“Sounds like you had a good time,” Ryan says.
I stuff my hands in the pockets of my hoodie. At least I’m back in my own clothes. “Yeah.”
“I can’t take it anymore,” Nicole says. “You’ve said like, two things since you got here.”
I can’t see Nicole’s face, but Ryan gives her a confused look. She kicks sand in his direction.
“Right, yeah,” Ryan says, standing. “Hey, will you guys help me get the food? And more beer?”
Hunter looks at Ryan like he’s nuts, but Cody gets the hint. “Yeah, sure, man.” He turns to Hunter. “Let’s go.”
Ryan leans down and kisses Nicole, then the three guys walk back toward the house.
Nicole turns in her seat to face me. “Talk to me.”
I take a deep breath. I don’t even know where to begin. “It was … I don’t know Nicole. It was so much.”
“It looked like you guys were having fun the whole time.”
“How would you even know that?” I ask. “Oh, right. You followed the whole fucking week on Twitter.”
“I’m sorry,” she says. “That was shitty of me, wasn’t it? I was just so worried about you. And you only texted me maybe twice the entire time you were gone.”
“Yeah, I kind of ignored my phone a lot,” I say.
“So, was it good or wasn’t it? I’m confused.”
So am I. “It was good, I guess. No—I don’t guess. It was fucking incredible. He was incredible. He was nothing like I thought he’d be. When he showed up at my house and said he wanted to take me away, I figured sure, this guy is hot, and I want to fuck his brains out, so why not? This will be fun. No big deal, just casual, then we go back to our lives. I’m single, I can get away with this.”
“But…?”
“But he wasn’t just a hot, cocky as shit, rich guy. He was those things, but you should have seen him when we were alone. There’s this side of him that is so affectionate and sweet. He stared at me all the time and never stopped touching me. And it wasn’t like he only did it for an audience. I mean, yeah, he paraded me around a little bit, but most of the time, we just hung out, the two of us. We stayed in this ridiculous mansion on the beach, and watched movies, and ate a lot, and drank too much. We laid out in the sun by the pool, and laughed and joked, and made fun of each other. Like normal people, you know?”
“Was he not supposed to be normal?” Nicole asks.
“No,” I say, my voice emphatic. “No, because he isn’t normal. Everywhere we went, people were like, ‘Yes, Mr. Bennett, right this way, Mr. Bennett, very good, Mr. Bennett.’ People stare at him and fall all over themselves to make sure he has whatever he wants.”
“Is that the problem, then?” Nicole asks. “His life is too different?”
“That’s on the list,” I say. I pause for a moment, and when I speak again my voice is quiet. “The problem is, I wasn’t supposed to care when this was over.”
Nicole grabs my hand and squeezes. “Well, what happens now? When are you going to see him again?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “He left without saying goodbye when he dropped me off, so I figured, that’s it. He’s done and it’s over. I was kind of okay with that this morning. At least I knew where things stood. But then he texted me.”
“But that’s good, right?” Nicole says.
“I guess,” I say. I lean my head back. “I’m so confused.”
“Maybe this isn’t the best time to bring this up, but have you seen the article yet?” Nicole asks.
“What article?”
She purses her lips. “I guess that means no.”
“What is it?” I ask, not sure I wanted to know.
“It’s totally not a big deal,” she says. “Just some pictures of you guys in a club together, mostly. Do you want to see, or just leave it?”
I hold out my hand. “No, I’ll look.”
She taps her phone’s screen a few times and hands it to me. There’s a picture of me and Jackson, dancing at the club. We’re facing each other, his hand low on my back, pressing me against him. My face is turned up to his, my hair falling in waves behind me. We’re both smiling, our eyes locked on each other.
I read the caption at the bottom. Jackson Bennett, one of the hottest (and wealthiest!) bachelors in the country, dances with an unknown woman at Parq in San Diego. Could this finally be a glimpse of his infamous Sassy Girl? Bennett’s large Twitter following has been in an uproar over his mysterious tweets, to the point that #whoissassygirl has been trending on the social media platform.
“Son of a bitch,” I say, handing the phone back to Nicole.
“Well, you look unbelievable in this picture, so at least there’s that,” Nicole says. “Where did you get those shoes?”
“Fuck the shoes,” I say. “That, right there, is the problem. He lives like that: parties and clubs and pictures of him going around the internet. I have no idea how to handle that.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty intense,” she says. “I thought the Twitter stuff was crazy enough.”
“I haven’t even looked.”
“Really?” she asks. “Yikes.”
“What do you mean, yikes?” I ask, sitting up to look at her.
“No, it’s not bad,” she says. “Well, some of it is. But mostly it’s fine. People are intrigued by you. The bad stuff isn’t a big deal. People think they can get away with saying anything online. It’s best to just ignore them.”
I pull up Twitter on my phone, knowing it’s probably a bad idea. I go to Jackson’s profile and scroll through his tweets. There are a lot of pictures of me, but none of them quite show my face. He tweeted my shoes at the club; a picture of me from behind, standing on the beach; a close up, my face turned just enough so you can’t quite see me. His feed is filled with them.
One shows me curled up on the couch, a drink perched on my knee. You can actually see my face, although I’m looking away. I read his tweet.
This girl. This girl right here.
My breath catches and I swallow the lump that suddenly appears in my throat.
I click through some of the comments. Most of them are questions about who I am, or where we are, or what I’m wearing. One picture is a close up of my mouth and some jackass replied with a comment about me having a mouth good for dick sucking. A lot of replies tear him a new one, but it’s still disconcerting to see.
“This is what I’m talking about,” I say. “Who lives like this?”
“Ryan says he takes really great pictures,” Nicole says, “especially considering he just uses his phone. The composition on these is really good.”
I look sideways at her. “Seriously?”
“Well, they are,” she says. “Did you see his tweet from last night?”
I scroll up.
Empty condo. Empty life. My chest is hollow. There isn’t enough Scotch in the world.
He hasn’t tweeted anything since.
“He was probably drunk off his ass last night,” I say. “He drank all the way here, and probably kept going the whole way back to his place.”
“Well, why do you think he would do that?” Nicole asks.
“Don’t use your know-it-all voice on me, Mrs. Jacobsen,” I say.
Nicole puts a hand to her chest and laughs. “Oh my god, it freaks me out when you call me that. But really, don’t you think he’s sad because you aren’t with him?”
I think about his texts from earlier. “Maybe.”
“Maybe, my ass,” she says.
“And a hot ass it is,” Ryan says, appearing from behind us with a tray full of food.
“You should at least text him,” Nicole says. “Tell him you’re thinking about him.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” I say. “I should let this end before it gets worse.”
“But what if it gets better?” she asks.
I take a deep breath and stare at my phone. Nicole kind of has a point, and Jackson did reach out to me. He straight up said he was
sorry, and I wasn’t exactly receptive.
And the truth is, I miss him. Terribly. That realization scares the shit out of me, but denying it isn’t going to do me any good.
I open text messaging and type.
Sorry I didn’t say much earlier. I’m confused. I know we said a week and that would be all. Am I the only one who thinks a week isn’t enough? You said you wouldn’t fuck with me, so don’t. Is this over?
I watch the fire crackle, half-listening to the conversations around me, waiting. Nicole stands up and Ryan wraps his arms around her. Cody cracks a joke about them getting a room.
After long moments, my phone dings with Jackson’s reply. It isn’t over for me. I miss the fuck out of you.
I laugh, tears springing to my eyes. Nicole glances over at me and smiles.
I’m still not sure what this means, and the implications scare the crap out of me. But I know I can’t let him go so easily.
17
Jackson
“Jackson.”
I blink, realizing Tammi asked me a question. I have no idea what she just said.
“Sorry. Distracted.” I’ve been thinking about Melissa. I dropped her off at her place five days ago and I haven’t been able to get her out of my head. Aside from a few brief texts, I haven’t spoken to her, let alone seen her. I’ve been too busy catching up after my impromptu week off. But she’s always there, lingering in the corners of my consciousness.
“I can see that,” she says. “I need a signature.” She sits across the desk from me, dressed in a perfectly tailored pencil skirt and light blue blouse, her red hair pulled up. She adjusts her glasses and shuffles through a small stack of paperwork she brought in, her wedding ring catching the light. Tammi is officially my longest-running female relationship, and I have a feeling it’s because she’s been happily married since before I hired her. She’s attractive in a businesslike way, and once in a while I wonder what she looks like with her glasses off and hair down. But she’s never been available to me, so I don’t really think of her that way. Which is probably just as well. Tammi is indispensable, and if I’d ever slept with her she’d be long gone by now.
I glance at the contract, initial where she stuck little Post-it notes, and sign on the last page. I already reviewed it, twice, so my signature is just a final formality.
“What do I have on my calendar this afternoon?” I ask.
She glances at her phone. “You have a four o’clock with the people from Tech Solutions.”
Damn. I can’t cancel that one. “What about tomorrow?”
“Nothing that can’t be moved.”
“Good.” I want to drive out to see Melissa as soon as I can, but it looks like I’ll have to wait until morning.
“You have a banquet on Saturday night, and you need to be in the office Wednesday. Other than that, it’s mostly conference calls and things I can reschedule if you need. Where are you off to this time? Or will you decide at the airport?”
I can hear the amusement in her voice. Tammi generally disapproves of my personal life, but she rarely comments on it.
“No flights,” I say.
“Nice deflection,” she says.
“I’m not deflecting.”
She arches an eyebrow at me and looks at her phone, swiping her thumb across the screen. “I’ll email you the rest of the documentation by end of business tomorrow.”
“Good.”
I expect her to get up and go back to her office. We’re finished. But she lingers, pressing her lips together.
“Is there something else?” I ask.
“I’m just wondering what this is all about.”
I lean back in my chair, pitching my fingertips together. I know what she means. Tammi can talk to me in ways that would get anyone else fired, but I’m not sure I want her asking me about Melissa. “What this are you referring to?”
“The woman in Jetty Beach,” she says.
“What about her?” I ask, not bothering to disguise the defensiveness in my voice.
She pauses, as if choosing her words before answering. “Nothing about her, specifically. But I’ve worked for you for almost a decade and I’ve never seen you like this.”
It bothers me that Tammi can see something I’m trying to keep to myself. I flaunted my fling with Melissa, enjoying the attention online. That part is public. But I know that isn’t what Tammi is talking about. There’s something else happening, and even I’m not sure what it is. Until I know, I’m not prepared to discuss it with anyone—particularly my assistant.
“It’s not a big deal,” I say. “I’m just having some fun with her.”
“Hmm,” she says.
“You disapprove?” Not that it’s any of her business.
She shrugs. “I didn’t say that. You’re a grown up, you can do what you want. Besides, it could be worse. My friend in New York works for a guy who makes the women he sleeps with sign a contract.”
I raise an eyebrow. I’m familiar with the practice. “I don’t need a contract.”
“No, I suppose you don’t,” she says. She stands and gathers up the paperwork. “I’ll send your four o’clock to the conference room.”
My meeting runs long, turning into dinner and drinks at Canlis. Their seafood is good, but I’m not in the mood. I nurse my drink and make a graceful exit as soon as I can.
Home isn’t much better. Too quiet. Dennis could take care of that if I ask. Even on a Thursday night, he could have my condo bursting with people in an hour. Music. Drinks. It’s warm—women would strip down and jump in the pool. I haven’t done any of my usual socializing in weeks. Not since I met Melissa.
That’s a disturbing thought.
I strip down to a t-shirt and underwear, and pour myself a glass of Scotch. My condo is too quiet, so I turn on a mindless action flick and sit on the couch with my drink.
I glance at my phone, thinking I should text her. Or call. It’s after eleven, but she’ll probably be up. I take a sip of the Scotch. It’s good, but it will never taste as good as it did off Melissa’s skin.
I don’t want to text her. Even hearing her voice won’t be enough. I want her. I want to smell her, feel her. Touch her.
What the fuck am I waiting for?
She’s three hours away, and I have no desire to drive all that way in the middle of the night. But what good is all my money if I don’t use it? I call my driver and tell him to drink a Red Bull and pick me up in ten minutes.
I doze for most of the drive. The back of my limo is comfortable as hell, and the sound of the tires on the road lulls me into a light sleep. I wake when the car pulls to a stop and the engine turns off.
I glance at the time. Two thirty-seven. I haven’t told Melissa I’m coming.
I get out of the car and tell my driver to wait until I’m inside, then go find a hotel. I rub my eyes, trying to wake up, and walk up to her door. Her house is dark, the street quiet. Her garage is closed, but I’m sure she’s home. I lift my hand to knock, and it occurs to me she might not answer the door in the middle of the night. I want to surprise her, not scare her.
I send her a quick text. Melissa. Wake up.
I lean against the door, waiting for her reply. I’m just about to text again, when her message comes through. What’s wrong? Are you okay?
I’m outside.
There’s a pause and a light flicks on, filtering through the curtain.
Outside here?
Yes. I knock.
I hear footsteps. She opens the door a crack and peeks out. Her hair is disheveled, and she’s wearing nothing but a striped t-shirt and panties.
My cock jumps to attention and my tiredness instantly disappears. Melissa stares at me for a moment, her mouth open. I want to devour those lips, but she looks so dazed.
She backs up and I follow her inside, closing the door behind me. Her whole house smells like her. I stand there for a moment, just breathing it in, like an addict getting his hands on his drug of choice. I’ve been lifeless
since I left her on her doorstep. Just being near her makes me feel alive again.
“Hi,” she says. She rubs her eyes and tries to smooth down her hair.
I take a step closer. “Hi. I thought I’d surprise you.”
“You’re good at that,” she says.
Her nipples are hard beneath her tight shirt. I love the way she looks, all tousled and sleepy.
“Is it a good surprise?” I ask, moving closer still.
“Yeah,” she says, her voice breathy.
It’s all the encouragement I need.
I slip my hands around her waist and pull her against me. Her body is smooth and warm, so familiar. I bury my face in her neck and breathe her in while she threads her arms around me.
“I missed you,” I whisper into her ear. I trail kisses down her neck, tasting her skin. God, she feels so good.
Melissa pulls back and finds my mouth with hers. She parts her lips and I slide my tongue in. I grab her ass, digging my fingers into her taut flesh. I want every inch of her. My cock is so hard I can hardly stand it, and I groan as I press it against her body.
I run my hand beneath her shirt and hold her breast. She rubs against my cock. I kiss her, hard, the feel of her mouth sending me into a frenzy.
“Jackson, I need you inside me. Now.”
We stumble toward her bedroom, pulling off our clothes. I lay her down on the bed and climb on top of her, settling between her legs. Her pussy is slick and hot, ready for me. I kiss her again and thrust myself inside.
It’s unreal. She feels so fucking good, I could come in her right now. She’s hot, and soft, and tight. I love being inside her.
Melissa moans as my cock goes in and out. I kiss her mouth, her neck, her breasts. I run my tongue over the hard nub of her nipple and she arches her back.
“You feel so good,” I say. I dig my cock into her, feeling the tip bottom out. She leans her head back and calls out. I hold there, feeling the sweet, hot folds of her pussy surrounding me.
Something changes. She covers her eyes with a hand and her body trembles. I ease up on the pressure and gently shift her hand away from her face. Tears glisten in her eyes.
One Crazy Week Page 11