Page 4 of Good For Me

My cousins all have goals. Passions. For Wyatt and Will, it’s music. For Rose it’s the women’s shelter she’s opening. For Everly, Alex, and my younger brother Fox, it’s their fashion label. They’re all ridiculously successful, even at their young ages, and it seems like they’ve always known what they wanted to do.

I have no idea what I want to do and I never have.

So instead I entertain my siblings and cousins. I tell self-deprecating jokes about the shit jobs I bounce between. All the ridiculous reasons I’ve been fired. The wild nights out and the lazy hours surfing. The hook-ups and the crazy drunken adventures.

And that’s usually fine with me. I like making people laugh, even if it is at my expense. But lately I’ve been feeling…tired. Off in some way I can’t quite put my finger on. Maybe it’s because my cousins are all starting to grow up. To put those dreams and passions into motion. To go after the things they want.

Rose, Wyatt, and Will are all in serious relationships—Will is getting married this fall. He and Rose are getting ready to move out of the apartment we’ve shared since I was eighteen to live with their significant others. Everyone is doing big, exciting things. Everyone is moving on.

And here I am. Slinging drinks in a bar and going home with women who mean nothing to me and, let’s be honest, are probably only interested in me in the first place because of who my father is.

Yeah. I’m feeling pretty tired these days. And I don’t know how to shake it.

My cousins hang out until the end of my break then head home to their girls while I head back to the bar to finish my shift. A woman I hooked up with a few times last winter comes in and makes eyes at me, but I’m not feeling it. For once, the energy at the bar feels more oppressive than fun and I’m counting down the hours to the end of my shift.

Things get unusually slow for a Friday just before eleven and I know our boss is going to send Brad home soon—Dave doesn’t like paying for more staff than he needs. For once I consider asking to be the one let out early, but leaving Kim with slow-ass Brad would probably get me a swift kick to the nuts. I’m tempted, though.

Then midnight hits and my mood shifts again. Because Jas just walked through the door and for once, her idiot boyfriend isn’t with her.

God, she looks good,is my first thought. It shouldn’t be remarkable—she always looks good. Yet it still hits me like a freight train every time I see her.

Jasmine Weaver is the kind of gorgeous that stops your breath. She’s tiny—nearly a foot shorter than my six-four height—but she has the most amazing curves I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s her eyes that really get me though, a shade of grey that seems to shift between stormy and clear depending on her mood. I always want a closer look at those eyes, sure that I’ll find something really important in their depths. She usually comes into the bar still dressed from her part-time job as a bank teller—professional slacks and blouses, her dark hair neatly arranged in a bun.

That only makes it all the more hot on those occasions when she leaves her hair down to cascade in a thick curtain over her shoulders. Another thing about Jas I find mind-meltingly hot? No matter how professional her clothes, I can always catch a glimpse of black combat boots under her elegant pants and suits.

Those boots make me crazy. They make me want to know more about her, about what she does in her spare time, where she likes to go, what her friends are like.

Basically, I want to know everything there is to know about Jas. And I have ever since the first day I saw her.

“Oh, Jesus,” Kim mutters when she sees me staring. “River, you need to give it up. That girl is never going to go for you.”

I know that. I really do. Jas is completely out of my league and shows next to no interest in me whenever she’s here. Which is all the time, because Dave is her uncle and she lives in the spare room in his apartment over the bar. She also helps him do his books, since he’s comically bad with numbers for a business owner.

Jasmine Weaver is the kind of girl who has her shit together. She’s driven. It’s obvious she has goals, and she’s not going to stop until she takes over the world like a total badass. Of course she’s not going to be into a guy like me.

But her lack of interest does nothing to cool the obsession that hit me strong the first hour of my very first shift at Davie’s Pub. I figured this job would be the same as all my others. I’d sling drinks for a few weeks before doing something stupid and getting fired. Then I’d move on somewhere new. Rinse and repeat.

But that was before Jas showed up an hour into my first shift and directed me to join her in the office. I’d been pretty much struck dumb the second my eyes met those steely grey ones. As she handed me employment forms to fill out, her voice remained crisp and professional while I sat there speechless and staring at her, my brain in overload with all the things I wanted to do to her.

And it wasn’t just sex stuff—though my dirty mind was coming up with plenty of that. The thing I wanted to do the most was get her out of the loud bar and take her somewhere quiet where I could stare at the shifting shades of grey in her eyes and have her tell me every single thing about herself.

I don’t know what it is about this girl, but I can’t get her out of my head. It doesn’t matter that she’s dating a total asshole. It doesn’t matter how many girls I hook up with—a number that’s been steadily diminishing since I started here and realized no amount of no-strings fun was going to replace the empty ache I feel whenever I see her.

Jesus, listen to me. I sound a million times more lame than the cousins I was giving shit just a few hours ago.

Kim snaps her fingers in front of my eyes and I realize I’ve been standing here staring like a fucking creeper for the past however many minutes. What else is new.

“Seriously, Riv. It’s not happening. Move on.”

Move on. It’s something I normally would have done several months ago. From the girlandfrom the job. I’m not exactly the stick-it-out type and no woman has ever held my interest for more than a few weeks.

Yet here I still am. Working in the same job for more than four months—a record for me. And pining after a woman who doesn’t give two shits about me.

You really are a fuck up, River Ransome,I think to myself.

But that doesn’t stop me from grabbing a shot glass and preparing her usual order—a shot of tequila followed by a Heineken—ignoring Kim’s grumbles about how pathetic I am. And it doesn’t stop me from taking the drinks to her round table in the back myself instead of handing them to Kim, just so I can stand in Jasmine’s presence for a few moments.

Because not only am I a fuck up, I’m also a masochist. And I’ve never been any good at changing my ways.