Big Pickle: A Secret Boss Romantic Comedy - JJ Knight Page 0,65

return to my old life.

The beach is just as white. The water is blue, and all the old cronies I always hang with are there, ready to party.

But none of it works.

The girls all seem flimsy, like paper-thin versions of themselves. They purr and preen, and if the littlest thing goes wrong, like too much bleu cheese on their salad, they crumple.

None of these people work or do anything meaningful. They couldn’t slice an onion if it smashed them in the head. They can’t imagine spending hours on a single loaf of bread.

Still, I play along, going through the motions of my old life.

But one day Amanda Schilling sidles up to me in a string bikini that can barely claim its existence. She wants me to snap out of it. She knows exactly how, running her fingers along the waistband of my board shorts.

I awaken from my stupor just enough to picture Nova in her camo pants and Army boots. The vision comes hard and takes over every sense. I have to will it away, almost physically striking the air to make it leave.

But when Amanda leans in to whisper, “What do you think is the sexiest scent in the world?” I can’t stop myself.

I turn to her with all sincerity and say, “Pickle juice and bread dough.”

Her face contorts. “That’s just weird.” Then she adds, “Gross.”

And that’s when I know I’ve had enough. I snatch up my shoes and clomp through the sand to my beach condo.

How has this one Texas girl wrecked me so hard? I can’t enjoy anything I did before.

I toss my shoes by my front door and head for the sliding glass doors on the other side. I’m on the third floor, and the balcony looks out over the water and an endless expanse of sand. It’s a perfect place to sit and think.

I can’t seem to go back to where I’ve been. I’m not that person anymore.

The ocean pounds, wave after wave, crashing through sunbathers and breaking across the shore. As the day goes on, I quit answering messages from my lazy, do-nothing friends. They seem to have no interests other than what bar they will visit that night and whose famous Instagram they might land on. I program my phone to send them all directly to voicemail, and their texts all get silent alerts.

Done.

And it’s quiet.

My life goes on this way. I sit alone most nights on that balcony, hypnotized by the waves. I sleep here and there, occasionally ordering take out or a pizza. I don’t know what to do. What I can do. I’m not sure who I am anymore. Jace Pickle, part of my father’s delicatessen world? Jason Packwood, a real person, who makes friends with the employees of his business? Who does manual labor, and gets to work before dawn?

I’m certain no one’s noticed I’ve disappeared from the world until one afternoon, about three weeks after I’ve left Texas, somebody knocks on my door.

I have no idea who it could be. My friends don’t come here. I didn’t order anything. The cleaning service isn’t due for a few days.

The person I absolutely do not expect to see is my brother, Max.

“What the hell?” I ask.

“Nice to see you, too, bro,” he says.

I haven’t seen him since the hospital at the baby’s birth. His body is even more tricked-out than before.

I take a step back. “Are you on steroids or something?”

Max’s expression hardens. “Now see, that’s about the biggest insult you can give to a bodybuilder. So shut the fuck up about that.”

I turn away to flop onto a chair. “Sure. Sorry. I didn’t expect to see you.”

Max steps inside and shuts the door. “You look like shit.”

“It’s not been my best year.”

He plunks down on my sofa and picks up a pizza box to set it on the floor. “You’re even worse off than we feared.”

“Did you fly all this way to give me a lecture? Don’t you have a deli to run? The competition to win?”

“Anthony’s kicking both our butts. It doesn’t even matter to me. I’m starting the circuit soon, so I won’t have much time to mess with pickles.”

I wave my hands at his rippling physique. “You’re going to go pro with that?”

“When my coach says I’m ready. But I’m not here about that. It’s all about you.”

I tug at my T-shirt self-consciously. It’s the Keep Austin Weird one. I’m not quite sure when I changed it last. “So, you see me. Clearly, I’m fine. Did