The Harder You Fall

Oops.

“—going to have a pity party, invitation one, if yesterday’s brownies...and this morning’s cupcakes...ruin my wedding gown,” Harlow finished.

Jessie Kay barely paid attention to her friend, mumbling, “You’re getting married this freaking weekend. The only thing you need to worry about is the death of your dating life.”

“Before Beck, I had no dating life. My scars—”

“Are hideous. We know, you’ve told us.” She watched as West jumped back into the fray, slamming his big, delicious body into the guy who had his ball. “We love you, anyway.”

When the final buzzer sounded, the Goal Scouts won four to zero.

Her takeaway? Mercy didn’t exist in soccer.

Knowing the boys had to shower and change, she and the girls made their way to the lobby to wait. The Ball Busters emerged first, each man making an obvious point to avoid her gaze as he passed her.

Had she become total dog food since the game kicked off?

“Jase,” Brook Lynn squealed, rushing over when her fiancé stepped into the room, his hair damp and his skin scrubbed clean. “You were freaking awesome.”

He winked at her. “You know I can’t help that.”

“Hey. That’s my line.” Beck shouldered his way past his friend to get to Harlow. “We’re going out to celebrate our victory. Tell me you’re coming with us, love, or you’ll break the heart you resurrected.”

Harlow smiled sweetly at him. “Are you paying?”

Sweat beaded on Jessie Kay’s palms as West moved into view, his gaze hard and steady on the exit, as if he couldn’t wait to leave. He wore a black cashmere sweater and an old pair of jeans tucked into well-used combat boots. He was casual sophistication with a mule kick of dominant alpha, and he outshone every other man present.

“I’m not paying,” Beck said, and Harlow pouted. “But West is.”

Harlow—Jessie Kay’s ride—fist pumped.

West arched a dark brow. “I am?”

“Well, then, we’re definitely going.” Harlow nudged Jessie Kay with an elbow. “Right?”

A free meal? “Sure. Count me in.”

West motioned to the door with a clipped wave and she thought—hoped—he would put his hand on the small of her back to usher her forward. But as they walked to the parking lot, he maintained a steady distance between them. Of course, Jase decided to drive Brook Lynn’s car and Beck decided to drive Harlow’s, the two couples entering their respective vehicles and leaving Jessie Kay and West standing outside. Alone.

Wasn’t awkward at all.

He opened the passenger door for her. “Get in.”

Shocked by the gentlemanly gesture but not the bossy command, she slid inside the vehicle. And instantly regretted it. The air smelled like him, pure seduction and sweet caramel. Trembling, she buckled up and peered out the window, refusing to give in to the urge to watch his big hands molest the steering wheel.

“By the way,” he muttered, “you still owe me a sandwich.”

“It’s your word against mine.” Going for casual, she said, “So where are we headed?”

“A hamburger dive I’ve loved since I was a kid.”

“Wait. Hold everything. You were once a kid?” She gave a mock gasp, hand fluttering over her heart. “I’m sorry, but I demand proof.”

“Too bad. There’s none available.”

Please. “Surely there are pictures.”

“No.”

“Well, why the heck not? Did you destroy them? I bet you destroyed them. Didn’t think you looked handsome enough?”

Without any inflection of emotion, he said, “Actually, no one cared enough to take any.”

No. No, she refused to believe it. If he was potent now despite the shadows haunting his eyes and the tension that always radiated from him, he must have melted hearts as a child.

When she glanced over at him, however, her confidence withered. He kept his attention on the road, his posture stiff and his knuckles bleached of color. Just then, he was a man who’d revealed more than he liked.

He’d just told the truth, hadn’t he?

Wow. His own parents, however long he’d been with them—not to mention all those foster parents—hadn’t spared a few seconds out of their busy days to immortalize a moment of his childhood? How gut-wrenching. Wrong on every level.

Sadness for the little boy he’d been washed over her. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “Even if you’d looked like you were born downwind of an outhouse, I would have snapped a thousand photos of you. And then used those photos to blackmail you later, but my reasons are inconsequential.”

“Thank you?” He changed lanes to pass a minivan. “But it’s not like I have a monopoly on crappy childhoods.”

“In this car you do. I had a great one.”

“You sure about that? You were what, around thirteen when your dad died in an explosion at work? You were only seventeen when your mom drowned and your uncle showed up to save the day only to leave with the insurance money.”

She blinked over at him. The entire town knew her history—well, they thought they knew—so it wasn’t a big surprise West had the basic info. He was just the first person to ever state the facts so plainly. “I was a teenager in both instances, not a child. Big difference.”

“Not really. Pain is pain.”

“And don’t go thinking you know everything about me, either,” she added as if he hadn’t spoken. “There’s more to both stories. A lot more.”

“Do tell.”

And share her deepest, darkest secrets with the man who thought she’d been scraped off the bottom of a shoe? “No, thanks.” She had enough trouble with her past without adding his commentary.

Even now, she thought of her mom falling...because of me...her mom screaming, begging for help...because of me...and she wanted to bawl like a baby who’d lost her favorite blankie, hug Brook Lynn, apologize forever and, and, and—

As the panic attack knocked at the door of her mind, she forced her thoughts to fast-forward to her mother’s funeral, when she’d basically self-imploded. She’d gotten drunk for the very first time and given her virginity to the skeevy boy who lived down the street. The one who’d thought he was God’s gift to the entire town. The one who’d told all his friends she was easy.

From that point on, she had been.

She’d given no consideration to Brook Lynn’s care because she’d counted on Uncle Kurt to take care of everything. He’d promised. Only, like West had said, Kurt fled soon after collecting the insurance check. By then, Jessie Kay had been such a hot mess, the fifteen-year-old Brook Lynn had to pick up the slack, getting a job delivering papers, collecting donations from Strawberry Valley Community Church and doing everything within her power to keep two teenage girls together, fed, clothed and sheltered and, and, and—

Can’t breathe. Need to breathe.

A warm hand squeezed her knee, giving her the jolt necessary to focus on something other than the past.

“Jessie Kay?” The gentleness of West’s voice shocked her more than his touch.

Inhale, good. Exhale, better. “I’m fine. Really.” Or she would be. As soon as she reached her sister. Brook Lynn had a way of making everything A-okay.

“You sure about that?”

Convince, move on. She offered the brightest smile she could manage. “Are you okay? You actually seem concerned about my well-being.”

He yanked his hand away from her. “I don’t know if you’ve heard the rumors, but my heart is made of stone. Of course I’m not concerned.”

She remembered the look he’d given her during the soccer game and decided his heart wasn’t made of stone but of fire.

Not that she’d share her observation. But maybe she could get him to admit it.

“You were right. About my childhood. It was absolutely tragic.” Offering an exaggerated frown, she traced a fingertip down both of her checks to mimic tears. “You should feel sorry for me and be super nice to me from now on.”

He suddenly looked as if he was fighting a smile. “You know, upon further reflection, I’m certain my childhood was far worse than yours. You should feel sorry for me and do everything I tell you.”

Well, well. “Color me intrigued. What’s the first thing you’d tell me to do?”

He glanced at her, proving her theory: he burned.

“I’d want you—”

She shivered and—

“—to tell me more about your childhood.”

Withered in her seat. “What do you want to know?”

“What did you want to be when you grew up?”

Polite interest? Or was he actually curious? “You’ll laugh.”

“Maybe. Probably.”

Had to respect his honesty. “Mostly I wanted to be that crazy cat lady.”

He choked on a breath. “An old woman who wears rollers and a robe, and has a hundred cats prowling through her house?”

“Exactly. I wanted a cat but Dad was allergic. Once a month Mom drove me to the shelter where I got to pet a roomful of strays. The employees used to joke about that crazy cat lady who came in every few weeks to adopt a new one. I was so jealous of her.”

“That is...” He frowned. “Ridiculously adorable.”

He sounded surprised. “What about you? What did you want to be?”

“Sorry, but we’re not done with you. When you realized crazy cat lady wouldn’t pay the bills, what’d you want to do?”

“Become a high school teacher.”

“Subject?”

“English.”

He wiggled his brows. “How do you come on to a high school English teacher?”

Her brow furrowed. “Uh...how?”

“Over? Under? To? Around? Outside?”

She snickered. “You preposition her.” Silly man.

Sexy man.

“Now I have to know your childhood dream,” she said. “Tell me!”

“I had big plans, was going to be the youngest, hottest cop on the force.”

A puzzle piece clicked into place. “Had fantasies about taking down bad guys, did you?” Made sense, considering some of the hellholes he must have lived in.

“Something like that.”

“Now you create video games that allow you to defeat every kind of bad guy imaginable, so in a way, you’ve achieved your dream.”

“That’s true.” A sizzling pause. “You’ve played my games?”

Caught! “Once or twice,” she admitted. For years she’d fought—and lost—an addiction to “Donkey Kong.” Barrels! The lady! Her dad taught her how to play, their special time together, and, well, winning became an obsession.

As soon as she’d learned of West’s accomplishments, she’d maybe kinda sorta rushed out to buy his greatest hits. “Alice in Zombieland.” “Lords of the Underworld.” “Angels of the Dark.” “Everlife.” Used, of course, because she couldn’t afford new.

“Evil is always afoot,” she added, “but the good guys always save the day.”

His frown returned, deepened. “Let’s listen to the radio.” He jacked up the volume.

Didn’t like her observations? “Giving you the silent treatment won’t be a problem,” she called over the music.

“Really? Because you’re still talking.”

“Oh, that wasn’t talking. This is.” For the rest of the drive, she chatted about nothing. Loudly. The weather, her love of donuts, the price of thongs—so little material should cost less!—and finally, her last gynecological exam.

They reached the diner just as she got to the part about the cold speculum. He parked in back and sighed with relief when she quieted.

Rather than waiting for him to open her door—would he? wouldn’t he?—she jumped out.

“Do you have to move like that?” West called as he emerged.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re in heat.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t like, don’t watch.”

“Impossible,” he might or might not have muttered.

What the heck!

The other couples were already inside, seated at a rickety table in back, next to a Christmas tree. Ugh. Christmas. Her least favorite holiday was only three and a half weeks away. She and Brook Lynn would have to celebrate—again—without their parents.

Hate the holidays!

Despite the holly-jolly decorations, Jessie Kay fell in love with the diner at first glance. The red vinyl booths and black-and-white-tiled floor charmed her. Though the mint-green walls were cracked and crumbling, and there were water stains on the ceiling, the flaws only added character. Life had happened here. And really, how could you complain about anything when the smell of hamburgers, bacon and chili dogs saturated the air?

Only two chairs were free at the table, and of course, they were right next to each other.

West pulled one out for her, his gentlemanly ways shocking her all over again.

“Thank you,” she muttered as she sat.

“You’re welcome,” he muttered back, sliding in beside her.

Things had always been strained between them, but now she knew the sweetness of his concern as she’d fought a panic attack, knew the feel of his hand pressed against hers, the kindness he showed to even a woman he didn’t exactly like, and the strain reached a whole new level. I want!

Danger! Headed to a hot zone.

“So...you guys been waiting long?” she asked, hoping for a distraction.

No one paid her a bit of attention. With Harlow marrying Beck—this freaking weekend—and Brook Lynn marrying Jase—in less than five freaking months—the girls were caught up in a conversation about the weddings while the guys reminisced fondly about Ball Busters they’d injured.

Dude. I think you broke his femur. Congrats!

The waitress arrived and, to Jessie Kay’s irritation, placed her hand on West’s shoulder, as if it had every right to be there. “Y’all know what you want to drink?”

Overfriendly much?

The group snapped to attention, Jase kicking things off. When it was West’s turn, the waitress stripped him with her predatory eyes and said, “Don’t worry, sweetie. I remember what you like. I’ll take real good care of you, promise.”

With a wink and a grin, she sashayed off, and dang it, even Jessie Kay had to admit her milkshake would bring all the boys to the yard. Short and slender, she had the kind of curves most women spent years in a gym—or thousands on surgery—trying to achieve. Her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail and swished from side to side, acting like a summoning finger, demanding anything with a penis follow fast.

“Looks like you have a groupie.” The venom in Jessie Kay’s voice baffled her.

I’m not jealous. I can’t be jealous.

West meant nothing to her.

She tried for sweet. “How nice that must be for you.” And how nice for Ponytail. The fact that she hadn’t made the horrendous gaffe of sleeping with both West’s friends, well, she might actually have a chance to score him.

“A groupie?” He shook his head, the picture of masculine confidence. “How cute.”

“You should have seen the one who showed up at the office a few days ago.” Beck draped his arm over Harlow’s chair, something Jessie Kay’s dad used to do whenever he was seated next to her mom. Daddy could never go more than a few minutes without touching Momma.

When we’re not together, Anna Grace, I think of you. And when I think of you, I smile.

“She and West shook hands,” Beck continued, “and I swear they made a baby.”

“Twins.” West rubbed two fingers against the dark stubble on his jaw. “Maybe triplets.”

“You are such a romantic.” Jessie Kay clutched her napkin to her chest. “How does anyone resist you?”

“That’s a very good question.” He met her gaze, and it shocked her—thrilled her—to watch his pupils expand, black spilling over all that gold. A forest fire wafting smoke. “Why don’t you provide the answer?”

All eyes landed on her, and she shifted uncomfortably. “My opinion doesn’t count. To me you’re like a third cousin twice removed.”

“So...kissing cousins?” Jase asked her.

As she sputtered with indignation, Ponytail returned with their drinks, making sure to shove her cleavage in West’s face. Did she have no shame?

“Y’all ready to order?”

“Sure.” West petted the woman’s hand, which had once again migrated to his shoulder. “I’ll have the special, whatever it is.”

After everyone else had placed their orders— requesting the special as well—Ponytail skipped off to give their ticket to the cook.

“I take it back.” Jessie Kay frowned at West. “You don’t have a groupie. You are a groupie. Her twins had you completely entranced.”

“Hardly.” He peered at Jessie Kay for a while longer, the wheels clearly turning in his head. Finally he nodded, as if he’d just made a decision. He leaned toward her, coming closer and closer. His voice a rasp of heat, ensuring only she could hear him, he said, “I happen to be a fan of someone else’s twins.”

Her jaw dropped, and her mouth went dry. Had he just—no, no, impossible...but...maybe. Had he just come on to her?

Wide-eyed, she turned her attention to Jase. “Did West sustain a massive brain injury during the game?” First he’d been nice to her. Then he’d complimented her movements—in heat? Yes! Now he flirted with her.

Actually he might be more than injured. He might be dying.

“Why?” Brook Lynn and Harlow asked in unison, instantly concerned.

“What’s wrong?” Brook Lynn demanded.

The guys merely smiled slyly at her, as if they were privy to a secret.

“Maybe he finally had some sense knocked into him,” Beck said.

“Maybe someone else wanted what he wants, and he decided to take it. At long last,” Jase said.

Meaning...someone else had wanted her and West had decided to make a move?

No way. Absolutely no way. No one but Daniel wanted her, and he didn’t count.

Reeling, needing a moment to regroup, she tossed her napkin on the table. And, just to be tactless, she added, “I’m headed to the lady’s crapper. Alone,” she added for the girls’ benefit. “If I take a while, don’t come looking for me.”

Brook Lynn dropped her head in her upraised hands and moaned. “My sister did not just say those words at such a loud volume. I’m in a happy place. With butterflies and roses.”

West continued to stare at her, the forest fire growing hotter...so hot all that smoke reached her, twined around her. Barely able to breathe, she backed away from him. Whatever this was, whatever had changed between them, whatever he was doing, she wanted no part of it—because deep down she wanted all of it.

CHAPTER FOUR

WHAT IN SAM HILL was wrong with him? Had he suffered a brain injury? West wondered.

He’d teased Jessie Kay. He’d flirted with her, had actually come on to her, and he hadn’t been subtle about it. Before that, he’d even shared little tidbits about his past, something he’d only ever done with Jase and Beck. He’d even asked about her childhood, and he’d sincerely wanted to know!

And in the car, when she’d paled, gasping for breath, he’d felt an instinctive need to help her, whatever the cause of her distress. To make things better for her. To be better for her. The beautiful girl with the keen mind, sharp wit and vengeful nature. Who else would tell him about a pap smear?

She charmed him, and the madness had to stop. For every reason he’d already considered, and a thousand more.

If they ended up together, the relationship would fail in two months. No more, no less. Because yes, he scheduled his relationships like everything else. He never deviated, never would, for reasons he would never share.

He could handle Jessie Kay’s upset over the situation, but not everyone else’s. Brook Lynn and Harlow would side with her and hate him, and though Jase and Beck would side with West, they’d also have to side with their girls. Eventually, West would find himself cut from the family.

He needed his boys like his needed his lungs. Couldn’t live without one, couldn’t live without the other.

Brook Lynn threw her straw wrapper at him. “You better start being nice to my sister, Lincoln West.”

“I wasn’t mean. Not today,” he added with a grumble.

“She has a tough outer shell, but inside, she’s actually a marshmallow.”

Was she? He only knew a little about her past.

There’s more to both stories...a lot more.

If he knew everything about her, would he want her less? Or even more?

Could he want her more? He already ached for her every minute of every day.

Neither of his friends realized the attraction had flared at meeting one, and he would never tell them, didn’t want them dealing with guilt for taking something—someone—he wanted. The predicament was his fault, anyway.

He’d met Jessie Kay at a Fourth of July BBQ and a few hours after he’d walked away from her, he’d returned, thinking he’d reintroduce himself to the woman he hadn’t been able to get out of his mind. But by then, Beck had set his sights on her. And when either of his boys expressed an interest in something, anything, West moved heaven and earth to ensure they got it. Period. Such deprived childhoods deserved extravagant adulthoods. Owe them everything.

He’d walked away again. And he didn’t regret his failure to step up and stake a claim on Jessie Kay. Nope. Not even a little.

Jase kissed his fiancée’s knuckles. “You just made a huge tactical error, angel. Never tell a man a woman is a marshmallow.”

“Why not?” she asked, truly confused.

Beck arched a brow. “Why else? Because he’ll want to eat her.”

Harlow slapped his chest. “Oh, my gosh! You are such a pig.”

But the guy wasn’t deterred. “Tell her, Westlina.”

He smiled without humor. “It’s true. If the guy has a sweet tooth.”

“The way you were looking at my sister...you better not have a sweet tooth.” Brook Lynn wagged a finger in his direction. “I worry about her enough, thank you very much. She lives alone in a crumbling house. She’s struggling to make ends meet, and she’s determined to trek the straight and narrow. There’s no reason to tempt her onto the winding and wide.”

Do I tempt her?

Every muscle in his body hardened like a rock. Every—single—one. “Don’t worry. I prefer savory to sweet.” At least, he always had before.

The stiffening got worse as Jessie Kay strolled around a corner. Her navy gaze avoided him. Probably a good thing. The scent of her—pecans dipped in cream and sprinkled with cinnamon—invaded his senses, more potent than any drug, heating him to the point of sweltering, intoxicating him until his head spun. A warmth and high he’d missed with every fiber of his being. A warmth and high he couldn’t allow himself to enjoy. The more he liked it, the more he’d crave it...the more difficult it would be to let go.

Clearly, he needed to select his next relationship. He usually had someone hooked and reeled by August and thrown back into the sea by October, avoiding the holidays. The move to Strawberry Valley had screwed with his schedule.

And even though sexual relief wouldn’t be a cure-all, it would be a bandage, and that was good enough. Anything was better than nothing right now.

“Y’all are suspiciously quiet.” With a frown, Jessie Kay eased into her chair. “I don’t like it. Makes me want to slap you to sleep, then slap you for sleeping. Someone say something before I go into detail about my last period.”

“Please say something,” West said, almost desperate.

Brook Lynn moaned. “Happy place, happy place.”

“Jessie Kay, why don’t you tell everyone about the indoor soccer team you’d like to start,” Harlow suggested.

Beck set his beer on the table with a clink. “You want to start a team? Have you ever played?”

“No, but I have plenty of experience knocking people around.” Jessie Kay threw a one-two punch at air. “I just need a coach...someone like West. His skill is—”

“Oh, no, no, no.” West shook his head for emphasis.

She ran her tongue over her teeth but still didn’t face him. “Why not?”

“We’d kill each other.” And, more important, he’d be on her before the end of session one.

“For all you know, I’m the next David Beckham,” she said, lifting her chin.

“Ball handling is not a skill you pick up like this.” He snapped his fingers.

Her gaze narrowed. Through a haze of fire and heat, a storm brewed, lightning flashing. “Well, good news. I’m already quite good at ball handling. Just ask your friends.”