Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
JACE
Love hurts. Especially when it comes with fangs.
Love Bites by Lena Benjamin
Two Weeks Later
“I ’m telling you, the epoxy floor was so simple. It turned out pretty damn good considering I’d never done it before.” Sam thrust his phone toward me. We were in the Viking MMA locker room changing into our sparring gear. Scrolling through his camera roll, I was surprised to see there were several photos at the same angle over time.
“Did you set up a time-lapse camera?” I asked, semi-impressed he even knew how to do that.
Sam scratched his forehead with the back of his thumb. “I, uh”—he cleared his throat— “started the top coat for the epoxy the wrong way. I had to sit in the corner of the garage for five hours while it dried before I could leave.”
Chuckling, I handed back his phone. Typical Sam. I wasn’t surprised. When he started the company, we were a good team. It gave me the freedom to be my own boss, it paid well, and I got to try new things. This worked well for a few years. Sam had the big ideas, and I had the ability to focus and get the jobs done. But saving Sam from lawsuits and bodily harm was becoming a full-time job these days. A full-time unpaid job. I was up for adventure, sure, but Sam’s focus was on money and had a tendency to say yes when he shouldn’t and commit to more jobs then we had time for. Which is what I’d said to him last week when I told him I had to take a big step back from the number of projects I took on.
He shrugged, putting his phone away. “I might add it to the website as a new service we provide.”
“We?” I questioned.
“Yeah. I’ll teach you. It’s a breeze. We could make so much money.”
I shook my head as I pulled on my sparring gloves. “I already told you I’m taking on less projects. You gotta find someone else.”
I was already busier than I wanted to be lately. Besides the jobs I did for Sam, I valeted on Sundays, helped run the Young Wills program every Tuesday and Thursday night, drove my car for Lyft whenever I could, and volunteered to help out some performing arts classes at both the Green Valley Middle and High School a few days per week during the school year.
My pop always joked I had wanderlust without the desire to wander. And when I was younger, his comments didn’t bother me. But lately, I’d become more restless, feeling truly aimless for the first time in my life. On a nice Sunday afternoon like this one, I’d typically stop at one of the county’s driving ranges to hit a bucket of balls, then relax at home or go for a hike. Today, I needed to let out some pent-up energy, so I called up Sam, who met me at Viking MMA.
I couldn’t get Polly Alberton out of my mind. It’d only gotten worse since I’d found out she was Miss Polly Alberton two weeks ago. I also knew she showed up every Sunday at 10:00 a.m. on the dot, always tipped forty bucks, and the only thing hotter than her shoes, was playing on her car’s stereo.
For the last six weeks, I’d pathetically spent the best two and half minutes of my week opening her car door, smiling and joking playfully with her, loving her shy smiles as her honeyed floral scent washed over me. Then I’d get in her car, listen to ten seconds of her book, and take a picture of the car’s stereo screen so I could remember the title and author. I’d bought and read all the books she’d been listening to, and one thing was for sure: perfect Polly Alberton . . . was anything but proper. Polly’s audiobook choice today was about a group of virile young women abducted from Earth, only to crash-land on a planet of giant blue humanoid aliens with huge dicks.
Some guys have all the luck.
Since the first book I’d bought, I’d had a crash course in romance novels. And believe me, it’s been an education. These books had some of the straight-up filthiest things I’ve ever read while also being surprisingly funny and well written. Each book varied widely on how much sex was actually in the book, most of them only had a few chapters. I’m not saying everything that happens is believable; the positions, the angles, the stamina of these guys—they really deserve a round of applause. I’d hit the gym extra hard over the past few weeks because, shiiit. I thought I knew how to make sex good for a woman. Cocky for a twenty-four-year-old? Sure. But clearly, I had no idea. I’d gone as far as marking pages for the really good moves. I shook my head, thinking about my poor eighteen-year-old self, hell, thinking about my poor twenty-two -year-old self, thinking I was good at sex. Apparently after all these years, all I had to do was read a damn romance novel.
That’s not to say I hadn’t noticed other things about Polly. Like how she seemed tense over the last two weeks. Or how she visibly steeled herself, rolling her shoulders back as she approached the front doors of the club. Making her laugh two weeks ago had made me feel ten-feet tall. I wanted to hear her laugh again. But after six weeks of Sundays, I’d only learned her name, her shit hot taste in books, and that she was single.
That wasn’t close to enough.
Not that knowing more about her would make a difference. Polly was so out of my league that she could be laid out naked on the hood of my car, offering herself to me, and she’d still be off-limits.
Agitated, I picked up my partially unzipped bag causing my current book, Love Bites , to fall out. I grabbed for it, but Sam was faster.
“What’s—aw, hell. Not another one.” Sam grimaced as he picked up the book. He’d laughed his ass off a week ago when he found me in my car reading my last book. “It was kind of funny at first, but now it’s just getting out of hand.” Sam thumbed the pages causing the scrap of paper I’d been using as a bookmark to flutter to the ground.
“Hey, watch it. I’ll lose my place,” I complained, retrieving the paper from the floor. When I stood up, Sam eyed me warily, then slowly extended the book out to me.
Ignoring Sam’s expression, I plucked the book from his grasp and put it in my locker. Sam had no idea Polly existed, and I wasn’t about to tell him. I made it all the way to the locker room door before I realized he wasn’t next to me. Turning, I saw he was still standing in the same place, eyes narrowed.
I held my arms out. “You comin’?”
Finally, Sam sighed and walked toward me. “Yeah, alright. Let’s get out there before your dick shrivels up into your body.”
After warming up on the speed bag, we made our way to the ring. Our trainer, Vick, was on the other side of the gym and gave us a head nod. Sam and I weren’t aiming to be professionals, but it’d been fun learning how to box.
“You give any more thought to moving in with me and Owen?” Sam asked as we started to spar. He liked to talk to distract me. It worked some of the time. He could talk a used car salesman into buying one of his own cars, that’s how silver-tongued Sam was.
“No.” I tried to focus on his movements.
“Come on, our place has three bedrooms, and the clubhouse has a fitness center and a hot tub. We need a roommate. It’s practically a palace. You’d be drowning in puss—” He barely dodged my punch as we continued to dance around each other.
“Keep talking, Sammy. You’ll make this easy.”
He’d told me about the townhouse before. The rent was three times what I was paying my parents in rent and would take a big dent out of my savings.
“You need this, Jace. Just come look at it. I mean, when’s the last time you got laid?”
Eight months ago, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. I dodged an attack, his punch missing my shoulder by a few inches.
“Nice try,” I heckled.
“I’m seriously worried about you. Do you know how good the moon pies you gave last week tasted? I would’ve gotten down on my knee and proposed to that woman right then and there. That’s how good those things were. And instead, you gave them to me—not that I’m complaining. But you’re sitting on a golden ticket and not cashing it in. It’s almost immoral.”
“I’ve never been a fan of moon pies,” I lied.
Since I started helping at the school over a year ago, the interest I got from women, particularly single moms, or aunts, or sisters . . . changed. Women would wait outside school for me to slip their phone numbers in my bag or bring me homemade baked goods. I accepted a few numbers at first, but the few women I’d gone out with never seemed to want me, for me . I was never invited over to meet their families, never invited to hang out with their friends. I was a career-less, degree-less young guy in his early twenties. I was “good for a fun time, not a long time”—a direct quote from the last woman I’d taken out whom I’d met at the school. Now when I found their numbers in my bag, I threw them out. And the kids at Young Wills or Sam were always happy to take the homemade food off my hands.
“I mean it,” Sam said as we continued circling each other. “You’re reading romance books, livin’ with your parents, you barely go out. Last time I came over you were keeping score of the Braves’ game with your daddy!”
I smiled through my mouthguard. Sam was still dropping his shoulder when he pivoted on his right foot. I could be patient and bide my time. Patience was one of my best virtues.
“I’m saying this because I’m your best friend. You need to move out.”
I continued to play cagey, watching his every move. Yeah, I lived with my parents. But I had no need for my own place. I was saving most of what I earned, and despite paying rent plus a third of the utilities and groceries, I still had more savings than most folks my age. Plus, my parents needed help. My pop had rheumatoid arthritis and lived in chronic pain, so I did a lot of the outside work, like mowing the lawn and maintaining the cars, because he couldn’t do it anymore. Momma’s nerves were getting worse, and she needed a break from caring for him all the time. And while I didn’t mind doing any of this, my friends didn’t seem to understand. When your parents were the age of most of your friends’ grandparents, it felt different.
There , I thought as he dropped his shoulder— bam! My fist connected with the guard over his cheek.
“You’re still dropping that shoulder, Sam!” Vick called out from across the ring.
Fists up, Sam and I continued to dance around each other, throwing and dodging punches without talking for the next several minutes.
“So, remember that birthday party this weekend? I need a favor,” Sam began. He meant another favor. He’d already asked me for help with a six-year-old’s birthday party this coming weekend when he asked if I could find an affordable traveling petting zoo. Spoiler alert: there were none.
“What’s that?” I threw a punch, which Sam barely missed, ducking out of the way.
“I need a clown.” He feigned an attack then went for an uppercut, which I easily dodged. “And you used to do all that magic stuff, I thought you might be willing to help me out. Please? One last time?”
“I don’t do clowns. And anyway, I can’t. It’s Pop’s birthday. Kent and Sarah are coming into town.” I kept my fists up despite feeling winded.
“Sar-aaah,” Sam drawled lasciviously, somehow making my sister’s name sound suggestive through his mouthguard.
Dickhead.
“She miss me?” Sam continued to shuffle around me as I tried a sloppy attack that he easily sidestepped. Then he got me right on the cheek.
“Don’t leave yourself so open, Jace!” Vick yelled. I swear that guy had eyes in the back of his head. I shuffled back and held up my hands for a break.
“The day my older sister thinks of you as anything more than the annoying kid who attacked her with water balloons when she’d come home from college, will be a cold day in hell,” I gritted out, grabbing my water at the side of the ring.
“Prepare to buy a scarf. But back to this weekend,” Sam said. “The lady whose kid it is requested a clown. Do you know how hard it’s been to find one that’s not creepy?”
“Why can’t you do it? A little face paint, goofy grin. You’d be great,” I deadpanned. We both knew Sam would be the worst. In his one and only high school theater performance Sam forgot his only speaking line.
“Funny. Come on, I’m desperate.”
I wasn’t the worst option he’d have for a clown. I was decent at acting and had spent my entire eighth-grade year perfecting a magician act I still had memorized to this day.
“I don’t know . . .” I trailed off, but Sam, of course, sensed an opening.
“You’d be helping me out of a tight spot. I’ll get you the costume. You can keep all the profits!”
“If I’m dressing up as a clown, you better believe I’m keeping all the money I make.” I huffed out a breath. “Fine. But this is not going on the website. It’s a onetime deal, got it?”
Sam saluted. “You got it. I’ll even keep your romance reading under wraps, Romeo.”
Vick came up behind Sam just then and raised his eyebrows to us.
“I don’t want to know.”
* * *
Both of my parents’ cars were in the garage when I arrived home that afternoon. My parents’ being home wasn’t unusual for a Sunday. It wasn’t unusual for any day of the week. I could count on one hand the number of times they’d traveled out of the state over the last ten years.
After parking in the driveway, I waved over to our next-door neighbor Mrs. James, who was watering flowers. She and her husband, the now-retired county sheriff, have lived next door to us my entire life. Their son, Jackson James, who was now the current county sheriff, lived across town with his wife, Rae. During my high school years, Jackson had become an older brother figure of sorts to me, more so than my actual older brother had ever been.
I found momma in the kitchen chopping carrots for the roast chicken she made every Sunday. She was a great cook, a trait I unfortunately did not inherit. The kitchen’s green floral wallpaper was original to the house, which was built in the seventies, along with the dark wood paneling and green laminate countertops that were the same as in my youth. Momma hadn’t changed much either, horn-rimmed glasses, dark pants and a button-down blouse with an apron atop it was how I’d typically seen her growing up. Except for the color of her hair, which was now a light gray, her hair was still in the same style, cut to her chin.
“Smells good.” I came over and kissed the top of her head, then teased her by looking all confused at the cutting board. “Whatcha makin’?”
She eyed me over the rims of her glasses. “Roast chicken.”
“Can’t say I ever had one of those,” I joked, sneaking a carrot and backing up as she made a tsss noise through her teeth.
“Need any help?”
She paused her chopping to look up at me and smirked. “Not from your smart mouth.”
I smiled, loving when she joked around. Momma was typically on the reserved side, with a large helping of anxiety.
I’d always felt different than the rest of my family members. My parents were both retired accountants, my brother was a CPA in Florida who did real estate on the side, and my sister worked as a lawyer in Chicago. They all had stable jobs, content with working in an office their entire lives. I, on the other hand, hated the idea of an office job. I didn’t want to do something, just to do something. I wanted to be passionate about it.
“You still picking up Sarah at the airport on Friday?” my momma asked.
The implication being I’d forget. Which irked me because she should know I always follow through on my commitments. Still, I assured my momma I’d pick up my sister.
I really shouldn’t complain; my parents were great. Growing up, Pop was busy but attended every home baseball game and theater performance of mine. Momma and I got along for the most part, too, though since I dropped out of college, there’d been an undercurrent of tension between us. I tried to tell myself it stemmed from worry, not disappointment.
“I wish Sarah was coming in earlier. The Front Porch wouldn’t make a reservation this early, but I’d like to eat by six. And you know your daddy doesn’t like to wait for a table. Maybe we should go out to dinner for a meat and three somewhere in Knoxville instead. . .” Momma trailed off, talking as much to herself as to me. She was the one who didn’t like waiting for a table. But as much as I tried to calm her spinning thoughts, nothing seemed to help except lending a listening ear and patience.
“Pop loves the Front Porch steaks. How about Sarah and I get there by five and put our name in, so y’all don’t have to wait on a table?”
Frowning, she continued chopping. “I guess I’ll think that over. Don’t forget, Kent will meet us there, too. He’s flying into Knoxville, then driving over. Hired himself some fancy car.” Looking up at me, she informed more than asked, “I thought we could all spend some time together as a family on Saturday afternoon since everyone’ll be in town and Kent flies back that night.”
Who would’ve known that something good would come out of this clown gig? Because I’d do almost anything to get out of spending time with my older brother, including dressing up like a clown.
“I have some things going on Saturday afternoon, but after that I’ll be around.”
Momma furrowed her brow at me. “What do you have going on Saturday afternoon?”
“Just a job for Sam.”
“You know, with your brother and sister both home, you could ask them some questions about their jobs. Maybe it’s time to start school again, now that you’re more mature.”
And that was my cue. I started to back up toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms. “That’s exactly what these past six years were, biding my time so I could major in accounting,” I replied. There were only so many comments I could take before they began to chafe.
“You know that’s not how I meant it.”
I sighed, nodding to agree for agreement’s sake, then started to turn.
“Your daddy wants to talk to you. Didn’t he stop you on your way in?”
Shaking my head, I snuck another carrot as I walked past her toward the TV room. I found Pop there in his recliner, Braves game on, keeping score per usual.
“Hey Pop, how’s the game?” I asked, taking a seat on the couch to his left.
“Not my choice for the lead off.” He shook his head, complaining about the batting order. “But I’ve seen worse.”
We were quiet until the inning was over. Putting down the clicker, he ran a hand through his hair. His curly Vargas hair that I inherited had thinned some, but the wild springing curls were still there. Granted, now they had more salt than pepper.
“How’s work today, son? You still like working at the club?” He shifted in his recliner, then started pulling at a loose thread on his shirt.
I nodded slowly, confused by his question. Unlike Momma, Pop rarely asked me about my jobs.
“Right, right,” he responded, abandoning the loose string to take off his readers, fiddling with the stems in his lap.
“And tomorrow you’re driving folks around?”
Frowning, I wondered why he wasn’t making eye contact with me. “Yes, I’ll be driving for Lyft, just like every other Monday.”
He must have found his glasses to be dirty, as he was now cleaning them thoroughly with his shirttail.
“And that theater practice, the one with Jack’s wife and that other gal, you still liking that?”
My frown deepened, even though I always found it entertaining how unfazed Pop was by Sienna and Rae—a.k.a. Sienna Diaz and Raquel Ezra, two well-known actresses who lived in Green Valley. Of course, I don’t think of them as movie stars, either. I’d met Rae through her husband, Jackson. And I’d known Sienna and her husband Jethro Winston for years, having babysat her kids on occasion. While Rae and Sienna weren’t actually my sisters, they’d somehow adopted me over the years, like I was some sort of quasi younger brother they couldn’t help but fuss over. So, when they started a program called Young Wills, a theater program for kids in the Green Valley elementary and middle schools, they asked if I was interested in helping run it with them.
“Yup. It’s been goin’ real good for more than a year now.”
“Good, good,” he replied almost absently, still cleaning his glasses.
“Things are good, Pop.” I leaned forward, putting my elbows on my knees. “Everything alright?” Could it be possible that he and Momma needed money? Why else would he be asking about my jobs? I hadn’t seen him this uncomfortable since three Thanksgivings ago when my cousin Patrick announced he was changing his name, moving to Miami, and starring in a burlesque show. It was still one of my favorite memories. My Aunt Midge, his mother, practically choked on her turkey.
“Nah, nothing’s wrong. Just that your momma and I are, as you know, retired now and starting to talk about the future. Midge and Rick have wanted us to visit them in Florida a few years now and Kent’s been trying to get us down by him, too. Might be better for my arthritis being out of here in the winter, at least avoiding the coldest days.”
The game came back on, but he kept the TV muted, a telltale sign that he had more on his mind.
“We were thinking of going down there to visit next week.”
This was surprising to say the least, but I recovered quickly. “A vacation in Florida sounds great. You and Momma deserve it. Don’t worry about anything here. You know I’ll take care of the house.”
Shifting again, he palmed the back of his neck. “I know you will, son. You see, a condo has come up for sale right across from your aunt and uncle. When we’re there, Kent mentioned checking it out. Told us that the maintenance is all taken care of, and your momma is real keen on that idea. If we like it, we’d have to make an offer on it right quick from what your brother tells us.”
Stunned, it was a full minute before I could answer. Maybe Sam had got a stronger hit to my head than I thought, because this wasn’t making sense. My parents, who considered going to Nashville a major vacation, wanted to move to Florida.
“Pop,” I spoke slowly, eyeing him warily. “If you and Momma want to live in Florida part of the year like Aunt Midge and Uncle Rick, I’d be happy for you.” I’d be shocked if they went through with it, but happy for them.
“That’s the thing. It costs a bit more than we’d anticipated?—”
Well, shoot. They did need money. I knew I had more in the bank than most folks my age, but without a 401(k), I really wanted to save it. But if my parents needed money, I’d obviously try to help them.
“—so, we’d have to make the offer contingent on the sale of this house. We’d be moving there permanently.”
I could only sit in silence and stare at the stranger in front of me. They wanted to sell their home. This home. My childhood home. It was just so . . . unlike my parents. What’s next, a place in the line up beside cousin Patrice in the Miami Meat Burlesque?
“But we’d only do it if you had another place lined up. Your momma and I don’t want to spring this on you, son. We know that rent’s expensive nowadays.”
I shook my head. “I can easily get another place. That’s not why I live here.”
“Sure, sure. I’m just making sure you know we could help you out with the money from the sale of the house if you need some support for a while.”
I literally had never felt lower. I expected this out of Momma, but not Pop. I thought he knew I lived here not only to save money, but to help them out. He’d been having more flare-ups of his arthritis and the last one, a few months back, put him out of commission for weeks.
And now, this. My retired parents didn’t want to move to paradise because they were worried about how their adult, twenty-four-year-old son was going to make rent.
A true low point. I shifted in my seat, eyeing him. Hard.
“Pop. If you and Momma want to move to Florida and sell this house, then do it. Don’t worry about me. I’ll find a place. Sam was begging me just today to move in with him and Owen. In fact, I can call him right now. Really. I’m fine.”
“You don’t have to make any sudden decisions today?—”
I cut him off by standing up, clapping him on the shoulder.
“It’s no problem. Probably time I’m out of your hair. I’ll see you at supper.”