9. Jimmy
JIMMY
I’ve been weighing up the pros and cons the entire drive to Aspen, and my mind is in complete chaos when I pause by the mailbox telling me which driveway to go down.
I shouldn’t be here.
Mā called twice on my four-hour drive, letting me know how disappointed she is.
I’m letting down the family. My father is very upset, which means he’ll stop talking to me for a week or two.
Damn, I hate that so much. It’d be easier if he just yelled at me and got it over with, but his punishment has always been silence.
Which is why I usually toe the line and do as I’m told.
I’m the good boy. The only child.
The one who always gets it right for the sake of the family.
I’ve fought my entire life for my parents’ approval, and then on a whim, I just jump in a car and take off for the weekend?
Yes, because you’re a grown man and you can’t keep acquiescing to their every demand.
Closing my eyes, I grip the wheel and remind myself of all the reasons why I’m doing this.
Because Mac’s my friend and he invited me.
Because it’s good for me to do something social with the team.
Because I need to stop being the weird, quiet, unapproachable one.
If I can bond with these guys a little more before the season starts, then…
“Then what?” I whisper.
Argh. I don’t even know!
“Just get over yourself,” I mutter sharply. “You’re here now, so drive down that driveway.”
Blowing out a calming breath, I turn the wheel and head down to Mac’s family lake house.
As the stone-and-wooden structure comes into view, I give an approving nod.
Impressive. Having been raised in a world of critically eyeing every building I see for its sales potential, I can immediately guesstimate that this is a minimum ten-million-dollar build, possibly more.
Once I see the inside, I’ll have a better idea.
“It’s probably more like fifteen to twenty,” I murmur to myself, parking my Lexus behind Mac’s car and gazing up at the place.
Yeah, my parents would be drooling over this. Mā’s been wanting a vacation home for years, but Bàba keeps arguing that it’s more fun to travel to different places around the world. He loves staying in luxury hotels and getting pampered.
“If we get a vacation home, we’ll have to look after it when we’re in it.
When I’m on vacation, I want to be taken care of by someone else.
” Bàba’s arguments always appease my mother, and I sit there rolling my eyes, because in my entire life I’ve only known my parents to take maybe three vacations, tops.
Those two are addicted to work. Even that time we went to Europe for an eight-week trip, he spent most of it checking out buildings and wondering if we should be expanding overseas. It was painful.
Hey, they’re not here. Just get inside and relax already.
Relax? Am I kidding?
I’ve never been good with crowds and functions like this. I don’t even know what relaxing is. I’m not sure if I’ve ever felt relaxed.
Leaning my head back, I let out another slow breath before forcing myself to open the door and get out of the SUV. I grab my bag, my palms sweating, my pulse pounding between my ears.
Walking up to the front door, I knock and wait… until it’s obvious no one is going to answer. But I can hear voices inside. With my breath on hold, I knock again, louder this time, then push the door open.
Still no one’s noticed me, and I quietly slip into the house and toe off my shoes. Padding into the main living area, I’m immediately hit with a delicious smell.
I’m not sure what it is, but my mouth pools with water, my stomach dancing at the prospect of food.
I kind of skipped lunch, too unsettled to eat as I drove away from the place I’m supposed to be to the place I should be. I’m so torn. Even as I stand here taking in this chaotic, fun energy, I’m still second-guessing myself and wondering if I need to turn around and head back home.
“Shit, these onions are killing me!” Sawyer wipes his eyes and sniffs while he dices them on a thick wooden chopping board. Something’s in a pot behind him, bubbling away, and I can see the oven’s on. I wonder what he’s making. Maybe something Italian? It smells so good!
“Give me that,” Mac mutters, taking the knife off Sawyer and nudging him away from the board. Sawyer lifts the bottom of his T-shirt and dabs his eyes while Mac gets to work.
They must be strong because he’s blinking now too, but you won’t hear him complaining.
The guy is stoic when it comes to pain. I know this for a fact, because he fractured his finger last year and played out the rest of the game without saying a word.
The only reason anyone found out is because the assistant coach and I found him in the locker room after the game about to pass out.
He’d retreated into a corner and had his swollen hand resting against his chest. His skin was practically gray, and the second we saw him, we knew something was seriously off.
“Just leave it,” he whispered. “I’m fine.”
Whatever. Mac was forced to go for X-rays, and yep—a broken finger. Thankfully, it was an easy reset and didn’t need a full cast or anything. He had it taped up for about six weeks and did miss seven games, but still… knowing him, he would have kept on going like nothing was off.
Coach was so annoyed that Mac played the rest of the game. He could have made his injury so much worse, but he hid his agony for over an hour.
And now he’s hiding how much these onions are stinging him too.
Maybe that’s why I like him so much.
I mean, sure, being overly stoic is probably borderline stupidity, but I just like that he never makes a fuss. He’s no drama queen, and I find that very appealing in a friend.
“Oh, hey, Jimmy.” A bright female voice announces my arrival, and I dart my eyes to the stairwell just as Darian’s younger sister jumps off the bottom step.
All eyes turn to me, and I feel that heat rush through me. I hate being the center of attention.
My skin ripples like a quick rash is forming all over my body. I force a closed-mouth smile and nod, then dart my eyes at Mac.
“Good to see you, man.” He smirks, then wipes his burning eyes with the back of his hand.
“Where should I put this?” I lift my bag, not sure what else to say.
“Just crash wherever you can find a spare bed.”
“Cool.” I nod, feeling anything but cool. I’m just supposed to search the house for a spare bed?
Where’s the organization?
Why wasn’t someone put in charge of deciding where each of us was sleeping?
“Head up the stairs and take a left. I’m pretty sure there are a few spare beds down that side.” Charli smiles at me, and I swallow.
“Thanks.” My voice is all croaky, my insides flushing as I fail not to notice her skimpy shorts and long legs. She’s always been a stunner, but when she’s dressed in practically nothing, it’s hard not to notice the shape of her. She’s long and lean with perky breasts and—
Don’t look at her breasts! What are you doing?
I grip my bag strap and quickly shuffle past her. I told myself when I started college that I wasn’t going to get into the party scene. I wouldn’t get mixed up with girls and drama.
So far, I’ve done pretty well, in spite of Mac’s efforts.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t notice beautiful women when I’m around them.
Charli’s hard not to notice. Her skin is this dark bronze, and her hair is thick and black and beautiful.
But the thing I like most about her is that she seems completely oblivious to how stunning she is.
She doesn’t try to doll herself up or dress in anything other than clothes that make her feel comfortable.
I like that.
Girls like her feel less intimidating somehow. I’m not even sure why.
Taking the stairs two at a time, I slowly wander through the upper floor, popping my head into various doorways and assessing each room.
After four attempts, I finally find one in the very back corner of the house. There’s a bed against the wall, and this looks more like an office with a small bed added for potential overflow. I tentatively lie down and make sure it’s long enough to fit my body.
Just.
It’ll do.
And a small, out-of-the-way room is perfect. No one will notice me down here, and if it all gets too much, I can hide away.
Don’t hide away! You’re here to bond, make connections. Don’t waste this weekend.
Closing my eyes, I grip the back of my neck and take a few deep breaths.
Get back downstairs, man. Move it!
I pull my shoulders back, sucking in one more fortifying breath, when a loud shout rises from downstairs.
It’s not a cheer. It’s more of a pained, shocked cry, and I bolt out the door, ready to help whoever is in trouble.