Young Enough (The Age Between Us Book 2) Page 8

  Sitting in the cellar, I worry about my problems instead of studying. Avoiding Monkey isn’t going to make the volatile situation go away. I was hoping Lindy would’ve backed off after seeing Jane and me together. I got the idea she believed I lied about having a girlfriend.

  Damn, a girlfriend.

  Jane is that and much more. It’s like a wild, reckless dream come true. I’ve never gotten anything I wanted in life, especially not something I wanted this badly.

  I rub the photo of Jane absently between a thumb and forefinger. I see that look on her face all the time, especially when she thinks I’m not watching. There’s shit in her past. My job is helping her deal. Making her happy. Protecting her. I can’t do that with Monkey breathing down my neck and Lindy harboring fairy tales that will never come true.

  I slip the photo into the back of my Human Communications guidebook, lock up the cellar, and close the hatch. The hatch is watertight, which also makes it airtight. I’ll have to do something about the canals leading from the street, roof gutters, and drain that are crisscrossing over the cellar. The rainy season is coming fast. Inundation will be a problem and I can’t keep the hatch closed with no other means of ventilation. Committing the task to the back of my mind, I go to the house to tell my mom I’ll be leaving.

  She sits at the kitchen table, listening to a radio broadcast.

  “I’ll be out for a couple of hours.”

  “Where are you going?”

  My mother has never asked before.

  “To see Monkey.”

  Her right eye jumps, a sign she’s stressed.

  “Don’t worry.” I put a hand on her shoulder. “It’ll be fine.”

  “You can’t be with her, Brian.”

  “What?”

  “Jane. You’ve got to forget about her.”

  I don’t mean to sound harsh, but I can’t help it. “You’ve never told me what to do. Don’t start now.”

  “I’m sorry.” She reaches for her drink. “You’re right. It’s going to backfire, though, unless you tell Monkey what he wants to hear.”

  “Let me worry about Monkey.”

  I grab a sweatshirt and am out of the door before she can say more.

  Monkey is at the gym. He’s not working out, but he watches the guys who train in the boxing ring.

  “’Bout time,” he says when I walk up. “Come to ask for Lindy’s hand?”

  “I’ve got someone else.”

  He flicks a finger, and the pounding in the ring stops. The room goes quiet.

  He turns slowly to face me. “What the fuck did you say?”

  “I’ve got someone. Here’s the deal. I marry Lindy but keep a mistress.” No damn way I’ll ever treat Jane as a mistress, but that’s what I say, anyway. “Is that what you want for your daughter? A guy who’ll never love her, never make her happy?”

  He jumps up so fast the chair crashes to the floor. “Here’s the deal, you little punk. In twelve months, I walk my daughter down the aisle and give her away to you, you skunk-assed, fucking loser, because Ingrid wants a year to organize the biggest wedding the fucking city has ever seen. You’ll put a ring on my daughter’s finger, and you won’t as much as look at another pussy again, or I’ll make good on my threat. You’ll treat Lindy right, you’ll give us grandchildren, and you’ll grovel to make her happy, if that’s what it takes. You’ll prove what you have to with your new, fancy job and then you’re in the business. My business. Are we clear?”

  Rage rushes through my veins. I want to smash his head on the concrete floor and kick out his teeth, but I keep it in, let it fester and clump in my throat.

  “Get out of here, you lousy piece of shit,” Monkey yells. “I don’t know what the fuck Lindy sees in you.” He spits on the floor, right next to my tennis shoe. “Fucking punk.”

  Our stare drags out for a few furious heartbeats. Bit by bit, I squash the anger until I’m calm enough to jerk off my sweatshirt and tackle the weights. I came here not only to find Monkey, but also to train, and that’s what I’m going to do. The guys watch warily, waiting for Monkey’s next move, but he only kicks the chair and motions for them to continue the fight before his shoes pummel the floor to the exit.

  Needing the burn, I pack on extra weights, maybe more than I can handle.

  Fuck it all to hell. Can’t say it wasn’t worth a try.

  Jane

  The day is warm, and the sky clear. It’s a perfect day for a barbecue by the pool. Brian and I arrive at Loretta and Ralph’s place at twelve. We had to stop on the way to pick up Loretta’s meat order from the butchery.

  I glance at Brian before ringing the doorbell. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

  I don’t want him to feel uncomfortable because my ex is here, plus he’ll be the youngest by far.

  He puts an arm around my waist and kisses my neck. “Don’t fuss.” As if making a point, he rings the bell.

  “Whenever you want to go–”

  He shuts me up with a kiss. It’s a soft, lingering one that makes my knees weak, and it’s not finished when the door opens.

  “Oh.” Loretta coughs. “Hi.”

  I try to pull away, but Brian doesn’t let go immediately. Loretta and the rest of the world don’t matter to him, not when he kisses me. He ends the kiss with a soft peck and a smile in his eyes that holds a private message. It tells me he’s fine. We’ll be all right. Instead of embarrassing me, the tender caress sets me at ease. Only then does he turn his attention to Loretta.

  “This is Brian,” I say.

  He shakes her hand. “You must be Loretta. Thanks for the invite.” He holds up the cooler box of meat. “Shall I leave this in the fridge?”

  “Um, sure.” She pats the ends of her asymmetrical bob. “The kitchen is at the end of the hallway.”

  “I’ll be right back,” he says to me with a wink.

  He’s giving Loretta and me time alone for a girls’ chat. He’s hardly gone before she dives in.

  “Oh, my God, Janie,” she whispers.

  “He’s handsome. I know.”

  “I was referring to his age.”

  “He’s young. So what?”

  “You’re into schoolboys, now?”

  “Don’t exaggerate.”

  “This isn’t what I expected.”

  “Who did you expect?”

  “I don’t know. A divorcé. A widower. Someone with gray hair.”

  Brian saves me from defending my choice of a partner by returning with two beers.

  He hands me one. “Is a beer all right, or do you prefer wine?”

  “Perfect, thank you,” I say, grateful for more than just the beer.

  He turns to Loretta. “Can I get you a drink?”

  She touches her hair again. “Um, mine is outside. Come on. I’ll introduce you.”

  We follow her to the pool deck out back. Debbie and Francois plus another couple are already there, mingling around a table set with appetizers. The conversation dies down when we walk outside.

  “Meet my friend, Jane,” Loretta says to the couple in an overly-jovial voice. “And this is…” Her voice trails off as she looks at Brian. “I’m sorry. I’m so bad with names.”

  What’s wrong with her? Is she so shocked she can’t remember his name? I hug Brian tighter. “This is my boyfriend, Brian.”

  Debbie’s gaze trails over him, her eyes a bit too wide to hide her shock. Francois’ expression is unreadable, as always. Loretta introduces the other couple as Mona and Jack, the husband being a colleague of Ralph’s. Mona must be about ten years older than me. Her reaction to Brian is similar to Debbie’s. Ralph and Jack are polite, if a little distant, when they greet us. Brian seems unaffected as he shakes their hands and exchanges pleasantries about the traffic and weather.

  “What do you do for a living, Brian?” Debbie asks.

  Brian puts his arm around my waist, pulling me to his side. It makes me feel sheltered under the scrutiny of the six people watching us, and I relax against h
im.

  “I’m still studying, but I’m doing an internship at the firm where Jane works.”

  Mona lifts a brow. “Is that how the two of you met?”

  Brian gives me another one of those private smiles. Turning to Mona, he says firmly, “No,” but he doesn’t elaborate.

  His look is assertive as he continues to hold her gaze. The only person who appears comfortable with the silence that follows is Brian. Mona looks away first.

  “How did you manage an internship at Orion?” Ralph asks.

  Ralph doesn’t as much as glance at me, but he doesn’t have to. The insinuation is clear.

  “Jane got me an interview,” Brian says without blinking, “for which I’m mighty grateful.”

  I feel like I have to defend him. “He earned the position. You know how high Toby’s standards are.”

  “Where are you from?” Jack asks.

  “Harryville,” Brian replies, not an inch of shame in his tone even as another hush falls over the conversation.

  God, I love that about him, that he’s not ashamed of where he comes from, and he doesn’t allow money or status to determine who he is or, in this case, who he isn’t.

  “How about you, Jack?” Brian asks. “Are you and Mona from around here?”

  “We’re all neighbors,” Loretta says. “Ralph, you better start the fire, or it’ll be dinner instead of lunch.”

  Peering up at Brian, I give him my own private smile, one that tells him how much I admire and appreciate him.

  Ralph busies himself with stacking charcoal while we make mindless small talk. Was it really a good idea to come? I love Loretta, but this feels like a waste of time. I shouldn’t have let her bully me into accepting the invite, or maybe I was tired of hiding. Maybe I just wanted Brian and me out in the open.

  “Dammit,” Ralph says, throwing a burning match into the coals.

  Nothing happens.

  “You and your fires.” Loretta huffs.

  Francois fiddles with the firelighters, sticking more into the pile of coals, but he does so daintily, with the tips of his fingers, as if he’s scared to get his hands dirty. It’s probably because he’s wearing white slacks. All he manages is making smoke.

  “Let me.” Brian takes the matches and sticks his hand right into the middle of the coals, restacking the firelighters.

  He’s not wearing fancy chino pants, and even if he were, I bet he wouldn’t mind getting them dirty.

  In no time, flames leap up in the air.

  While we wait for the coals to be ready, the conversation flows like it usually does at these kinds of barbecues with the girls talking kids and the guys talking business.

  Francois is droning on about his new hotel project and how they’re missing deadlines due to a shortage of clay, which means a shortage of bricks.

  “Not that I expect you to follow any of this,” he says to Brian. “We’re being rude, Ralph. We should talk about rugby.”

  “No worries,” Brian says. “I get it. It’ll be more cost-effective if you replace clay with sand lime since sand lime bricks don’t need plastering. Personally, I’m not into rugby. I’m more of a cricket guy.”

  I hold back a laugh. That should teach Francois to be condescending. I’m not going to tell him Brian was a bricklayer.

  When the meat is finally sizzling on the grill, I pull off my dress. I’m wearing my bikini under. It’s the hottest part of the day, and I can do with a dip in the cool water.

  “Join me?” I say as I walk past Brian to dive in.

  The water is heaven. I let the coolness slide over my body and penetrate my skin. When I surface at the shallow end, Brian is standing at the edge. He’s pulled off his shirt, exposing a set of muscles that has to draw attention, no matter where. The women’s gazes are glued to his back, even Debbie’s, who’s pretending she’s not staring from behind her wide-rimmed sunglasses. He walks into the water with a grin, splashing me, and then he’s against me and I’m wrapped around him.

  “I recall a time when I was in your pool,” he says in a low voice against my ear.

  Shivers run over my body under the water. “Do you, now?”

  Nibbling on my earlobe, he swims me to the deep-end. “There was only one thing I wanted.”

  “What was that?” I ask, slightly breathless.

  “You in the water with me.”

  “You ordered me back into the house.”

  “Only because you chased me away.”

  “You didn’t expect an invitation, did you?”

  “Didn’t need one.”

  “No?”

  His tone is playful but his eyes serious as he stares into mine. “You were meant to be mine. I would’ve made it happen, regardless.”

  “Regardless of what?”

  “Everything.”

  The answer is simultaneously non-disclosing and all-compassing. There are no lengths he wouldn’t have gone to. No one has ever been this committed to me, not even Evan who walked away when I needed him the most to stay.

  A tremor runs down my spine at the memory. It’s a place I don’t want to go, not with Brian’s arms around me and his groin cushioned against mine.

  “You’re cold,” he says with a frown.

  I let him believe the lie, allowing him to lift me out of the water onto the side. He grabs my towel from my bag and spreads it out on a deckchair.

  “Come here,” he orders.

  I go to him as if I’ve always been going to him and spread my body out in the glorious sun as if he’s always been the steadfast path to my destiny. He disappears, returning a moment later with my sunglasses and a bottle of water. I reach for both gratefully.

  He uncaps the bottle before handing it to me. “It’s hot,” he says. “I don’t want you to dehydrate.” Going down on his haunches, he places a hand on my stomach. “Are you hungry? I can get you something to eat.” He grins, glancing back at the grill. “It may be a while still before the kebabs are ready.”

  Ralph is no barbecue master. Neither is Francois. They probably let the coals burn out and now it’s too cool to cook the meat.

  “I’m good, thank you. I had a few appetizers. I appreciate the offer, though.” It’s nice to be taken care of.

  “You didn’t put on sunscreen this morning.”

  “I was running late after dropping off Abby.”

  “You’ll burn.” He takes the bottle of sunscreen from my bag and squirts a blob in his palm. “Turn over.”

  I turn obediently, letting him massage the cream into my shoulders, back, and legs. When he’s done, he does my front. There’s nothing inappropriate about the way he’s touching me. He’s not going near my breasts or unfastening the straps of my top to get to the parts under the spaghetti strings, but he may as well have from the way the others are staring. Flipping the sunglasses down over my eyes, I block out their faces and concentrate on soaking up the sun. Brian takes the chair next to me, interlacing our fingers.

  Sweat is running in rivulets down my back when Ralph announces that the food is ready. The older men are still dressed in their golf shirts and chinos. Loretta is wearing a designer bathing suit with a sarong tied around her waist, and Debbie sits on the edge of the pool, her legs dangling in the water, but no one else swims. Loretta will be worried about her hair. It takes her an hour to blow-dry every morning. I don’t know what the others’ excuses are, but it’s a pity not to enjoy the pool on such a splendid day.

  We’ve barely eaten when thick, purple clouds start rolling in. The smell of rain is heavier in the air than the chlorine from the pool.

  “Damn,” Loretta says. “There wasn’t anything about rain in the weather forecast.”

  That’s the thing about these summer thunderstorms. They’re highly unpredictable. They almost always arrive in the late afternoon or early evening when the worst heat dissipates.

  “I made marshmallow tarts for the grill,” she complains.

  “Better get them quickly,” Ralph says. “I don’t know how
long the weather is going to hold before it pisses down.”

  “You sit,” I say to Loretta. “I’ll get them. You’ve been running around all morning.”

  Dropping the towel I had wrapped around my body, I pull on my dress. Brian is engaged in a conversation with Jack. Their chat seems amiable enough. I gather it’s safe to leave him to his own devices. The vultures won’t rip off his head in the short time it’ll take to fetch the dessert.

  I locate the aluminum cupcake holders lined with cookie crusts and filled with chopped marshmallows and chocolate chips in the fridge. As I turn with the loaded tray, Francois enters the kitchen.

  “What the hell are you doing, Jane?”

  I’m so baffled, I almost drop the tray. He hasn’t shown me a speck of emotion during all the conflicts we’ve had in the twelve years we’ve been together, and he’s stalking toward me now, bristling with anger.

  “Getting our dessert,” I say, flabbergasted.

  He takes the tray from me and plonks it down on the counter. “You know what I mean. You’re old enough to be his mother.”

  Anger sparkles in the nerve endings on my skin. The hair on my arms and neck rises. “That’s rich coming from a man who dates a girl young enough to be his daughter. I guess that makes you a hypocrite.”

  “It’s not the same,” he hisses. “You’re a woman, and he’s a boy.”

  “Now, that makes you sexist.”

  “Call it what you like. It’s not the same.”

  I cross my arms. “How is it different?”

  “For starters, you’re mature. Secondly, a man is the breadwinner. He’s a toy boy. That makes you a–” He bites his words off angrily.

  “Say it.”

  “A sugar mommy.”

  As if Brian would only be with me for money. I let the insult settle. “Anything else?”

  “I don’t want him around when Abby’s with you.”

  “Too late. She’s already met him.”

  He slams a hand down on the counter, making the tarts bounce and me jump. “You’re a bad example for her.”

  “For Abby?” My indignation escalates. “You’re a fine one to talk. I was single when I met him.”