Jessa James - His Brother's Fiancée

“You, uh—you better go get changed while we still have good natural light,” he said. “We can share the bed, it’s big enough.”

He saw her visibly stiffen.

“Don’t worry, I won’t try anything. You’re not that tempting, and like hell I’m going to sleep on this couch. I can’t even fit on it.”

She chewed at her lip and looked at him. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

“What do you mean?”

“I—I just randomly grabbed some stuff when I left. I have a pencil skirt for some reason, and a tank top. The stuff from yesterday is too gross.”

“Goddamn, Effie, just … go in my bedroom and grab something. There are pajama bottoms and tee-shirts.”

“You don’t mind?”

“No, but I’m not going to beg you.”

She let out a groan, but turned on her heels and stomped towards his room. As he unfolded the blankets to assess their situation, he realized there were more throw blankets than anything else. The real spare blankets were all down. The only full-sized, adequate, non-down blanket in the whole goddamned cabin was in his room.

King realized with a speeding up of his heart that he’d probably have to sleep right next to her.

It’s fine, you’re fine, he told himself.

But it wasn’t, and he certainly wasn’t.

He hadn’t slept beside Effie since high school, and sleeping was far from what they did. He grimaced at the thought.

A loud pop came from the doorway. King jumped to his feet and Effie let out a laugh. She was in his green flannel pajama bottoms, so long on her that they looked like footie pajamas. She drowned in his old, cracked graphic tee from high school with the school’s mascot proudly emblazoned on the front.

Effie held up the bottle of champagne she’d just uncorked.

“Look what I found,” she said. “And I can’t believe you still have this shirt, by the way.”

“I keep things here I don’t care about forgetting or losing,” he said. It was mean, and he regretted the words a soon as they left his lips. If Effie was hurt, she hid it well.

“Are you imbibing or not?” she asked as she settled on the couch. In one hand, she held two slender champagne flutes.

For the first round, King didn’t know where to look. He was grateful for the glass, for something to do with his hands. The clouds grew thicker, darkening the cabin. By the second round, the bubbles started to get to him.

“You remember the first time we had champagne?” he asked her.

“We?”

“Yeah, it was together.”

“Prom?” she asked. “Your senior year?”

“Yeah. Damn, that was nasty stuff. I thought getting the oldest out of the wine cellar—this wine cellar, actually—would mean it’s the best. I was mistaken.”

Effie groaned. “Yeah, and I just wanted you to think I was badass. You know? So I gagged that stuff down. I mean, I didn’t know any better. I thought that was how it was supposed to taste.”

King let out a laugh. “You wanted me to think you were a badass? Effie, you were in the FFA. You were proud of having your summer hog get the blue ribbon and you always asked teachers for extra credit. Drinking some champagne wasn’t going to make you a badass.”

“Well, at least I tried,” she said with a smile as she finished her second glass. “More?” she asked. “I mean, with champagne it’s kind of all or nothing.”

“Sure. What else do we have to do. So tell me why you wanted me to think you were cool. We were dating, you didn’t have to put on a show.”

Even in the flickering light of the fire, he saw her blush. “I … okay, this is the champagne talking. Alright? And we’ll never speak of this again. But I always felt like you were, you know, out of my league.”

“ Me? ”

“Quiet, or I won’t tell you anymore.”

“Sorry, I just can’t believe it.”

It was true. King had always thought it was the other way around. He was the one lucky enough to be with her.

“Well, believe it. Wow, maybe that whole macho bad boy thing you had going on in high school was real. The rebel without a cause. Maybe it’s true now, who knows?”

“Since we’re being honest,” he said as he picked up his third glass, “tell me something.”

“What’s that?”

“Why did you end up with Thorne?”

Effie cleared her throat. Deliberately, she put down her full glass.

“I’m kind of tired,” she said. “I think it’s time for bed.”

“I’ll… I’ll take you,” he said.

She didn’t say anything, but followed him down the hallway to his bedroom. Silent, she slipped into the king-sized bed and stayed as close to the edge as possible. Effie immediately rolled away.

King stared at her form, at the steady rise and fall of her body, and wished like hell he knew what she wasn’t saying.

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