“You’re right. Why am I so fucked about her accepting me?”
Because Blakely was the type of person you craved acceptance from, I thought.
“Because she’s your sister, and it’s still new,” I answered. I was starting to feel twitchy talking about her, so I switched up the conversation. “We haven’t hung out in a while, just us. Let’s go to Joe’s tonight when you get home. We can talk about Sean and when I’ll get to scare him off.”
Lance laughed. He was always amused by my protectiveness, just as his effortless way of protecting me had always amused me. I had to work at my vigilant behavior; his version of caring came naturally, like breathing.
“I think you’ll like him. Let’s go out to Joe’s—just us. I know things have been different since Blakely showed up. It’s okay to admit you want some time with your best friend.”
I did miss him. I missed what we were before she showed up. I missed the absence of guilt. I missed not knowing this sense of yearning and pain. “Yeah, yeah whatever, fucker.”
Lance chuckled. “It’s always just been you and me. Everything is changing. Sean. Blakely. You’re still my best friend, Decker,” he said with a smile. “Still my bro.”
“Don’t get sentimental on me. You know I’m not good at that shit. See you tonight,” I laughed half-heartedly before hanging up the phone. Lance was like a brother to me, and he was the reason I couldn’t continue this thing with Blakely.
I looked around my classroom, my eyes zoning in on Blakely’s seat. It killed me to think of her face, the disappointed glare in her eyes when I’d dismissed her. I guess, in some ways, I felt like her mother—putting myself and my friendship with her brother first. This would be better for us in the long run, and I knew that it felt wrong now, but eventually she’d thank me.
I hoped.
I didn’t want to eat at Huck-a-poos. I didn’t want to sit at the bar, listening to Lance vent about Sean while Blakely floated around in her too-tight uniform with her tongue sticking out to lick the salty sweat off her lips. Joe’s was shut down for renovations, so Lance suggested we go here. Hoping not to be suspicious, I readily agreed, though now I regretted not suggesting something else.
My eyes followed her everywhere she went. It was like gravity, the weight of the atmosphere pulling me to stare. She tipped her head back and laughed at something a guy in her section said.
I wanted to know what that fucker said.
I wanted to hear her laugh, but the music was too loud.
“So what do you think?” Lance asked. I snapped my eyes back to him.
“I think that’s great,” I effortlessly answered while kicking myself for not paying attention.
“You think I should go with him to his grandmother’s funeral?” Lance asked, his eyes dipped in confusion. Shit. I definitely should have been paying attention.
I rolled with the punches. “Does Sean want you to go?” I asked.
“Yes,” Lance replied.
“Do you want to be there to support him?” I pressed, already knowing the answer. Lance would be there for anyone and everyone.
“Well, of course, but it’s all so new. We aren’t official or anything. Isn’t it weird to attend a funeral with someone you’re just...fucking? And what about Blakely? I just got back, and I can’t leave her all weekend. I haven’t told her about him, and you haven’t even met him yet. Shouldn’t we do your usual interrogation before I take a trip with him?”
Shit—fuck—damn. I was slipping. And an entire weekend with Blakely? A war started in my brain, half of me was plotting things to do all weekend to keep out of the house, and the other half kept seeing her lips parted, eyes closed, stars falling under her skin as her back arched in ecstasy.
“Blakely is a grown woman. Just explain to her the situation, and she’ll be understanding,” I promised, though I wanted to slap myself. Blakely wasn’t a grown woman—not really. She was entirely off-limits. “And I’d like to meet Sean eventually, but I think it’s time I start to trust your instincts, Lance.”
“Oh. Okay. Yeah. Right. I’m going to do it. I’m going to tell her,” Lance convinced himself, just as Blakely strutted up with a tray on her shoulder and a tentative grin on her face. Stray blonde strands of hair framed her cheeks in frazzled waves.
“Tell who what?” she asked before setting the tray down on the bar top. It was full of bare plates and food scraps.
“I have a boyfriend,” Lance choked out, his cheeks red and his eyes wild with fear.
“When do I get to meet him?” Blakely asked without skipping a beat. There wasn’t an inch of shock on her face. Good girl.
“Well, his grandmother died unexpectedly today,” Lance explained while dipping his index finger into his whiskey and swirling the mixture around before pulling it out.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Blakely replied before looking over her shoulder at Rose then back to Lance.
“The funeral is this weekend in New Mexico, and I’m going to go with him. Is that okay? I know I’ve been gone a lot lately.”
“Of course. I have shifts here and a ton of homework. Be there for your man,” she offered with a sincere smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes. I wanted to dig behind the plastered facade to hear her thoughts underneath. Was she mad that Lance could go to a virtual stranger’s funeral but not their mother’s?
“Perfect. Wow. Okay. I should go call Sean, then,” Lance said with a smile while looking at me. Then, he got up from his spot at the bar and headed outside. Blakely followed his back with her eyes before turning her attention to me.
“Let’s keep our hands to ourselves this weekend, okay?” she asked before reaching for the tray of dirty dishes before I could even respond.
A delicate war raged in my mind, aching to reach out and wrap my arms around her or toss away my dismissal with a kiss. I watched her forearms flex as she picked up the full tray and spun on her heels to head out, but shouting stopped her in her tracks.
“What the fuck you say to me?” a balding man in his late fifties asked a scrawny college kid. I stood up as Blakely took a step back.
“I said back the fuck off!”
And then punches went flying. Blakely’s tray went crashing down, glass and leftovers coated her creamy skin with sludge as a hard body was knocked into hers. I reached for her wrist to yank her back, when a man’s fist connected with her chest, knocking her backward.
I saw red.
Not just the angry sort of red that demanded your attention.
It was a vibrant shade of pissed-off. I could have cracked a tooth with how intently I clenched my jaw. Curling my palm into a strong fist, I reared back and attacked her assailant, landing a hit right on bald guy’s jaw. His head snapped to the left, so I threw another punch, this time aiming for his pouch of a gut.
In the corner of my eye, I saw Blakely’s torso, concave as she clutched her waist. Someone pulled my hair. Whiskey spilled down my shirt.
The bald guy went sailing toward the ground, and the scrawny college dude pumped his fist in the air like he had a right to claim victory. What the actual fuck? I did all the work.
Storming over to him, I clutched his shirt through my vice-like fingers and pulled it tight, making sure to press the collar of the shirt around his neck like a noose. “Get the fuck out of here,” I growled in his face, saliva forming in a pool between my teeth and my bottom lip as I shoved him toward the ground.