Page 32 of Full Tilt
Jonah and his godawful blender.
It took me a blurry minute to put the puzzle pieces together from last night. Memories came to me like scattered photographs: the drummer from Until Tomorrow, our opening act, pawing at me before Jonah knocked him on his ass.
“Do you want to get out of here?”
And I had felt so safe…
I sat up slowly and pushed back the covers to find I was in a T-shirt and sleep shorts. A vague memory swam up: Jonah helping me peel off my leather jeans, helping me change clothes…
I kissed him. Just his neck and ear… But he smelled so good. I tried to pull him to bed and…
“Oh my God.” Mortification ran scarlet over my skin, and Iheld my aching head in my hands. “No, no, no… Not Jonah. Not him.”
It wasn’t the alcohol. Not entirely. It was the goddamn insatiable need for connection, driving me to find comfort anywhere and any way I could. Jonah took care of me, protected me, and I’d reduced him to the same level as the nameless roadies I took to my bed.
I glanced at the nightstand. A glass of water, two aspirin.
Tears sprang to my eyes.
The clock radio read 7:04. Jonah would be leaving for the hot shop any minute. I got up, opened the bedroom door and padded into the narrow hallway. The blender went quiet, and I heard men’s voices talking. Someone else was here. I shifted on the balls of my feet, frozen. Part of me begged to slip back to the bedroom and hide, pretend none of this happened. The other half, sick of hiding behind Jägermeister and whiskey, pushed me toward the kitchen.
Jonah looked cleanly handsome in jeans and a pale blue T-shirt. He took a pill from the Sunday compartment in one of those day-of-the-week medication containers. The rest of the compartments were crammed full, their lids bulging into domes. He washed the pill down with what looked like a tall glass of mud and ground up grass. The grimace that twisted his lips told me the drink didn’t taste any better than it looked.
A gruff cough jolted me from my thoughts. The hot guy from the photos on the living room wall leaned against the counter, clad in a black T-shirt and jeans. His muscled arms, inked with tribal tattoos, crossed against a broad chest. His dark hair was cut short, and a thin growth of stubble grew along his jaw. He was a bulkier, more rugged version of Jonah. It had to be his brother. But where Jonah’s face was handsome in its open, friendly demeanor, his brother’s was closed down, tense and dark. His angry gaze darted between Jonah’s medication and me, as if he couldn’t believe the two things could exist in the same space.
The feeling of being a trespasser again twisted my alreadyunsteady stomach, then Jonah turned to me. The smile that broke over his face when he saw me warmed me like a summer sun.
“Um, hi,” I said. “Good morning.”
“Hey.” Jonah caught sight of his brother’s astounded expression and shifted his own quickly back to neutral. “Kacey, this is my brother, Theo. Theo, this is Kacey Dawson. She’s going to be crashing here for a few days.”
“Nice to meet you, Theo.”
Despite his Death Glare from Hell, my instinct was to hug Theo; I was big on hugs. And because he was Jonah’s brother, I immediately felt a sense of affinity for him. But his cold stare pinned me to my spot.
Theo’s eyes raked me up and down, taking in my messy hair, my long T-shirt that covered my shorts and made it look like I wasn’t wearing anything underneath. It was pretty obvious what Theo assumed was happening between his brother and me, and he didn’t like it.
“When did this happen?” He demanded of Jonah, not even bothering to hide the accusatory tone in his voice.
This? I’m a this? I don’t think so, pal.
Before Jonah could reply, I said, “Thishappened last night. We got married at one of those drive-thru chapels, didn’t we…Johnny? Jordan?” I snapped my fingers, my face scrunched up in confusion. “Wait, don’t tell me…it’s definitely a J name.”
Jonah smothered a laugh.
Theo glowered but ignored me. “She’s staying here? For how long? When were you going to tell me?”
“Yes, until Tuesday, and I was just about to, but Kacey beat me to it,” Jonah said. “And Jesus, you’re being rude as hell. Even for you.”
The mother of all awkward silences descended on me as the brothers stared each other down and held a private conversation; I could practically hear the thoughts passing between them like words.
Finally, I cleared my throat and pointed toward a grocery bagon the counter surrounded by creamers and sugars. “What’s all this?”
Jonah’s eyes slowly left Theo’s. “I went out and got a few things.”
“That’s thoughtful of you this early in the morning.” I sniffed at the air. “Decaf never smelled so good…”
“That’s because it’s regular.” Jonah pulled a UNLV mug from a cupboard, filled it, and handed it over.
