All That Jazz (Butler Cove #1)(59)

Joey stilled, shuddered, and jerked away from my body. Breathing hard, his eyes squeezed tight and looking like the sexiest man on the face of planet earth, he erupted all over my stomach.

“Oh my God.” The words were wrung from deep in his chest. He covered his eyes with his palm and collapsed next to me. “What the f*ck did we just do?”

“What every girl wants to hear,” I said sarcastically. “That was the perfect thing to say right after. And you don’t last very long, do you?”

“Sorry, I just … Oh my God, we—”

“Had unprotected sex.”

He pulled his hand from his face. “Please tell me you’re on the pill?”

I swallowed and shook my head, pain and dread flowing into my body like a tidal wave. Semen dripped off the side of my belly.

“Oh, Jesus.” Joey jammed the heels of his palms against his eyes.

“Pull it together, Joseph. You’re being a selfish prick right now.”

He blew out a breath and shook his head. “Sorry. Shit. Are you okay?”

“Fine. But I could really use a towel. There’s one in the galley.”

He turned over and scooted down the bed and backed into the galley. He pulled on his boxers, then grabbed the dish towel that hung on a small hook and tossed it to me. I wiped my belly, around my side and pulled my shirt closed, fumbling with the buttons. Then I wiped the vinyl mattress cover. This was awkward, messy, and utterly heartbreaking. I felt empty and used and like my “kissing buddy” had turned into a complete stranger.

He knew, I realized.

He’d obviously figured it out that I had lied to him about sleeping with Chase.

“Jazz,” Joey said quietly.

I squeezed my lips together and looked up.

He’d pulled on his shorts and t-shirt and looked like the last twenty minutes had never happened. Apart from the pained look in his dark blue eyes.

“Don’t you dare say it,” I started, my jaw tight.

“This was a mistake.”





“A MISTAKE?” I pulled my shirt closed, but I still felt naked. “That’s what you call what we just did? A mistake is accidentally dropping a can of paint, losing your footing, accidentally slicing your finger while chopping carrots. They happen in milliseconds. That was the longest most conscious mistake I’ve ever experienced.”

“Okay. But the point is the same. It shouldn’t have happened. And I can’t believe I forgot protection. I never forget protection with anyone I’m with.”

My heart imploded at the thought of him with other girls. Outwardly, I winced. “Fuck you, Joseph.”

“Look.” He blew out a breath. “Shit. I’m sorry. What I meant about the mistake was we should’ve kept things the way they were. I don’t want you reading more into this than there is.”

Reading more into it? Joey had been as addicted to me as I was to him. Of course I read more into it.

“I like you,” he went on. “I consider you a really good friend. We’re friends, right?”

I realized my mouth was hanging open as I listened to his garbage. “Friends?” I managed.

“Yeah.”

“Just friends?”

“Well, I mean—”

“You’ve had your tongue down my throat every chance you get, and your penis just met my vagina. And we’re just friends?”

At least he had the wherewithal to look sheepish when I pointed out his stupidity.

“Get the f*ck off my boat, Joseph.”

“Jazz—”

“Just go.” I fumbled for my panties. I was sore between my legs. It was a tiny thing in comparison to the huge gaping hole in my sternum.

He didn’t make any move to leave, his face a myriad of confused emotions.

“Go away!” I screamed, and then stared blankly at him while my heart exploded into a million tiny pieces.

And then he did.





THE VODKA WAS long gone. I’d burned through all my dad’s vinyl looking for something appropriately suicidal. I’d played Miles Davis, and no, Someday My Prince would not f*cking Come, Branford Marsalis’ “Mo Better Blues” weren’t blue enough, and finally I settled on “A Love Supreme” by John Coltrane. It wasn’t low-key because he wrote the four track in the middle of a heroin addiction. But that seemed kind of fitting for the moment. I’d been addicted to Joey. And I’d gone against all reason and judgment to get a bigger, better hit of him. A hit of oblivion to try and avoid thoughts of my dad.

My dad.

I grabbed a stack of postcards and took them into the berth with me. The whole place felt compromised by Joey being here. But I lay down, trying not to think about what we’d done here.

I scanned through the postcards one by one. I looked at the pictures. I couldn’t bring myself to read the words. That was too much. One day I would. I’d read through all of them all over again and really appreciate them. And I suddenly realized how grateful I was for the gift my father gave me. He wrote to me every month from the day he left. I’d felt more connected to him than even my own mother, even though I lived with her and never saw him.

I knew I could tell my father anything. And I had. I’d told him my hopes, my fears, my plans, my failures, my mess-ups, my embarrassments.