Chapter 14
Fourteen
Iarrive at Jax’s house to pick her up, telling Remy to climb into the back seat. The three of us are going to Eli’s Mile High Club tonight to blow off some steam. Remy and Karin broke up again, and Friday nights mean live Blues at the club.
Something makes me smooth my waves as I approach the door, wondering if her parents will think my long hair means I’m a hippie or some degenerate. As much as I want to not care, I do.
Jacqui answers the door, and my pulse leaps. This ray of sunshine looks so good, I can’t believe she’s mine. She flashes a smile then a faltering look. “My dad wants to meet you,” she says apologetically.
A decent father should want to meet the guy taking out his daughter. After giving her an assuring nod, I follow her inside.
Mr. Hall is waiting in the living room, standing in tan suit pants and a short-sleeve button-down shirt, the knot of his tie wrenched away from his neck. He sets down a tumbler of caramel-hued liquid and extends a hand.
“Dad, this is Mick Callahan. Mick, this is my father, Fred Hall.”
He’s tall, probably has four inches on me, and I look him directly in the eyes as we share a firm handshake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hall.”
“Mick.”
In my periphery, Jacqui shifts her weight, radiating stress, but I’m not sure why. I’d like to meet her mom, but she’s nowhere in sight.
“My daughter hasn’t told me much about you, just that you work next door. What is it that you do for a living?”
“I’m an auto mechanic at the Chevron.”
“Hmm. Is that something you enjoy?” He picks up his drink, weaving slightly on his feet, and I note only a sliver of his cocktail remains. Awareness prickles, a familiar wariness doused in trepidation. He’s a drinker.
“Actually, it is, sir. I’ve always had a knack for it, and it was a natural progression to become certified.”
“Is this a career for you then, something you see doing for the rest of your life?”
Irritation flares at his judgment. I don’t want to participate in such a shallow line of questioning, but it’s Jax’s father. Hard not to note his white-collar attire and assume he doesn’t think much of professions outside that narrow window. “No, sir, but it’s my plan for the moment.”
“Dad, we need to go,” Jacqui interjects. “People are waiting for us.”
“Alright then. Home by midnight, young lady.” He turns my direction, seeking my acknowledgment, and I give it by dipping my chin.
“Goodnight, Mr. Hall.”
“Mm-hmm. Goodnight.”
Jax tugs my hand and leads me out the door. “I’m so sorry for the third degree,” she mutters when we’re halfway to the car.
“Don’t sweat it.” Nothing I can’t handle.
I tuck her into the Mustang, suppress my strong desire to do a loud, smoky burnout in front of her house, and head toward West Oakland.
As I dip under the MacArthur Freeway and park, I realize Mr. Hall would have a coronary if he saw where I brought his daughter tonight.
It’s sketchy and rundown, borderline unsafe, but I’ve never had a problem here.
It’s one of my favorite haunts, and I’m stoked to share it with Jax.
Remy and I flank Jacqui as we walk to the venue, and I’m relieved when her fake ID passes muster.
Not that we couldn’t go somewhere else, but this is where I want to be.
Once we’re through the doors, I take my girl’s hand and guide her through the throng.
The dimly lit dance floor is already packed with bodies gyrating to the sultry Blues penetrating the club, and the aroma of soul food sparks my appetite, despite eating dinner already.
We find a small table and sit while Remy heads to the bar to snag our drinks. I light up a couple of cigarettes and hand one to Jax. Remy returns with a pitcher of beer for us and a tequila sunrise for Jacqui.
Six musicians jam on the small stage, belting out kickass music.
As they begin another number, I tug my girl to the central floor and we groove.
Her face lights with surprise when I grab her waist and mold our bodies together, and again when I twirl her around, but the way she glows has me grinning right back.
We stay out for a few songs and then Remy takes her for a spin.
She returns breathless, happy, and so goddamned beautiful, I pull her on my lap and kiss her senseless.
The three of us dance for hours, sweat clinging to our skin, hair damp, blood buzzed.
To anyone else, this scenario might seem weird, but Remy is not only my best friend, but my brother—and he’d never cross the line with Jacqui knowing she’s mine.
He’s given me nothing but goofy smiles that I’m finally into a chick, especially one as cool as Jax.
Remy’s also been through so much bullshit with Karin over the years that this is exactly the kind of night he needs to help restore some equilibrium.
Maybe they’ll finally stay broken up this time.
We’re on a high when we leave the club in time to have Jax home by her curfew, although the night’s still young by our standards.
When I hit the highway, Remy leans between the two front seats. “Wanna score some blow?”
“Sure,” I say.
Jacqui sulks, staring out the window.
Not that I want to tempt her, but she seems so bummed, I squeeze her hand and throw out the offer. “Want to come over? I know it’s late.”
Her fingers return the squeeze. “You know I do. Let me think.”
I roll the Mustang to a stop next door to her house, hidden by the neighbor’s hedges. When I open her car door, she takes my outstretched hand.
“I have an idea,” she says. “If it works, I’ll be there soon.”
My knuckles brush her cheek. “Don’t do anything stupid.” My lips skim hers, igniting all my nerve endings, and when her arms wrap around my neck, I pull her flush against me for a long, dizzying kiss.
With reluctance, I let her go.
“Wish me luck,” she mutters over her shoulder.
“Be careful, Jax.”
I shouldn’t have given her any ideas. She should absolutely go inside and stay there like the dutiful daughter.
It makes me think of all the times Remy and I snuck out.
Hell, his parents never cared much how late we stayed up or out anyway—but there’s no question Fred Hall would.
And something tells me he isn’t the forgiving kind.
Remy and I detour to the nearby 7-Eleven. He heads for the pay phone to call Scott, a friend of ours who deals, while I go inside and buy beer. He gives me a thumbs up as we walk back to the Mustang at the same time.
I drive toward Scott’s, passing our old junior high as I head straight into the hills.
When I take a notorious hairpin turn a little too fast and fishtail, Remy grips the door frame and cackles.
We arrive, and my buddy hops out to buy the drugs while I stay in the car, tapping on the steering wheel to Blue ?yster Cult cranking from the speakers.
“Go go Godzilla, yeeeeeeeah,” I sing under my breath.
He’s back within ten minutes, and I drive more responsibly home now that we’re carrying. Jacqui’s Beetle greets us when I pull up. I’m damn glad to see her, but the twinge in my gut speaks to what repercussions she’ll face if busted.
Stowing my reticence, I exit the car and plant a kiss on her lips. “Atta baby.”
“Our little girl has a pair,” Remy adds.
We hike up the embankment and into the house.
Remy promptly dumps an entire gram on the glass table, chops it up, and portions out several lines.
We snort one up each nostril, immediately obliterating my mellow buzz—every bit as sobering as jumping into the Pacific in January.
My brain clears after we toot a few more…
and the rush barrels into my blood like a tsunami.
I load a Pretenders album on the turntable and as soon as the music starts, Jacqui sings the lyrics, dancing across the living room without a self-conscious bone in her body. It only makes her more attractive, and my focus zooms in and crystalizes, only seeing her.
Although it’s past one in the morning, Remy makes a call. By the smile on his face, I’m positive he’s inviting some chick over. It’s fine. Whatever breakup cure he needs, I support.
Twenty minutes later, Cora walks in fully made up and wearing jeans I’m not sure she can breathe in. Bullseye. I glance at Jax and her gaze searches mine. She may have heard about this side of Remy, but it’s another thing altogether to witness it. She’s a decent person—it probably bothers her.
We snort more lines, then Cora straddles Remy’s lap and they make out on the couch like it’s an everyday occurrence.
I notice my baby staring, and that’s my cue to whisk her down the hall and into the bedroom.
My blood hums with desire. I yank off my shirt and get busy undressing Jax.
God, I love her body. She’s a living, breathing wet dream…
somehow, a dream come true. My hands roam, tracing her feminine curves as my lips find hers, my tongue probing, seeking, needing all of her.
I’m unsure whether to wake the sleeping beauty next to me even though it’s already noon. Jax told me she left a note for her parents saying she was spending the night at Kendra’s last night, so hopefully she’s not in any trouble. Gazing at her peaceful face, I decide against it. We barely slept.
I stagger to the bathroom and brush my teeth.
One glance in the mirror confirms I look as shitty as I feel.
Cocaine hangovers are the worst. It’s impossible to come down without smoking weed or drinking copious amounts of alcohol so you stay wired until your internal battery dies, which can take hours.
It’s really one of the stupider things we voluntarily do. Too bad it’s so much damn fun.
Pulling on sweatpants and a T-shirt, I quietly pad out to the living room and turn on the TV, keeping the volume low.
Flicking through the channels, I land on a football game, a rerun obviously at this time of year, then stretch out on the sofa.
Remy joins me thirty minutes later and flops on the other couch with an aggrieved groan.