Blue Streak: A Blue Series Novella (3 page)

“Got it. No more Pip—” She shoots me a glare. “No more using that nickname. But I don’t get what the big deal is.”

“The big deal is that you treat me like a child. I’m an adult—only a year and a half younger than you. We’re friends, but you don’t need to rub in the fact that you don’t see me as a woman.”

What’s she talking about? “I know you’re a woman.” God, do I know. I try to forget it every single day.

Nessa deserves a better dude than me. Someone better than the guys she’s hanging with tonight too.

She tucks her long, dark hair behind her ear, the floral and orange scent she wears wafting over, sending my senses into overdrive. “I know you have something going on with her. There’s something not right about it… but I’m done trying to figure you out.”

My head pounds. That last shot is messing with my ability to think clearly.

I’m not hiding this from anyone. Or maybe Nessa is the only person perceptive enough to have figured it out.

I’m ashamed, but mostly the fact that Nessa has puzzled out the truth is a game changer. I can’t do it anymore—can’t stand the idea that my sordid relationship with Alexis is hurting Nessa. I was already going to end it, but I want it over this minute. I wish I had told Alexis before I left the hotel room instead of waiting to do it somewhere else.

Sal walks up. He glances from me to Nessa, a concerned look on his face before he smiles at her. “Hey, why don’t we take a break? Can I get you another drink? What about you, Zach?”

“Yeah, thanks.” I let out a sigh and inch closer to Nessa.

I’m not worried about her with these guys. They seem decent, and they haven’t driven hard to get her attention. That’s not why I feel the need to hover. I sense her slipping away, and the notion makes me want to rip the cheap wood paneling off the walls of this joint.

I don’t deserve her, but the thought of losing her makes me crazy.

“Here you go.” Sal returns and hands Nessa what looks like a screwdriver. He passes me another pint of beer. “The guys and I were just talking about the lack of food variety around here. What do you think, Ness? Any good Filipino restaurants nearby?”

He’s trying to lighten the mood, and I don’t blame him. The tension is so thick it’s choking.

Nessa looks distracted for a moment, then says, “Sure, there are a couple of places.” She rattles off the names of restaurants in town I’m familiar with, but have never been to.

Should I have paid more attention? Nessa’s a mix, like me. But instead of being part Washoe like me and my friends, Nessa’s dad is Filipino, her mother British. I never asked her how her parents met, or why they settled in San Francisco. Never wanted to get that personal. It would have been too easy to cross the line with her from friendship into something more.

I’ve wanted Nessa from the first moment I met her, but she’s a good girl. And I’m no boy next door.

“So did your parents hook you up with the good stuff growing up?” Sal asks.

Nessa’s heritage isn’t that easy to figure out. Her skin is light with olive tones, her hair black, but her face is heart-shaped, almost elfin, and not easy to define as one nationality over another. If Sal knows she’s part Filipino, he must know her well. And that bothers me. Maybe I
should
worry about this guy.

Nessa gives him a small smile and shakes her head. “I ate at Filipino restaurants like everyone else. My mom did the cooking. If she was going native, I got bangers and mash and toad-in-the-hole at home. Marmite was a mainstay in our fridge.”

Sal scrunches his face when Nessa explains what Marmite is. The only reason I’m familiar with the condiment is because I’ve been to Nessa’s place more times than I can count. Of course I’ve scoured her fridge for food. There’s a reason I always cook. I have a fast metabolism. I’m pretty much hungry all the time, and Nessa’s fridge doesn’t escape my pillaging.

We play a few more rounds of Cornhole, and the tension between me and Nessa eases. She high-fives Sal after sliding her last sandbag home and walks toward me, not smiling, but not scowling either. She stops to take a sip of her drink.

“Ready to leave?”

Her lower lip slides into her mouth, as if she’s biting it from the inside. “You go ahead. Don’t let me keep you if there’s someplace you need to be.”

I don’t like the implication in her tone, or the fact that she thinks I’ll leave here without her. “I should get you home.”

She spears me with a look. “I’m fine. I can take care of myself.”

“Course you can. I just figured you were ready to go.”
Hoped
is more like it.

Indecision plays on her face, and she looks over at her friends. They’ve divided up the sandbags and are preparing for another game.

“I guess I am tired. It’s been a long day.”

“Sure.” I grab her sweatshirt. Her brow furrows—there’s a chance I’m pushing her out the door—but she reaches for her purse and walks over to the guys.

Sal gives her a hug, and I grind my teeth. He seems like a decent guy. I’m just not used to random dudes touching Nessa. I don’t want her hurt by
anyone
—including me. And if I’m being honest, the idea of another guy touching her makes me want to crush something.

We head back silently to Blue Casino, past the sliding glass front doors, and around the side of the building to the parking garage where the employees park. I steer Nessa to my gray four-by-four, and she stops suddenly.

“My car’s a few rows over. We should part here. Thanks for walking me back. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Whoa.” I shake my head. “You’re not driving home.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Nessa, you weigh about a buck, and I just watched you down three drinks. I’m driving. I’ll take you to your car in the morning.”

“You’ve had as much to drink as I have.”

“And I weigh almost twice what you do. After two hours at Farley’s, I’m sober as a judge.”

She glances away as if considering. She can’t argue that logic. “Fine, but I’ll get my roommate to give me a ride in the morning. You don’t need to pick me up.”

Whatever. As long as she comes home with me… to her place… to be dropped off…Really, I need to find a way to block thoughts of me and Nessa hooking up. Messes with my concentration.

Can a guy be hypnotized for something like that? The way people are hypnotized to not smoke? I’ll pay whatever price they ask if someone can make me less physically attracted to this girl.

I could stay away from Nessa, but that’s not an option. That’s a form of torture I’m not strong enough to withstand. I prefer mental agony to total deprivation.

I open the passenger door of my truck and she climbs in. I enter the driver’s side and try not to notice how good she looks in my truck. Like she belongs. “So what’s your roommate up to tonight?”

Nessa settles her purse at her feet and buckles herself in. “She’s probably out with her new boyfriend. I haven’t seen her much. She stays at his place most nights.”

“So you’re alone tonight?” This train of thought isn’t helping. Now I’m thinking about being alone with Nessa at her place.

“I guess. Why, does it matter?”

“Doesn’t matter. Just wondering.”

I feel her gaze on me as I pull out of the parking lot and head onto the main road. “So who is she?” she asks.

Not this again. “Who?”

“That woman you’re always meeting with.”

I grip the steering wheel. “I told you. No one important.”

“She looks important to you.”

I glance over. Nessa is leaning against the door, her body angled as far away from me as possible, but her expression is intent.

“She’s not. She’s no one.”

“I don’t believe that, Zach. You see her at least every month. And those are just the times I’ve witnessed you together. Is she your girlfriend?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then who is she? Some kind of regular hookup?”

I don’t answer. Because that’s probably a decent description. But also inadequate. What Alexis and I have is far more warped than a hookup.

“Is that all women are to you?” She stares out the window. “I thought you were different.” Her voice comes out warbly.

The sense I’m losing her returns. “There’s nothing between her and me, Nessa. Not anymore.”

Not after tonight, anyway.

She turns to me. “What does that mean?”

“I used to see her, but now I’m not. Can we change the subject?” I reach over and flick on the radio. A commercial blares through the speakers, and I punch the buttons to change the station.

“Why?”

I fumble with the radio, trying to find something to distract. “Why what?”

“Why do you do it?”

Frustrated, I flick off the radio and turn at the green light onto Nessa’s street. “Can you be more specific?” I’m deflecting, avoiding. I really want nothing to do with this conversation. Maybe I should have called Nessa a cab. The two of us alone together does neither of us any good.

“Put up walls. Do you do it to her too?”

I pierce Nessa with a glare. “There is nothing remotely similar to what I had with her and what we have.”

Nessa’s eyes widen. “Right, because we’re only friends.”

We are more. Or we could be if I’m not careful—if I’m not strong enough. Which I
have
to be.

I’ve sensed Nessa’s desire to be closer. I feel it too, but I don’t understand why she can’t see it. The things I’ve done, who I am—I’m no good for her.

“We’re friends, Nessa. Good friends. Which is more than I have with any woman.”

“You’re friends with Mira,” she says flatly.

Mira’s a fellow Washoe I’ve known half my life, and yeah, we’re close. But it’s not the same. “Mira’s like a sister. You’re… different.”

“Different. As in not good enough to be more. Not good enough to be family. Just not good enough. I get it, Zach.”

“That’s not what I meant.” I pull up to Nessa’s apartment, and before I can shut off the ignition, she jumps out of the cab.

“Thanks for the ride.” She slams the door and runs—literally runs—across the parking lot to her apartment on the first floor. The building is a two-story with eight units. It’s small, but close to the strip and work. I wait until she enters before I drop my head back against the headrest.

Nessa threw up barriers between us tonight for the first time since I’ve known her. She’s a cheery person, and seeing her upset leaves a dull pain in my chest. She’s gotta know there can never be anything between us, not after she realized what’s been going on with me and Alexis. I feel like I’m losing her.

Though I never had her to begin with.

And that’s the way it’s supposed to be.

Nessa

T
he last thing
I want is to go to Zach’s place tonight, but everyone’s expecting me there for taco dinner. I tried to back out over the phone with Mira, but she whined about the cookies she’d made and how I had to taste her cooking. I caved. It hasn’t been easy for Mira to let people in, and she’s come so far. I couldn’t say no and let her down.

I still can’t believe Zach invited himself to drinks with me and Sal last night. Knowing he’d just left Blondie’s hotel room all freshly showered wasn’t enough? Now he’s sticking his nose in my limited social life? I needed that drink with Sal—needed to take my mind off of Zach, not be reminded of how frustrated he makes me.

I can’t handle it anymore. I’m not sure we can remain friends. It’s killing me.

I eye the giant bottle of Cuervo I bought with last night’s tip money, and stroke it like a baby. It’s going to save me tonight. I slip on strappy-heeled sandals below my cuffed skinny jeans. I never leave the house without heels. Even my trainers have a platform. Some might call me vertically challenged. At five feet, I’m compact and kickass. At least that’s what I tell myself.

I tuck my loose V-neck T-shirt into the front of my jeans and slide on a leather jacket. My fingers graze a slice of Juicy Fruit in the side pocket, and I peel off the wrapper and jam it in my mouth. I pick up Cuervo baby and scan the room for anything I’ve forgotten before shouldering on my purse and heading out the door.

A few minutes later, I pull up to Zach’s place. Only it’s just Zach’s truck in the driveway.

What the heck? I intentionally arrived late to avoid this situation. I don’t want to be the first one here.

I take a deep breath and reach for Cuervo, which I belted into the front seat just to keep it safe. I don’t care that I’m getting too old for liquid courage. I need it tonight. Things can’t keep going on the way they have been. It’s breaking me. Getting through this night without crying is step one.

Shit, maybe I should leave town. Why
am
I still here? Tahoe was supposed to be a fun summer after college before I buckled down and got a real job, yet here I am in my second year. It’s not because of
him
. Well, maybe a little. But I also love Lake Tahoe. It’s my home, though I need to find a way to have a life outside of Zach and his friends. I tried last night, except Zach chose that moment to pay attention to me in a way he never has before.

Men. They are such an enigma.

Or maybe it’s just Zach. He makes no sense. One minute he’s looking at me like he could melt my clothes off with his eyes, the next he’s walking out the door with a different girl.

Fine, liquid courage it is. Which means I’ll need to call a cab to get home. Much as I hate to admit it, Zach was right. I shouldn’t have considered driving after a few drinks last night. Being vertically challenged means the alcohol hits me harder. But if Zach hadn’t upset me, I would have realized I’d had too much to drink. So really, it’s all his fault.

There, I feel better now.

Grabbing my hobo purse, I cradle Cuervo in my arms and make my way up the stone path to Zach’s small cabin. The metal roof is sloped toward the street with an entrance gable that extends all the way to the ground—very Tahoe. His place is cute, but it could use a lady’s touch. The inside is boy décor, meaning everything shoved up against the walls, pictures hanging too high. Still, I admire him. As far as I know, Zach owns his place, which is pretty cool for a guy in his early twenties. He’s a hard worker, and smart about investing his money…