23. Capri
23
CAPRI
Jones:
Hey, Capri from Capri.
A big smile crosses my face.
Capri:
Hi. What’s up?
Jones:
Oh, you know. Just standing outside your door waiting for you to answer.
Shit. He’s outside.
Capri:
Omg. You’re here?? I didn’t hear a knock.
Jones:
Hands are full. Thank fuck for Siri.
I rush to the front door, swinging it open wide.
“Hey! I didn’t know?—”
“Little help, sweetheart.” Oh, shoot. Right.
I step to the side, making way for Jones as he carries a massive box into my apartment.
“Where do you want it?” he asks, spinning in place and waiting for my answer. “Want it? Why do you have a TV?” I ask him, clueless as to why he brought that.
He smirks. “Great observation. You’re good at that. Now tell me where you want it, Capri, before I pick a place. This bitch is heavy.”
I point to the small shelving unit by the couch. “Over there works.”
He bought me a TV. “You bought me a TV?” I say again. It’s possible I could just be imagining it, so if I repeat myself, maybe it’ll wake me up from this dream.
“You’re really too good at this whole observation thing.” He smiles, clearing off the shelf and taking apart the box. “You needed one, and I want to watch TV with you. It’s a win-win.” Jones smirks.
“You’re insane.” I laugh and stand back, watching him work.
He’s fucking hot. This handyman side of Jones is the equivalent of a woman in a sundress to a man.
I might need to change my panties later.
“You won’t be saying that when we’re cuddled up on this fluffy-ass couch, watching trash TV and getting sick on junk food.”
I cross my arms at my chest, convincing myself I can remain strong. “We won’t be cuddling, Jones. Friends, remember?”
He shrugs, leveling the stand to the wall. “Friends cuddle.”
“Not friends who have also fucked.” I smile, knowing I got him.
He smirks, pausing his step. “And what a great fuck it was. We should do it again sometime.”
I giggle, and it takes everything in me not to say, “Yes, how about right now?”
“Not a good idea,” I remind him, hating my own decisions at this point.
“Okay, buzzkill. Point taken. Now, help me hold this level.”
I stand beside him, our arms twisted as Jones works on mounting the flatscreen to the wall. The smell of tobacco and cypress whiffs around me, transporting me back in time.
He smells comforting—a scent of home. I want to bundle myself in it.
I don’t realize I’m staring until I break from my daze, finding Jones’ green eyes pinned on mine. My breath catches as his stare drifts to my lips.
I want to kiss him, and I can tell he’s thought about doing the same close to a dozen times since he got here.
But he breaks away first and clears his throat, shaking off our moment. He’s being respectful of my request and right now, I fucking hate it.
“There. I present to you…your new TV, madame,” he says, taking an exaggerated bow.
“How did I ever live without it?” I tease, taking a good look at the gigantic screen on my wall. “It’s so…large.”
“Just think of all the shows we can watch on this bad boy,” Jones says, smiling and patting the side of it.
“Riveting.” I laugh and it feels easy.
“I love your laugh.”
My voice catches in my throat. How does he have so much kindness to give? It’s the kindness that makes you question if he ever receives it.
I see Jones’ genuine heart, and it makes me worry about him. Who does he have looking after his heart?
“You’re very smooth, Jones Archer.” I grin.
“Oh, am I, Capri from Capri?”
I nod and take a step closer. “Mhm.”
He meets me head-on. “I think you secretly love how smooth I am. Isn’t that right?”
“Eh, smooth isn’t really my thing,” I murmur softly, my voice just above a whisper. “I prefer hard—rough, even.”
His grin is sinister, masked by charm. He’s a devil on the prowl, waiting for an open door to strike. “Don’t tempt me, sweetheart. I won’t play fair.”
“Oh, I know exactly how you play.”
Jones reaches to caress the side of my face, and my body shivers, an explosion of emotion taking over. “I’m doing this for you.”
I know what he means. He’s trying to be my friend because I asked him to, not because it’s what he wants.
“Then why are you touching me like we’re more than friends?”
His eyes stay locked on mine, never straying, never losing focus. “Because I can’t help myself with you. I think I’ve finally discovered my downfall.”
I can’t think straight when he says things like that.
“I’m sorry,” I say, the fog of confusion fading away. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
Jones shakes off my words. “Right.” He looks around my tiny apartment before saying, “Well, you’re all set. I’ll be around if you get the itch to have a lazy day. With a friend, of course.” He winks.
I smile wide. “You gonna keep reminding me of that?”
“Who said the reminder is for you?”
Touché . He turns toward the door to leave, and I call to him one last time. “Jones.”
His eyes meet mine. “Capri from Capri.”
“Thanks.”
A megawatt smile is all I get before he’s gone.
* * *
Collie:
Karaoke tonight at Funky Rooster?
Capri:
Yessss. Same time as always?
Collie:
Meet at 7. Stuff our faces with loaded nachos then sing our asses off at 8.
Capri:
There’s a reason we’re sisters. Maybe even soulmates.
Collie:
Love you babe
“Hello, my beautiful sister.” Collie runs to greet me as I walk through the doors of The Funky Rooster.
“Love the boots, Cols,” I say, wrapping her in a hug.
“My closet is your closet.” She smiles wide. “You look amazing yourself.”
After spending the morning running errands and grocery shopping, the day went by faster than I anticipated, leaving me hardly any time to get ready. I settled on a pair of cut-off denim shorts, a black bodysuit, and my black combat boots.
I’m the kind of woman who wears combat boots with shorts during the summer. It’s my style.
My hair was already in curls from this morning, so I tossed it into a messy bun with little tendrils surrounding my face. I feel cute with an edge.
“What up, pretty girl?”
My eyes find Noah across the bar, walking toward us. “Hey, Noah. Didn’t know you’d be here.” I send Collie a look filled with questions.
Noah is someone that, as of late, I find I need to prepare myself to be around. He’s becoming more and more forward with his intentions.
It makes it difficult to dodge him when my feelings aren’t reciprocated.
Noah hugs me and pulls a barstool out for me to sit. “Ran into Collie this morning. It’s been a while since we’ve all hung out.” He looks around the crowded bar, and I use his distraction as my opportunity to flip Collie off.
“This place is stacked tonight,” Noah says.
The Funky Rooster is never not stacked.
Friday nights are for karaoke, giving my family an excuse to come here at least once a month. Since we know the owner, we get complimentary shots and a discount on all the food. It works in our favor since Collie and I both love karaoke and have a core group of songs we rotate through.
I used to come here with Drew when we were married, and he always insisted on choosing the songs. I swear, his goal was to make me look like an idiot, picking songs I never knew. He knew them, of course.
He tainted the joy I felt in this bar for so long. I’m ready to take back my place here—with a song I want to sing.
Settling in my seat, I order a beer and some award-winning nachos.
The Funky Rooster has a unique aesthetic. It reminds me of what the inside of a motorcycle clubhouse would look like. The walls are painted matte black, with one covered in a hand-painted mural of downtown Timber Heights. The wall behind the bar is covered in metal signs displaying club names and alcohol brand logos. A small stage is stationed on the wall opposite, with a mic in the center and soft lights illuminating the bottom perimeter.
It’s simple and most likely designed by a group of men with no sense of style, but it’s a staple for Timber Heights locals.
A heavy contrast to the beach town we live in.
I search for my sister, finding her chatting with a group of girls she went to college with.
“You singing tonight?” Noah asks from beside me.
I nod and take a sip of my beer. “You know it.”
“So what’s it gonna be? Shania or Spice Girls?”
I smirk. “Wouldn’t you like to know? You’re just gonna have to wait and find out.”
Noah takes my challenge and leans casually against the bar. He rambles on about something regarding cars, but I don’t grasp much. Not when Jones Archer is walking, no, striding through the front door, looking like sex on a stick.
I think I just got pregnant.
He takes in the bar around him, scoping out the crowd. His face is stern and all sharp features until they land on me. Gone is the man with defenses because the smile that illuminates his face looks like pure joy—thrill even.
The fine lines around his eyes from age only enhance his appeal. He’s so damn handsome it should be a crime. I’m not the only one who seems to think so because he has the attention of every woman in this bar.
They aren’t on his radar, though. I am.
And I’ve never wanted to fail at my own request so badly.
He says nothing as he approaches me at the bar, but his eyes…they speak volumes.
Rubbing the scruff on his face, his vibrant greens drink me in. Unashamedly and leisurely. Taking his time not to miss a single detail.
“Eyes are up here, Captain.”
He smirks but doesn’t stop his study. “I’ll get there.” When he finally reaches my stare, I feel such care and adoration from him. He doesn’t even have to touch me, and I feel him everywhere. The way his eyes drink me in without a care who sees it.
The attraction is mutual.
I love everything I’m still learning about Jones, and that’s what terrifies me.
“Hi,” he says, smiling broadly.
“Hey, yourself,” I say. “We keep running into each other.”
“Hey, man. I’m Noah,” Noah interrupts, offering Jones a handshake.
Jones pauses, now noticing the man to my left before extending a hand. “Jones Archer.”
He takes a seat to my right and continues where we left off. “Been coming here for years,” Jones says and orders himself a beer from the bartender. “Need a refill?” he asks me.
I shake my head. “No, thank you. Wait, have you always lived here?”
“Grew up here. When my father started Archer Chartering in Italy, we traveled more, but Timber Heights has always been our home base. It’s where my mom grew up.”
That’s wild. Jones and I have essentially lived in the same small town for most of our lives and never crossed paths. It only took traveling across the world for us to meet.
Add in the coincidence of the number of times we’ve run into each other lately.
It seems important that people are placed in our lives at the time we least expect it. Who am I to argue with fate?
“I can’t believe we’ve lived in the same city all this time.”
“It’s a small town. But to be fair, I’ve only lived here for three months out of the year in the last ten. You were what, sixteen?”
I smack him playfully. “Your age is showing, old man.”
“Jones!” Collie charges us, securing him in a big hug. “Didn’t expect to see you here.” She looks around our section of the bar. “You here alone?”
Jones nods. “Yeah, just me. Bruce and I go way back,” he says, nodding to the bartender.
“Well, damn,” Collie gasps. “You know Bruce, too? It’s as if it were meant to be.” She winks at me a little too dramatically, her point relayed clearly.
“You do karaoke, Jones?” Noah asks, placing his hand on my thigh.
What is he doing?
Jones doesn’t miss it. His eyes dart to Noah’s hand on my bare skin, and I hear his breathing intensify. The hand holding his beer clenches tight, threatening to break the glass. Jones stays silent, and I make it a point to slide Noah’s hand off, sending him a look of repulsion.
“If you’ll excuse me.” Jones leaves his seat and exits toward the bathroom.
I waste no time turning to Noah. “What the fuck, Noah?”
He looks surprised by my reaction. “What? Who is that guy anyway, Capri?”
“He’s my friend. Which I thought you were too. Friends don’t mark territories like that, Noah.”
“Capri…I…I…”
“Exactly. I’ve never given you any reason to think we would ever be more than friends. So, don’t piss on me like a goddamn dog.”
He nods in silence, and I take that as my sign to get up.
Time to pick what I’m singing tonight.
I’m almost to the stage, waiting in line to draft my song, when a strong arm pulls me to the side, spinning me to face him.
“Jones? What the hell?”
With my back against the wall, he cages me in. His mouth ghosts the slender curve of my neck, heating my slick skin with his breath.
“Is he the reason?” he exhales deeply.
His large frame leans into me like he can’t get close enough, and my betraying body refuses to fight it. The fire that’s always burning between us is hard to miss.
Hard to deter.
“Who? Noah?” I ask, wondering what he’s talking about.
“Fuck. Don’t say his name. Just tell me. Is he the reason we can only be friends? Is he yours, Capri?” His voice sounds strained—broken.
“No, Jones. Noah and I are just friends.”
“I saw him at the restaurant the first day I saw you. His arm was around you.” He looks hurt.
“My parents invited him. We’ve been friends since we were kids. I promise.”
I hear the relief leave him, but he doesn’t move away, and I’m not sure I want him to. This is the closest we’ve been since Italy, and I’ve missed him.
“I’m losing my mind here, sweetheart.”
“Jones…”
He stops me. “I know. I know. I just…fuck. Seeing his hand on you made me want to beat his face into the fucking gravel. I don’t like him touching you, especially when I can’t.”
This fiercely protective side of Jones makes me want to throw caution to the wind and let go of my self-preservation for the night. I did it in Italy. Why can’t I do it now?
I don’t think, just wrap my arms around him and pull his body closer. He catches on fast and holds me tight.
“Will you just hold me, please?”
His grip tightens, and he inhales deeply into my hair. We’re in sync, fueled by our chemistry and led by life’s plans for us—separately. It’s beautiful and tragic all in the same.
“I’m right here. However long you need me,” he whispers into my hair.
Jones peppers kisses along my neck, leading to my cheek, and I feel a rush of tears threaten to spill.
Why couldn’t I have met Jones Archer in a few months when I’m restored and stable again? Why does it have to be when I want him the most but know it’s not the right time?
He makes me feel deliriously happy.
“I wish I could give myself to you,” I whisper to him honestly.
“You focus on yourself, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”
I know he means emotionally, but I can’t help but remind myself that physically, he’ll be gone again in almost two months.
“Okay,” I say. Because what else can I say when I know I’ll be hurt either way?