The Harder You Fall. Gena Showalter
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w/ my girls 2night
Daniel: Pencil me in soon. Pleeease (look at me, willing to beg)
Her: We’ll see!
Daniel: Since I’m not getting sex from you, I’m only in this friendship for the fun, remember?
Her: Fine. I’ll consider giving you a few minutes of JK time tomorrow—but I’ll hear your thanks NOW
Daniel: Someone needs to spank your ass...but thank you
She so did not want to be buoyed by his eagerness to spend time with her, but dang it, she was. Maybe she should try dating him again—
No. No! No second chances in the romance department. Ever.
Build a house on sand, and the first storm that comes along will topple it. Build on a firm foundation, and the house will withstand anything.
She would give anything for just one more conversation with her mom. Just one more hug.
The crowd erupted into bloodthirsty cheers, jolting her from her thoughts, and she glanced up in time to watch another member of Ball Busters hit the wall, impact so strong it even shook the bleachers. As the guy slipped to the floor, he left a smear of crimson behind. Through it, Jessie Kay met West’s stare.
She saw hunger...such gnawing hunger...
He gave her a look so raw and carnal, she felt stripped of every piece of clothing in less than a second. That look said he couldn’t go a minute more without having her in his bed. That he would suffocate without her. That she’d become the center of his world—his gravity.
It was a lie. A nasty, nasty lie.
Or she was only seeing what she wanted to see. A problem of hers.
Even still, goose bumps broke out over her skin and fire blazed in her veins. Savage, sexy beast. Gimme.
Before she did something stupid—like throw what was left of her panties at him—she buffed her nails.
“Hey, Jessie Kay, Harlow. I finally made it.”
She turned to see Brook Lynn climbing the bleachers and sighed with relief. Her sister had always been her saving grace.
The blonde, blue-eyed beauty had rescued Jessie Kay from certain disaster so many times over the years, she’d earned a JK life-preserver badge. If the little darling hadn’t become the mother they’d lost, despite being two years younger, Jessie Kay would have ended up on the streets...and oh, crap. Guilt gnawed on her soul. Guilt like she hadn’t felt in years—because she hadn’t let herself feel it, numbed by keggers and “romance.”
She was the worst sister ever. She’d destroyed Brook Lynn’s entire world. She was the worst daughter ever. She’d escorted her mother to death’s door, rung the bell and ran away. She’d insulted her father hours before he died and, and, and—
She focused on that, the least horrendous of her crimes, hoping to stop the panic attack in its tracks. And for a moment it worked, the arena disappearing, replaced by the kitchen walls of her childhood home—the home she still lived in—morning sunlight shining through the large bay window.
“Go change out of those shorts and into something appropriate,” her father demanded.
“But Daddy—”
“You’re still a child, Jessie Kay. My baby girl. You shouldn’t wear skintight pants with the word naughty scripted over your backside.”
“I’m not a child! I’m—”
“No argument. Just action.”
She stomped her foot. “Sunny has a pair just like them, and her dad thinks they’re cool.”
“He isn’t your dad. Go change.”
“Well, I wish he was my dad!” she shouted. “I like him better.”
She raced to her room, and a short while later Daddy left for work...but he’d never come home.
A manager at Dairyland, he’d been speaking to one of his engineers about a broken machine. A machine that exploded, killing them along with half the workforce.
He’d died thinking she wanted a different father.
“Hey, hey. You okay?” Soft hands cupped her cheeks.
Jessie Kay blinked and found her sister sitting beside her, familiar features darkened with concern. “I’m fine.” She gave her sister a big ol’ bear hug, and she probably held on far too long, probably clung far too tight, but dang it, she loved the girl. “Just thinking about Daddy,” she said when she pulled away, careful to articulate her words.
Brook Lynn was born with a severe case of hyperacusis—a condition that caused her to hear even the quietest everyday noises at a screaming volume—forcing her to wear bulky devices in both ears to muffle and even mute sounds.
“We’ve talked about this.” Brook Lynn gave her cheeks a firm pat. “Do I really need to give you another lecture?”
Parents and children fight. That’s part of life. You and Dad exchanged heated words, get over it. You both walked away knowing you were loved.
Brook Lynn hadn’t witnessed the fight, and Jessie Kay hadn’t wanted to spill the details, but she’d done it anyway. Panic attacks had been a way of life for her back then, and her sister deserved to know one of the many reasons why.
“No. I remember the last twenty thousand.”
“Good.” Brook Lynn nodded. “Now tell me what I missed game-wise.”
The soccer game. A life raft. “West has tried to murder everyone on the field, and Jase has guarded the goal as if it’s your virtue.
“In other words,” Brook Lynn said with a grin, “we’re winning.”
Exactly. “So how’d the fitting go?”
“You mean the modern-day torture session I willingly signed up for? Well, if you ever decide you’d like to acquire a few body-image issues, just gain a few pounds before trying to zip your wedding gown and watch the seamstress’s horrified expression in the mirror.”
No one insults my sis—but me. “So you’ve gained a few pounds. So what? You’ve done Jase a favor. You’ve given him more of you to love.”
Harlow snorted. “While your logic is impeccable—”
“I know, right? You’re welcome, Jase,” Jessie Kay shouted to the field.
He didn’t hear her over the cheers and boos rising from the crowd, but somehow West did and he frowned over at her. The distraction cost him. He’d been waiting for the ball to cross the centerline, and when it did, he missed it, for the first time allowing a member of the other team to soar past him, heading for the goal.
Oops.
“—going to have a pity party, invitation one, if yesterday’s brownies...and this morning’s cupcakes...ruin my wedding gown,” Harlow finished.
Jessie Kay barely paid attention to her friend, mumbling, “You’re getting married this freaking weekend. The only thing you need to worry about is the death of your dating life.”
“Before Beck, I had no dating life. My scars—”
“Are hideous. We know, you’ve told us.” She watched as West jumped back into the fray, slamming his big, delicious body into the guy who had his ball. “We love you, anyway.”
When the final buzzer sounded, the Goal Scouts won four to zero.
Her takeaway? Mercy didn’t exist in soccer.
Knowing the boys had to shower and change, she and the girls made their way to the lobby to wait. The Ball Busters emerged first, each man making an obvious point to avoid her gaze as he passed her.
Had she become total