Free Come to Me Quietly (Closer to You) by A. L. Jackson Page A

said.
    She twisted the cap off the third and plopped heavily into the chair as she tipped it to her mouth.
    “Long day?” Christopher asked as he arched an eyebrow at her.
    “Oh yeah.” She released a long breath. “It was superbusy.” A little shrug lifted her shoulders. “Made good tips, but I couldn’t wait for my shift to end.” She began opening the take-out box lids. My mouth watered when I was hit with the heavy aroma of thick red meat sauce and pasta.
    I stood. “Here, let me grab some plates and forks.”
    She threw a soft smile up at me as I passed. “Thanks, Jared.”
    “Yeah, no problem.”
    Even though it was only three feet away, I stumbled into the kitchen as if it were some kind of oasis in the desert. For a second, I dropped my head as I pressed my hands into the counter and filled my lungs with the deepest breath of air I could find.
    Get a grip, Jared
.
    I gathered myself while I gathered the plates and forks. I walked back out with everything, sat down across from Christopher and Aly, the only true friends I’d ever had, and forced myself to relax.
    We all ate together, like we did it all the time – like we’d done so many times before. Our conversation was light, and the food was awesome. We drank a few more beers and played some cards. I couldn’t remember ever feeling so good.
    But I did. I felt too damned good.
    From across the table, I tried to suppress my amusement. Aly was obviously a lightweight. After three beers, her speech was beginning to hint at a slur. “I need another beer,” she announced, draining the last few drops in her bottle, wobbling a little as she stood. She kind of staggered into the kitchen.
    God, she was cute.
    “Grab me one, too, would you?” Christopher called.
    She emerged with two. “Nah, but Jared can have one.” She winked at me as she slid it across the table to me.
    I couldn’t help but smirk.
    “Oh, uncool, Aly, uncool,” Christopher mocked, pressing his hand to his chest. “You always liked him better than me, didn’t you, Aly Cat?”
    Aly’s mouth puckered in defense. “Oh my God, don’t you dare, Christopher. You two just about gave me a complex when I was little. I can’t tell you how much time I sat in front of the mirror, worrying I looked like some mangy cat. One day Mom found me crying, curled up in a ball in my room. It took her, like, two hours to convince me it was about my name and not what I looked like.”
    Aly Cat.
 
    A smile pulled at my mouth, at my thoughts, and a wave of nostalgia slammed me, threatening to knock me off my feet. It washed over me with warmth, and things I didn’t want to remember. Fear tightened my throat. I pushed it down. I’d leave soon, before I could fuck it all up and leave them hating me.
    I stood and drained my beer. “I’m going to grab a smoke.”
    I was hit by a wall of stifling night air when I escaped outside through the sliding glass door. I closed my eyes and sank to the balcony floor, resting my back against the wall. The concrete floor was still hot as I pulled my bare feet up and bent my knees. I dipped my head to the side to light a cigarette. I drew it in, felt it expand in my lungs, welcomed the mild calm it pulsed through my agitated veins. I rushed my free hand through my hair.
    Careless.
    Coming back here. Staying here. All of it.
    Taking another drag, I looked up as the sliding glass door slowly opened. Aly’s silhouette emerged in the darkness, her movements somehow softer than they’d been inside.
    Just to the side and across from me, she slid down onto the floor. Slowly her face came into focus. She drew one leg to her chest, exposing the skin on the underside of her thigh. She tilted her head to the side, and the length of her black hair fell down around one shoulder, all soft and innocent and a little bit infuriating. This girl was either the biggest tease I’d ever met or was completely oblivious of how perfect she was.
    For a while we said nothing, just listened to