Chapter 9 #3
“Yeah,” he says as I step aside and he walks into our condo. “But just as a hobby on the weekends, nothing like what you can do.”
Good. Sierra can’t stand snowboarders—hates the whole culture around snowboarding—so this doesn’t bode well for Jared. When I don’t say anything, Jared glances around and says “Nice place you’ve got here” as if he’s forgotten that I just moved in last weekend and he was here for it.
“It’s my sister’s place, actually. Jackson lives in New Hampshire now, and I’m just crashing here for a couple weeks until I head to Aspen for the X Games.”
“Oh, shit,” he says again. “I forgot Jackson Shanahan was your sister. Man, she’s hot.
I used to have a poster of her in that tight-assed white race suit above my bed when I was a teenager.
” He gives me that conspiratorial look that a guy might give his wingman before he hits on a girl at a bar, because obviously I know the only reason why a guy puts a poster of a hot chick above his bed.
And the thought of him whacking off to visions of my sister is enough to make me almost throw up in my mouth.
“Dude, she’s my sister.” I shudder. “And Sierra is her best friend, so maybe don’t mention that fact to her.” Why the hell am I giving this asshole advice?
“Sorry, man,” he says, but he doesn’t sound sorry in the least. He sounds like a lecherous asshole, which is not the kind of guy Sierra is looking for. I should send him on his way before she even comes out of her bedroom. She’d be pissed, but I’d be doing her a favor.
Again, for the folks in the back (which apparently includes me): That’s not who I am. I’m the guy who doesn’t get involved.
If she wants someone to settle down with, she may have to kiss a few frogs before she finds her prince, or whatever that stupid analogy is.
“Where are you taking her tonight?” I ask, trying to sound casual, even though I feel like this is the exact question my dad would have asked Nate when he came to pick Jackson up for a date when they were teenagers.
“Got us a table at Equis,” he says, and glances at his watch. “I hear they make strong drinks and I like a girl who doesn’t put up a fight at the end of the night.” He winks at me and every muscle in my body tenses.
I open my mouth to respond and even though I can’t find the right words, my fists are itching to deliver the message.
It’s not like I haven’t heard guys say shit like that before, but this is about Sierra.
Even if she wasn’t my roommate, she’s my sister’s best friend. I have to get involved here, don’t I?
Then I hear Winston bounding across the living room behind me, and I turn toward him just as he barrels into my legs. I bend down to pick him up, because he’s still small enough that I can hold him, even when he’s squirmy.
As I stand up with Winston in my arms, I notice Sierra following behind him.
And she’s a fucking vision. She’s taken her hair out of the bun it was in while she was getting ready, and it’s falling in waves over her shoulders and down her back.
She’s put on lipstick, which she almost never wears, and her mouth looks luscious.
I’m overwhelmed with the desire to know what those lips taste like, what they feel like on several different parts of my anatomy.
I’m pretty sure I flush in response, so I glance over at Jared to see why he hasn’t said anything to his date yet, but his eyes are locked on her body.
She’s wearing another sweater dress. It’s not as short as the one she wore last night, but it’s even sexier.
It’s black and has a low-cut V-neck that shows off her cleavage, and there’s a gold zipper that runs from that crease between her breasts—which holy shit, how did I not notice she’s totally stacked?
—and down her stomach to the hem above her knees.
There’s no way you can look at her in that dress and not envision unzipping that zipper.
I glance back at Jared, who’s finally uttered “Wow” and follows it up with “You look amazing, Sierra.”
It pisses me off immensely that he sounds so reverent when he speaks to her, after just sounding like a complete sleazeball.
I’m quite confident this is the act and I actually saw his true colors before she walked in.
But maybe I’m wrong and this is who he really is, and he was just talking to me the way he thinks guys talk to each other?
Shit, I don’t know.
I watch helplessly as they make casual conversation and he helps her slip into her coat, then I feel awkward as hell lurking so I step out of the entryway—which is crowded with three of us in there—and head into the living room with Winston on my heels.
“Do you mind crating Winston before you head out, Beau?” Sierra asks. I glance up at her, and she must see the conflicting feelings I’m having because she rushes on. “Or I can do it now, if you want?”
“No, it’s fine, I can crate him if I go out.”
She gives me a questioning look, surprised by my if. After all, I always go out.
“Okay,” she says softly, like she’s trying to figure out what this look is on my face. Hell, I’m trying to figure it out too.
She turns back toward Jared, who wraps his arm around her shoulders as he leads her through the door. She gives me a quick glance over her shoulder, her eyebrows dipping in a look that combines confusion and concern.
Five minutes later, I’ve paced a hundred laps around the living room and dining room, and feel like I’m going to crawl out of my own skin. What if that asshole really does get her drunk and tries to take advantage of her?
She’s a big girl, she can stand up for herself. But what if she can’t?
My chest feels itchy. My fingers are curling and uncurling into fists. My thoughts are racing through my head too fast to hold on to a single one of them. My heartbeat is erratic.
I know this feeling. It’s adrenaline mixed with anxiety, and based on previous experience, the only way out of it is through exercise.
So I head to my room, strip off my sweaty snowboarding clothes, throw on a pair of shorts, and start the workout sequence I do every night—a combination of high-intensity cardio, body-weight exercises, and pull-ups.
Winston gets bored with this quickly and wanders out of my bedroom, probably to take a nap. I’m envious, I wish I could go to sleep right now and stop picturing Sierra on her date with that asshole.
The exercise helps and an hour later my heartbeat is normal.
I can think more clearly. I hop into the shower, and when I get out, I decide that the best thing to do is to contact Sierra.
I’m weighing the benefits of just texting her a warning about Jared, versus calling her with a fabricated emergency, as I walk back into the living room in nothing but my towel.
“What the fuck?” I utter out loud, even though there’s no one to hear me.
I sprint across the living room to where Winston lies on the kitchen counter.
He’s panting even though he’s hardly moving.
I place my hand over his chest, and his heartbeat is so fast. I look down at the brownies spread all over the counter.
The chocolate. All that chocolate, which he ate who knows how long ago?
“Oh, shit, NO!”