Jimmy winced, rubbing his ear. “For Christ’s sake, use your inside voice.”
“This is a great show.” Two of the show’s lovers were chatting, decked out in the usual glorious English-gentry-type gear. Awesome. “And particularly pertinent to our situation, I think.”
“Huh?” Lip curled, he stared at the screen, distinctly unimpressed by the splendor. Plebian.
“It’s all about life in a turn-of-the-century noble house in England.”
“Yeah. The castle and what they’re wearing kind of gave it away.”
“Aren’t the dresses beautiful?” I hugged my cushion happily. I’d live and die in jeans, but it was nice to dream. “See, there are the wealthy lords and ladies who have everything and their servants, who have zilch and have to run around after the lords and ladies, catering to their every whim with barely a thank you all day long. I mean, they’re basically treated like second-class citizens and completely taken for granted by their bosses. Isn’t that barbaric?”
My irony-laden comment garnered a lone grunt. Though to be fair, he could put a lot of emotion into a grunt, quite a variation of tone and character. The way Jimmy did it, it was almost a sentence, a story. He turned being a caveman into an art form.
“And that’s Lady Mary.” I pointed at the screen. “She says all sorts of horrible things that she doesn’t mean, always hiding behind this snotty, rude persona. When really underneath she’s got a tender warm heart and a conscience just like everyone else. Doesn’t that sound similar to someone we know?”
“You talk a lot.” He yawned. “We watching this or what?”
“You’ll watch this with me?”
“It’s kind of nice having the company.” He kept his eyes on the screen. I thought I detected a hint of somber to his voice. Perhaps Ev had been right and he was lonely. Often the guys were coming and going during the day, but with Mal spending some time in Idaho with his family, the band was on a break. Jimmy had been more fidgety than normal, at a loss for what to do with himself. Even normally, however, nighttimes were quiet in the big house.
“Yeah, it is,” I said.
We sat in silence for a while, both of us studying the screen. Well, with the exception of me occasionally slyly studying him. I’d be an expert in covert relations by the time I finally left Portland.
He’d shoved his hands back behind his head, face relaxed and eyes open. Interestingly enough, he apparently got caught up in the period drama. Went to show you shouldn’t judge people. It was nice—companionable—sitting there with him as opposed to hanging alone in my room. I’d have to do it more often. For his sake of course.
“Sure you don’t want to call David?” I asked.
The edge of his mouth turned downward. “I can put the game back on real easy if you like.”
“None of my business, you’re right. Let’s just enjoy the show in silence, shall we?”
“Let’s,” he said in his deep voice.
# # #
Four days later …
“Lena, you seen my old black Led Zep shirt?”
“Nope.”
“You sure?” His brows became one dark cranky line. The scratches on his face were healing well, thank goodness. Though it didn’t reduce my desire to throttle his mother on a daily basis.
“Yes. I haven’t seen it.”
“Can’t find it anywhere…”
“And this is a surprise, how?” I slipped my hands into my back jean’s pockets. “Jimmy, you own more clothing than Cher, Brittney, and Elvis, put together. Things are bound to go missing.”
“Sure you haven’t seen it?”
“For goodness sake, what do you think, Jimmy? That I stole it to sleep in or something?” I laughed bitterly. Sure as hell, the truth deserved a good mocking. I’d sunk so despicably low.
I hadn’t even meant to steal the stupid thing, but the shirt had been mixed up with my laundry a few days ago. It’d been the first top I laid my hand on after stepping out of the shower, ready to go to bed. Without thought, I’d put it on and it’d been so soft, the scent of him lingering beneath the laundry detergent. Every night since, I’d found myself in it come bedtime. My shame knew no limits. And no, I still hadn’t quit. The words still hadn’t come even close to leaving my mouth.
He frowned. “No.”
“That I have some deep secret longing to feel close to you resulting in my stealing your shirt like some creepy perv?”
“Course I don’t fucking think that,” he replied crankily, reaching up to grip the top of the doorframe. All of his bulging muscles stretched the arms of his white T-shirt in the nicest way. It was all I could do not to start drooling, my heart beat taking up residence somewhere down between my thighs. And who could blame it? Not me. Maybe if I got laid, this would go away and things would return to normal. It’d seemed safer to avoid rubbing up against any men just in case I got carried away and started dating again. This new situation, however, changed everything.
“Well, of course not! That would be crazy.” And wasn’t that the god’s honest truth? Cray-zeee. Lock me up and throw away the key because it wasn’t like I didn’t know better.
“Just can’t figure out where the hell it could be.”
Angels couldn’t have smiled as innocently. They might have tried, but they would have failed, the dirty-mouthed, winged, little liars. “Jimmy, I don’t know where it is. But I’ll look around for it later, okay?”
“Yeah,” he said, and then added as an afterthought, “and stop looking at me weird.”
“I’m not!”
# # #
Six days later …
“No, c’mon,” he cried. “I saw that. That was a look.”
“What?”
“You looked at me.” His pointy threatening finger sat beneath my nose.
I smacked it away. “I’m not allowed to look at you? Really? Is this like one of those strange directives you hear about famous people having? No one’s allowed to talk to you or look at you, and there must be bowls of chocolate pudding everywhere you go from now on?”
His eyes narrowed.
I might have felt a smidgeon of guilt deep down inside. But this was about survival, I had no choice.
“I’m not on anything and I’m not gonna flip out again,” he muttered.
“I know that.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“So then it’s not me, it’s you.”
Sirens and alarm bells rang inside my head. “What are you even talking about?”
“Deny it all you want, but I’m right. Something’s going on with you,” he said in a low voice. “I don’t know what the fuck it is. And I don’t want to know. I just want it to stop. Got it?’
“Jimmy, seriously, nothing’s going on.” I wound up my long hair and tied it into a loose knot, keeping my hands busy less their shakiness betray my guilt, the bastards. “And have you called David back yet? He called again. I’m getting tired of making excuses for you.”
“I’ve been busy.” He turned his back on me, staring out the window. “And I pay you to make excuses for me.”
“I think I’m going to start charging you extra for lies. Someone needs to pay for the stain on my soul.”
No reply. His broad shoulders seem to be bent beneath some weight, his spine bowed. Not good. This was a mood I apparently couldn’t joke him out of.
“You know you’ve been really tense lately,” I said. “Why don’t I book you a massage? Wouldn’t that be nice? And then afterward, we could chill out and watch some TV.”
He watched me over his shoulder, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “Sure, sounds good. I’m going for another jog.”
“It’s raining.”
“I won’t melt.” Without further ado he left, disappearing into the hallway. He was right of course, something was going on with me. What was going on with him and his brother concerned me much more.
# # #
Seven days later …