“Kyle…” Jessie trails off.
“Will kill me if he finds out.”
“And then probably kill me also,” she says.
“So what, then?” For a moment, I sit in silence and ask myself what the Bad Boy would do – but I don’t like the answer. He’d break this off, walk away, find some new tail to chase. But for some reason, that’s not what I want right now. What I want is…Jessie. So I take a deep breath and say what I’m really thinking.
“I guess we could just try and keep this a secret? Let it run its course?”
She shrugs. “It’s a plan. A stupid, na?ve, and crazy one – but it’s a plan.” Jessie looks at me, unconvinced. “Or you know…we could…just stop. Nip this in the bud before it gets even more out of hand.”
“We probably should,” I say, suddenly finding the way Jessie’s hair falls over her eyes incredibly sexy. Leaning in so slowly I barely notice myself.
“It would be the smart thing to do,” Jessie says, her hand on my thigh moving higher.
“Definitely,” I say, a second before our lips come together.
As I roll her onto her back and nip at her ear, then her neck, drawing soft moans out of her as I move my lips down to her collarbone, I wonder just how strong this treehouse really is…because I think it’s time to make a new memory in here.
Being a bad boy never felt so good.
13
Jessie
Thursdays at Cassie’s has been a tradition forever. It’s gone through a number of iterations, from a TV show night, to a book club, to a short-lived crocheting circle to a support group for whoever needs it.
The ingredients are simple: Me, Lorelei, Stephanie, Cassie, raw cookie dough (or some other treat), a few margaritas, a board game (sometimes), and no-holds barred conversation. What happens on Thursdays at Cassie’s, stays there. And even with my long hours working on TV shows, they still welcome me with open arms regardless of the fact I’m always late.
Tonight I get there later than usual, and in a bad mood to boot. After joining them in the living room – Stephanie standing on the balcony smoking her e-cigarette – I slump onto the couch and immediately grab the tub of cookie dough from Lorelei beside me and start stuffing my face. There’s a Scrabble board on the table, half-filled, and I realize how well I know each of them when I can almost tell which word was placed by who.
“Bad day?” Stephanie says from beyond the sliding glass door. She’s a fashion designer, though a quick glance could tell you that. She’s incredibly tall, incredibly slim, incredibly androgynous, and is fueled by e-cigarettes, sparkling water, and impeccable taste.
“Uh-huh,” I nod, as I swallow down the far-too-large mouthful.
“What happened?” Cassie says, sitting cross-legged on the other side of the coffee table, Scrabble rack in one hand, margarita glass in the other. She’s blonde, wears thick-rimmed glasses in a varying range of colors, and quit her job last year to create a start-up that’s about to go global. She’s probably the smartest person I know – smart enough to make most people envious if she wasn’t also one of the kindest.
“I went to the bank,” I say through a mouth sticky with sweet stuff.
“That’ll make anyone’s day bad,” Lorelei says, putting down some tiles.
“No. I went there to ask for a loan.”
“Money problems?” Stephanie asks, tucking her e-cig into her purse and coming inside. “I could help you some.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s to buy a house.” I shovel another spoonful into my mouth and pass the tub back to Lorelei, though her face is blank with shock. I look around at my friends, all of them silent and gape-mouthed.
“A house?”
“What?!”
“When did you decide to do that?”
I shrug, feeling defeated. “I saw my old home, the one I grew up in, for sale. It’s such a beautiful place, and I always thought I’d be there forever. It even has a treehouse. It needs a little work but…I don’t know.”
“So…” Lorelei says, still confused, “you went to the bank for a mortgage?”
“Yeah,” I nod, taking the margarita that Stephanie hands me, “and was rejected quicker than it took me to drive there.”
“Why?” Cassie asks.
“Yeah: why? You work really hard, you have a savings account, a pretty steady gig, so what’s the problem?” Lorelei adds.
I sigh deeply before speaking.
“They said my employment was ‘too unstable.’ Since my contracts only last as long as the seasons, and the show could be cancelled at any moment, I’m too much of a ‘liability.’”
“What bullshit,” Stephanie drawls. “You always find another show!”
“It was probably a stupid idea, anyway,” I say. “It’s just…that house is so perfect. I’d hate to see it bought by someone that didn’t love it.” I think about what Nate said and shudder. “Or even worse, destroyed it and put up another ugly, soulless mansion instead.”