Smoke & Mirrors by Skye Jordan

2

Logan

Ifold early in the next hand so I can stare at the kitchen door and try to puzzle out what just happened.

“Don’t you think that’s strange?” I say to Tucker. “Her showing up out of nowhere?”

“She’s a creative genius. There’s no telling what she’ll do. Plus, she works her ass off. She deserves a break.”

I might believe that if it weren’t for those bruises on her forearms, the shadows under her eyes, the way her fingernails are bitten to the quick, the polish chipped off. And, yeah, Tucker nailed her weight—she’s too thin.

But my biggest concern revolves around not only the bruises, but the way she tried to hide them.

Old images from my past rise from the shadows. My mind superimposes Isabel’s image over my mother’s, and the mere idea that someone put their hands on Isabel in a hurtful way makes me want to put my fist through a wall.

“She dating anyone?” I ask, trying to keep my protective temper on simmer.

“I don’t know,” Tucker says without looking up from his cards. “No one serious. She hasn’t wanted me to meet anyone.”

Tucker is a good guy. He really is. He tries to act aloof and untouchable, but I know he loves fiercely—his friends, his firefighter brothers, Isabel. But he’s also a little on the dense side, as shown in the careless way he tosses aside the major warning sign of Isabel showing up from across the country, unannounced.

“You can be intimidating,” Carter tells Tucker.

“Pffft, me?”

“Yeah,” Royal says, “all six foot four, two hundred pounds of you.”

“Exactly,” Carter says. “I wouldn’t want to be the guy who gets on your bad side.”

“Same, man,” Royal says. “Same.”

“Don’t be pussies,” Tucker says. “I wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

His gaze lifts from the cards and meets mine. Maybe he’s not as dense as he pretends, because I know our thoughts have drifted to the same place—Portland, eleven years ago, and the way Tucker beat one of his mother’s boyfriends to a literal pulp for coming on to Isabel when she was just seventeen. Their mother called the cops and had Tucker arrested, forcing Isabel to go public with the awful experience of attempted sexual assault to get the cops to drop the charges.

Tucker hands me the cards. “Deal.”

I pass the cards to Carter. “I’m out this hand. I’m going to see how she’s doing.”

How she’s really doing.

When I reach the kitchen door, I hear her moan. The sound that sparks an old memory and shoots tingles straight up my spine.

I push through the door and find her behind the open fridge door. “What did you find in there?”

She startles and gasps.

I lean my butt against the counter and cross my arms as she turns with a forkful and a mouthful of pie, a little cream left on the edge of her upper lip.

The idea of licking that away is way out of bounds. Right?

“Came in here to check up on me?” she asks with a sassy smile.

“I had a feeling you’d scope out my pie. You always loved chocolate.”

Her eyes go wide, darting between the pie and me. “Oh, shit. This is yours?” She moves to the counter, sets down the pie, and tries to re-cover it, but the plastic keeps popping off. “I’m sorry. I just figured it was restaurant food.”

I put my hand over hers, and she freezes. The flash of something just this side of fear darts through her eyes, then it’s gone, making me believe I imagined it. “It’s fine. You can have all you want.”

“You sure?”

I nod. “I can get more from Natalie anytime.”

She relaxes. “I’m going to have to make friends with Natalie.”

I forget that Isabel doesn’t know Nat. She couldn’t get time off work to come for Evan and Natalie’s wedding. Then two years later, Evan was gone. She missed his funeral too, but I don’t blame her. It was a drawn-out torture fest with all the fallen firefighter bells, whistles, and bagpipes.

“That’s easy to do,” I tell her. “Nat’s amazing.”

She nods and slows her pie demolition. “Must have been…awkward for her and Cole, Evan being his best friend and a firefighter and all.”

“They’ve had a rocky road, but it all turned out okay. They both say it was worth the struggle.”

“That’s nice to hear. Cole’s such a great guy.” She stares at the pie as if it has magical qualities. “This is incredible. Dangerous, actually. Maybe I shouldn’t befriend Natalie.”

I move back to the counter and watch her hunger fade when she’s got the pie whittled down to a small wedge. She sighs, sets it down, and replaces the cover.

When she’s within reach, I lift my hand to wipe the whipped cream off her lip. She flinches, startling me.

I freeze, my hand a couple of inches from her mouth, with a chasm of molten lava swamping my chest. A fiery anger that’s caused me to act rashly in the past. One I’ve learned to control. Or I thought I had.

“Sorry,” she says, going for upbeat self-deprecation but not quite getting there. “You surprised me.”

I let my hand continue on its path and barely graze her lip, wiping the whipped cream away with my knuckle.

She smirks. “I was saving that for later.”

That makes me laugh, despite the river of anger running deep in my veins, and I lick the cream off my knuckle.

She puts the empty fork back in her mouth upside down, sucking off whatever’s left. Her smile is embarrassed, but sweet. “I’ll, um, just put it back. Left a few bites for you.”

She’s got the pie in one hand, trying to juggle things around in the fridge to find a place for the pie. “What the heck? How is there not room for this when I just took it out?”

“Probably because it was shoved in there to begin with.” I push away from the counter to open the door wider. “Let me help.”

“I got it.” Her cell rings.

“Want to get that?”

“No. Probably just job offers. I’ll call them back at a decent hour. Fashion. I swear, the industry never sleeps.”

The phone goes silent, then immediately rings again while Isabel is still moving food around.

“Someone certainly wants to talk to you.” I glance at the phone on the counter and catch the display, which reads Cocksucker, just as she swivels and grabs the phone, pocketing it without looking at who called.

“If Cocksucker is calling to offer you a job,” I say, “we need to have a serious heart-to-heart.”

She laughs. “His full name is Motherfucking Cocksucking Loser, but it was too long to fit on the screen.”

I break out laughing. She laughs too, and we find equilibrium again with her leaning against the fridge and me against the counter, smiling at each other.

“He sounds like a gem,” I say.

She shakes her head and closes her eyes for a split second. “I absolutely do not know how to pick them.”

After she grew up with a mother who had a revolving door of men, I imagine Isabel doesn’t have much of a positive role model in that department.

The one-shouldered black sweater she’s wearing is making me a little crazy. It shows a healthy amount of smooth skin while also hugging all her curves. I love my chocolate silk pie, but I’d give it up for an eternity just for a few minutes with my hands on that body of hers.

Her jeans hang low and mold to legs longer than I remember. Rips in the fabric show the same smooth skin on her thighs. Her hair is still a rich dark chocolate, her eyes just as dark, just as mysterious as they’d been as a teenager. Even if we didn’t already know Tucker and Isabel had different fathers, it’s obvious by their coloring—Tucker a blue-eyed sandy blond and Isabel an olive-skinned, dark-eyed beauty.

The longer I look, the more I like, from the multiple piercings in her left ear to the hint of a tattoo peeking out from the edge of the sweater. On the one hand, ink on that perfect skin seems unthinkable. On the other, it’s sexy as hell.

“You look great.” In fact, she’s mouthwatering. All grown up, confident, independent, sassy. She’s got a sophistication to her that’s hard to describe. An elegance. Yet I still catch glimpses of that dreamy, emotional, scrappy seventeen-year-old.

“You too,” she says. “How have you been?”

I shrug. “Life’s good. Can’t complain.”

She smiles like she’s thinking something funny to herself. Those dark eyes spark with humor, and a dimple pokes into her left cheek. The sight softens my bones, and I brace my hands on the counter behind me.

“Tell me about life in New York. You know, the story you didn’t tell everyone else.” I pause before adding, “You used to be able to tell me anything.”

The micro changes in her expression are fascinating: the quiver of a smile, the shift of her eyes, the softening of her shoulders. It’s like watching her walls come down, one by one.

And not until just now do I realize I’ve always been into her. Even when I didn’t think I was. Even when I told myself the sex was nothing but friends taking the next step toward adulthood together. Even when I swore her vanishing without telling me her plans or where she was going or why she ran didn’t damage me on a fundamental level.

“I’ve been gone ten years,” she says. “That’s a lot of telling.”

“Eleven,” I say. “You’ve been gone eleven years.”

“Right. Eleven.” Her gaze falls away. “I’m not prepared to talk about this with you tonight, I mean about how long I’ve been gone, how I left, the decisions I made.”

She blows out a long breath and shifts on her feet. Then her gaze returns to mine with the first show of honesty bright in her eyes. “But I did plan on addressing it while I was here. I don’t expect either of us to just pretend it didn’t happen. I guess it’s one of the reasons I took this time to come. To, I don’t know, set things right with the people I care about. Or at least make the effort.”

“That’s good to hear. But for the record, as far as you leaving all those years ago, I know you did what you had to do to take care of yourself. You were right to do it. I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.”

She studies me through her lashes, looking so much younger and more unsure of herself than the woman on display in the dining room. It’s heartening to see she’ll still let her guard down with me. “You mean that?”

“Hell yes.” I cross my arms and shrug one shoulder. “Do I wish I could have helped you? Sure. Do I wish you’d told me? Yeah. But after I grew up a little, I realized it wasn’t about me. It was about you, and you did the best thing you could for yourself.”

“Wow,” she says softly. “That’s not the reaction I was expecting.”

“Maybe you’ve been hanging out with too many motherfucking cocksucking losers.”

She laughs, and the sound turns back time. “Or maybe I’ve just forgotten what a great friend you were.”

And suddenly, we’re in a moment. Soft silence circles us, one that feels like it’s steeped in possibility. But I have to remind myself who she is. She might be gorgeous, fun, sweet, and strong, she might seem a lot like what I’ve been looking for in a woman, but she’s also temporary. She’s going to walk away the way she did over a decade ago. At least this time, I’ll see it coming.

“Two weeks, huh?” I ask.

She shrugs. “Give or take.”

That should keep me in check.

Conversation picks up in the dining room, then Tucker pushes into the kitchen, smiling.

“Why do you look guilty?” Isabel asks him, crossing her arms.

“Damn, she sure can read you,” I agree.

“Uh, so, where are you staying?” Tucker asks Isabel.

“You sonofabitch,” she says without any heat. “You’re hooking up with someone.”

Tucker winces. “You didn’t exactly give me advanced notice, and she did come from out of town, and the loft is really just a loft, if you know what I mean, and…” He laughs, but lowers his voice. “I’ve been after her for months.”

Isabel shakes her head. “You asshole. Fine. I wasn’t exactly looking forward to sleeping on your couch anyway. Is there a cheap hotel somewhere close?”

Tucker looks at me, expectant.

“That’s cold, dude,” I tell him. “You’ve been merciless about how shitty it is, but because you can’t control your fucking teenage hormones, the place is suddenly worthy of family? Isabel’s right. You’re an asshole.”

“You can both hate me, but can we make a decision, please?”

“Honestly,” Isabel says, “I’m exhausted. It doesn’t matter if it’s a roach motel. I’m just going to fall face-first into the pillow and pass out.” She pulls her keys from her pocket. “Where is it?”

I give Tucker the I’ll-kill-you-later look, then glance at Isabel. “I bought a place recently. It’s a motel. Kind of. Sort of. Not really.”

“You bought a motel?” she says with the same are-you-for-real look everyone gives me when they hear.

“It’s old and run-down and I can’t rent it out because it needs a lot of work—”

“Whoa,” Isabel says, putting her hand out like she’s slowing me down. “Wait. You’re a full-time firefighter, you own and run part of this bar, and you bought a motel that needs work? Have you always been an overachiever?”

“If I was an overachiever, I’d have the place fixed up. It’s currently a dump, if I’m being honest, but I’ve got the main apartment in good shape. You can stay there.”

She gives me a dubious look. “You said it wasn’t nice enough to rent out.”

“The individual rooms aren’t, but the apartment’s decent.”

She puts out her hands palms up as if to say explain.

“It’s my place,” I tell her. “But I’ll stay in one of the rooms. Unlike your brother, I prioritize family over hooking up.”

“Only because you shut down all your options after—”

I smack him in the chest before he belts out Emily’s name. “Shut the fuck up. You’re already on my shit list.”

“Mine too,” Isabel says, lifting her chin at Tucker. “Get out before I beat you with the gigantor turkey leg in the fridge.”

Tucker backs out of the room trying to look contrite when the guy doesn’t even understand the concept. I’m left with a rush of embarrassment over exposing Isabel to one of my colossal misjudgments—the motel.

“I love that guy,” I say, staring at the door, “but sometimes…”

“He’s an asshole,” we say at the same time.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I’ll get him back.”

“Can I watch?”

“Only if you help.”

I grin and put out my hand. “Deal.”

She slaps my hand playfully. “But you and I have to get something straight right now. I’m not taking your apartment. If the rooms are good enough for you to stay in, then they’re good enough for me to stay in.”

“I—”

“No arguments, or I’ll cozy up on one of the booths out there. Please don’t make me do that.”

All my air leaks from my lungs. “Let’s table this until you see the place. You’ll change your mind.”