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The definition on Urban Dictionary was a little different than Merriam-Webster, though.
Tres-passing
When a woman is someone else’s property but two guys tag-team her.
(Tres)passing: Two men, one woman. (threesome)
Okay, okay. I had been trespassing on his property, but there was no threesome-type trespassing involved whatsoever. Plus, I wasn’t trespassing on his conversation. I was eavesdropping. Totally not the same thing. I’d call that a win in my book.
7
Jax
Joy Jones was easilymy favorite human in Havenbarrow, but most of the town stayed far away from her. Eddie’s family and I were the exceptions. She was in her late eighties, and most of the day her mind lived in a time when the world was much different. Ever since her husband passed away over twenty years ago, Joy had become a true recluse.
Most people called her insane, but I called her brilliant. Little interaction with other human beings? Count me in.
When I was younger, I ran away from home once after my drunk father told me he was going to beat me until I went to sleep forever, and I ended up hiding in Mrs. Jones’ back yard for a few days. When she found me, she didn’t scold me or tell me to go home and get lost. Instead, she baked me cookies. She fed me dinner. She asked me about myself.
That was over fifteen years ago, and I’d been having morning coffee and evening dinner with her pretty much every day since then. To the rest of the world, she was Crazy Joy, but to me? She was my friend, one of the few.
“What do you think about my new neighbor?” Joy asked me one night after I came for our evening dinner session. “Eddie and Marie came over for lunch earlier, and they had so many nice things to say about her.”
“I think nothing of her,” I said as we sat down at her dining room table, which was laden with enough food for a whole gospel choir. Joy had a way of cooking too much food all the time, and I knew it was because she was determined to send me home with leftovers each night. I swore, the woman probably thought I couldn’t make a frozen pizza without burning it.
I never argued with her about the leftovers she sent with me. The truth was, I’d burned my fair share of frozen pizzas, so Joy’s concern was warranted.
“I think she’s so sweet. Beautiful, too,” Joy commented, placing salad on her plate before passing the bowl to me.
“Oh?” I said, sounding disinterested even though I’d have been a damn fool not to notice how good-looking the woman was who’d moved in next door. Good-looking felt like an understatement. She was breathtaking. Her tight honey curls bounced every time she smiled, and when she smiled, damn…
That smile made even my cold heart want to feel slight warmth. She had long legs that went on for days, vibrant clothing, and short shorts that hugged her ass in all the right places. Then those eyes…
Those damn eyes. Why did they look so familiar to me, as if they were a key to a memory I hadn’t been able to unlock? Those eyes smiled even more than her lips. When she was sad or spooked, her eyes frowned more than her lips, too. It was as if her irises were the pathway to her story, but I hadn’t been able to dive deep into her language, hadn’t cracked her code. I didn’t know what story her stare was telling. I didn’t understand the words lingering in her eyes.
Shit, I hadn’t even tried to understand.
I didn’t want to try.
“She seems like a good girl,” Joy went on. “Nice personality, too. You know each morning she greets me with the biggest smile and asks if I need anything? She’s a sweetie pie like that. The world needs more nice girls.”
Why? So it could destroy them?
If I knew anything about nice people, it was that the rest of the world wouldn’t stop itself from beating the kindness out of them. It was as if niceness was a disease and everyone was determined to pummel anyone who displayed its symptoms. I’d spent the past twenty-eight years having any positive light beaten out of my system, and if I’d learned anything, it was that the world wasn’t made for nice people. It was created to destroy them.
I stayed quiet as Joy kept going on about her. “You should talk to her more, get to know her.”
I snickered a bit. “Not really into making friends, Joy.” She knew this. It wasn’t a secret. A warning sign of that should’ve been when my best guy mate was my fucking therapist and my best lady friend was almost ninety. “Besides, I have you.” I always figured if you had a true friend, you were better off than most. And me? I had a handful of them—if I counted Connor. Based on statistics, I probably had one too many.
“Yes, well, one day I’ll be gone, and you’ll need a new one. You better start putting out feelers now. I ain’t getting any younger, boy. Besides, I think she could use a friend, too. She lost somebody, just like the both of us.”
My eyebrow arched. “She told you that?”
Joy shook her head. “Loss isn’t something that needs to be said. It sits heavily within a person’s eyes. People who have lost loved ones move a little differently. Her loss still feels fresh, as if she doesn’t know how to move through each day. That’s something I can understand. I think it’s something you can understand, too, so consider getting to know her a little.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You aren’t trying to play matchmaker since I broke up with Amanda, are you?”
“No, no, not this time. Not a matchmaker—just a friend-maker. Contrary to your personal belief, everyone needs friends, Jaxson, even the black sheep in a small town like Havenbarrow.”
