Straight Up Love (Boys of Jackson Harbor 2)

Since Saturday night, when I realized how thoroughly I was taking advantage of him, I’ve been trying to brace myself for a life where I hold myself up a little more on my own and depend on Jake a little less. It won’t be easy.

When Carter Jackson walks in the door of Howell’s and spots me and the Straight Up Casual placard on my table, I want to crawl under the nearest rock. If he knows that Jake and I were jumping headlong into Operation Pregnancy only a week ago, seeing me here with another guy tonight is going to make me look like an ass.

I am an ass.

This is so stupid. I should have just called and canceled this date. I’ve lost my job, might be moving to Florida, and have feelings for my lifelong best friend that I don’t really know what to do with. I have no business dating right now.

Carter grabs a shot from the bar, throws it back, then strides across the room to me. He thrums his fingers on my table. “Straight Up Casual?” he asks with an arched brow.

“If you mock me for this,” I say, “I’ll tell every single woman in town that you have a small penis.”

He holds up a hand and then clears his throat. “Okay, first of all, they know better. Second of all, I’m not mocking you.” He looks around. “I’m pretty sure you’re my date, Ava.”

I glare at him. “Are you freaking kidding me? They set me up with my boss four weeks ago, and this week it’s my best friend’s brother?”

He winces. “They set you up with Mr. Mooney?”

“Yeah. Not the best night of my life, let me tell you.”

“Shit.” Grimacing, he scratches his head. Like the rest of the Jackson boys, Carter is incredibly hot. He has dark hair and eyes, full lips and scruffy cheeks, and a thick, muscular build that’s a testament to his hours at the gym and his firefighter training. “Well, this is awkward.”

“Little bit,” I agree.

“I thought . . .” He clears his throat and looks around again. “I thought you and Jake were . . . I heard something about a baby?” His voice squeaks on baby, and my cheeks heat in embarrassment.

“I called that off.” I sigh. “It was a crazy idea, and I came to my senses.”

“Right. It was . . . well, unconventional, I guess.” When he brings his eyes back to meet mine, his expression softens. “You can’t be my date, Ava,” he whispers. “No offense, but I just can’t do that.”

Thank God. “Because I’m like a sister to you, or because I took all your money last time we played poker?”

When he grins, little lines pop up by his eyes. “I forgot about that. Damn, I still think you cheated.”

“I don’t have to cheat. I’m just good.” I wave to the waitress with a grin. “But how about I buy you a drink to make up for it?”

Jake

Sunday brunch with my family is supposed to be the part of my week I can always look forward to. At least, that’s the idea. But sometimes—like this morning—I’m in a shit mood, and would rather sit at home and zone out with some video games than have to look my siblings in the eye and deal with their well-intentioned judgments of my life.

This morning is like every other. Brayden’s kitchen is crowded with people, and eight conversations seem to be going on around me at all times. Though I adore Ethan’s girlfriend, Nic, seeing him and her wrapped around each other makes me want to punch something. Because I want that. It’s what my parents had. It’s what I grew up believing I could find so easily, and then I found myself wanting it with a woman who doesn’t want it with me.

I’ve had lots of girlfriends and made plenty of attempts to get the fuck over her, but I have nothing to show for it but a best friend who went on a drunken blind date last night, a fucking week after I had her naked under me in a hotel room.

I ran into Ava’s nosy neighbor at the coffee shop this morning and was informed Ava didn’t get in until after two a.m. “I was up—this arthritis doesn’t let me sleep more than a few hours at a time—and I saw her coming in. She was so happy and frazzled! I think she must’ve met someone pretty special. She didn’t say so, but I recognized that look in her eye. I was young once too, you know.”

It was all I could do to not walk out of Ooh La La! and go straight to Ava’s to remind her how she responds to my hands and mouth.

“Well, good morning, Jake,” Shay singsongs when she catches me scowling at the coffee pot. “Aren’t you a ray of sunshine this morning!”

“I’m training a new bartender,” I grumble. It’s the reason I worked later last night than I intended, but it has very little to do with my desire to maul the nearest punching bag. “He’s an idiot who doesn’t know the difference between an imperial stout and a milk stout. Why the fuck do you want to work at a brewery if you don’t know the difference between basic beers?”

“Language!” Mom says. She’s at the counter putting the finishing touches on finger sandwiches, a cast on one foot, a crutch under her arm.

“Sorry, Mom,” I mutter.

“Forgiven. The boy should know his beers if he’s going to work for the Jacksons.”

“Sure, blame your mood on the bar,” Shay says, passing me a steaming mug of coffee. “That’s cool.”