Try Me (6 page)

Maybe he’d knit a few tea cozies, too, or a few little booties. He could stuff his balls in them, since he clearly didn’t need them anymore.

He shoved through the crowd and toward the bar. He needed to get over this. He’d been through this once before, and there was no need to go through the whole damned downward spiral again. He’d known Erica didn’t and never would love him. There were plenty of women in Vegas to fill the gap. A stranger might be faceless, loveless…but she’d let him forget for a few hours, until he could start to forget for the rest of his life.

He slid onto a barstool. When the pretty bartender approached and gave him a sly once-over, he grinned. Her short blond hair couldn’t be any further from the luxurious brown hair that, even now, he ached to bury his fingers in. Perfect.

“Ma’am. Think I could get a scotch?”

She studied him for long moments, lingering on his dog tags, before her polite smile softened, warmed, turned inviting. “Sure thing, soldier.” She sauntered away with an enticing little sway of her hips and glanced back at him. Probably to see if he was watching. Minx.

Just a few days ago he’d have found it attractively amusing. He’d have teased her about it, and if she laughed, he’d know he’d found his company for the weekend. But right now, he couldn’t even work up more than a spark of wry amusement. Not even a hint of interest. Damn it.
She
wouldn’t get out of his head, even if he couldn’t even stand to think her damned name.

The bartender returned with his medication in a cup. She smiled. “Listen, I’m Erica. If you want to meet up for a drink later—”

As soon as she said her name, he tossed his money on the bar and stalked away. Her confused voice followed, but he ignored it. Unbelievable. This vacation couldn’t possibly get any worse.

“Jeremy? Is that you?”

Oh, shit. Yes, it could.

And it just did.

Jeremy froze and closed his eyes. Why him? What had he done to deserve this? Was it the time he threw spitballs at the back of Jenny Parkinson’s head in the third grade? Or maybe how, when he was fourteen, he’d told Erica’s crush she hated him and thought he smelled bad? Alex Nelson
had
smelled bad, but Erica still hadn’t spoken to Jeremy for a week.

And Tommy hadn’t spoken to him for years, but here he was.

Damn it.

Jeremy made himself turn, schooling his face to what he hoped was indifference and not a freakish clown mask of panic.

“Tommy?” Like he hadn’t known that voice immediately. His former best friend, and the man who’d broken his trust and destroyed the last of his faith in humanity. “Is that you?”

Tommy looked the same. A little older, a little wiser, but he still had the same spiked hair and deep brown eyes—eyes that always reminded him of Erica.

“Jesus, Jeremy. How are you?”

Tommy looked Jeremy over with narrowed eyes. Jeremy winced every time his gaze stopped on one of his bruises, and the split in his lip. Tommy’s mouth creased tighter and tighter, just like Erica’s did right when she was about to rip him a new one. Some things never changed. Tommy was always the smooth, calm, collected one, well-dressed and suave. Jeremy was casual. Messy.

A mess.

“What the hell happened to you?”

Jeremy shrugged. How was he supposed to act around Tommy? Last time they’d seen each other, Tommy had used his fists to plow Jeremy’s face into mulch, then tossed him out on the lawn and told him never to show his sorry hide again. The bruises had healed. Jeremy hadn’t.

He opted for a cocky grin. “I pissed someone off. I’m good at that. You know me. Or I thought you did.”

Tommy flinched, but it was gone as quickly as it came. “Yeah. I know you. Or I did. What happened?”

So Tommy wanted to play it cool? God, he and Erica really were just alike. Must run in the family. Sweep everything under the rug.
Nothing happened, let’s be friends.
Fine. Jeremy could play that game.

“Nothing, really. Latest girl got a little rough. She took ‘playing hard to get’ a little too literally, if you know what I mean.”

“Your latest girl?” Tommy’s face reddened, and he clenched his fists. “The girl you were with last night did that to you? A one-night stand?”

“Yep.” Jeremy rocked back on his heels. How the hell was he supposed to end this conversation? He’d had enough awkward reminders of his past in the last twenty-four hours to last him a lifetime. And Tommy wasn’t on his to-do list today. Neither was forgiving him. “Look, I’m gonna head to my room now. I didn’t get much sleep.”

Jeremy made it two steps before Tommy asked, “That girl last night wouldn’t happen to be my sister, would she?”

He tensed. Had Erica called Tommy? Told him Jeremy was in town? Why would she have done that? What had broken between them couldn’t be fixed.

Jeremy swallowed and turned back. “Why would you think that?”

Tommy crossed his arms over his chest. “Because you’re wearing my clothes, idiot.”

Son of a whore.

He’d forgotten he’d borrowed Tommy’s clothing. Even worse, he’d need to return it to Erica. Would need to see her one more time. Maybe he’d package everything up nice and neat and ship it through the mail. No human contact required. No reminders of not one, but two rejections he’d been stupid enough to set himself up for.

He’d rather charge unarmed into enemy territory than see her again. He wasn’t right for her. Either she was telling the truth and, no matter what she might want physically, she wasn’t looking for a boyfriend and preferred to focus on her career.

Or she’d lied to him, and didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Didn’t want him, period.

Either way, he wasn’t going back for a third helping of humiliation.

Tommy cleared his throat and stepped closer. Right in Jeremy’s space, and suddenly Jeremy didn’t feel like a war vet who’d kicked more than a little insurgent ass. He outweighed Tommy in muscle mass, but the way the man was eyeing him right now, that might not make a difference.

“You going to answer me,” Tommy growled, “or do I have to beat it out of you?”

“Uh.” Jeremy raised both hands. “I might have run into Erica, but it was just for a night. We didn’t—I didn’t—”

Tommy fisted a handful of his shirt and shoved him back, eyes blazing. “You shithead. If you hurt her, I’ll kill you here and now.” He shoved Jeremy again, snarling. “Or were you too chicken to go through with it? Did you turn tail once you saw her scars, huh? Asshole. I should have killed you the last damned time!”

Jeremy held very, very still. If he didn’t, he’d punch Tommy right in the teeth. Had they still been friends, he might have. Tommy probably deserved a shot at him, since he’d just implied that he’d fucked his little sister like sex was a bloodsport and they were up for the gold.

Wait. Scars?

“What are you talking about? What scars? And why would I have been chicken?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Tommy hissed, then glanced to the side. His grip went slack. “Shit. Play it cool. I’m not going to jail, even for the pleasure of kicking your ass.”

Jeremy followed Tommy’s gaze. A trio of security guards forged through the crowd, hands hovering at their hips and a little too close to their Tasers. Jeremy had been tased once during a demonstration exercise in basic training. He had no desire to experience the 31 Flavors of electroshock pain a second time.

He pulled free of Tommy’s grip with a frown. “Let’s finish this somewhere else. My room. Come on.”

Together, they tried to skirt the security guards, but the men blocked their path. “Everything okay here?”

Jeremy tried his best drunken grin. “It’s all good. We’re old friends.”

Tommy nodded, but didn’t speak. His jaw was clenched tight, his arms tense. The guards looked less than convinced, but they let Jeremy and Tommy pass. They threaded through the packed casino and into the lobby. Jeremy led Tommy to his room without speaking. Anything they had to say to each other wouldn’t be pretty. Privacy was best.

Once inside, Jeremy closed the door and leaned against it. “Tell me what the hell you’re talking about. Now.”

Tommy eyed him. “You really don’t know about her scars?”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” Jeremy ground his teeth. “What scars?”

“You’d know if you’d actually slept with her. So where did the bruises come from, really?”

Jeremy sighed and moved deeper into the room to sink down on the couch. Either he was getting old, or just worn the fuck out, but he was too tired for this conversation. “It’s not your damned business, is it? I’m pretty sure you swore off our friendship the night you accused me of screwing your wife.”

Tommy blanched. “Look, I know I was wrong. I should have known then, too.”

“Yeah. You should have.” Jeremy fingered his dog tags and stared out the window. “You, of all people, should have known I wouldn’t do that. Everyone else, I expect it. I know they’ll automatically jump to the worst conclusion. But you?”

“I
know.
” Tommy sighed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”

“But you just did it again.”

“You can’t blame that one on me. You practically told me you jungle-fucked my sister. That one’s on you.” Tommy tried a smile, weary and humorless. “Look, I knew better. I knew you wouldn’t sleep with Nicole. I knew you loved Erica, but I fell for the lies anyway. Nicole practically had me in a noose. When it comes to love, the brain stops functioning. I’m sorry.”

Jeremy closed his eyes and dragged his hand down his face. He was too tempted to tell Tommy to take his apologies and go to hell, but unfortunately he understood him all too well. Love made people act like idiots. Just like how he constantly threw himself at Erica, even though he knew she didn’t want him.

His mind knew he was wasting his time, but his heart refused to listen.

“I know you’re sorry,” Jeremy said. “And I’ll try to accept that, but it’s not easy. That night ruined so much for me. So much for us. And Erica…”

“I know. You loved her. I think she loved you, too. She cried every day for a month after you left. After you never came back.” Tommy’s fingers curled into fists. “After I chased you away.”

Jeremy blinked. “She did? Why? She didn’t love me. I told her…” He balked. It was hard to be honest with Tommy, after so many years—and so many unanswered questions. What had he meant about Erica’s scars? Was that why she’d pushed him away? “…I told her I loved her, and she ran away.”

“She might have run away,” Tommy said, “but she regretted it. But how the hell did you end up with her last night?”

Jeremy groaned and rubbed his temples. “It all started yesterday…”

Until Jeremy came back.

He’d dared to make her want more. Dared to make her want him. But if he saw her, the real her, what would he do? Run away? Make excuses? No. She couldn’t bear to be rejected by the one man she’d loved since childhood. She was better off alone. Safer.

But she didn’t feel better.

A knock echoed up from the first floor. She dropped her shirt and smoothed it back into place. Who the hell was at her door at nine in the evening? Tommy, probably. She dashed down the stairs, cracked the door open, and peeked through, squinting into the darkness. The damned porch light was out again, and she wasn’t taking the chain off the door until she was sure it was Tommy and not some escaped convict out for revenge.

Worse. It was Jeremy, standing on her doorstep with flowers in hand, Tommy’s clothes precisely folded in the other.

He even folded shirts better than she did. She wanted to just slap an apron on him and keep him.

He offered the bouquet. “Can I come in?”

Erica bit back a groan. “Why? I think we said everything already.”

“No, we didn’t.” His eyes captured her and refused to let go. “We need to talk.”

Her heartbeat quickened. She wished she could grab it and just squeeze it until it stopped being so stupid and gullible. Why did he want to talk to her? Anything they said would only hurt more when she sent him away again. What would it take for him to realize she wasn’t his, and never would be? Did she need to give his heart a good squeeze, too—squeeze it until it broke?