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I bite back a snort. How ironic, considering I’m the one in the wrong. But Lesley won’t ever see things the way I do. After all, she’s the one who caught Chris kissing another girl at a party once when he was shit-faced. He’d groveled the next morning, and I’d forgiven him. Truth is, I’d been too scared to stand on my own without him, so I’d convinced myself it was only a bump in the road.
But Lesley is stronger than me, and she would call it game over if anyone ever treated her like that.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she says after the silence stretches too long. “Chris is a dumbass. And Perry’s a sleaze. Why him? I’m just curious.”
“I don’t know,” I say with a shrug. But my gut is burning with shame. “The worst part is, I don’t even remember it.”
She reduces speed before taking an exit and heading down a tree-lined street. “You don’t remember fucking your boss?”
“I don’t remember, Les. Nothing. It’s a complete blank.”
“How much did you drink that night?”
“Too much, apparently.”
Lesley makes a right turn then pulls into a driveway overrun with three other parked vehicles. She comes to a stop behind a pickup, nearly kissing the bumper. “I’ve never even seen you drunk, let alone blackout wasted.”
The night is eerily quiet after she shuts off the ignition, and her words seem to echo in the dark between us. Soft rain pitter-patters on the roof of the car, but not even that drowns out the roar in my ears. The fact that I don’t remember unsettles me more than I want to think about.
“Chris and I had a huge argument.” I don’t mention how it was over money, or how his drinking escalated the past few months. He’s never carried his weight since we moved in together, and that’s just one more reason Lesley hates him. “We both said some really hurtful things, and after he took off…”
“You decided to bury your heartache in a glass?”
“Yeah.” Looking back, I can see it clearly now. We’d been heading for an epic breakup for a while. A permanent one.
I just hadn’t wanted to admit it, even to myself.
“I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but you’ll get past this, Jules. Just give it some time.” Lesley moves to open the driver’s side door, and I take her cue and do the same.
Seattle is cooler than Oklahoma. And wet. Rain beats down on us as she pulls my suitcase from the trunk of her cherry red Bug. I inhale the chilly breeze, closing my eyes to the rugged smell of trees and rain and earth. It makes me think of my sexy stranger and how he likes the outdoors. I wonder if he hikes in the rain.
“You would have to pick now to run away from home. Last week, the weather was killer.”
“I don’t mind the rain.”
“Then you’ll fit right in.” She heads up the walkway to a home that looks big enough to house four members of an up-and-coming band, though the paint is faded and peeling in spots. We reach the porch, and Lesley pushes the door open. I take the handle of my suitcase from her after we enter the foyer.
Though the outside of the house is on the rundown side, the interior is tidy. A group of guys are lounging in the living room, taking up the worn sofas and comfy chairs as they fiddle with their instruments. I can imagine Les up on a stage with them, pounding on a set of drums.
“Guys, this is Jules. Be nice or else.”
I’d recognize Lesley’s brother even if we hadn’t already met before he moved to Seattle. The resemblance between them is hard to miss; he’s got the same inky black hair as Les. A few locks drape over his brown eyes as he plucks the strings of a bass guitar. He gives me a nod in greeting. “Nice to see you again, Jules.”
Before I can respond, another guy waves at me from a beanbag chair. He looks way too comfortable sitting there, one hand circling an open beer bottle. “What a gorgeous name you have.” His dark eyes are busy wandering over my body.
“Garen,” Lesley warns, “her eyes aren’t on her chest.”
Garen flashes her a cheeky grin. “Good thing I wasn’t looking at her eyes, Les.” He raises his gaze and his smile widens. “Not to say I don’t like ‘em because they’re as gorgeous as your name.”
Biting back a laugh, I roll my eyes.
“Chill out, man,” the third guy in the group says from the back of the room. I’m struck by how his dark blond hair sticks up in every direction. He comes across as wild and sexy, yet the way he’s strumming a shiny black guitar tells me he isn’t into bullshit. Maybe it’s the severe line of his mouth, or the slow motion of his fingers over the guitar strings.
His eyes are startling and bluer than the sky, and they’re latched on to Lesley. It’s an intense stare, one full of chemistry. “I’m Zander,” he says, swerving his gaze to me for a few seconds. “But you can call me Zan. Everyone else does.”
“It’s nice to meet you guys. I appreciate you letting me stay here.”
“We don’t turn away friends,” Garen says. “Especially cute blond chicks.”
