The Wager (16 page)

“Really?” Twin one said. “Are you getting rid of us? What the hell is your problem?”

“You. Both of you.” Jake growled. “Now leave.”

They flipped him off in perfect synchronization and grabbed their clothes. The minute the door closed behind them, he fell onto the couch and groaned.

Damn his brother for telling him to stay away from the one girl that actually made him want to give it up. He had to keep telling himself it would get better, that soon he wouldn’t have this problem. Because in the end he knew he was the type of guy that would hurt Char. There would be no happily ever after because guys like him didn’t know how to give it, and he wasn’t really sure he was able to be what she needed him to be.

Had he ever been that guy? The one girls ran to when something went wrong? No, that was his brother Travis. Jake was the screw up, the partier, the one who, when caught by Kacey’s dad at the age of fourteen snorting cocaine and partying with girls twice his age, took him by the ear, and told him he was ruining his life.

Which he was.

It hadn’t helped that the minute that Bill grabbed Jake, he was so high and disoriented that he had fallen into the river by their house and nearly drowned.

He hadn’t touched drugs since. Alcohol? Yes, maybe it was because it was the only way to numb everything. Jake never pretended to be something he wasn’t… he just wasn’t sure if he liked what he actually was anymore.

“Hey, jackass!” An irritating female voice called to him in his dream. “Wake up! It’s time to board the plane!”

“Why are you yelling?” Jake whispered, holding his hands to his temples. “And what the hell are you wearing?”

Char stood in front of him, hands on hips, wearing a bright pink sweat outfit straight from the pages of Victoria’s Secret.

“Son of a bitch, turn off the lights.” He put his hand over his eyes and kept swearing.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Char kept talking loudly. “Does my bright outfit make your headache worse? How about a shot of tequila, hmm?”

His stomach clenched at the thought. How was it that he was completely drunk out of his mind and still managed to turn down two women at the same time? And yet, the object of his affection looked about three seconds away from taking a knife to his nether region.

“No.” He croaked. “No alcohol.”

“Have fun last night?” Char crossed her arms. Her bright blue eyes were clear as the morning. What. The. Hell. So now he was a poet? He hit his chest and cleared his throat. Good. Chest thumping, he’d resorted to cave-man style) in order to prove he still had balls.

Good-bye last shred of manhood. He flicked his hand in the air as if to wave it off. Then realized he must still be a bit drunk.

“Get up.” Char kicked his chair.

“No.” He needed food. How did he even get to the airport? Was it a taxi? Right, a taxi, and then he paid the taxi, got his tickets, and numbly waltzed through security smelling like last night’s skank.

Funny. It was like a repeat of the last time he flew.

“Why are you smiling?” Char grasped his forearm and pulled him to his feet. “And why do you smell like ass? Did you even shower?”

His brain worked, slowly, as he thought about his morning. He’d forgotten to pack so ran around tripping on his furniture in order to get ready in time, barely grabbed his cell phone and had time to call for a taxi, but at no point did he think to take a shower. “Uh… no time.”

“You went home at nine o’clock last night. Must have been a rough evening with Tweedle dee and Tweedle Duh.”

He chose to say nothing. Instead, he leaned on Char as they handed over their boarding passes and made their way down the terminal to the plane. At least it wasn’t going to be a long plane ride. He also had it on good authority that Grandma was flying first class so there would be no bomb threats, EpiPens, or arrests.

Where the hell was Grandma?

Once they were on the plane he looked around. She wasn’t in first class, at least that he could see, and she wasn’t in coach.

“Where’s Grandma?” He asked Char, hating how gravely his voice still sounded.

“She flew out last night, something about a wedding emergency, do you ever check your phone or do you just stare at it and ask Siri to tell you your messages?”

Jake looked guiltily at the floor again, choosing not to answer.

“So.” Char kept talking. Seriously, why was she still talking? Couldn’t she tell he was about three minutes away from puking his guts out? Rolling her eyes she reached across his lap and buckled his seat belt. Great, now he was a two–year-old.

Fantastic that at that precise moment his manhood decided to sweep back in and make an appearance. He was too miserable to care.

“How was your night?” She was pissed. Yup, definitely pissed.

“Horrible.” He answered truthfully. “I drank way too much and finally realized something I should have a long time ago.”

“Oh yeah?” Char’s voice was deadpan. “What’s that?”

With a shrug Jake answered. “I hate blondes.”

The first smile he’d seen all morning briefly appeared across Char’s face before she turned away to look out the window.

“Doesn’t change anything.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” She turned back toward him. “You still smell like ass.”

* * *

He felt every bump. Every movement. A tiny drum-playing monkey had taken up permanent residence in his head along with a demon-possessed elephant in his stomach. He almost puked five times before the flight was over with.

Char was no help at all.

She refused to talk to him, look at him, touch him.

Clearly he’d been on the news; it was the only explanation. He’d briefly remembered some cameras flashing.

How could he be so insensitive? He knew what he was doing, but he did it anyway. To prove a point. To prove it to himself.

And now he just felt like someone ran him over with a truck then backed up just to make sure he was dead.

Once the plane landed, he shuffled out of the aisle and walked out toward baggage claim, hoping that for once in his life Grandma would take some sort of pity on him and have something waiting, like a car, or a gun, or maybe even just aspirin, yeah he’d take an aspirin.

No such luck.

“Where is everyone?” He dropped his carry-on, and was hit with another wave of nausea. Jack Daniels was coming back to haunt him. His stomach roiled as he closed his eyes and tried to focus on breathing in and out.

“Char?” A deep male voice said.

Jake’s eyes snapped open.

A large Thor impersonator started walking toward them.

“Who the hell are you?” Jake asked, a definite edge in his voice. Gathering up all the strength he had, he stood taller and glared at the guy in the eyes.

“Oh.” The man smiled, revealing white straight teeth that glowed against his tan face, damn him.”I’m helping out the family with wedding stuff. Travis and I are really good friends and—”

“Jace?” Char’s voice sounded too hopeful and too damn excited for Jake’s taste.

“You remember me?” He grinned, moving closer to her.

“Of course I do!” She stepped into his outstretched arms and hugged him. While Jake imagined what it would be like to wrap his hands around Jace’s neck and strangle him to death. “I didn’t know you were helping out Travis and Kace?”

“Ah well.” He stepped away and shrugged. Did he just blush? Seriously? Cocky piece of work probably knew how to blush on command in order to get play.

Maneuvering himself between both Char and Thor, Jake held out his hand. “I’m Jake, best man, brother to the groom.”
And Char’s mine, she’s mine
. It’s possible he revealed his teeth and may have growled; all he needed to do was pee and mark her as his.

“Oh.” Jace looked between the two of them. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“All good I’m sure.” Jake’s eyes narrowed.

Jace smirked. “If you say so.”

Somehow they’d gotten chest to chest. Thor was a little taller, but only by an inch. Jake had already sized him up; though Jace was a large man, Jake had him in the lean muscle department.

“We should, uh, get going.” Jake felt Char’s hand press against his chest, he looked down into her pleading eyes and stepped back, but only by an inch. He didn’t want to be the one to back down first.

“You’re right.” Jace shook his head and managed to look as humble as shit. The jackass. “Shall we?” He grabbed Char’s bag and offered his arm.

Why hadn’t Jake thought to carry her bag?

Oh, right; because he was still wasted from last night and had spent the better part of the flight trying to keep all bodily fluids inside. It hadn’t occurred to him, just like it hadn’t occurred to him to stop being an ass before he put his foot in his mouth or allowed his heart to get engaged with hers.

With a curse, he followed them outside.

To the waiting limo.

Of course.

“So the family sent the limo?” Jake asked nonchalantly as he handed his bag to the driver.

“Nah.” Jace shrugged. “I thought Char might be tired so I called in a favor.”

So he was poor. That Jake could work with.

“A favor?” Char asked, taking Jace’s hand as he helped her into the backseat.

“Yeah.” Jace held the door open and let Jake go in first. “I normally don’t use the limos or cars but I decided just this once it would be worth it since you would be so tired.” He winked.

Jake rolled his eyes.

“Normally you don’t use the limos or cars because you drive yourself to the mall where you work? Tell me; how is Abercrombie and Fitch these days?”

“Great.” Jace smirked. “Though by the looks of your clothing you’ve been there more recently than I have.”

Jackass.

“Ready to go, Mr. Senator?” The driver asked.

“Yes, Donald, thank you.”

“A pleasure, sir.”

“Senator?” Char’s eyebrows furrowed.

Son of a bitch.

Jake’s smile froze on his face as Jace shrugged and pulled out a bottled water. “Youngest senator in Oregon history.”

“Wow!” Char’s smile widened. “You must be so proud!”

There went that stupid humble look that Jace pulled off so well; no wonder he was a good actor: he was a damn politician! Don’t fall for it, Char! He’s a lying, cheating—

Shit, it was like he was looking in a damn mirror.

What the hell had Travis been thinking?

The car started moving and Jake’s stomach rolled again. He was never going to make it the fifteen minutes to their house.

Sitting backward wasn’t helping.

Char and Jace fell into easy conversation while Jake opened the window and wondered how awful it would be to jump from a moving vehicle, or to plan a homicide for that matter. Was there still a jail sentence if he paid someone off?

The car pulled to a stop.

Jake groaned against the window.

“Hey, champ, you okay?”

Champ? Did Jace just call him Champ?

“Fantastic.” Jake said through clenched teeth.

Jace’s smile was so damn irritating that if Jake did throw up, he vowed to do it all over the man’s black t-shirt and white linen pants. Who wore linen pants in the city? They weren’t at the beach, and they were practically see-through. The man might as well say, “Please stare at my junk.”

“Jake, are you sure you’re okay?” Char sounded actually concerned. He set his eyes on her and wanted to yell. He wasn’t okay, far from it, but he had to look strong; his self-esteem had suffered enough. Swallowing the bile in his throat he nodded once and winked at Char.

Her cheeks stained a pretty pink before her eyes darted away from his and back to Jace.

“Anyways, as I was saying…” Jace cleared his throat and shot an irritating glance at Jake before turning his megawatt smile back on Char.

The smell of fast food floated through the window. Jake tried to push the up button but it was too late. It knocked him flat. All of the nausea he’d been holding in starting rushing toward the back of his throat.

“I think I’m going to be si—”

He didn’t have time to finish the sentence; he hung his head out the window and lost every drink he’d had the previous night and probably the past year on the door.

And then he heard sirens.

Too miserable to say anything, he could only stare in horror as the cop pulled over the limo and approached Jake’s puke-stained door.

“Sir, you do know it’s against the law to—”

“It’s okay, Jim.” Jace said from behind Jake. “He’s with me.”

“Mr. Senator! Lovely day, isn’t it?” Jim, a pudgy cop, saluted. “You sure you got this? I could bring him in, rough him up a bit.”

You know you’re hungover when the thought of prison actually sounds like an attractive alternative to the pounding in your head.

“Not necessary.” Jace slapped Jake on the back and laughed. “Seems to me he just can’t hold his liquor.”

“Not many men can compete with you, Mr. Senator.”

“Get a room.” Jake mumbled under his breath.

“Pardon?” Jim reached for his Taser. Oh, hell no.

Jace cleared his throat. “We need to get going Jim. Say hi to Linda and the kids.”

“Will do!” Jim waved then leaned down to Jake. “I’ll be watching your punk ass.”

Great, so he wasn’t just a sport—well, that was a relief—now he was a punk ass kid. Did that mean he would only go to juvy if he went through with his murder plan?

Hmm, things to think on.

The car pulled away and again Jake was left alone in his corner while Char and Jace laughed and talked as if they were already buying a house together.

Shit.

He needed to find his A-game and fast. For the first time in his life he had serious competition. Of course, because karma’s a bitch, it also happened to be the first time he had any real danger of losing not only to said competition, but his heart altogether.

Jace was hot. He was more than hot. He looked like Thor, only his eyes were green, not blue. She noticed because they were framed by such long eyelashes that she almost wondered if the man was wearing some sort of eyelash extensions.

He was incredible.

And his tan skin?

He was like dessert, a really nice dessert that your mom won’t let you eat until after you clean up your plate… the dessert that spoils you for other desserts. The type of man that girls watch from afar but never actually talk to.