The Harder You Fall (2 page)

Over the years, tormenting each other had become a very fun game.

“You're wrong, as usual,” she told West with a sugar sweet smile. “Also, you're too limited in your thinking. Time isn't linear, it's circular.”

That
grabbed his attention. Intrigue brightened his eyes as he straightened, propped his elbows on the desk and linked his fingers just below his chin. “Explain.”

With pleasure. “Time has no beginning and no end. It always has been, always will be, and it never stops, which means time is an ever-continuing circle of new beginnings and new ends.”

The intrigue intensified and mixed with...admiration? “You're implying the concept of being late is—”

“Bullcrap.”

“—erroneous because what is present will become what is past and what is past will become what is future. Therefore, no matter the lateness of the hour, you're always on time.”

“I liked my description better, but yeah. And being on time in this weather means I've earned a bonus. Today, your sandwich is fifty dollars more than usual.”

He studied her for a long while, silent. “In terms of excuses, yours is the best I've ever heard. I'll give you the extra fifty.”

She fought the urge to preen. “Should we make it an even hundred?”

“Why? Did you sprinkle the sandwich with crack?”

“No. But I
did
finally factor in my mental anguish.”

One corner of his mouth twitched as if—no way, just no way—he might smile. But of course, his frown deepened, and he turned his attention to his keyboard. “Leave the food. Get your money from Cora and go. I'm busy.”

Hot and cold. Sweet and sour.

He was soooo lucky Jessie Kay abandoned the dark side, or he'd be receiving
special
toppings on tomorrow's order.

“I hope you—”
choke
“—enjoy.” She placed the bacon-and-marshmallow sandwich at the edge of his desk, in his periphery without actually broadcasting how precariously it teetered. Yes, the sandwich was protected by paper, but the floor was the floor and to a man of West's fastidious nature, it would be utterly tainted the moment the two made contact.

Maybe she still dipped a toe in the dark side every now and then.

Just to be contrary, she said, “There's a life outside of computers, you know.” He wanted her to go, so she would stay a little longer. “You should check it out.”

He never glanced her way. “Send me a link, and I will.”

Har har.

As she watched him
click clack
at the keyboard, she thought that maybe...wow, this was hard to admit but...being his friend would have been kind of awesome. Except for his weird dating quirk, he'd clearly managed to get his life together. A feat she only dreamed of achieving. He could have shared his secrets for success.

“You should be nicer to me, you know. I'm Brook Lynn's maid of honor, and you are Jase's best man. I can make your walk down the aisle easy, or I can make you wish you were dead.”

“I'll take my chances.”

Frustrating man! Why did he hate her so much?

She vividly recalled their first meeting at the town's annual Fourth of July barbecue. She'd noticed the trio of new man-meat standing beside a booth selling strawberry ice cream cones. West had been the first to snag her interest, and when he'd looked over at her, she'd experienced an instant, full-body sizzle. Then he'd raked his dark gaze over her and his lips had twisted in disgust. Disgust! An emotion she'd easily recognized because she saw it reflected back at her every morning when she looked in the mirror.

Big girl that she was, she'd tried to talk with him about it. Problem? Let's find a solution. But he'd turned to Beck and muttered,
I can't be here
, as if her presence ruined his good time.

Her already fragile self-esteem had plummeted, and she'd eagerly accepted Beck's offer of comfort. A man who'd made her feel like the center of his world.

Until the sun had risen the next morning.

Great. Now she wanted out of this office, like, yesterday. “The lottery is up to one hundred and thirty-eight million. I should probably buy my ticket.” She tried for a breezy tone, but just sounded desperate. “See ya around, West.”

“Lotteries are a tax on people who suck at math. You know that, right?”

“Someone's gotta win, and I'm good at getting lucky.”

A muscle jumped beneath his eye, a testament to growing anger—why anger? “Which guy are you after now?”

Was that a slut reference? “I'll tell you which guy I'm after,” she snapped—only to remember her bet with Brook Lynn.

Right.
Hide the hurt.

“Ben and Jerry, that's who. Hope you enjoy your sandwich,” she repeated. “Or not. Yeah, probably not.” With another sugar-sweet smile, she bumped her hip into the edge of his desk. The computer parts and papers scattered along the surface rattled and shifted, and as she glided toward the door, she heard a telltale
thump
.

A very black curse echoed off the walls.

Without turning around, she lifted a hand and waved her fingers at him.

“I expect a new sandwich, Jessie Kay.”

“Let's see what that expectation gets you...”

She really needed to get out of the food-service industry. But first, she needed to figure out what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. Besides gut-punching West at some point, of course.

Only one slight problem. So slight it probably wasn't even worth mentioning. She'd barely graduated high school, had been too busy having fun to study, and she had no real skills other than tying a cherry stem with her tongue.
Go me!
As an aspiring millionaire, that little talent might not get her very far.

Cora clucked as she handed over a twenty and a fifty. Ten for the sandwich and five for the delivery, plus the five he usually gave her for a tip, on top of today's
time management
tip.

“Listened to our conversation through the speakerphone, did you?” Jessie Kay asked drily.

“A good assistant must anticipate her boss's needs. Speaking of, you should give him a break, Miss Dillon. He's had a rough go of it lately.”

“Excuse me? Did you just say
he's
had a rough go of it?” Please! “I'm an orphan schlepping a sandwich to an ungrateful bazillionaire during the new ice age.
I
deserve a break.”

A roll of the older woman's eyes. “Both of his friends are now engaged.”

“So? My sister and best friend are now engaged. That's a cause for celebration.” Except, she sometimes wanted to sob like a baby. She loved Brook Lynn and Harlow with all her heart, but sooner or later things were going to change. The girls would direct their full attention to their new families, and rightly so, while Jessie Kay, the only single gal, would become nothing but background noise.

Part of her wanted to pull away now, slowly, so it would hurt less, but the rest of her was determined to enjoy their time together while it lasted. To finally prove her love. “Just—”
mind your own business
“—have a nice day, Miz Higal.”

She soared through the door, cold air delivering a thousand bitch-slaps of shock. How she longed for the arrival of the next season—tornado—which would lead to her favorite season—hotter than hell.

Maybe she'd text her club buddy Sunny Day and go somewhere to blow off a little steam...and what the heck was she doing, reverting to old habits? No, no, a thousand times no.

Daniel Porter stepped from the shadows, stopping her in her tracks.

“Jessie Kay.”

“Move. Now.” She wasn't putting up with insults from another man. And this one
would
insult her. They used to date, and they hadn't parted on friendly terms.

“Sorry, but I'm right where I want to be.”

Stubborn to his core. But then, he was an Army Ranger, so he had to be.

He'd returned from an overseas tour a few months ago, and one of the first things he'd done was ask her out. She'd said yes so fast her tongue had practically caught fire. He was a beautiful man with dark hair and emerald eyes, the body of a warrior, and the aloof attitude that made (crazy) women dream of taming him.

It wasn't long before she'd realized he expected to jump straight into bed, no dinner, no movie, and she'd gotten the impression he'd climb out the window the moment they finished. So, night after night she'd
insisted
on dinner and a movie, doing nothing more than kissing him goodbye every time they parted. Finally he'd moved on. But instead of being honest about his reasons for dumping her, he'd blamed her continued association with Jase and Beck, the men she'd once slept with. As if she'd ever go for round two with Brook Lynn and Harlow's leftovers.

“Fine. I'll move.” She sidestepped him, but he was used to dealing with hostiles and just sidestepped with her.

“I want to apologize for the way I treated you,” he said, and she stilled from shock alone. “For the way I ended things.”

An actual apology? That was a first. And after her interaction with West, it was also a soothing balm. Unless... “Is this a ploy to get into my pants?”

“Only partly.”

The corner of her mouth quirked up, and some of the starch faded from her shoulders. “Your honesty deserves a reward. You're partly forgiven.”

“Good. Will you have dinner with me?”

“What!”

“Dinner. With me. Afterward, I'll walk you to your door where we will part with a handshake.”

He'd just...asked her out? On a proper date? And he wasn't going to push her for anything more than a meal? “I don't... I can't...”

“I miss you. I had fun with you, and fun isn't something I've had in a long, long time. Walking away from you was a terrible mistake.”

Words every girl longed to hear. And part of her really, really wanted to say yes to his invitation. Any interaction with West tended to bruise her feminine pride, leaving her feeling battered and just a little unworthy of a happily-ever-after. A feeling she'd struggled with since her father's death. A feeling that had only grown worse when her mother died...and as Jessie Kay made mistake after mistake. Now she had so many faults, her name should be San Andreas.

“I'm going to be
fully
honest with you, Daniel. I'm not interested in you romantically.” Once upon a time, she'd said yes to every guy who asked her out. She'd thought,
He wants me. To him, I'm worth something.
And what a high it had been. But the high had never lasted, and she'd always ended up having to chase a new one.

Better decisions, better life.

“But,” she added, “I could be convinced to become your friend.”

“I've never had a female friend. Especially one as hot as you.”

“Well, I've never had a guy friend as hot as you. We can break each other in nice and easy.”

A grin stretched from ear to ear. “All right. For you, Jessie Kay Dillon, I'm willing to give it a shot.”

For her. As if she was something special.

Ugh. Earlier she'd thought about clubbing and now she was flying high because a guy had given her a compliment.
My self-worth is not dependent on others.

She raised her chin. “Great. But do us both a favor and remember we're doing this on a trial basis. You screw it up, you get cut. In more ways than one.”

CHAPTER TWO

L
INCOLN
W
EST
NEARLY
put his fist through the front door of the WOH building. Fury was a prowling, fire-breathing dragon in his chest as he peered through the window, watching Jessie Kay interact with Daniel Porter, a man she used to date. A man younger than West, and even younger than Jessie Kay. What the hell were they discussing? Daniel's need for a diaper change? The latest in pacifier technology?

Had the two started dating again? The way Daniel was grinning at her...

An animal-like growl split West's lips, surprising him. He didn't give two shits who Jessie Kay dated. Yes, she was temptation wrapped in seduction, a Southern beauty with a viper's tongue, a rapier wit and a bone-deep grit that rivaled his own. Yes, she'd basically blown his mind with her brilliant concept of time. But it didn't matter; she was completely off-limits, which made his behavior today a complete non sequitur.

Knowing she would insist on making sandwich deliveries despite the weather, he'd waited outside her house this morning, his car hidden by a mound of snow. He'd followed her into town to make sure she arrived in one piece, and as she'd distributed the goodies in her basket, he'd sat in his nice, warm office staring at the clock, bordering on panic when she failed to arrive at a reasonable time.

He'd planned to follow her home as soon as she left the office. Now Daniel could have the honor.

“I've known that girl since she upended my third-grade class.” Cora stapled a bundle of papers together. “Always in trouble for talking, always tardy, but always kindhearted. If anyone was having a bad day, she'd be the first to offer comfort and whatever dessert her mother had packed in her lunch box.”

He wished he'd known Jessie Kay back then. He would have been the kid she comforted, the one who received her dessert. Maybe they would have grown up to be friends. He'd had very few of those over the years. Hell, besides Jase and Beck, both of whom he'd met in foster care, he'd been alone.

Boo hoo. Poor baby.

He snapped, “Not another word about her,” and stalked to his office.

He couldn't afford to like Jessie Kay. He just...couldn't. There was too much feeling there. Some of it good—too good—and a lot of it bad.

The day he'd met her, he'd flashed back to Tessa, the only girl he'd ever loved. The girl he'd lost. He'd promised to throw her an elaborate party, a “congrats for passing your GED exam” only to forget. When she'd shown up expecting an adoring crowd, flowers and balloons, she'd gotten a coked-out West, cold beer and leftover pizza.

She'd burst into tears and driven away...and he'd found out a few hours later she crashed her car and died instantly.

The flashback had unnerved him. There'd been no reason for it.

Jessie Kay looked nothing like Tessa. The two were as different as night and day, in fact. While Tessa had been short and slender with dark hair and dark, almond-shaped eyes that hinted at a multicultural heritage, Jessie Kay was tall and curvy with pale hair and navy blue eyes that were always simmering with enough heat to blister.

The only thing they had in common? Both were beautiful. And, honestly, they were the only two women in the world capable of jacking up his blood pressure with only a glance.

When he'd been sober, he'd treated Tessa like a queen. Now he was always sober, but he only ever treated Jessie Kay like a portal to hell. Not on purpose. Or maybe it
was
on purpose. The first time he'd seen her, he'd wanted her with an intensity that had scared him stupid, but she'd ended up sleeping with Beck, and later on, Jase.

It's my turn now.

The thought—one he'd had many times before—pissed him off. There was no reason good enough to risk bad blood between him and his friends. Not that either guy would care if he and Jessie Kay hooked up. They encouraged him to go for it at least once a day. They liked her. The problem was West. If he had her—this woman who sometimes haunted his dreams—would he grow to resent his friends for beating him to the finish line?

The mere possibility always stopped him from making a move. Always pissed him off more than the “my turn” nonsense. He would let
nothing
come between him and his boys.

West tossed the contaminated sandwich in the garbage, fell into his chair with a grunt and loosened the knot in his tie, which was currently choking the life out of him. If food touched the floor, it never touched his lips. In one of the foster homes he'd lived, the father found it hilarious to watch the kids in his care eat off dirty linoleum, their hands tied behind their backs.

Get used to it, boy. Some people aren't meant for better.

Not all of the homes had been hellholes. Most had been pretty decent, granting him a better life than he ever would have had with his mom. Della West had never mistreated him and might have even loved him, but she'd loved her heroin more.

A knock sounded at his door. He glanced up to find Beck standing in the open doorway.

The six-foot self-proclaimed sex god strode into the office and plopped into the chair across from the desk. Flakes of snow dotted the guy's hair, giving the gold and brown strands a deeper depth of color.

He unwound a cashmere scarf and shrugged out of his coat. “Saw Jessie Kay and Daniel Porter on my way in. You all right?”

He wished his friends had never clued in to his struggle—wanting her, but not wanting to want her. “I'm fine.”

“Well, could you do me a favor and inform your face? You look like you're constipated.”

“Haven't you heard? Constipation is the new black. All the cool kids are doing it. Or
not
doing it.”

Beck snorted, his amber eyes twinkling. Unfortunately, the amusement didn't last long. “Seriously, my man. You good?”

The guy worried about him. That wasn't new. To be honest, West worried about himself.

As a kid, he vowed he wouldn't end up like his mother. And for most of his teenage years, he'd succeeded, treating drugs and alcohol like the enemy. Then Jase was sent to prison for a crime West and Beck helped him commit, and West had wanted to escape reality, just for a little while.
Coke isn't heroin
, he'd rationalized. The same rationalization he'd used the next time...and the next...

When Tessa died, it wasn't long before the highlight of his day was cutting blow and snorting from any flat surface he could find—before he woke up nearly every morning covered in his own vomit.

Eventually he lost his scholarship to MIT, which was just another reason to get high. He'd failed himself, but more important, he'd failed his friends. Jase had taken full responsibility for their crime so West could go to school, get a degree and make something of his life. Beck wasted years trying to get him clean.

Even now, guilt was too strong to shake.

He'd failed Tessa worst of all. He'd even failed his mom. When he'd finally sobered up, putting himself in a place to help her with her own problem, it was too late. She was already dead. One overdose too many.

“Don't worry. I'm not going to relapse. I'm attracted to Jessie Kay, but I'm not in love with her.” He would never allow himself to fall so deeply again.

“Why not? She's the total package. A lady in the kitchen and a wildcat—”

“Stop talking,” he said through suddenly gritted teeth.

“Everywhere else.” Beck had always dealt with tense situations in one of two ways: teasing or taunting. “Why? What'd you think I was going to say?”

Refuse to resent
. “If she's so world-class amazing, why didn't
you
fall for her?”

“One of the hazards of jumping into bed too fast.” Beck shrugged. “You find out later you're better off as friends. Besides, she's not Harlow.”

She wasn't Tessa, either. And now this conversation was over. “All right. If I've passed today's sobriety test, I've got work to do.”

“Happy to say you passed the sobriety test. Sad to say you failed the asshole test.”

“Not that. Anything but that.” He shook a fist toward the ceiling. “Why? Why me?”

“And now you've failed the shithead test. Where's my thanks for showing up just because my best friend is a workaholic and he'd throw a he-hissy if I suggested we take an ice break?”

“Here.” West flipped him off. “This is your thanks.”

Grinning, Beck stood and gathered his discarded garments. “Heartwarming. I'll be in my office if you need me.”

Alone, West admitted that, despite his levity, he wasn't actually in a good place. Could
he pass a true sobriety test?

Let's find out
.

He unlocked and opened the bottom drawer of his desk. A bottle of Lagavulin stared up at him. He traced a finger over the cold glass.

Drink me
, the whiskey said.
Just a sip. I'll help you relax.

Truer words had never not been spoken. But West knew the sense of relaxation would only last for a little while. Later he would fall back into his foul mood and he would need another drink...and then he'd turn to coke. The bane of his existence. The demon on his shoulder.

There'd been many mornings when, in the prime of his addiction, he'd frantically raced through his apartment on a hunt for money. He'd checked for loose bills under couch cushions and inside the washer and dryer, and when he'd found nothing, he'd snuck into Beck's bedroom to rifle through dresser drawers. His desperation had been greater than his shame.

He'd needed a fix, and he'd needed it bad, but without cash, he wouldn't get anything but grief from his dealer. He'd even contemplated doing what his mother used to do to get
her
fix...

He scrubbed a hand down his face, tried to forget...
Can't ever forget
. His mother allowed her addict “friends” to do whatever they wanted to her body as long as they shared their supply. Sometimes she even sold herself to strangers. Anyone with a few dollars to spare.

One guy—

Call me Uncle Sam.

West shuddered. Whenever Sam had finished with Della he'd come looking for West. Not knowing what else to do, West had hidden in cabinets, under his bed and even inside the trash can. Sometimes he'd stayed hidden. A few times, he'd been found.

The fact that he'd
ever
considered selling himself...

He gave his head a violent shake to dislodge the claws of the past. His self-disgust remained.

“Drinking isn't on my schedule.” He slammed the drawer shut, turned the lock and breathed in and out with purpose. He always stuck to his schedule. A habit he'd developed in rehab. Structure kept chaos—a trigger—at bay, every task a baby step that required time and attention to ultimately walk him to the end of his day as clean as a man like him could be.

Too many stains on my soul.

Speaking of his schedule... Four little words stared up at him from the screen of his phone.
Follow Jessie Kay home.

Why had he penciled in such a thankless task?

Because he liked the way her sun-kissed skin flushed to a deep rose whenever she got angry? Because he liked the snarky things that came out of her mouth? A mouth he longed to taste. Because he liked the burn in his blood every time she stepped into a room? Liked the rush of matching wits with her?

Because he didn't want the madness to end?

Idiot! Fool! A man could become addicted to a woman like her. Especially a man like him. And yet he still picked up the phone and pressed the button to connect him to Beck.

“I'm heading out for a little while.”

* * *

S
ATURDAY
MORNING
,
W
EST
dressed in running shorts and a T-shirt that read “Goal Scouts.” During soccer season—March through October—he coached a team of underprivileged kids. Off-season, he played indoors with the big boys. A great source of therapy.

He anchored his shin guards in place, tied his shoes and glanced at the clock—8:59 a.m. Right on time. He smoothed the wrinkles in his comforter, ensured the lid to his dirty clothes hamper was closed and sailed into the kitchen to mix three protein shakes.

“Hey, man.” Jase strode around the corner, dressed and ready for the game.

Both Jase and Beck opted to join the indoor team rather than watching the action from the bleachers.

Jase played goalie. He had the body of a tank, and nothing got past him. Also, other teams tended to soil their pants with a single look at him. Everything from the spikes in his dark hair to the feral glaze in his green eyes said
screw with me and pay the ultimate price
.

Not exactly an idle threat. Having spent nearly a decade behind bars, he had a few issues and a whole lot of pent-up rage.

Aaand just like that, guilt burned through West like acid. “Hey.” He couldn't meet his friend's gaze as he slid one of the shakes across the counter. “Drink up.”

“Seriously?” Jase got in his face, forcing eye contact. “This is how you're going to start the morning?”

“Since when do you have such a beef with protein?”

“I don't care about the protein, and you know it. I care about the way you're looking at me right now. Or trying
not
to look at me.”

Right. Jase actually expected West to forgive himself for the part he'd played in the prison sentence. And for a while, he'd tried. But guilt was the monster in the back of his mental closet, always there, always lurking, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. His friend had suffered unimaginable horrors, and for what? So West could throw his life away?

So, no, West wouldn't be forgiving himself anytime soon.

“You're the reason I'm what Brook Lynn refers to as a romance novel lover's dream. Reformed and rich,” Jase said. “I'm grateful.”