Jessa James - Bad Behavior

Jameson’s so much warmer than I am, just by nature. I take a deep breath, inhaling his clean scent. He grabs me by the waist, pushing me up, until I can stand on the shelf.

At some point in the transaction, he pushes my actual ass up with one big hand. I can’t help the nervous laughter that escapes me.

“Are you steady?” he asks.

“I think so—” I say. Then I squeak as I fall backwards.

Shit shit shit shit— I definitely expect to hit the ground, hard .

But then I land in Jameson’s arms, as perfectly as I could’ve dreamed. Our faces are so close just then, his eyes on my face. All I can think of is that I am surely going to drown in his dark gaze.

His eyes dip down to my mouth. I swear, the whole world around us slows. I lick my bottom lip, suddenly more certain than anything that he’s about to kiss me.

Yes. It’s happening. My eyelids start to flutter closed, in preparation.

“Whoa!” Asher’s voice throws me for a loop. I open my eyes to see him coming in through the front door. Jameson hastily puts me down, moving to step away from me. “What’s going on?”

“I fell!” I blurt out, not wanting Jameson to get in trouble with Asher. “I was trying to reach something. Jameson just caught me, is all.”

“Relax,” Asher says, coming up behind the bar. “Jameson knows the rule. Don’t you, Jay?”

Jameson is slightly red-faced. “Yep. Emma is off limits.”

I grimace at his words. Yeah, yeah, they’ve been saying the exact same thing ever since I turned thirteen.

“That’s right,” Asher says, clapping him on the back.

Jameson looks so guilty, I almost feel bad for him. That is, until he speaks.

“I would never do that to you,” he says to Asher. Then he looks me right in the eye. “Never.”

My cheeks start to burn, and I clench my jaw. “I’m not a little girl, Asher. I can make decisions for myself.”

Asher and J both look at me. Asher snorts. “Not with my friends, you can’t. Isn’t that right, J?”

There’s a few seconds of silence. I look at J, at the conflicted expression on his face. I begin to feel a tiny flicker of hope. Is he about to stand up for me?

God, is he about to tell Asher that he has feelings for me? My heart skips a beat.

But of course, he doesn’t. He probably doesn’t even feel anything for me, because his next words cut pretty deeply.

“Your friends are off limits for a reason,” J says to Asher, casting his glance downward. “Besides, I wouldn’t ever do anything with Emma . She’s so… young .”

Oh, no he didn’t. J definitely just spoke to Asher about me, like I’m not here. I grind my teeth.

“I’m right here!” I say angrily, waving my hand. “I don’t like being talked about like I’m not in the room.”

J just continues to look away, like I have never existed. I could smack him, I’m so mad.

Asher looks at me with an impatient expression. “You’re here and you’re snippy. Hooray for us.”

“Fuck you,” I say through gritted teeth. I’m humiliated right now, and it is definitely their fault. “Both of you can go to hell.”

“Emma—” Asher says, rolling his eyes.

That’s it. Asher’s eye roll is the nail in the coffin for me. I hate both of them right now.

“I’m going to go home. At least Evie appreciates me as a roommate… and as an adult,” I hiss. I stomp around the bar, feeling like they made me act childishly. I jam my textbooks into my satchel, fuming.

I’m angry at Asher, yes. He needs to let me grow up.

But more than that, I’m angry at J. I feel like he just looked me in the eye and said those things to be hurtful. That makes him an asshole, no matter how you slice it.

“Emma, don’t be like that,” Jameson says as I shoulder my bag. I shoot him a glare.

“Piss off,” I say, storming off toward the door.

I leave them there behind the bar, shaking their heads. Pushing open the door, I step out into the bright afternoon light. I’m furious at both of them, shaking a little.

Asher can go put all that stuff about me being his baby sister where the sun don’t shine. And Jameson?

Jameson seems so manly and grown, except where Asher is concerned. He needs to grow up, and grow a pair. No matter how attractive Jameson may be, I don’t have time for anybody that doesn’t want me.

I just have to keep reminding myself of that… forever.

Grimacing, I start to walk home.

4

Getting caught in the back room of Cure, kissing my best friend’s wife-to-be at their wedding rehearsal after party… let’s just say it was not a part of my plan.

The night starts off with the pop of champagne corks flying around behind the bar. The lights are turned way down, and a playlist of Purity Ring remixes is playing loudly over the sound system. The doors to the outside are thrown open, letting in the salty air and the sound of the ocean waves of Redemption Beach crashing in the distance.

People are toasting the happy couple. It’s a little premature if you ask me, but no one did. So I just keep my trap shut and work the bar. Behind the bar, I’m still the bartender, the master of my little domain.

On the floor of the restaurant, I would have to rub elbows with hedge fund managers and CEOs and Instagram models. The kind of people who went to expensive private colleges and talk about where they’re summering . Not my crowd.

They’re all here for Asher and his well-to-do fiancee Jenna. And I’m here too, me and the other Hart brothers. We’re standing in for Asher’s family, because they don’t care about him and because we do.

Tonight is all for Asher. I just have to keep that in mind.

Really, it’s okay to be around the Youtube starlets and tennis pros, because most of them think I’m just the help. They probably don’t know that Asher and I even own this bar together.

Which is more than fine by me.

Not for the first time tonight, I wish I was at the beach, running out toward the water with a surf board under one arm. Actually, I am longing to be anywhere but here right now.

But I’m not. I’m here. I need to be useful, taking orders and making drinks. Otherwise, I turn into a pouty, angry man-child. Nobody wants that, especially not tonight.

I’m standing behind the bar, a bar towel slung over my shoulder, staring down the crowd of wedding guests with a not-quite-scowl. I consider whether I should put up glasses of water on the bar for the crowd or not. The party is definitely a success, meaning that almost everybody is a little drunk by now.

I have even been dipping into the expensive bourbons, a practice I frown upon for the other bartenders. But tonight is a party, a celebration of sorts. Even if I don’t like what people are celebrating, I still have to be here.

Maia, a cute Asian girl who makes a hell of a Sazerac, drops her tray on the bar. She pulls her skintight black cocktail dress down a little.

“Jameson! Pop one of the bottles of rosé bubbly, will you?” she says, her upperclass British accent making bubbly sound refined.

I raise a questioning brow at her. “Why?”

“The bride to be wants ‘something pink with bubbles’,” she says with a shrug. “I’m a server. She gives me an order, I come and ask for it. You pour the drinks. That’s usually how it works, anyway.”

She gives me a look, like she knows exactly what I’ve been thinking, and she doesn’t approve.

“Mmmph,” I respond grumpily. Sparkling rosé isn’t on the menu tonight, but I do as requested. It is for Asher, after all.

“Do you mind getting some champagne flutes down for me while you’re at it, boss?” she asks, giving me a saccharine smile. “You’re a million miles taller than me.”