Chapter Thirteen

Jameson

“So…you think maybe you kissed the guy. While you were under the influence of some heavy duty narcotics. But you’re not sure,” Hennessy says, recapping what I’ve just told her as she sticks her head into the refrigerator.

“Yeah…that’s pretty much it,” I agree, absentmindedly chewing my fingernail.

“Stop it. You’re going to ruin your nails,” she chides, extricating herself and a peach yogurt before grabbing a spoon from the silverware drawer.

“Uh-huh…”

“Well, it could have been a dream. I mean, you were on Percocet, for God’s sake. We all know what that does to you,” she says, gesturing to the ceiling of our kitchen with her spoon. “I’m surprised you didn’t wake up thinking you were engaged to Ryan Gosling.”

I breathe a small sigh of relief. She’s right. It was probably just the Percocet talking.

“Although…” And once again my breath hitches as she continues. “They say that when people are drunk or stoned or, you know—on a substance that lowers their inhibitions—their ‘real’ feelings come out. So I suppose it is possible that you acted on some deep-seeded attraction for Scott Clarke.”

Definitely not what I want to hear right now.

“Since when are you a psychiatrist?” I demand with a skeptical scowl.

“Oh-ho! Hit a nerve, did I?” Now she’s pointing the spoon at me, and if she’s not careful, she’s going to be pulling it out of her perfectly upturned little nose in a minute. “You, sister dearest, doth protest too much.”

“What? I’m not protesting at all!”

“So you admit it!” she snipes back victoriously.

“No! Yes… Wait! Quit it, will you? I don’t know what… I can’t…” I stop, throwing my arms up in total frustration, only to be smacked by a jolt of pain that practically brings me to my knees.

“Oh! James! I’m so sorry…come, sit down at the table,” she says, spoon and yogurt tossed to the sink so she can pull out a chair for me. I accept it gratefully, and she sinks into the one next to it, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay?”

I nod. “I think so. My last dose of Tylenol is wearing off.”

“Tylenol? Is that strong enough for a break that bad? You must be in some serious pain!”

“Please don’t remind me. And yes, it’s fine—so long as I take it every six hours. It’s been about eight.”

Henny is up in a flash, pouring me a glass of water and setting it down, along with the red and white bottle. I toss a couple of caplets into my mouth and wash them down with a long gulp of water. When I look up, my sister is staring at me with some concern.

“Are you?” she asks.

“Am I what?”

“Are you…attracted…to Scott?”

Yes.

“No! How could I be? I’ve known him for like five minutes.”

“You can’t deny he’s pretty damn hot.”

True.

“Is he? I hadn’t really noticed.”

“James, I’m not asking if you’re in love with the guy. I’m just wondering if maybe he’s making you rethink the whole ‘swearing off men’ position you’ve taken.”

Her words are a reminder. “Okay, listen,” I say, dropping my voice so Bailey won’t overhear from down the hall where she and Jackson are watching Bubble Guppies. “I maybe do think he’s—you know—handsome. And he’s really sweet and funny. But he’s also Win’s brother.”

“So?” She shrugs.

“So…you don’t think that has disaster written all over it?”

“Why should it? You’re divorced. He’s single. Win is no longer your husband, which means Scott is no longer your brother-in-law. Please, Jameson, I think Win’s the only one who’d object to the two of you as a couple.”

I hear Win’s voice in my head… “James, I don’t think you should be hanging around with Scott.” And I promptly put it aside.

“A couple…?” I scoff. “He’s only been in town for a few days and he’s going to leave as soon as things with Big Win are resolved…either way. Besides, even if I were interested—which I’m not saying I am—Win isn’t wrong about Scott’s tendency to cut and run. No sense thinking about something that’s never gonna happen. Even if he…”

“Even if he what?” My sister latches onto the three words with the tenacity of a pitbull.

I reach up and rub my temples in small circles to ease the ache that’s growing behind them. “I don’t… I’m not sure. I think he said something to me last night.”

“You mean when you were high?”

“I was not high! I was loopy. And silly. And beautiful…”

Henny sits up straight, quirks an eyebrow, and tilts her head. “He said you were beautiful, huh? And that’s when you kissed him, isn’t it?” she demands, trying to wear me down the way she does a witness on the stand in the courtroom.

“I don’t know!” I blurt out. “I think maybe so…but I’m not sure.”

“So let me get this straight… Scott Clarke brought you home and helped you undress and shower. He made sure you got all tucked into bed…”

“Please…I really don’t know…” I start to protest, wanting only for her to stop.

“He told you that you’re beautiful and then you kissed him. Does that sound about right?”

“Henny, what part of ‘I don’t know’ don’t you understand? I. Don’t. Know!”

She stops and sighs, adjusting both her manner and her tone. “Listen, James, I’m just pointing out that you were stressed, in a lot of pain and, I think, a little bit smitten. There’s no telling what he actually said to you. There’s no telling exactly what you did—or didn’t do—to him. That is, unless you want to go right to the source and just ask him what happened.”

“Smitten? I am not smitten!” I protest indignantly.

She’s reclaimed her snack from the sink and is now poking around for another spoonful of yogurt, not bothering to respond to my denial. She shrugs, and I want to slug her with my obnoxiously pink cast.

“You know what, Henny? I don’t give a flying fruitcake what you think about all this.” I mean for the words to come out as decisive, but they fall flat, landing somewhere in the neighborhood of petulant.

My sister looks at me, then down at the container in her hand. She twirls her spoon around in it thoughtfully before pulling it out, putting it in her mouth and licking it clean.

“You sure about that, James?” she begins, pointing the spoon in my direction like some royal scepter. Or maybe a magic wand. “’Cause you look pretty concerned right now.”

I grunt in frustration because she’s right. I’m smitten. And that’s just terrifying. Because if Hennessy can see through me, it won’t be long before someone else does, too.