Full Tilt (Full Tilt #1)(27)

“So he drove here to pick you up?”

Jonah raked his hand through his hair. “Yeah, we’re… We’re close. And he likes to hang out.”

“So under all that glowering and barking, he’s a softie.”

Outside, a car horn blared, loud and long.

I burst out laughing.

Jonah laughed too and then a short silence fell. I figured it was now or never if I was going to apologize for last night.

“That was nice of you to let me crash in your bed last night. I was…pretty drunk. Didn’t mean to evict you. Or—”

“You didn’t,” Jonah said. “I don’t sleep in the bed. I haven’t in about four months.”

I blinked. “Um, okay, I’ll bite. Where do you sleep?”

He nodded his head toward the living room area behind me. “In the recliner. My doctor wants me to sleep semi-inclined. For better breathing. It’s not a big deal,” he added quickly.

I frowned. It sounded like a big f*cking deal. What would happen if he slept lying down? He’d stop breathing? I couldn’t ask that, so instead I said, “Is that…comfortable?”

“It’s just another adjustment.”

“Why don’t you buy one of those fancy beds? Where you can raise the head?”

“Not in the budget,” Jonah said and a sour look contorted his face. He bent forward, hands on the counter, his head hanging between his arms.

My heart jump-started. “Jonah?” Every muscle in my body tensed. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he said to the floor, sucking in draughts of air. “Just nauseated.”

“Do you want some water?” I was already off the stool and rummaging his cabinet for a glass. I filled it halfway from the faucet and pressed it into his hand.

He unbent himself and drank a little. “Thanks,” he said. “It’s passed.”

I could smell his aftershave—clean and masculine. The memory of his skin under my mouth made my knees tremble. I slipped back to my stool, cheeks burning.

Jonah took a last, deep breath and set the water aside. “Thanks again.”

“Does that happen a lot?” I asked. “When you take those pills?”

He nodded. “They’re immunosuppressants. They prevent my body from rejecting the heart, but their side-effects aren’t fun.”

I tried to think up something better to say, something comforting, or something funny to make him laugh, but all I could think of was that I was sorry he had to suffer this at all.

From outside, the car horn blared again.

“My brother, the epitome of patience,” Jonah said. “See you in few.”

He was at the door, turning the knob. In another few seconds he’d be gone and I still had unfinished business. I mustered my courage. “Jonah?”

He stopped, turned. “Yeah?”

“…I’m sorry about last night.”

He stiffened. “It’s fine. No big deal.”

I wet my lips that had gone dry, and slipped off the stool, moving to stand behind the couch, a barricade.

“No, it is a big deal. To me. I’m really sorry that I tried to… It’s not a sex thing.” I plucked at a piece of non-existent lint on the upholstery. “Okay, it’s a little bit of a sex thing. Who doesn’t like sex, right?” I laughed weakly, then coughed. “But mostly it’s just the comfort. The afterward. Being held by a man while I sleep. I’m sure that sounds pathetic but it’s what I like, and I’m sorry I tried to do that to you. You’re more than that.”

Jonah shook his head, his expression pained. “I can’t be more than that, Kacey.”

“No, I meant, you’re a friend. Or maybe we could be friends. If you want. And that’s all I want. Honest, I can’t be with anyone right now even if I wanted to. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a mess.”

“You’re no more a mess than anyone else,” he said in a low voice.

My chest tightened, pushing tears to my eyes. “Thank you for saying that, even though it doesn’t feel true.”

He smiled, and while it wasn’t the mega-watt smile that lit up his whole face and thrilled me, it was warm and kind. And comforting.

“I really gotta go,” he said. “I’m late.”

“Thanks,” I said as he opened the front door. “For the coffee and letting me stay here. Thanks for all of it. I mean it.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. “I mean it too.”





Theo’s black Chevy Silverado was idling on the curb. “About damn time,” my brother said, scowling as I got in. “That chick is already throwing you off.”

“It wasn’t her,” I said. “It was the damn Gengraf.”

“Nausea?” Theo said, his tone instantly morphing from anger to concern. “You okay?”

I shot him a look. “That chick got me some water and I felt better.”

Theo snorted. His eyes gave me a final once over, then he maneuvered his truck through the light Sunday morning traffic toward the glass studio. I watched North Las Vegas go by my window—strip malls and gas stations, apartment complexes smaller and older than mine—but my thoughts were on Kacey’s apology.