“Whatever you want Jackie-boy,” she replied with the hoarse voice of a woman who’d smoked way too much for way too many years.
“So,” Jack started, planting himself in the booth across from me. The light was harsh, but dim, like the owners had gone for the cheapest lighting possible, but not enough of it to save on bills. Still, I could make out his eyes glistening with energy, his chiselled cheekbones just lightly grazed with Oliver’s blood. I tried to resist. I really did. But there was no way. My heart rate rose, my breath caught in my throat when I looked at him, and I felt an electricity stopping me from breaking eye contact with my brother.
“What were you doing to get yourself caught up with Oliver Ryan?”
“Going to class. He sat down next to me, a few days later asked me out. I turned him down, today he was asking what I was talking about and I told him to fuck off, slightly more politely than that. Then I guess he followed me and wanted me to learn my lesson for disrespecting him. That’s seriously it.”
“I’m not surprised. The guy’s known to be a douchebag. I’m surprised he actually attacked you though. If just blowing him off was enough to set him off, he’s not going to last very long before getting himself arrested. Usually he’s going out with a girl for a while before getting punchy.”
It was strange, watching Jack talk about Oliver so casually. He obviously knew so much about the guy and I wondered about Jack’s weird bad-boy life.
“Well, he was just going at me about how awful I was, I might have told him he was a piece of shit that couldn’t take no as an answer.”
Jack grinned, and it was weird. He was actually smiling at me, like I was another human being!
“That would do it. Nice work, sis.”
There is was again. Sis. And yet somehow, this time it felt different. The way he said it, it was almost like he meant that we were a team. That was crazy though. We weren’t. We hated each other.
My thoughts were interrupted by the woman I assumed to be Rosa coming over, somehow managing to balance two glasses of beer, two shot glasses, and a third glass filled with ice, along with a tea towel.
“Anything else Jackie?” she asked him sweetly, also shooting me a smile. In her forties, at least, I imagined this was the owner, or at least someone who had worked here for years and years.
Jack pulled out his wallet and handed her a 100 pound note.
“That’s all, Rosa. Thanks. The ice is for the beer.”
“Of course it is, doll. What else?” she added with a wink, pocketing the note.
I watched this exchange in silence. I grew up in New York City, I had seen some shady stuff go down in my teenage years, but never this close to me. Never with someone who was going to be my brother, officially, in a few months.
She waddled off, and Jack turned back to me.
“Drink,” he ordered, motioning to the shots. I had never had a shot of whiskey before, but Jack was right. This was what I needed.
I took the glass, was careful not to check how clean it was, and knocked back the shot. It burned my throat. Bad. I thought I was going to puke, but instead grabbed the beer and gulped down as much as I could to dull the taste of the whiskey.
It did almost nothing. My throat was still completely on fire.
I looked across the booth at Jack, who had downed his drink like it was nothing, and was now staring at me with an amused expression on his face.
“First shot of whiskey?” he asked, and I nodded.
“It gets easier. You needed it though. And you don’t want to try the vodka here, it’s terrible.”
He was right about needing the alcohol, though. A couple minutes later I started to feel more like myself again.
“I haven’t thanked you for coming to save me.”
“No problem. I heard you call out, and when I saw Oliver I knew what was going to happen. About time someone put that guy in his place.”
“Why were you there in the first place?” I asked.
“Believe it or not, I actually do go to class, occasionally. I just happened to be late today.”
“Sorry. I don’t mean to be peppering you with questions.”
“That’s fine,” Jack replied, wrapping most of the ice from the glass in the tea towel and putting it on his swollen knuckles.
I downed the rest of my beer.
“Listen, I gotta go, ok? Michael’s going to be meeting me soon to take me home.”
“That’s fine. Try not to piss off any violent abusers on your way home, ok?”
“Ha-ha,” I replied as I got out of the booth and left. I walked back to where Michael was already sitting, waiting for me. The whole way I was wondering about Jack. He had saved me. Why? He hated me. It was obvious. Then when I told him what I told Oliver, he seemed happy about it. Was he impressed? No, it couldn’t be that. There was no way. The guy hated me, and I hated him.
So why did this feel so confusing?
“How’d the day go?” Michael asked as I approached the car.
“Well, it sure wasn’t what I expected when I left the house this morning,” I answered, sinking into the back seat. Little did I know it was far from over.
Chapter Seventeen