by Jewel E. Ann
Five days passed before Jillian saw AJ again. The complete lack of activity next door led her to believe he had disappeared like Cage said he did on occasion. She kept busy with two lucrative Lascivio parties, keeping the yards looking trim, and her favorite job: watching Lilith.
“Jesus, Dodge! What the hell happened?” Jillian winced, looking at the stitched-up gouge between his two black eyes.
“Nasty leg cramp in the middle of the night on Sunday. Fell out of bed and the corner of the nightstand high-fived my head before the rest of my body hit the ground. Stan had to take me to the emergency room at two o’clock in the morning. But don’t worry, it looks worse than it feels.”
“I don’t doubt that because I’m going to be honest with you, Dodge, it couldn’t look much worse.”
“Just as well, young lady. At least now you won’t be flirting with me so much and making the missus jealous.”
Jillian looked over at Lilith, who was enraptured with a grin on her face while reading what must have been a good book. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s been a real issue.”
Dodge looked down at his phone. “Stan should be picking me up soon. You two ladies have fun.”
“Where you off to today?”
“Lumberyard. Stan’s going to get some boards and stain them to match my headboard. Then he’s going to build a railing for the side of my bed that locks in at night to prevent future injuries.”
Jillian grinned. “Like a baby crib.”
“No! Like … like … uh … well, like a hospital bed.”
“Okay, whatever makes you feel better.”
Dodge shook his head and left.
Jillian giggled to herself as she walked to the laundry room to see if there were clothes that needed folding or ironing. She brought the ironing board and pile of shirts to the kitchen so she could keep an eye on Lilith. The first shirt she laid on the ironing board was missing a button.
“Hmm … missing button. What are the chances you have a spare one?” Jillian smiled to herself. “Not that it would matter. I can hang kitchen cabinets and weld pipes but the simple task of sewing on a button is something I’ve never mastered. But ironing … ironing I can do.”
Chapter Fifteen
Day
Jessica Day was getting a second chance at life, a glimpse at normalcy again, all thanks to the good Dr. Luke Jones. Of course she was bound by verbal contract to no longer call him doctor, or Jones, or Lucas, or Lukey, or Lulu, or anything other than plain old Luke. It was like the sun refusing to shine after the rain, leaving the rainbow invisible. She felt certain that he popped little kids’ balloons, gave out toothbrushes at Halloween, and went to bed before the ball dropped on New Year’s Eve.
Their first unofficial counseling session resulted in her cleaning his kitchen sink and oven, then removing all the dishes from the cabinets and wiping the shelves down. Everything was spotless before she started, which made her job that much more difficult because he insisted she go through the motions like some sort of Mr. Miyagi training. She in turn got to talk about whatever she wanted to discuss or share. For some reason since the night of their agreement she hadn’t been in the mood again to talk about the kidnapping or anything related to it.
Jessica found herself running ten minutes late for their second meeting as she raced across town after work.
“You’re late.” Luke greeted her with a frown as she slipped off her heels.
“Astute observation, genius. I also forgot a change of clothes, so tonight can we stick to meaningless chores that can be performed in a tight skirt?”
“Do you sew?” Luke asked while walking toward his bedroom.
“No.”
“Do you iron?”
“Why? Do you have some boy scout badges that need to be ironed on to your button-down khaki before the next meeting?”
“Boy scout badges are stitched, not ironed on, and no that’s not why I’m asking.”
“The dry cleaners under starch your whitey tighties? Your hang low swaying despite your robotic gait?”
“Nice try. I cleaned out my sock drawer and found some old dress socks that I’m going to donate, but they’re a bit wrinkled so you’re going to iron them for me. Well … really more for the lucky recipients.”
“You’ve got to be kid—” The moment she turned the corner to his bedroom she saw the ironing board set up with a huge pile of argyle socks next to it.
“Some of the pairs are the same design, so make sure you match right and left ones together.” Luke sat in a leather chair by the window with his feet propped up on an ottoman.
“Are you high? There’s no such thing as right and left socks.” She held up two matching socks as if to prove her point.
Luke glanced up from the crossword puzzle he was working on. “Those are both left.”
“Oh my gosh! I knew it! I knew you were a whacked-out OCDer. I can’t believe they gave you a license to practice psychiatry.”
He stood and took the socks from her. “See how this area in both of these is worn thinner than the rest, both on the right side under the big toe? That’s how you know they are two left socks.” He handed them back before resuming his position by the window.
She plugged in the iron. “You need to get laid. Normal people don’t think like you. When was the last time you had sex?”
Luke ignored her. It was his usual MO when she tried to pry into his life.
“I bet you’re a missionary man. By the book: seven-point-five minutes of foreplay, thirty seconds of clitoral stimulation to get her lubed up, and exactly thirty five thrusts until climax, followed by ten minutes of spooning, a kiss on the cheek, and maybe even a gentlemanly ‘thank you’ before insisting she leave so you can get your necessary eight-point-five hours of sleep.”
Luke didn’t flinch.
“Do you suppose there’s a high demand for argyle socks at Goodwill? Do they even accept socks there? It’s like donating underwear. Really, who wants to risk athlete’s foot or toenail fungus? I don’t know … it freaks me out a little, like bowling allies. You ever get a pair of rental shoes that are still warm inside? How about hotel rooms, talk about crazy. I know the sheets and towels are washed, but at what temperature? When you dry your face with one do you ever wonder how many butt cracks that cotton has slid through?”
Luke submitted a quick glance.
“Of course you do. After all, I’m ironing your right and left socks for Pete’s sake.”
An hour later, Jessica completed the last set of socks then wrote off another useless hour of her life that she could never get back. Most of that hour was filled with silence.
“I’m trained to kill people with my bare hands.” Jessica plopped down on Luke’s bed with her fingers interlaced behind her head and legs crossed at the ankle. Luke glanced up in her peripheral vision, but Jessica kept her gaze fixed to the ceiling.
“I can’t share anymore information such as how and why, but I can say that something shifted when I realized the power I had. The thing is … I didn’t feel empowered. There was this transformation. I went from trusting to fearing to an unavoidable distrust. Now I trust very few people and the person I fear the most is myself. I’m constantly on high alert. When I walked into your office for the first time I noticed you, but I also noticed all possible exits, places you might be concealing a weapon, and all objects I could use as one.”
“Do you feel safe right now?” Luke asked.
Jessica closed her eyes and exhaled. “Relatively. You have three things plugged into the walls of this room. I could use any of those cords to strangle you. I could bludgeon you with either weighted bookend on your shelf, or the statue in the northeast corner of the room. However, the only weapon I’ve found was a pocketknife in your closet the first time I came here and it’s barely even a weapon so I’d most likely kill you with my bare hands before you’d have a chance to release the money clip in your pocket that you habitually rub between your thumb and middle finger.”
“Is that a threat?”
Jessica laughed, opening her eyes as she turned toward him. “No.” She rolled her eyes to the side and pursed her lips. “Well, maybe. If you ask me to iron your socks again I cannot be responsible for my reaction.”
“Have you ever killed anyone?”
Jessica’s smile slipped. “If I told you then I’d have to kill you.”
“So you’re a secret agent?”
She flipped onto her stomach, resting her chin on her crossed arms. “If I said yes then it would no longer be a secret. Come on, Jones, you’re losing your focus. Don’t let me feel smarter than you or our time together will be over and I rather like hanging out here.”
“Luke,” he corrected.
“Lucas.”
“Luke.”
“Lukey.”
“LUKE!”
“Lulu.”
“I mean it!” Luke showed another rare moment of teetering emotion.
Jessica chuckled. “What are the chances of us having sex? I’ve never done it missionary, but you could possibly counsel me through it.”
He refocused on his crossword puzzle, filling in a word in pen. “Less than zero percent.”
“So, not in my favor, eh?
“Why not missionary?”
Jessica smiled in delight that Luke continued with the topic of conversation.
“I’m sure you already know, but if you want me to say I need control, then sure, I need control. But the truth is I’d control any sex position you want to put me in.” Jessica winked as Luke gave her a fleeting glance. “I just don’t want you thinking you have control, even if I know it’s not the case. Pisses me off to see the smirk on a guy’s face when he thinks he has control.”
“Tell me why you need control.” Luke continued with his crossword.
“In bed?”
“Yes.”
“Someone has to have it.”
“Why?”
“Because someone initiates it.”
“So if I initiate sex with you will I have control?”
“There’s only one way to find out.” Jessica wiggled her eyebrows at an ill-humored Luke. “Fine.” She huffed. “So you’re telling me when you have sex you’re not in control?”
“Depends.”
“On what?” She sat up straight with her legs crossed.
“The level of intimacy.”
“Love versus sex?”
“Yes.”
“So you’ve been in love?”
“Have you?”
“Come on, Jones! Answering a question with a question? You can do better than that.”
“Luke! And yes, I’ve been in love. Tell me about the men you’ve loved.”
Jessica was once again impressed with his swift and accurate diversion. “I shared the womb with one and was conceived by the other. We’ve never had sex. I bet you’d charge me extra for that added problem.”
Luke tossed the newspaper on the side table along with the pen. “And exactly how much am I charging you now?”
“Thirty pairs of ironed socks, which let’s be honest … who owns thirty pairs of socks? Do you do laundry once a month? And then there was a complete kitchen cleaning. I’m just saying, incest would probably have me on my knees in front of your toilet scrubbing it with a toothbrush.”
He folded his hands in his lap. “That was the longest answer ever for what could have been a simple ‘You’re not charging me anything and I’ve never been in love.’”
“Wow! Are you counting my words now?”
“If I kick you out early, are you going to give me a month’s worth of useful information in under ten minutes on the other side of my door?” He glared at her.
Jessica leapt off the bed. “Real professional, asshole! I can’t believe the Board of Medical Examiners granted you the right to fuck with people’s minds and emotions.”
“I’m not your doctor, Jessica.” Luke held steadfast to his composure.
“Then you’re a shitty friend!” She stomped out of his bedroom.
“I’m not your friend either,” he called after her as she marched toward the front door.
Jessica whipped around as Luke caught up to her. “Then who or what the hell are you?”
Luke shook his head. “I’m nobody … just a guy that wants to see you get better.”
A caustic anger roiled in her chest. “Well I don’t need nobody. I need somebody. I trusted Dr. Jones, and I trust my friends, but you’re neither, so I’m not going to lay my whole fucking world at the feet of nobody!”
Luke stepped toward her until her back was pressed to the wall. His blue eyes turned to coal. “Your problem is you don’t trust anyone—not me, not your family, and not your friends. Maybe what you need right now is a nobody, a dumping ground for all of your problems, someone who’s not your past nor your future. I won’t feel responsible, or guilty, or judge you. You can make up a hundred pet names for me, plot out my death in fifty different scenarios, and question me about my favorite sex position, but it won’t make you better.”
That was the first time Luke broke Jessica’s heart. She didn’t want him to be a nobody. During the months that they’d been together she’d convinced herself that he would make her better—not his willingness to listen, not his words of wisdom, but him.
The first tear surrendered. “There were two of them. One served as the decoy, the other shot us with a tranquilizer gun like we were rabid animals. I wasn’t sure if it was hours or days that we spent coming in and out of consciousness. I remember vomiting on myself at one point and wetting my pants. Then we were dying of dehydration: swollen tongues, confusion, dizziness, heart palpitations. Finally they offered us water out of a shared dog dish. We were almost too weak to even drink. Then they offered us food, actual dog food. I didn’t eat it, but Claire did. Four said he’d cut her if she didn’t.” Each blink released more tears. Her eyes never strayed from Luke’s.
“He never cut you?”
Jessica shook her head.
“Do you know why?”
“Because I wanted him to. I dared him, taunted him, practically begged him. It was like he knew.”
“Knew what?”
Salty tears melted onto her tongue when she sucked in her lips and swallowed back the words that she hadn’t said in almost a decade.
“Knew what, Jessica?” Luke cupped her face in his hands.
“I’m hungry.” Her tears dried up as her expression softened to a blank stare.
He nodded, releasing her. “We can be done for tonight.”
She drew in a breath and released it with absolute control, putting away the past in its safe spot and focusing again on the present. “Want to go get something to eat with me?”
“I can’t.” Luke took a step back.
“Are you on a diet?”
He smiled, barely, but it was a smile. “No, we can’t be seen together.”
She slipped on her shoes. “Are you famous? Because I’m not and the only people who know both of us are in New York for the next two weeks, so unless we happen to pick the same restaurant as your receptionist, Eve, then I think we’re good.”
Jessica’s area of expertise was risk assessment, but Luke’s overthinking and excessive contemplation made her reserved personality look utterly reckless.
“Never mind.” She slung her purse over her shoulder. “I’ll eat by myself or find somebody who might enjoy my company. Don’t sweat it, Luke.”
“Jessica?”
She stopped, inches from shutting the door. He pulled it back open.
“Pizza delivery? We can eat out on my balcony.”
“Is this pity?” She squinted.
“It’s pizza. What kind do you like?”
She stepped back inside and kicked off her shoes. “Are we making out later?”
“No.”
She brushed past him toward the French doors to the balcony. “In that case—red onions, banana peppers, fresh garlic, and pineapple.”
“Pineapple?”
“Did I stutter?”
“We’ll go half and half. Thin crust okay?”
“Nope. Thick.” She stepped outside and drew in a shaky breath. Sharing her past felt like an emotional game of Jenga. How many pieces could he extract before she’d completely collapse?
After he ordered the pizza and changed into something more casual, Luke joined her on the balcony. “Beer or wine?” He held up two bottles of Heineken in one hand and a bottle of white wine and a wine glass in the other.
“Wine. Never beer, it tastes like piss.”
Luke shook his head, his usual sign of annoyance. “Wine for you, piss for me.” He sat opposite her at the table and poured her a glass of wine.
“I use beer to drown out the world. Haven’t had it in years. So if you see me drinking beer think of it as an SOS.”
Luke popped the cap off his beer. “I drink wine when I’m trying to impress a woman I really like. So if you see me sipping a glass of Pinot, then try to avoid embarrassing me.” He raised his bottle of Heineken. “To you not needing to drown out the world.”
Jessica grinned and tapped his bottle with her glass. “To you not trying to impress me.” She took a sip of wine. “So if you were having a glass of Pinot tonight, what would you be sharing about yourself that would sound impressive?”
Luke tapped the mouth of his bottle against his bottom lip, once again contemplating his response. “I’d say I shouldn’t really be drinking wine or eating thick crust pizza tonight because my best friend, Gabe, has talked me into training for a triathlon with him and his girlfriend.”
“They asked you?” Jessica’s voice squeaked as her back straightened.
“Gabe did.”
“Huh … Kelly didn’t say anything. Long Beach?”
“Yes.”
“I’m signed up too.”
“I know, that’s why I suggested thin crust.”
She laughed. “Triathlons for me are like a 10K to a marathoner. I ‘train’ so Kelly has a partner. I overdress so she sees me sweat, I fake labored breathing, and I stay three steps behind her when we jog so she thinks she’s setting the pace. Then she heads home and I put in five more miles at double the pace, an hour of sparring with my brother, and an hour of abs. I swim three times a week and bike on Saturdays. But don’t tell her any of that, please.”