One of These Nights (15 page)

“Yeah, now I have your attention. Come on, Rosie girl. We're going out.”

She stood, took her time stretching, and then happily panted her way to the side of the bed, where she bounced from paw to paw, dancing for the food. He wished he could just scoop her up and carry her, but that would have to wait. He braced himself, clipped her leash onto her collar, and fed her half the cocktail weenie. She ate it like a tiny shark, and he checked his fingers afterward, just to be sure.

“Come on,” he said, and she toddled down the stairs he'd bought to allow her to get on and off the bed more easily. He held on to the loop along with his crutches, and the two of them slowly made their way back into the noisy great room. He heard Rosie's purring growl and knew their chances of going unnoticed had just slipped from
Yeah, right
to utterly nonexistent.

“Aw, look at the cute little doggie!”

Jason hobbled out, Rosie prancing ahead with her tail flying. She barked happily at anyone who looked at her, delighted to be able to announce herself and defend her territory. His mother, sitting in his chair, looked up and pursed her lips.

“Where are you going? Aren't you supposed to be resting?”

“I'm taking Rosie out,” he said.

“You can't walk her with those crutches,” she said. “Just put her out back and come sit down. We're going to watch
Magic Mike
.”

“Jesus, Mom. I'm not going to sit here and watch a movie about strippers.”

He was fourteen again, and red-faced because she'd done another embarrassing thing in her long career of embarrassing things. Her reaction hadn't changed, either.

“Jason Patrick. Language.”

He arched an eyebrow and gave her a look. “I'm going out.”

He didn't bother with his jacket, hobbling as quickly as he could toward the door and ignoring her admonition that he was going to freeze. Rosie, thankfully, seemed more interested in vacating the premises than she was in trying to go beg for more snacks, and she padded along ahead of him happily enough. He got the door open and headed onto the porch, relieved when there was nothing but unconcerned chatter and cackling behind him. The last thing he needed right now was another obstacle to leaving. It was enough of a pain in the ass just maneuvering himself and his dog out the door.

Jake had pulled onto the grass, bypassing the line of cars in his driveway. He hopped out of the SUV and headed toward him, looking a lot more entertained by the subterfuge than Jason was.

“Hey, man. She know you're leaving?”

“She knows I'm walking the dog.”

“Going to be a long walk. Hey, Rosie!” She gave a sharp bark and then began making odd little Muppet noises, as pleased to see Jake as she always was. She started to tug at the end of the leash, but Jake picked her up, let her cover his face in kisses, and then situated her in his arms. “You planning on coming back tonight?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, the spare room's all yours if you want it.” He looked at the row of cars and shook his head, a wry smile on his lips. “Typical Aunt Molly. Every visit is a hostile takeover.”

“No shit. They're going to watch
Magic Mike
.”

Jake winced. “Yeah, you definitely need to get out. Come on.”

Jason boosted himself into the truck and shoved his crutches into the back, then accepted Rosie onto his lap. The front door opened just as they were pulling out, and his mother's confusion quickly turned angry. Even in the fading light, he could clearly see her lips form the words, “What the hell?”

Jake rolled down the window as he backed up to turn around. “Hi, Aunt Molly! Just stealing Jason for a few hours. Don't worry. Have fun, see you tomorrow night!”

They drove off, and Jason heard the squawk. “Well, that pissed her off,” he said.

“Not much of an achievement where you're concerned,” Jake replied, then smacked him in the shoulder. “So, what do you think? Wild night out at the bars? We can bring Rosie; she needs to cut loose.”

Jason snorted. “She'd probably just get disgusted with the noise and then fall asleep on the bar.” He looked at his cousin, who looked tired and a little mussed after what had probably been a long day at work, and felt guilty. “Sorry to drag you out here. I know it's a pain in the ass.”

“Oh, come on,” Jake said, wrinkling his nose. “Don't start that. I know how it is with her. You hid out at my house often enough when we were kids. It's like a tradition.”

“I didn't think it would still be one when I was thirty. At this rate we'll still be doing this when I'm sixty.”

“You could tell her off,” Jake said, glanced at him, and then sighed. “I know, not an option.”

“It would be different if she were just evil,” Jason grumbled. “She tries. Sometimes. She cooks, and she cleaned even though the place was already clean. But she gets bored in about five minutes, and she'd rather have an audience for the stuff she does so she can play Mother of the Year. I've never been the best audience. And she still doesn't listen to a word I say. I'm like a prop. Or furniture.”

“How's she doing with Zoe?” Jake asked, his voice full of sympathy. “They getting along, at least?”

Jason made a noncommittal noise, and Jake groaned. “She decided to do the thing. The weirdly off-putting competitive thing. Didn't she?”

“You got it.

“How does Aunt Molly have friends? I'm serious. She thinks the world revolves around her. It drives my mother nuts. You know this.”

“She can be pretty magnetic when she wants to,” Jason said. “I've been watching it my whole life. She's got one of those big personalities that a lot of people are drawn to. She keeps friends who don't question her, let her run everything, and kiss her butt. The ones who push back at all get blacklisted. It's why Dad is the way he is.”

“Uncle Dan is cool sometimes.”

“Sure, when she's not around to tell him what to do.” Jason sighed and tipped his head back against the headrest. “Whatever. I just want her to go home. I thought having Zoe around would help, but I think she just took it as a challenge. And you know Zoe's not going to kiss her butt.”

Jake laughed. “No way. Zoe takes no crap.”

“She's put up with enough of it this week.”
She's not going to want to put up with this forever, either.
“I'm going to have to talk to Mom. After I buy her a return ticket and explain that she's going home next week.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I knew I was setting that money aside for something. I thought it was a new couch, but it looks like I was wrong.”

“Well, look at it this way. Having her gone will be even more comfortable than a new couch.”

Jason had to chuckle. “True.”

They rode in companionable silence most of the rest of the way to Jake's house, a remodeled Craftsman not far from the square. He and Sam lived on a quiet street lined with mature trees and older, well-kept homes. The streetlights had come on, and one of the neighbors jogged down the sidewalk, lifting a hand in greeting as they passed. Jake turned into his driveway, pulling up to the small detached garage in the back. The lights were on in the house, blazing with cheery warmth. It was a place Jason liked coming to, and often did, though ever since Jake and Sam had gotten together he tried to be better about just dropping in out of the blue.

They headed inside, Jake helping him up the front steps while Rosie bounded ahead. No doubt she was anxious to harass Loki, Sam's cat, Jason thought. It was one of her favorite activities, and the two of them had developed a weird love-hate relationship in the short time they'd known each other. Though apart from Sam, that was the only sort of relationship Loki tended to develop with anyone.

“Tucker, don't even think about it!” Jake called before he even opened the door. Rosie gave a short, sharp warning bark at the horrible groaning and whimpering coming from inside. She and Tucker had established some ground rules, which seemed to be very simple: Harassing the cat together was A-OK, but any of his forays into her personal space merited a good hard nip or three. And sure enough, as soon as the door opened, the dogs' usual greeting played out. Tucker pounced, Rosie snapped, and the big, silly cattle dog mix turned his attentions to greeting the men while shooting the little Peke longing glances as she trotted inside like she owned the place.

Jason felt his tension ease as soon as he stepped inside, taking a moment to rub the wiry fur on Tucker's head while the dog wiggled in pleasure before dashing after his master. He could smell whatever they'd had for dinner—must be Sam had cooked, since Jake was less than talented in the kitchen. Music played softly up ahead, in the family room, and he could hear the soft murmur of women's voices. It was warm and quiet, and part of him wanted to just undertake the task of getting upstairs now so he could flop facedown on the bed.

“That you, babe? Did you extract the prisoner?” Sam called.

“Mission accomplished,” Jake said, peeling off his jacket. “Come on in. Did you eat? Sam made some kind of vegetable soup in the crockpot. House smelled so good when I got home I just about dove in headfirst.”

“I'd love some,” Jason confessed. “It was just finger food tonight, and I didn't get into it because I knew I'd eat all of it.”

“Rosie!” That was the other voice, clearer now, and he recognized it instantly. Jason froze, his eyes darting to Jake. His cousin was trying too hard to look innocent.

“What?”

“You didn't tell me Zoe was here.”

“Didn't think it mattered. Unless you're hiding from her, too, and forgot to mention it.” He shrugged, one corner of his mouth curving in a half smile. “She and Sam are friends, remember? They do this kind of thing.”

Jason managed some sort of grunt before Jake strolled on ahead of him to the back of the house, hanging a left into the kitchen and leaving Jason to follow slowly. He didn't understand why his nerves would pick now to kick in, of all the times to do it. He could blame the long day—that would be easy enough. But he was pretty sure this particular feeling was coming from a different place. The one where he got to test the waters with Zoe on his own terms, in his own comfort zone. This was elsewhere, unplanned. Different. Just two couples hanging around his cousin's house . . . except he wasn't quite there with the whole “couple” thing yet. He didn't know what he and Zoe were.

All he could see before him were endless possibilities to screw this up just because he no longer knew how to act with her on their own, and that was a problem. They could fight, he guessed. That was at least familiar. He just didn't seem to have a lot of appetite for it lately.

His appetite for her mouth, on the other hand, was a different story.

Jason followed Jake, cursing himself silently the entire time for being so wound up. Not to mention, he was pretty sure he looked like death warmed over. A few hours of his mother and her posse would do that.

Why the hell do you care how you look? It shouldn't matter.

Except it did. What Zoe thought of him absolutely did.

He hated how loud he was as he moved, the crutches thumping and creaking against the wood floor. He could hear Rosie's tags jingling, Zoe's soft laughter. Then he was past the corner, looking into Jake and Sam's cozy family room, with its fireplace and big furniture and giant television that had once been almost the only thing in here. Sam had made it homey, with art and a rug and small touches that made it more than just a room. She and Zoe sat on the floor in front of the darkened television facing each other, Rosie rolling around on her back in between them and getting her belly rubbed. A sleek black cat brushed by Jason's foot, tail up and in high dudgeon.

“Hey, Loki.” The cat shot him a reproachful look before vanishing down the hall. He knew where Rosie had come from.

Sam grinned at him. “Jason! You made it out alive!” She had her platinum hair in a ponytail, and her unusual blue-green eyes seemed to dance with light. He took in the ratty sweatshirt and Rainbow Buddies pajama pants and no longer felt quite as bad about his own current state. She and Zoe both had cotton balls wedged between their painted toes.

“Yeah, by the skin of my teeth.” He shifted his gaze to Zoe and found himself looking into eyes like storm clouds. She looked . . . cautious. And just a little reproachful. But even as his defensive instincts kicked in, he couldn't escape that she also looked as beautiful as he'd ever seen her.

“Hey,” he said, and wished he didn't always feel like he was saying the dumbest possible thing at any given moment where she was concerned.

“Hey yourself,” Zoe replied. “Trouble on the home front?” She had on a pair of gray plaid flannel pants, a plain white camisole, and a gray hoodie with the sleeves pushed up. Her curls were tied back at the nape of her neck, revealing the only evidence of her work attire—small, glinting diamonds. It was the most relaxed he thought he'd ever seen her.

Funny, since he was as uptight as he'd ever been right this second. Longing so sudden and strong it knocked the wind out of him formed a knot deep in his chest, pulsing there and refusing to dissipate. He remembered what it was like to come home to somebody like this. To somebody who could take your breath away with nothing but a lift of her eyebrow.

I don't know if I can do this again.

The thought rose unbidden, but ringing with truth. He really didn't know. Just like he didn't know if he was going to be able to help himself. Because whatever came next, one thing was certain: He had it bad for Zoe Watson. And far from being a new thing, it had been going on for a very long time.

“Jason?” Concern creased her brow, and Jason shook himself out of it. Standing here gaping at her wasn't going to do either of them any good.

“Yeah, sorry. Mind drifted. It's been a long day.”