Chapter 4
Jessica
My mom puts her bags down on the kitchen island, frowning at my position on the couch. “You haven’t moved all day?”
I had my brains fucked right out of me.
So, no, I haven’t moved from the couch where my mom and Hailey left me when they went shopping for home supplies.
But after last night, shopping holds zero appeal.
I’m equally exhausted and restless, buzzing with adrenaline I can’t shake.
Besides, Hailey knows my taste, and she cares a lot more about the little things than I ever could. My little sister loves details and is always cataloging useless pieces of knowledge in her brain for future use.
My mom clucks her tongue. “You do realize you’re moving in less than a week, don’t you?”
“Everything’s in storage. What’s there to do?” Hailey and I had been renting a place on Washington and our lease was up, so we’re staying with our parents until the move. “It’s been proven by medical science that relaxing is just as important as doing.”
“I suppose I can’t argue with that.” She tucks a lock of her expertly highlighted chestnut lob behind her ear. “Where’s your father?”
“Nana needed him to open her grocery jars, and then he said he was going to go to the nursery to get a jump on planting.” I crane my neck to look at Hailey’s purchases. “What did you buy?”
She picks up the bag and spills an entire store of office supplies across the kitchen table, her sky-blue eyes gleaming with twisted anticipation. “I can’t wait to organize.”
Some might say that Hailey, who outwardly looks like a sweet little cupcake in her powder-blue tee, is pathological about her office supplies.
She has stacks of journals, boxes of multicolored pens, pencils, markers, sticky notes, index cards, and all types of various clips. She claims it’s a writer thing.
“I can’t wait for the rainbow of brightly colored notes that make the shower scene in Psycho look like it was written by a kindergartener to be plastered all over the bathroom mirror.
” I gesture toward the flat-screen with the remote.
“Speaking of weirdos, this guy is going to meet the love of his life in some remote, third-world village and is so paranoid about snakes slithering up his dick he’s wearing three condoms.”
Obviously, this is the perfect time for my tall, silver-blond, handsome father to stroll on in. Walking into the room at the worst time is Ron Moore’s special talent in life.
I open my mouth to provide context, but he holds up his hands. “I don’t want to know.”
“It wasn’t me.” I mean, sure, last night I’d used countless numbers of condoms, but my dad doesn’t know about that.
Thinking of condoms has me thinking about sex and how I’d thought I’d known what good sex was. I’m not exactly a shy, retiring type, so I always get what’s mine.
If the guy sucks in bed, I’m still getting an orgasm. If I’m forced to take care of it myself and it bruises his ego, I consider it character-building. Something his future partners will thank me for.
But the man from the bar had needed no such instructions.
No, he’d taken fucking to a whole new level.
I could live with the phenomenal sex, but it had gone beyond that.
He’d tapped into all my secret desires and kinks.
He’d gotten past my guard.
I’d talked to him. Not about the details of my life, but about myself.
Now I’m ruined for all other men.
My stomach jumps at a flashback of his midnight eyes boring into me, like he could see every inch of me inside and out.
Now I feel—I cringe—emotional.
He’s despicable.
I would kill to see him again.
I’m jonesing for him.
Preoccupied by thoughts of him.
The amount of time I’ve expended reliving every second I spent with him is humiliating.
It’s why I snuck away in the wee hours of the morning. If I’d woken up with his strong arm wrapped around my waist, tugging me close, nestling me against him, I’d have begged him to stay.
Begged. Me! Of all people.
“Your brother was on TV,” my dad says, yanking me out of my emotionally charged memories. He plucks the remote from my fingers and starts pressing buttons.
“What happened?” It’s not the first time Ryder has been on TV, but it’s the first time since he moved to Revival.
“Big accident on the highway. One of the casualties is that politician under investigation. His mistress was in the car and is in the ICU.” My dad surfs the local channels, looking for coverage so his chest can puff up with pride for his eldest child.
I sit up from my slumped position on the couch. “Do they expect foul play?”
“Don’t know.” He mumbles under his breath when the remote acts up. “Catherine, this thing doesn’t work.”
“It’s finicky.” My mom walks over and pats him on his broad shoulders. “Here, let me.”
It’s a lie. My father’s war with the remote is entirely user error. Not that he’d ever admit it.
My mom takes over.
“Go to the local YouTube channel,” Hailey says.
When we find the press conference, the county emblem fills the screen for thirty seconds before the commissioner comes on and begins talking, briefly explaining the situation that led to Congressman Crenshaw’s death, before he says, “I’ll turn it over to Sheriff Radcliffe for details of the ongoing investigation. ”
The rotund, bald man steps away. There’s a commotion before my brother, a younger version of our father with darker hair, steps into frame, taking a stoic stance to the left of the podium.
Then the sheriff comes on to the screen.
Shock knocks all the air out of my lungs as the man I screwed in every way known to man takes his position behind the podium.
Ohmygod!
No, no, no, no, no, no!
My skin gets hot, then clammy.
I stare at the screen in horror.
I blink, hoping he’s an aberration.
But no, he’s still there.
Dressed in a uniform, with tactical gear strapped to the narrow hips I’d wrapped my thighs around so hard my muscles are sore, he’s speaking with stern, direct authority.
With the blood rushing in my head, I can’t process what he’s saying.
No names. No personal information. No feelings.
Those were the rules.
One and done.
Yet here he is, a nightmare on my television screen.
My head goes woozy. I might faint.
Why, universe? Why!?
All I wanted was one night of freedom.
This is the worst possible consequence of my very reckless actions.
I’m hot all over. I might throw up.
I fucked my brother’s boss.
Who lives and works in Revival.
Where I’m moving in six goddamn days.
I stand so fast, my blood pressure drops and my vision swims. My hand flails, and I use the couch arm to steady myself.
My mom gasps. “Jessica, are you okay?”
“Head rush. Too fast.” I gasp while waiting for my equilibrium to right itself again.
When I recover, I straighten, brush crumbs off the sports bra and leggings I put on this morning with the vague notion of running off my frustrations, but I never made it outside.
Instead, I watched reality TV and ate Doritos with no idea disaster awaited me.
I need a plan, so I turn to the best plotter I know. “Hailey, we need to go for margaritas.”
Her dark blond brows furrow as she looks around the room as though searching for clues to my behavior. “Right now?”
“Yes. Right now.” I tilt my head in my mom’s direction, hoping to clue Hailey in that I need to talk but don’t want to alert the parental unit. “Remember? We made plans.”
“Jessica Moore, what is wrong with you? You’ve been acting strange all day.” My mother gives me her best maternal glare and tsks. “Don’t think I didn’t hear you come in at four thirty in the morning, young lady.”
I don’t have time for this.
Why hadn’t I stuck to my first instincts? I’d known he was too good to be true. But did I stay away like a sane, rational person? No, I did not.
I had to play with fire.
Now look at me. Burned to an absolute crisp.
Before I can respond, my dad turns to my mom with the placating expression husbands have been wearing for an eternity. “Now, Catherine, that’s none of your business. Jessica is an adult.”
More than happy to jump on this bandwagon, I scoff. “Yeah, Mom. I’m thirty-two.”
“I’m not saying you can’t do what you want, only that you’re acting weird, and as your mother, I demand to know you’re okay.” Suddenly, my mom clutches at her chest. “Oh my god, you’re not pregnant, are you?”
“No! Of course not.” I screech, throwing my hands up in the air. “Why would you even think that? You went with me when I got my IUD. And even then, I make the guy wear a condom.”
My dad frowns. “Now, Jessica, I’m all for being enlightened, but those kinds of details aren’t necessary.” He motions toward Mom. “Tell your mother everything is fine.”
I take a deep breath and exhale. It’s time to get out of here so I can think properly. “Everything’s fine, Mom. I forgot Hailey and I promised Oliva we’d meet her for margaritas one last time.” I name the first childhood friend who pops into my head.
“Oh, that’s right. I’d forgotten too.” My sister backs me up, and that’s why we’re best friends too.
“See? Everything is great.” I do my very best to look serene. Like I’m a still lake on a calm day. “Ready, Hales?”
“Don’t you want to change?” she asks.
“Nope.” I whip my hair out of my ponytail.
Who has time to change when my life has once again been reduced to shrapnel by way of a man?
“You did what?!” Hailey screams from across the round bar table where we’re drinking margaritas and consuming bottomless chips and salsa, with a side of guacamole.
I spewed the whole sordid tale as fast as I could get the words out of my mouth, and it clears my head and calms me down, like it always does.
Now, all I need is a plan.
I fold my hands in front of me. “I met Ryder’s boss in a bar, took him to a seedy roadside motel, and fucked him like he was an Olympic sport and he was my one shot at gold.”
My sister’s jaw unhinges as she stares at me without blinking. “What if he’d been a serial killer?”
“I didn’t get a serial-killer vibe.”
“Serial killers can be very charismatic. How do you think Ted Bundy got all those poor women into the car?”
“How is that relevant? He’s worse than a serial killer—he’s a cop.”