Confessions of a Bad Boy(67)
I park the BMW and get out, too lost in my own thoughts to even acknowledge the flirty comment from a girl in yoga pants walking past. Striding toward the stand purposefully, the rest of the world out of focus, I eventually see Kyle notice me and grin.
“Hey buddy!” he says, as we grab hands.
“Hey man, good to have you back,” I say, falling into our habitual way of talking, but still locked in an internal wrestling match.
“Believe me,” he says, already turning towards the stand, “not as good as I feel being back. Shit!”
“How was London this time?”
“Better the second time around. I never had to kiss so much ass in my life – not outside a bedroom anyway.”
“But you got the contract back?” I say, as we line up.
“Eventually. But having to go over there again means I’m way behind on my work for everyone else. I’m at the limit, dude. And this jet lag! How about you?”
“I’m good, same old,” I say, before turning to order, glad to be cut off from making small talk.
We grab our food and make our way to some benches, the beach off to one side, L.A. traffic on the other. I tear into my food like I’m really hungry, even though my stomach’s turning so much I can barely chew.
I’ve been visualizing this moment for days. Turning it over in my mind as if looking for the key. Short and sweet, no. That’s an invitation for a reaction. Take my time, let him know I’m serious. He probably wouldn’t let me get that far. I’ll do what I always do, try and go with the flow. Or maybe not.
“What’s up?” Kyle says, licking his teeth and wiping his fingers already.
“You finished that quick,” I say, nodding at his plate. “Maybe they think you can do more than one person’s work because you eat enough for a whole group.”
“Ha! Sure. Well, if you work like you eat,” he says, nodding at the taco I’ve been holding in my hand for a full fifteen minutes, “I’m surprised they even pay you.”
I try to laugh, and immediately realize how difficult it is. I suddenly have a whole new appreciation for people who fake emotions.
“Hey, I gotta tell you about this British chick I met. Jesus H. Christ!”
I raise an eyebrow and pretend to carry on chewing so I don’t have to answer.
“She was working in the hotel I was staying at. They made them wear these dorky uniforms, but even in those clothes this girl was enough to make your eyes water. I’m talking grade-A ass, dude. I seriously didn’t think the Brits made them like that. Anyway, so I call for room service one day, right? And…”
Kyle draws out the story and I make as if listening, familiar enough with his tone that I can nod and smile at all the right parts, but inside I’m tightening up like somebody’s got me in a chokehold. I look down at my half-eaten plate and suddenly feel disgusted, the noise of cars and people talking around us suddenly filtered through a fog. I put my taco down and wipe my fingers, concentrating on it so that Kyle doesn’t notice how seasick I’m feeling. I push every bit of strength in my body to the surface, bracing myself, tightening my focus to the job at hand. It only works when I think about why I’m doing this.
Jessie.
Her face. Her voice. Just thinking of them makes me feel a burst of adrenaline, a surge of strength. I imagine her smile, and it’s like a tonic for all the queasy shakiness in my gut. I haven’t even told her what I’ve decided yet, but if I can get through to her brother, maybe he can help me win her back. Because I think I’m finally ready to step up. Am I one hundred percent sure? Truthfully, no. But I’m willing to try. That’s what you do when you care about someone as much as I care about Jessie. And as for the pregnancy – even if she hates me, I hope she’ll at least let me be there for her. Help out however I can. Support her and…it.
A fresh wave of nausea washes over me, and I take a long drink of my beer. It doesn’t help. Meanwhile Kyle’s still talking, oblivious to my inner turmoil.
“…I was hoping for a repeat on the last night, but she texts me that she had to swap a shift. Dude, I was so f*cking gutted. I’ll tell you one thing, though, she’s almost better over text than in bed. Shit, I never liked that ‘sexting’ crap, but this girl can say things that’d make porn stars blush. Plus, it’s the only action I’m gonna get now that I’ll be stuck to my desk twenty-four seven again. You think I should ask her to fly to L.A. for a weekend?”
“You spoken to Jessie?” I interrupt, trying to sound casual instead of strangled. I fail.
Kyle’s enthusiastic demeanor drops the second I mention her name, the thrill in his eyes when talking about the ‘British chick’ suddenly replaced by the concerned frown he usually wears when talking about his little sister.
“I tried to,” he says, his voice now tinged with indignant exasperation, “she says she wants to talk to me, but…well, you know how it is. I work a lot, she works a lot.”
“Yeah.”
“I get the impression she’s avoiding me, though. I know you’ll say that’s bullshit, but I tell you, dude, something’s going on. You know anything about it?”
This is it. There won’t be a better opportunity than this. I look up at Kyle, who notices that I don’t respond quickly, that I’m not jumping in with my usual ‘I’m sure she’s fine’ or ‘let her live her own life.’ His glare turns from casual annoyance to severe worry, and I think of her face once again to draw strength.