Straight Up Love (Boys of Jackson Harbor 2)

“Good morning, Jakey,” she says, using the old nickname from my childhood. Mom and Shay were the only ones who could get away with it. I’d take a swing at anyone else who called me Jakey. “What’s got my boy so worried?”

I open my mouth to lie, to tell her I’m not worried about anything, but then I decide against it. “Ava,” I admit.

“Oh.” She studies me for a silent beat. I wonder if Mom knew I was in love with Ava before even I did. Probably. She knows all her kids better than we know ourselves.

I wave a hand. “It’ll be fine. I think we need to talk when she gets back in town. That’s all.”

“Someone told me she’s trying to get pregnant and you’re going to help her.”

With a little huff, I drop my head into my hands and shake it, groaning. “Who told you that?”

“I get a little of my information here, a little there. I put it all together and then coerce your siblings until they fill in the blanks for me.”

I don’t have the energy to be pissed at anyone for that right now, so I let it go. Anyway, trying to explain to my mom that I’m using my best friend’s wish for a baby as a way to seduce her and trick her into falling for me boils it all down in a way that makes me feel a little slimy. “Well, don’t worry about it. I’m being careful.”

“Do you really think this is the only way you can have a chance with her?”

“Have a chance with whom?” Shay asks, walking in the door with a stainless-steel carafe.

Grimacing, I stand from the chair I’ve occupied for the last four hours and stretch to straighten the kinks in my back. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Jake’s trying to get Ava pregnant so she’ll give him a chance,” Mom tells Shay.

“I’m not trying to—” I groan and press my palms to my eyes. “I don’t want to have this conversation with either one of you.”

“You know better than to think we’re letting it drop.” Shay pulls a sleeve of disposable coffee cups from her purse and hands one to me. “Talk.”

I take it, grateful, and pour myself a cup of coffee. I can tell by the smell of it that Shay made it—it’s bold, rich, and contains enough caffeine to wake a dead man. “She’s looking at me as something other than her friend for the first time in . . .” I shrug and look helplessly at my sister. “The first time ever, I guess.”

“Risky as hell,” Shay says, and when I shoot her a warning glare, she holds up both hands. “I’m not going to interfere, and I didn’t say I didn’t think it was worth it. I just think it’s risky.” She pours her own cup of coffee and shrugs. “I understand why it’s a risk worth taking. It’s Ava.”

“That’s true,” Mom says. “It’s Ava.”

I feel like a bug under a microscope, and I want to squirm. Instead, I drink my coffee and stew. I’ll have to wait until Ava gets home, but we’ll talk. Maybe she’ll let me kiss her again. Maybe we can pick up where we left off in the hotel room. Because this is working. What’s happening between us isn’t just about the baby for either of us. She knew we weren’t going to have sex, and she wanted to be with me anyway. If I can keep nudging her, I might finally get the chance I’ve been waiting for.

“Do you remember when you were sixteen and dating that Emily . . .” Mom snaps her fingers and screws up her face in concentration. “What was her last name? The blond cheerleader? She was older than you.”

“Emily Higgins,” I supply.

“Oh, I remember her,” Shay says. “Pretty but no sense of humor.”

Mom smooths her sheets over her stomach and smiles softly as if lost in the memory. I have no idea where she’s going with this. “You and Emily couldn’t keep your hands off each other.” She grins at me. “I threatened to make you wear my oven mitts on your hands every time she was in the house, remember?”

I laugh. One time, she didn’t just threaten. She taped those mitts on me and told me my girlfriend could only go down in the basement with me if I wore them. Mom underestimated Emily, though, and that night turned out just fine for me. I couldn’t pull a pan out of the oven without getting hard for months after that.

Shay laughs. “Oven mitts never scared the girls away from your boys, Mom.”

Mom winks at her, then turns back to me. “One night you were in the basement, doing God knows what. Ava came over from next door, went down there, and raced right back up the stairs.”

“I remember,” Shay says. “Carter found her out in the tree fort. He brought her inside and up to my room. Her eyes were red, and her face was streaked with tears. God, she was miserable. She swore up and down that her tears had nothing to do with Jake, but no one bought it.”

“I made her those cookies she always liked,” Mom says, “and Carter put on that Jim Carrey movie—the one where he becomes God and gives everyone what they pray for.”

“Bruce Almighty,” I supply. No actor can make Ava laugh like Jim Carrey, and I love that laugh. Before I heard her come, it was the best sound I knew.

Mom nods. “Yes, and by the time you and Emily came back upstairs, she was laughing and happy, but we all knew how much it hurt Ava to see you with someone else.”

I swallow hard. I’ve never heard this story before. Back when I was sixteen, Ava truly was just my best friend. Or at least that was what I thought.