’s roaming my back and side.

  Jet sucks my lower lip into his mouth, taking it gently between his teeth. When he releases it, I open my eyes to look at him, feeling dazed and heavy of limb. He’s watching me, his eyes a deeper, warmer blue.

  Everything around me is muted. I don’t hear the music or the voices. I don’t pay attention to the people. There is only me and Jet, and the heat that’s raging between us.

  Quietly, he watches me. Quietly, I watch him right back.

  Without his mouth pressed to mine, my lips feel dry. I wet them with my tongue, drawing Jet’s gaze.

  “Don’t do that,” he whispers.

  “Don’t do what?”

  “Don’t show me your tongue. It’s all I can do not to stand up with you in my arms and carry you to a dark corner and taste everything that you’re hiding from me.”

  At his words, an uncharacteristic heat pours through me, flooding my core. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to make it harder on you.”

  Suddenly, I feel silly. What was I thinking? Why would I imagine this could be helpful to him, to someone who struggles with an addiction to sex?

  “I know you’re not. You’re trying to help me. And I’m grateful. Truly. You’re different than these girls,” he says earnestly.

  “Yes, I’m different. I’m not dangerous to you. They are,” I reply.

  Jet’s voice drops into a low rumble. “What if I told you that you might be more dangerous?”

  “I’d tell you that you were wrong.”

  “I’m not so sure,” he muses, his eyes roving my face. I don’t know how to respond to that, so I say nothing. He continues. “I’d be a liar if I told you that I’m not attracted to you. If I told you that I didn’t want you.”

  I shouldn’t want to hear those words. They shouldn’t give me any pleasure at all. But they do. Oh, how they do!

  “But you know we can’t do this,” I state, quashing the excitement that his words brings.

  His smile is small and wry. “Exactly. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy this, or that I don’t still enjoy your company.” He pauses, his thumb rubbing back and forth over the skin of my arm as his eyes search mine. “I’m glad you came.”

  I don’t want to admit that I am, too, so I deflect. “I’m glad I could help.”

  Before Jet can respond, a meaty arm wraps around his neck from behind. A few seconds later, a broad, ruddy face topped with a clump of thick strawberry hair appears beside Jet’s head.

  “Caught you another one, did ya?” comes the gruff voice that perfectly matches the bear likeness of its owner.

  “Shut it, Harley. This is Violet.”

  Harley looks duly unimpressed. “And who is Violet?” he asks, directing his question to me.

  Jet turns his head and glares at Harley. “We met at a . . . meeting.” The way he says “meeting” so meaningfully makes me think Harley might know about Jet’s problem.

  As if to confirm my suspicion, Harley slowly starts to nod, returning Jet’s look. “Ohhh, I see. Well, it’s nice to meet you, Violet. I’m Harley, Jet’s manager.”

  I reach forward to grab the calloused hand the big man extends toward me. “It’s nice to meet you, Harley.”

  “Oooh, that voice,” he says, closing his eyes like he’s in ecstasy.

  “Don’t even think about it, old man.”

  Harley tries to look offended, and I smile at his theatrics. “Old man? I’m hardly old, pup,” he says, giving Jet a tighter squeeze. When Jet makes a strangling sound, Harley returns his attention to me. “Don’t believe a word he says, Violet,” Harley warns. “This boy could charm the panties off a nun.”

  Jet reaches back to playfully wrap Harley’s head in the curve of his bent arm, locking it down with a tug of his hand. “She didn’t ask for your bullshit take, dimwit.”

  I feel the need to explain. “You should know, Harley, that contrary to how this must look, he’s not trying to get anywhere near my panties, so I don’t think I have anything to worry about,” I tease.

  Harley’s expression sobers the tiniest bit, giving me a chill. “Oh, you should worry
, sweetheart.”

  Before I can respond, Jet easily pushes Harley back and stands with me in his arms, slowly letting my legs slide down his until my feet are firmly on the ground. I’m torn between wondering at his reaction to Harley’s last comment and swooning at the contact with his tall, hard frame.

  “Don’t pay him any attention, Violet. He lost his mind years ago,” Jet says.

  I glance behind him to see Harley studying Jet’s back. He meets my eyes over Jet’s shoulder, and I see some genuine concern.

  Yes, it seems he does know about Jet’s problem.

  I smile reassuringly at Harley. “Don’t worry about me, Harley. I’m pretty hard to charm.”

  “I think that ship has sailed,” he mutters. And then, without another word, Harley turns and walks away.

  FOURTEEN: Jet

  If I weren’t so enjoying Violet’s tiny, voluptuous body pressed against mine, I might be inclined to walk right over and punch Harley in his big mouth. But as it is, I see something unsettled rolling over her face like fog over water and I know I’ve got some damage control to do.

  Damn it!

  “You’ll have to excuse Harley. He’s old and crazy as hell, and his sense of humor is . . . unusual.”

  She looks at me with all the seriousness I’ve seen in her before. “Maybe he wasn’t joking.”

  “We don’t think it was funny, but he probably thinks it was,” I respond nonchalantly.

  Violet slides her eyes away from mine and I know the setback is official.

  Shit!

  “I should check on Tia,” she says quietly, glancing everywhere except at me.

  “Violet, Harley—”

  “There she is,” she says, pointing to her friend who is obviously having fun with some guys over at the bar.

  With that, she just turns and walks away. I do the only thing I can and follow her. When we get closer to the bar, Violet’s friend looks up and sees her. She throws her arm up and starts waving. “Vi! Vi! Over here.”

  Her spastic motions throw off her balance and she tips over on her stool. I hear her squeal as she goes down. Violet runs through the crowd to get to her, but I’m not worried. I can hear the girl laughing.

  “Are you okay?” Violet asks, reaching down to help her friend to her feet.

  “Never been better, Vi,” she replies, her tongue noticeably thick. “Lemme introduce you to some of my father’s cronies’ sons. Alvin, Simon, and Theodore,” she slurs, ticking them off and then collapsing into peals of high-pitched laughter. She cups her hand around her mouth and whispers loudly to Violet, “They’re not really chipmunks, Vi.”

  “I figured as much,” Violet says patiently, dusting debris off Tia’s leg from where she fell. “I think it’s time to go, don’t you?”

  Her friend’s face crumbles into a devastated expression. “Oh, no! Not yet,” she whines to Violet.

  “Yes, I think we’d better. You won’t be able to walk if we stay much longer.”

  “Yes, I will. I’m fine. Give me a sobriety test,” she says, tripping as she moves away from the bar. “That doesn’t count. Alvin tripped me.” Over her shoulder, she sends a wink at “Alvin.”

  “Tia, seriously, it’s time to go. Can you make it to the car?”

  She scowls. “Of course I can make it to the car. I’m not a child.”

  Tia strikes out across the wood planks of the barn floor, weaving unstably and bumping into one of the half-naked waitresses currently entertaining two drooling idiots.

  “Hey, watch it!” the girl exclaims, glaring at the drunken Tia.

  Violet rushes in, steadying her friend and giving the waitress an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry. She’s had a little too much to drink.” For her trouble, she gets a glare from both Tia and the waitress. “Here,” she tells Tia, scooting up under her much taller friend’s arm to help her walk, “lean on me.”

  And just like that, I see who Violet really is. To the bone, she’s a sponsor. An anchor. A fixer. Just like Tia said. She sees a broken, disadvantaged, or otherwise distressed person and she feels the need to swoop in and help them, however she can. And that’s what she’s doing with me. She’s trying to fix me.

  And I’m taking advantage of that.

  Impulsively, I stride over and take Violet’s arm, moving her out of the way. “Let me,” I say, bending to throw Tia over my shoulder and carry her to the door.

  Tia giggles nonstop all the way across the room. I hear Violet, obviously shuffling to keep up, whispering to Tia, “Stop laughing or you’ll make yourself throw up.”

  She’s obviously been through this with her friend countless times. And her friend is obviously the most selfish bitch in the world to never consider what Violet goes through for her.

  When I reach the door, Violet swings around in front of me, pulling it open and stepping outside ahead of me.

  “Where are you parked?” I ask.

  “Over there,” she says, pointing to the back of the parking lot, to the darkest part.

  I strike out across the gravel, getting more and more irritated with the girl I’m carrying. I hear the crunch of Violet’s footsteps as she hurries along behind me.

  “You really didn’t have to do this,” she says from behind me.

  “I know.”

  She falls silent for a few steps. “You can put her down. We can make it to the car just fine.”

  “No. I’ve got her,” I reply. “Which car is yours?”

  “The silver coupe.”

  I scan the cars until I find it and head that way. When we reach it, I set Tia on her feet and lean her up against the driver’s side door. I turn to Violet and hold out my hand. “Keys.”

  Wordlessly, she hands me the keys. I hit the remote button until I see the lock in the back door pop up. I open it and then turn to heft Tia up again and lay her in the backseat.

  “Watch her head,” Violet says.

  I resist the urge to bang her head on the inside of the door on purpose. It might make me feel better, but it would definitely not endear me to Violet. And I don’t need any more setbacks tonight.

  “I will.”

  I get Tia situated and shut the door. Gently. Then I turn to Violet.

  “Where are you headed?”

  “Home.”

  “Do you two live together?”

  “Oh, no. I mean, I’ll drop her off and then head home.”

  “I’ll follow you. In case you need some help.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I don’t mind. I think you could use an extra hand.”

  “It’s really not necessary. I can handle her.”

  “I’m sure you’re very practiced at it. Nevertheless, I’ll follow you.”

  “Jet, seriously, you—”

  I hold Violet’s keys up in the air, far over her head where she has no hope of reaching them. “It’s that or I’m driving, which means I’ll have to hitchhike to get back here.”

  Violet tilts her head to one side, obviously exasperated. “Jet . . .”

  “Violet . . .”

  Finally, after watching me for several long seconds, she shakes her head in resignation. “Fine,” she says, holding out her hand for her keys.

  I smile in satisfaction and give them to her.

  “I’m very persistent.”

  “I can see that,” she responds. Her tone is dry, but I can see the twitch at the corners of her mouth. She’s trying not to grin. I can’t stop myself from reaching out to brush the little dimple that appears at the edge of her lips.

  “You’d do well to remember that.”

  My action changes the mood instantly. I’d like to run with it, press things with her just a little farther. But I’m savvy enough to know now’s not the time. The risk outweighs the benefit. No, tonight I need to be on my best behavior so that I don’t scare her off.

  I step back and give her a very casual, “Lead the way,” before I turn and make my way to my own vehicle.

  When I hear Vio
let’s motor start, I think to myself that I can’t remember the last time I was this enthused about something.

  I should feel like shit about that. But I don’t—at least not right this minute.

  I’m just that much of a selfish asshole.

  FIFTEEN: Violet

  All the way to Tia’s house, my eyes keep flickering to the headlights in my rearview mirror. As terrible as it sounds, I think I’d pretty much forgotten Tia was in the backseat until she moans, “I feel sick.”

  That is a very harsh reminder.

  “Just a couple more minutes and you’ll be home. Try to sleep.”

  I’ve been through this numerous times with Tia. And with my dad. They’re both the same in that if they keep their eyes closed and try to sleep, they won’t puke. But just as soon as they sit up and try to wake up for the ride home . . .

  I hear her mumble something unintelligible, but then she falls silent. In my head, I’m crossing my fingers that she doesn’t get sick. I breathe a sigh of relief when I hear her soft snoring.

  I’m thankful when I finally pull to a stop along the curb in front of her apartment building. I hurry to shut off the engine and make my way to Tia in the backseat before Jet can. I feel bad enough as it is.

  I’ve got her hands and am pulling her into a sitting position when Jet pushes me gently aside.

  “Here, let me.”

  I don’t argue. Evidently, it won’t do me any good. Instead, I get Tia’s purse from my trunk, where we locked our things, and I dig out her keys. I lead Jet to her first-story unit and let us in, flipping on a light so that he doesn’t trip as he carries her to bed.

  In her room, I pull back the covers and stand aside for Jet to deposit her on the bed. I pull off her shoes before I straighten out her legs and throw the covers over her.

  We’re backing out her bedroom door when I hear her pitiful voice. “Violet, I’m gonna be sick.”

  With a sigh, I go back in, helping her to her feet and to the bathroom. I barely have enough time to raise the lid before she falls down onto her knees in front of the toilet and pukes her guts out.