Bad Wolf (Wild Men 4)

Chapter Six

Jesse

The day passes in a blur, with her words echoing in my mind. She said I’m not that bad. Ha. I’m worse than she can imagine.

I wipe down a table, annoyed when I realize I’m grinning. How can this girl have so much power over me?

And she called me JJ again.

I bow my head, breathe out a sigh. Her calling me by this silly nickname shouldn’t feel so good. It doesn’t mean anything, no matter what I keep saying. People give each other nicknames all the time.

Then why do I want to laugh out loud? Why do I find myself stopping whatever I’m doing, thinking of her?

Fucking hell, this girl. She makes me feel and I don’t wanna do that. Thought I got rid of feelings long ago. In fact, I shouldn’t see her again, should avoid her, find another chick to work out this restless energy, this stiffening of my dick every time I think of her.

To get rid of thoughts of her naked underneath me as I push into her, fucking that sweet pussy until she screams my name, and—

“You okay, J?” Megan appears by my side, and I remain bent over the table, doing my best to hide a massive hard-on.

“Yeah.” My mouth is dry, voice gone raspy. “What’s up?”

“Nothing. You keep spacing out today.” Her dark eyes meet mine squarely. She’s a pretty girl with a core of steel. No wonder Rafe can’t live without her. “I’ve been meaning to ask you… Is everything okay in that apartment of yours?”

I blink, not sure what’s she asking. It’s as if there are hidden words inside her question. “Yeah. Why?”

“Oh, you know.” She tugs on her ponytail. “You’ve complained about your roommates, now and then. I just hope it’s nothing serious.”

What is she asking me? I straighten, cock my head at her. “You’re worried about me? I can take care of myself, Meg. I’m a big boy.”

She smiles, shakes her head. “Worry is an irrational thing. Something you feel for someone you like. That’s how friendship works, J.”

I stare after her, long after she’s vanished at the other end of the café, taking care of customers. Well, I don’t know much about friendship, or any other normal relationship. Who was gonna teach me such things, huh? God knows Helen tried, but then she was gone.

The thought of her hurts. I breathe around the spike of pain in my chest and do my best to switch off my mind for the rest of the day.

Fat chance.

Spending my whole shift at the taco joint with a hard-on for a girl who doesn’t much like me is a first. Not a pleasant experience, either. I can barely walk with a boner like an iron pole between my legs, and keeping my mind on the customers is near impossible when all I can see in my mind is her.

She looked feral, with her dark hair loose, her blue eyes smoky and that off the shoulder white blouse, half-transparent in the slanted afternoon light, the flower prints doing little to hide the dark shadow of her bra and the swells of her breasts, or the sweet dip of her waist above the flare of her hips.

Fuck me, she’s like a wet dream.

And what makes it even sexier: she doesn’t seem to realize how hot she is. All she did was glare at me, call me names, everything but shove me out the door, and I just stood there, panting like a dog, wanting so badly into her panties I thought I’d self-combust.

Mel is giving me the Look, which means he’s curious working on pissed. I know the signs. I’m very good at telling when someone’s about to get medieval on my ass, and I force my mind off Embers and push my feet to move faster, boner or not.

I need this job. Need this money. Fuck, I need Mel’s approval. I’ve been working here for the past year, and he’s been like a father to me, stern and also kind, like the time when he insisted I take a day off to rest when I was down with a nasty flu and paid me regardless. Kinda like a father.

Not like I can remember mine at all.

“You should get some new clothes, boyo,” Mel grumbles as I ferry tacos and enchiladas from his cooking station to the counter. “Those jeans of yours are falling apart, and your T-shirts aren’t faring much better. People will think I don’t pay you enough.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I’ve known I need new clothes for a while now, but I hesitate. My jeans still hold. My boots can be fixed and keep for another couple of months.

I don’t spend money easily. When you’ve had to choose between buying new shoes or food for the week, anything edible to calm the nagging ache of hunger in your stomach, day after day, month after month, you don’t throw money down the drain.

Then again… Mel is right. I work with people. My clothes have to look okay. Living in this world where a hole in your shoe is an issue, where spending four dollars on a coffee is considered normal, where people debate over brands and quality is still beyond me. I feel like an alien intruder, like a tourist from another universe.