Breathless - Jesse Book 1 (4 page)

Jesse

“Hey, man. We need to talk.” Jimmy handed me a Coors Light. I was watching a motocross race on ESPN on his flat screen.
Shit
. The tone of his voice didn’t sound good. I knew I had fucked up, but come on, give me a break.

“Yup. Whassup?” I said, keeping my stare at the TV.

Jimmy sat on the edge of the chair next to the couch, resting his elbows on his knees. He seemed pissed that I wasn’t paying attention to him.

“Shut that fucking thing off.” I shot the remote at the TV and the screen went black. “Listen to me, man.” The timber in his voice rose up a level. I tossed the remote aside and flung my head back against the couch.

“So…”

“You fucked up again the other night with that chick outside the bar and all...look, I was thinking. Since you're not going back to racing any time soon, I was sort of discussing with Sarah that maybe it would be good for you with a change of scenery.”

I stared at the ceiling, searching for something to say. I was dead inside. My life was tearing apart all around me. I had nothing to say. I knew he was right, but I didn’t want to deal with this shit right now.

“I think you should go on a trip for a few months. Get your shit together, get a new perspective on things, you know. I was thinking, maybe you could go to California and help Uncle Kenny. I talked to him...”

“What? You called Uncle Kenny? I’m not a fucking charity case.”

“It would only be for a while, maybe the summer. He could use some help. You owe him Jesse, and besides, I can’t have you around the house here all summer. Sarah’s mood swings are crazy because of her pregnancy and I’m caught in the middle between you two. I’ve got a baby coming. I can’t ...”

“Go ahead and say it, Jimmy, you can’t have a drunk around the baby.”

 
I closed my eyes and pursed my lips. My own brother was kicking me out.

“That’s not what I meant,” he growled. A moment of silence hung in the air and then his expression softened. “Kenny said he could use some help getting his new bar off the ground. Just call him, will you?” he pleaded.

“Fuck you.”

Jimmy furrowed his brow in anger. I was in the habit of pissing off people these days and he was no different.

“Aaargh! You’re such an asshole, Jesse.” He jumped to his feet and paced the room, as he raged on. “With the baby coming, I need to make sergeant this year and I can’t do that with you fucking things up. If you stay here in Thunder Ridge, it’s just a matter of time before another night like the other… One more fight, Jesse and I’ll be arresting
you
. One more girl and before you know it, someone’s pressing charges, serious charges, like assault. You had better get your shit together, man, that's all I have to say.”

“Oh, I know.” I let out a breath. “It’s always the same thing with you, isn’t it? Perfect Jimmy the cop. Always doing the right thing. The big hero of the family. The good guy, right? Well, I’m not as perfect as you are. I know I’m the black sheep and you want me the hell out of your life. You’re so fucking afraid I’m going to destroy your career, that you can’t even stand by your own blood.”

“That’s not true and you know it.” He pushed his hand through his hair. “I just want you to grow the fuck up and stop being such a dickhead all the time. Go help Uncle Kenny, get some Cali sun and come home when training for next season starts.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, and then let it fall limply to his side. Arguing with him was hopeless. He had already made his decision. His back was to me as he was about to walk out of the room.

“You’ve got two weeks to pack your shit and get out.” He exhaled and walked out. I hung my head down to my chest, the beer can sat untouched on the coffee table in front of the couch.

Deep down, I knew Jimmy was right. I was a fuck up and I owed Uncle Kenny. I couldn’t blame Jimmy for his bossy behavior towards me. It wasn’t his fault, really. He had to take over as a father role back when dad died. He was only a damn kid himself, robbed and deprived of his childhood, forced to fill the shoes of a grown man much too early in life. And Uncle Kenny, he stepped up when dad died and helped too. Hell, what else could he do, it was his only brother who had died and he felt responsible to care for us and mom. He brought us bags of groceries when mom couldn’t manage. He paid our electric bill to get the lights turned back on when mom didn’t have enough money. He showed us how to ride motorcycles and how to handle a wrench to fix our bikes.

 
Uncle Kenny helped out for about a year after dad’s death, as far as I could remember. Hell, I was only eight at the time. Jimmy remembers more than I do. Uncle Kenny taught us to race motocross. If it wasn’t for him I would never had gotten into racing. We even built a dirt track on our acreage with tight turns and berms. Life was great up until…that day he was no longer there. Didn’t even say good-bye, just left us and that’s when mom got depressed, kept to herself most of the time after that. But still, if it wasn’t for Uncle Kenny helping after dad died, we would have ended up in foster care, or worse.

*~*~*

It was the end of May and I had better get the hell out of Jimmy’s house before he blew a gasket. I had decided to take Uncle Kenny up on his offer to stay with him out in California, but only for the summer. Despite all the great things I’d heard about California, the sun, the sand, the beach, I didn’t look forward to LA girls, or LA guys for that matter. From what I gathered, the entertainment capital of the world created superficial people. Shallow chicks obsessed with their fifteen minutes of fame and a desire to spend someone else's money. And egocentric, hollow guys who never saw the world beyond the tip of their nose. To me they were all just bitches with too much drama for my liking.

My trusted pickup truck was loaded with all my shit, well, the important stuff I needed for one summer. By my estimations, I was in for a five day drive. I didn’t mind, driving calmed my nerves and besides, I needed my own wheels once I got there. I didn’t want to put out Uncle Kenny any more than necessary. I’m not that much of a jerk. He was doing me a solid, giving me a place to stay and a job.

I sat in the driveway ready to take off, Jimmy and his wife waving. It was the big fake farewell scene and everyone made me promise to call, or at least text. I looked down at my left hand loosely gripping the steering wheel. I squeezed as tight as I could, but the stiffness remained from the accident. Damn, not a good grip.

“The recovery could take up to nine months,” the doc had said.

What the fuck was I going to do with myself for nine months if I couldn’t race or even train? This was such BS. All my training and sacrifice just flew out the window that day when I crashed. One maneuver on the bike that I had done millions of times suddenly went wrong.

My heart sank. There was nothing left to do but put the truck in reverse and leave. Who knew, maybe Jimmy was right. Maybe a change of scenery would help. I sure as hell doubted it.

Jesse

Most of the first day on my road trip to California, I brooded about my life. Driving soothed my soul. Watching bikers passing by brought back memories riding my bike out in the open, the wind blowing past my body, I was invincible. It made me feel alive. Riding was my passion, my fire, my life.
Damn
. The thought of losing it all clenched at my gut like a vice grip. What if I never gained back the full function of my hand? What if I could never race in competition again? Maybe I should just break out the rocking chair now and reminisce on the career that was. Maybe that was how my book ended, washed up, pissed off and not handling it well.
Fuck that shit
. I refused to accept it but that’s how I had spent most of my days lately.

I cranked up the radio and blasted my favorite rock station, the harder the better. If I couldn’t drown my sorrows with booze while driving, I was hell bent on numbing myself with music. Later, when the familiar radio stations faded and radio static was eroding my eardrums, I hooked up my iPod, leaning back in my seat, and drummed my fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of a familiar song. The tires of my truck ate up the gray ribbon of pavement as the first day faded into the next.

Two days later, this driving cross country shit no longer seemed like such a good idea. I was just outside Denver, Colorado, on Interstate 70. My plan was to make it into Denver and find a room for the night. Fuck it. My ass was numb. I couldn’t take one more minute in this truck. I pulled off the Interstate in Bennett, Colorado, into a gas station and used my cell phone to Google a cheap motel for the night. Bennett looked like a nice town, one with good neighbors, people who cared about each other, the kind of hometown that was remembered with nostalgia by those who had left it behind.

I swiped my finger across the screen and “bingo” I’d found a motel. After filling up the tank, I disposed of the many empty potato chip bags and beef jerky wrappers that had littered my truck. It was a short drive to the motel. I nosed into the parking space in front of a dismal building and a glowing red neon sign in the window of the adjacent storefront caught my eye, “The Corner Pocket.”
Hell yeah!
This looked like a good place to get a beer and it was right next door.

I stepped out of my truck, my body stiff from the drive and I walked like an old man into the office to check in. Old motorcycle injuries have a way of messing with your muscles like that.
Fuck
. I couldn’t wait to feel the cool brew sliding down my throat along with a chaser or two, or four, or maybe more of Jack. I got the room key but didn’t even bother putting my bag inside, or moving my truck. I headed straight for the bar. I figured they had a burger on the menu to go with my liquid dinner of booze.

It was late when I walked into the dim light of the Corner Pocket. A few locals sat hunched over the bar, nursing their beers. A dreary country song was playing and the piped in music was only interrupted by the click of pool balls in the back. A guy in cowboy boots and a girl in a white tank-top and cut-off jean shorts played a slow game on the tattered green velvet.

I slid up to the bar and raised a finger to signal the bartender. He yelled to a girl at the other end of the bar, “Holly, customer.” I rubbed my face with the heel of my hands, tired from driving. A cute, young woman with long brown hair and bangs that fell in her eyes ambled over to where I sat.

“What’ll it be?” she asked with her pouty lips. She stared blankly, a few strands of her bangs catching in her eyelashes. She sure as hell didn’t looked thrilled to be working in this dive. She tossed her head to move the hair out of her eyes, while her hands were busy finding a beer glass.

“Just give me whatever’s on tap and a Jack Daniels chaser.”

She walked down to the tap to fill the glass. Her plump, jean covered ass twitched, as it trailed away. My eyes followed, like a tracking device. I liked her ass. It came with nice round tits that busted out of her shirt and a not too tiny waist under that loose top. That was the kind of ass a guy could grab on to. She leaned forward, and slapped my beer on the sticky bar in front of me, dripping a puddle around it.

Nice rack.

She held up the shot glass for my chaser and wiggled it in the air. “Neat?”

I nodded and she poured. I downed the Jack first, and then drained half then beer in one gulp. I tapped the rim of the empty shot glass for another, watching Holly drag her teeth over her lower lip. After she poured my second Jack, she leaned forward on her elbows and looked me up and down. Her eyes stopped at my tat. Only part of it was exposed, creeping out from under the sleeve of my T-shirt.

“What's that say?” She cocked her head sideways to read the tat crawling up my arm.

I cut a glance down to my bicep. I reached my left hand across my chest and pushed up the edge of my sleeve enough to expose the entire caption and said, “Carpe Diem.”

We both said, “Seize the day” at the exact same time. She laughed and broke a smile.

“Whatcha doing in town? Staying at the motel?” She batted her long eyelashes as she talked and reached down to run a glass through the washing station just under the bar top.

“It’s that obvious?” I crossed my arms and leaned on the bar.

“Yup. I can tell outsiders. You have that ‘just passing through’ look about you.”

I snorted and shook my head. “Yeah, you got me pegged.” I shoved my hand through my hair. It never stayed in place. It was always falling down in my eyes. I should cut it, but I don’t give a damn. I blew out a long breath.

My golden brown, liquid friend Jack was melting away the day's tension. It felt good to relax after all the driving and the stress of being on the road. My beer glass was empty by now. She eyed it like she could read my mind. She didn’t need to ask, but I answered, “Just keep ‘em coming.” She twitched away again to refill my beer and I slouched into the back of the tall bar stool until she returned with my drink.

“Thanks. You got a cheese burger on that food menu?”

“Sure do. A nice juicy half-pounder.”

“That sounds perfect…um, Holly?” She batted her long lashes again, their dark length flicking at a wisp of her bangs. That was hot. I felt a twitch in my groin. A little smile quivered at the corner of her mouth and it twitched again.

“Yep, I’m Holly. What’s your name, hun?” She stood poised with one hand on her hip and pushed a coaster at me for my weeping beer glass, then turned to put in my order.

“Jesse and I’m from...”

“No, wait. Don’t tell me. Let me guess. I’m pretty good at guessing where people are from.” She scoped me out with a sidelong glance. She rose up on her tippy toes for a minute to peer over the bar to get a good look at my clothes and well, my body. I could see her eyes stall at my chest and upper arms. I glanced down at my torso, then back at her. She settled her weight back into her heels, coming down off her toes and her tits jiggled.
Nice
. Shit, she’d already eyed my tat, now she was eye fucking me up and down. This could be promising. She opened her mouth to talk but I cut in.

“Wait, Holly. Let’s make this interesting. Me and you, and my old friend Jack are gonna play a game. You guess where I’m from and if you’re wrong, you take a shot. You get three guesses and every time you are wrong, you gotta take a shot. If you guess right, I have to take all remaining shots. Deal?” I smiled a cocky smile and crossed my arms across my chest.

She pursed her lips, looked up to the left and twisted her mouth to the side, pulling in her bottom lip. “Hmm. It’s time for my shift to end, but okay, hun. I’m game.” She reached under the bar and slammed a clean, empty shot glass on the bar in between both of us.

“Uh, uh girl. Three. You get three guesses. That’d be three glasses, baby.” She rolled her eyes and huffed, before dragging two more shot glasses from the wash area under the bar. She pushed them into a neat row and looked up at me.

“Fill ‘em.” I ordered and raised my eyebrows. She responded to the teasing twinkle in my eyes with a “come on” look, and she filled all three with Jack Daniels. She leaned her weight into her elbows on the bar, screwing up her face like she was thinking hard.

“You know you’re gonna lose. I’m pretty fucking good at this.” She smiled.

“Bring it.” I sat back and waited for her guess.

“You are from...” she paused, her eyes searched the ceiling. “...Alaska.”

“Hell no. Do I look like a fucking Eskimo?” I chuckled.

I got this.

She dropped her head forward until her forehead almost touched the bar, laughing and her long brown hair fell down, pooling on the shiny black surface of the bar. I threw my hands up and laughed with her then slapped my palm down on the bar in front of the row of shots. “You gotta drink. “ I kept pounding my hand on the surface as I chanted, “Drink, drink, drink. Go on now. You lost, take your punishment.” I egged her on. I wanted to watch her take the shot. I wanted to see her toss her head back with her mouth open and her neck exposed, as her long soft hair fell down her back. I felt a tug in my loin.
Come on baby, just do it already.

She flipped her hair out of her face as he straightened up from her fit of laughter and tried to settle herself.

 
“Okay, okay. I got this. You won the first round. But I’m only doing this because I like your tattoo.” She reached for the glass at the end of the three, neatly lined up in a row and held it up in a salute. “Carpe Diem.”

I grabbed one of the shots and held it up. “Carpe Diem,” I said, and locked my eyes on her as she tossed her head back and my fantasy was born. It was as beautiful as I had imagined. I wanted my mouth on her neck. I wanted to run my tongue up the length of her soft skin and fill my mouth with her pouty lips.
Damn
. I hoped she would never guess where I was from.

I threw back my shot, quickly, before she could catch me staring and adjusted myself in my jeans under the bar. She sputtered and coughed from the burn, fanning her face with her open fingered hands. It was more of a gesture than the need for air. She took the shot like an expert. My mind wandered. What else could she take like an expert?
Fuck
. I had to adjust myself again.

She sucked in her lower lip, “Whew. That burned. But in a good way.”

She threw the used glass into the wash area, then turned back and planted both hands on the bar. “Okay Jesse. You’re one for three. Let’s go again. I get another try.”

“I thought you were good at this,” I snickered. I wasn’t sure if she was losing on purpose to keep drinking with me. “Okay, guess again. Wait, do you want a hint?”

“No, no.” She bounced up and down, waving me away. I watched as the flesh of her tilts moved with her. “I don’t need a hint. I can get this. I’m good at this. I’ve worked here for a long time....since...damn, since eleven o'clock this morning. Fuck, I work too much.” She giggled as the alcohol worked its way into her bloodstream.

“Uh, am I keeping you from your work?”

“Hell no. I was off half an hour ago. We’re just partying together now, sugar. Just you and me.”

“Well then, let’s get to partying. Come on now, make another guess.” She pushed off the bar and straighten up as if that would help her think.

“Okay. Here goes. You are from...wait, let me hear your accent again.”

I pulled back and furrowed my brow. “What the hell? I don’t have an accent,
you
have an accent. Shit. Ya’ll.”

“Come on, come on, say, the word, car.”

“Ca-a-a.”

She giggled.

“Say the word, bar-r-r.”

“Ba-a-a.” She reeled back on her heels in giggles.

“Car-r-r-r. Bar-r-r-r-.” she enunciated and drew out the sound of the last letter. “There is an “r” on the end of those words. You have to be from the East coast, like New York?”

“Nope,” I lied. I wanted her to take another shot and show me that long tempting neck again. She looked puzzled and stared me dead in the eyes.