The Risks We Take Page 10

  My cheeks heat up. “And how do you think we’d be?”

  “Slightly chaotic,” he admits. “But in a good way.”

  My brows raise. “Is there such thing as good chaos?”

  He chuckles. “I sure as hell hope so.”

  I roll my eyes. “So when you asked me out senior year of high school, you meant it? Because Rosie kept dropping hints that we’d be cute together, and I thought for sure that’s why you did it.”

  His nose scrunches. “You thought my mother made me do it?”

  I eye him. “She made you talk to me at school when we were little.”

  He relents. “Fair point. But no, I asked you out on my own. I didn’t even know my mother was dropping hints until after you so cruelly rejected my advances.”

  I scoff. “I wasn’t cruel about it.”

  “You laughed.”

  “I thought you were kidding.”

  “But I wasn’t.”

  “And as soon as I realized that—”

  “Over a minute later,” he interjects.

  “I stopped.”

  “Alas, the damage was done.”

  “You did not just say alas.”

  He grins. “I did.”

  I giggle. “You’re a dork.”

  “And you’re adorable.”

  My blush returns. “So …” I look at our hands. “This was a nice distraction from the serious conversation we were having.”

  He squeezes my hand. “You’re going to get through this. We both will together.”

  “What should I tell Taylor?” My voice is quiet. Weak.

  “You don’t have to tell her anything. Not right away.”

  I think about it. “She’ll ask where Mom is. She loves our mother unconditionally. She’s like a damn puppy.”

  He laughs at that. “Is that really a bad thing? Hate is …well, it takes a lot out of a person. I don’t think either you or her are capable of something that strong. That damaging.”

  I don’t think that’s true. We are all capable of hate. We’re all capable of doing so much damage that we leave scars—whether real ones or not.

  Sometimes the invisible scars are the worst ones to have, because the damage they’ve done is engraved in your soul, but nobody can see the pain they cause.

  Instead of disagreeing with him, I just nod.

  He let’s go of my hand. “Do you want me to stop by after my shift, or are you going to read one of your sappy romances again?”

  I gasp. “How dare you call my books sappy!”

  “They’ve got the half-naked men on the covers and everything. They probably describe men’s penises as steel rods.”

  I burst out laughing. “What kind of books do you think I read?”

  He shrugs. “Girly ones?”

  “Want to know which book I’m reading?” I don’t give him time to answer. Instead, I hold up my hand, silently telling him to stay there.

  Hopping down from the stool, I head to my room, grab the book from the nightstand, and walk back into the kitchen.

  “Here.”

  He stares at the book in my hands, studying it. A slow smile spreads on his face as he looks from the worn cover to me.

  “You’re reading Harry Potter?”

  “Unless Rowling put some adult content as bonus scenes that nobody ever talks about, there’s no steel rods in here worth noting.”

  He shakes his head. “I’ve been telling you for how long to read this series?”

  “Since we first started talking.”

  He nods. “It’s about time.” He glances down at the cover. “Wait, is this mine?”

  He opens the cover, and stares at his name scrawled in barely legible handwriting.

  He tsks. “First my shirt, now my books.”

  I take the book back. “Rosie gave me the book,” I inform him. “She told me you left it in your old bedroom, free for the taking.”

  He huffs. “As if I would ever give up my Harry Potter collection.”

  “Do you still have the wands you carved in woodshop?”

  “Do bulls have horns?” he retorts.

  My face screws. “I mean … not all of them.”

  He sighs.

  “I’m just saying! Some are removed, right?”

  “Yes, Kasey. I still have the wands.”

  “What about the Funko Pops?”

  “Of course I have the Funko Pops. You gave them to me.” His offense seems genuine.

  I put my hands on my hips. “I also gave you an amazing calendar for your desk at work before you were officially on patrol, but you didn’t keep that.”

  He deadpans, “It was a Barbie calendar.”

  “Ken was in it, too,” I reason.

  “Somehow, that doesn’t make it better.”

  I shrug.

  “All right,” he finally says, looking at the watch on his wrist. “I’ve still got a little time left. Are you going to be okay?”

  “I’ll survive.”

  He pulls me into a hug. “I know you will. You’re one of the strongest people I know. I mean that.”

  His chin rests on the top of my head, his arms around my waist. My cheek is against his chest, which I know is chiseled even under the slightly baggy button-up blue shirt he has on. Part of me feels ashamed to say that I’ve checked him out while he was shirtless before, but sometimes you can’t help it. Not when somebody looks like Jake does.

  It’d be a crime not to.

  I pull away first. “I don’t know about that,” I disagree, giving him a dismissive smile.

  “Don’t doubt yourself, Kasey.”

  “Don’t get all lecture-y on me, or I won’t supply you with the one thing you can’t turn down.”

  His eyes light up, deviousness reflecting in his hues as they travel back down to my exposed legs. I should have put some pants on while I was in my room.

  “And what might that be?”

  I swat his arm. “Mind out of the gutter, perv. I was talking about doughnuts and nasty ass black coffee.”

  He puts his hand to his heart in mock offense. “Your stereotypes hurt me.”

  “You can take it.”

  He starts backing toward the door. “So can I come back over? I can read to you if you want. I’ll even read the ending first, because I know you still do that.”

  I crack a grin. “I can see that still ticks you off, which is why I do it.”

  He turns the doorknob. “You do it because you don’t like surprises. Don’t lie to me, I detect liars for a living.”

  “Huh,” I muse, “I thought you were the doughnut mule for all your work buddies.”

  “Har har.”

  I wink at him. “Admit it, you want doughnuts right now, don’t you?”

  He opens the door, not answering.

  I give him the look.

  “Okay, yes. I’m probably going to stop at the store after my shift ends. Happy?”

  “Naturally.”

  “Want me to pick you up something?”

  I shake my head. “No thanks. I’m probably heading to bed early tonight anyway.”

  He sees past my lie, but leaves anyway.

  That’s the thing about Jake. He knows when not to push, when to leave things alone. If I tell him I don’t want to talk about something, he gives me space.

  We have an understanding that works for us, even though some people used to say it isn’t going to always be that way.

  “You need a man who isn’t afraid to push you outside your comfort zone, Kasey,” Rosie tells me.

  She’s insistent that Jake can do that, but I don’t tell her that he never does, because I like our dynamic. It’s safe. It never disappoints.

  “There’s nothing wrong with somebody who changes you. When you meet somebody who is persistent on breaking your bad habits, you know you’ve got a keeper.”

  I’ll always remember that advice, but I tell myself not to make it influence who I decide to be with. Rosie would tell me anything back then to give Jake a c
hance. While I was the troubled kid, Jake was the golden boy. The rule follower. She would always tell me what a good influence he’d be for me, but I wouldn’t have it.

  Now … now I can picture us together, because everything that he is, is what I need. He’s the person who will help me figure things out logically. He’s my shot at getting Taylor.

  KASEY

  My twenty-minute trips to the grocery store never end up being twenty-minutes. The few items on the list always end up doubling, and I find myself cruising down aisles that I don’t even need to be in. One day, I’ll tell myself to get a grip and find a way to stick with the original list.

  But apparently today isn’t that day, because here I am trying to decide what kind of chocolate to buy, even though I’m only supposed to be getting a few minor groceries.

  As far as adulting goes, I fail at this.

  After throwing an assorted bag of candy into my shopping basket, I absentmindedly walk out in front of somebody, our baskets colliding and items falling out of them.

  “Shit,” he swears, as I kneel to collect my chocolate. Screw the paper plates and pasta that are on the dirty tile floor, I’m saving what matters.

  I look up to see bright blue eyes peering down at me, and a smirk on a familiar face.

  “You always had a sweet tooth,” he notes. “What? The cake wasn’t enough?”

  I roll my eyes. “For all I knew, that cake was from a murderer who wanted to poison me. You never left a note.”

  “Murderers don’t leave notes? I’m pretty sure they do, so even if I did, it wouldn’t tell you that I’m not one.”

  I tilt my head up. “Are you telling me that you’re a murderer?”

  “Too messy for my liking. I’d probably hire somebody if I needed dirty work done.”

  “I’m sure you could afford it,” I agree quietly.

  He shrugs. “I get by. That’s beside the point, though. Who else would leave you cake?”

  I shrug. “Anyone who’s nice, I guess? People in this community do a lot for each other.”

  You’d know that if you stayed.

  The words stay lodged in me, but he understands what’s left unsaid.

  “What did you do with the cake?” He gapes at me. “Please tell me you didn’t throw it out. I was proud of that cake.”

  I snort. “Relax, I didn’t throw it out.”

  He eyes me suspiciously, then kneels and picks up what’s left on the floor. “So what did you do with it?”

  “Well after I cut a piece, I may have accidentally dropped it on the floor … and then dropped the piece I cut off from it on my shirt.”

  He studies me for a second, and then laughs. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  “I was devastated if it makes you feel better.”

  “Devastated over the loss of cake, or that all my hard work was gone after I slaved in a hot kitchen for you?”

  “Definitely the first one.”

  He feigns offense.

  I take the items he rescues from the floor.

  “So …” I nudge the floor with my foot, clearing my throat. “Thank you for the cake, even though I didn’t get any. I’m sure Taylor would have loved it.”

  “She didn’t even see it?”

  “She’s staying with Rosie for a couple nights. I’ll get her back tomorrow.”

  “You’re alone, then?”

  I can’t ignore the excitement in his tone, and part of me wants to kill any ideas he has, but for some reason I don’t.

  “Uh … yeah. I’ve got some chores to do, errands to run. Exciting stuff.”

  “Let’s do something,” he suggests. I open my mouth, but he doesn’t let me speak. “Before you make excuses why you can’t, hear me out. We don’t have to do anything over the top. We can just relax and watch a movie. Maybe go get ice cream. You’re still obsessed with Reese’s blizzards, right?”

  The smile appears on my face before I can halt it.

  He grins. “Stupid question. At least some things don’t change.”

  We walk side by side down the aisle.

  “So what do you say?” he prods.

  I try racking my brain for some reason to say no, but nothing comes to mind in time to tell him. Not to mention ice cream sounds good right now, and my stomach growls just from the anticipation of it.

  He chuckles, eyeing my stomach. “Sounds like a yes to me.”

  My cheeks heat up.

  He knocks our shoulders together. “What if I throw in some lunch along with it?”

  “Ian—”

  “I’m not asking you on a date,” he assures me, waving me off. “I’m simply asking you if you want food. Maybe a sandwich. I mean, we both need sustenance, right? So why not get something nutritious together, and then junk out after?”

  I part my lips to argue with him, but close them before I form my argument.

  This … this is oddly like when we were little. After school, we’d walk home from school when the weather was decent. He always spent his allowance on ice cream from Pop’s Place, a local ice cream shop in town. We’d stop once a week to get something before going our separate ways at home.

  The familiarity of it warms something inside of me.

  He wiggles his eyebrows at me. “How can you say no to this face, Kasey? Pop’s Place is still around the corner, and I happen to know that the menu is the same.”

  Surprised, I inquire, “You’ve been?”

  “I’ve been to a lot of places I used to hang out. Even went to the school.”

  My brows raise. “Why?”

  “Nostalgia, mostly. I wanted to remember some of the old days, before I decided to grow up. We once vowed to stay young forever, you know.”

  I crack a grin, and stop in the cereal aisle. “I remember. It was the same day we said we’d raise our families next door to each other, too. We made a lot of vows that day.”

  Sometimes I think it’d be nice to be young again, because at least then I didn’t think there was anything to worry about. The biggest care in the world that I had was if my classmates would judge me for knowing every word to a Hannah Montana song. They did.

  “We were pretty stupid then,” I murmur, picking out Taylor’s favorite cereal.

  “We weren’t stupid. We were dreamers.”

  “We honestly thought we’d be able to choose how life turns out. That’s pretty stupid, Ian. I mean, the whole time we talked about the things we’d do, I believed them. As if we were actually going to stick around without responsibility for the rest of our lives.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with sticking around here, you know.”

  “Says the guy who got away.”

  “I seem to recall you disliking me for that, too,” he counters pointedly.

  I don’t reply.

  We walk in silence toward the registers up front.

  “All I’m asking for is lunch and ice cream,” he tells me, grabbing the basket from me, and ignoring my protests.

  He starts unloading all of our groceries on the conveyer belt, and blocks me from separating them.

  What is he doing?

  “You can’t pay for my stuff.”

  “I certainly can.”

  I groan. “Stop being stubborn.”

  He snorts. “Just say thank you, Kasey.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m buying lunch and the ice cream then.”

  His smile broadens. “So that’s a yes?”

  “I just said I was buying, so yeah.”

  When he walks closer to the cashier, the teenage girl in front of the register makes a squeaking noise as she stares at Ian.

  I press my lips together when I see him squirm where he stands. I don’t blame him. The girl’s eyes are practically licking every inch of him. But he has to be used to it by now. I’ve done some research with what little free time I have. His band is beyond popular, and his fans seem to be mostly female.

  Seeing what the band members look like, I can’t say I blame them.


  “You’re … Ian Wells,” the cashier says in a high-pitch tone.

  He smiles at her. “That I am. It’s nice to meet you, Abby.”

  Her eyes go wide in awe. “Y-you know my name?”

  He gestures toward her name tag. She looks down at it, confused as to what he’s pointing at. Her face turns bright red, and I feel bad for her.

  Abby seems to recover enough to spew out a long line of questions. “I’m such an idiot. I heard you were in town. The whole town heard, obviously. Um, are the others coming? Will you do some sort of show here? I saw the video of the show you did at the fair back at your hometown. The one you did for that couple. It was so sweet! When are you leaving? My friends would die if I told them I met you and didn’t get a picture or autograph or something.”

  Did this girl even breathe?

  I clear my throat. “Um, I don’t mean to intrude, but can you maybe start checking out our items?”

  She shoots me a look that might’ve had the power to maim if possible.

  “Too bad you don’t have those stupid headshots with you,” I tell him, remembering the picture he tried giving to me the first time I saw him.

  “They’re not stupid. They’re gorgeous. And I don’t carry them with me.”

  “Color me shocked.”

  He ignores me and looks at Abby. “I’ll take a picture if you agree to check us out first.”

  “Oh, I’ll happily check you out.” Once the words escape her mouth, she makes another squeaking noise and her cheeks turn ruby.

  I try hard not to roll my eyes or laugh, but the temptation gets stronger every time she looks up from scanning items and makes eye contact with Ian. The ways she eyes him makes even me uncomfortable. She can’t be more than seventeen. Even though that’s not much younger than us, it makes me feel dirty by association.

  I squeal in surprise when Ian hooks his arm around my waist and yanks me into him, my shoulder hitting his chest. My body goes rigid when he nuzzles his face into my neck.

  “Just go with it,” he whispers, a plea in his tone.

  The cashier stops scanning, causing me to look at her. I try hiding the discomfort on my face. It isn’t that the closeness is making me feel this way, it’s how welcome my body feels against his.

  If I didn’t read romances, I wouldn’t be able to explain the static feeling that’s traveling down my arms, or how my heart picks up just from the little contact.