by Ann, Jewel
I narrow my eyes. “I hate camping.”
“But that doesn’t mean you want to go home. You could be home by the end of the day. I could hang out with Swarley and enjoy the peaceful camping I’m used to every summer. Your dad would expedite your trip home if you just asked. So would Deedy. So would your sister. Yet here you are … with me.”
My gaze drifts over his shoulder to the unquestioning sunrise. It just does its thing. It doesn’t ask why we need it. Why can’t Jake just do his thing and take me home? Why can’t he be the unquestioning sun—guiding me home?
I shrug. “You could have driven me to any airport along the way and put me on a plane to L.A. with the promise of delivering Swarley. Yet here you are … with me.” Letting my focus return to him, I swallow hard.
I’m not sure either one of us really has a damn thing to give the other one. Yet here we are, on this road trip—marking time, delaying the inevitable.
Jake’s sad face finds a hint of a smile. “Here I am … with you.” He pulls my feet off the bench, scooting me closer to him so his torso wedges between my legs, our faces just inches apart.
“We have nowhere to go,” I whisper past the lump of fear in my throat.
His gaze finds my mouth, and it sends a tingly feeling to the rest of my body. “We have lots of places to go, Ave … just nowhere we need to be.”
Nowhere we need to be …
That’s liberating and sad at the same time. When did my existence become so inconsequential?
“Why me?” I don’t completely fall apart into an I’m-everything-you-despise mess. It’s not that I don’t understand why some men have wanted me, but I have no idea why Jake wants me.
“I don’t know.” Lines crease his forehead.
“I need more than that. Anything really. It can be the sex—which, since I’m obviously so bad at it, I don’t know why it would be that.”
He smirks.
“Are you bored? Am I a frivolous challenge? Is this a lesson you’re trying to teach me? Revenge?”
Jake’s head inches side to side.
“Then what?” I push at his chest until he stands and steps back. Running my fingers through my hair, I sidestep him enough to put him behind me because I don’t know what to do with this pull I have toward him. It feels dangerous to my heart. “You’re not the guy who needs a date to take to fundraisers. You’re not old and desperately searching for something—someone—to make you feel young again. I’m not a tree-hugging girl who works part-time at an animal sanctuary. You’re this sexy guy who could have that girl.” I turn back to him, letting my arms fall limp to my sides. “You could have someone who shares your dreams. You could probably have any girl you want. So … it makes no sense for you to want me.”
He rubs his lips together, nodding slowly. “True.”
I wait.
Nothing.
That’s it? Really? I cough a laugh and shake my head. “A toy. I’m just a toy to you.” Retrieving my room key from my pocket, I open the door. Swarley follows me inside. I grab his bowl out of his bag and fill it with a cup of food. Then I get him water from the bathroom faucet. Jake observes me from the door to the room, his back leaned against it, hands resting in his jeans’ pockets.
“I don’t know, Ave.”
I laugh again. “Yes, Jake, I got that loud and clear.” Rifling through my bag, I look for something clean. I have nothing that’s clean. Perfect.
“I like that I don’t know.”
My eyes close, feeling the warmth of his bare chest pressed to my back, his hands sliding around me possessively like they did yesterday.
“What if we can’t explain it?” He continues. “Maybe the attraction is that nothing about it makes sense. Who chases the familiar? Who stays up all night solving mysteries that have already been solved?”
“Have you lost sleep over trying to solve this attraction?”
“So much,” he whispers in my ear. “Your incessant fidgeting with your hair, your nails, your clothes, your lipstick … it drives me fucking crazy.”
I stiffen in defense, and he squeezes me harder as if his arms are saying “wait.”
“But … for a mysterious reason, I find myself equally mesmerized by it.” He kisses my neck. “Three is your number. You comb your hair in the same spot three times before moving on to another section of hair. Three times powdering your nose. Three swipes with the wand to your lip gloss. When you put on a pair of shorts or pants, you brush your hands down the front and the back of them three times each.”
Emotion thickens in my throat and burns my eyes. I’m not sure I’ve ever been with a guy who knew the color of my eyes without looking directly into them, or my favorite fragrance, or anything other than my name and maybe my favorite flower.
Three.
My mom used to hug me and count to three with me when I would get angry or frustrated. A three-second hug made the monsters in my closet disappear. And the last time she kissed me, she did so once on each cheek and once to the middle of my forehead—three kisses goodbye.
I didn’t know that I did these things three times. Jake Matthews just knocked on the window to my soul and whispered, “I see you.” Not the million imperfections I see in the mirror.
Holding my breath for three seconds, I close my eyes. Then … I fall. It feels like an out of body experience, and I realize that I’ve never truly fallen before. “Take me with you,” I whisper.
“Where?”
My teary eyes open as I turn in his arms. “Everywhere … nowhere.” I grin. “Just take me.”
White teeth peek through his lips. I want those lips. And that smile.
Everything.
I want everything, and none of it costs a dime, comes with a label, or will ever go out of style.
Jake lifts my sundress over my head and steals the kiss of all kisses. My fingers work the button and zipper to his jeans. We lose the rest of our clothes in the three steps it takes to get to the bed.
“Jesus …” he says on a tight, labored breath when he sinks into me. “It’s hard to breathe when I’m inside of you.” He kisses along my neck. “Another anomaly I’ll spend countless hours trying to figure out.”
I curl my fingers into his hair and smile as my hips lift to feel him as deep as possible.
Yeah … right there. Take everything, Jake …
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jake
“Never thought I’d be so happy to see a laundromat.” Avery twists her lips and sighs, staring at the building as I grab our bags of dirty clothes out of the back of the truck.
“Never thought I’d have to carry so many clothes into a laundromat.”
In spite of the grin that steals her mouth, she manages to feign irritation with an eye roll. “You’re my hero.” She holds open the door.
“Actions speak louder than words, Ave.” I give her a look.
“I’ll polish your saber later. Deal?”
I chuckle. “I think that’s what you did in exchange for me letting you shower first.” I drop the bags on the floor by the last row of washing machines.
“No, pumpkin, that wasn’t for letting me shower first. That was for the forty dollars I borrowed from your wallet while you were in the shower.”
“Forty-dollar blow job? That’s a little steep considering I’m driving your fine ass to California. Can I ask what you’re doing with my forty dollars?”
Avery starts sorting clothes into several washing machines. She has domestic skills. Why does that surprise me? I keep my shock to myself.
“I’m going to pay you back. The blow job was just the interest.”
An older lady an aisle over gives us wide eyes.
“Still doesn’t answer my question.” I slip money into the slots.
“It’s a surprise.” She makes a separate pile with just her bras and panties.
I resist the urge to slide it onto the floor and roll around in it. Instead, I play to our audience of one. Bringing a pair of Avery’s satin and
lace panties to my nose, I take a long, slow inhale.
There they go … the old lady’s eyes roll onto the floor as she gasps, clutching her invisible pearls.
“Jake!” Avery rips the pink panties from my grasp and shoots the lady a tight, apologetic smile.
I chuckle and lift my hand, giving the unsuspecting woman a no-hard-feelings wave. She hides behind her book to cover her face.
“You’re an animal.” Avery puts her undergarments into another washer on delicate cycle.
I add money to the machine. “The forty dollars. What’s the surprise?”
“Not telling. Let’s go.” She nods toward the door. “There’s a deli across the street. Let’s grab lunch.”
“Are you paying with my forty dollars?”
Avery turns, walking backward while giving me a flirty grin. The wind catches her hair and blows the now-shorter strands across her face—her makeup-less face. Her wrinkled dress hugs her curves. I know every pair of panties she brought with her is in that washing machine, along with her bras. She’s naked under that dress.
I stop just before stepping off the sidewalk, feeling like the wind has been knocked out of me.
Her smile fades. “What’s wrong?”
“You’re beautiful.”
Avery gives me a nervous smile then shakes her head, averting her gaze. “Whatever … not all blow jobs will involve a forty-dollar loan.”
I don’t react to her insecurity, no matter how much I hate it. Instead, I wait for her to really look at me. I wait for her to see the absolute truth in my words.
“Don’t.” Her head inches side to side.
“Why?”
Her wavering self-esteem fills her eyes with unshed tears. It’s tragic.
“Because I don’t see it. Not now. Not when I’m such a mess.” Her hands wring together as her shoulders fold inward like a wilting flower in need of water and a day of sunshine.
“It’s not your hair or your dress. It’s the way you rub your lips together to hide your smile—and the way your teeth break through because you have to smile. It’s the little lines that form at the corners of your eyes when you do smile. It’s not that your eyes are blue like the sky, it’s that when you look at me like you are right now … it’s a truly beautiful day. And it’s pretty fucking incredible to be the recipient of that look, that glimmer in your eyes.”
Her lower lip quivers just before she turns her back to me. I give her a minute because I’m not done stripping her down. But … that’s good for today.
“I don’t care what you say,” she says after clearing her throat. “I’m getting a sandwich with tons of meat and cheese, no veggies, extra mayo, and a bag of cheesy ranch and bacon flavored chips.”
Stepping off the curb, I wrap an arm around her shoulders, pulling her back to my chest and kissing the top of her head while she takes another moment to wipe the emotion from her eyes. “Okay, Ave.” I chuckle.
“Okay.” She draws in a shaky breath, pushing some confidence into her spine. “I’m glad we got that straight.”
“Me too.” I take her hand and guide her toward the restaurant.
We grab lunch and perch on the truck’s tailgate to eat it in the scorching sun. Terrible idea. Swarley stretches his legs before begging to get back in the shade of the backseat.
“My dad cheated on my mom.” I stare at the busy road beyond the parking lot, legs swinging from the tailgate while eating my hummus wrap. “He asked for forgiveness. She gave it to him. He did it again—told her it was because she’d let herself go. She got pregnant when I was eight and lost the baby before it was born. I just remember her being sad all the time. She fed her grief with food. He fed his with other women. The things he said to her … the way he made her feel … I hated him. Now there’s not a word strong enough to describe how much I despise him.”
Avery stills her swaying legs and drops the last third of her sandwich into the paper bag. “I should have just gotten into the truck,” she whispers.
“No.” I blow a quick breath out of my nose. “That’s not why I’m telling you this. I was angry. I think I’ll always be angry. But can you fucking believe it? I grew up outside of Los Angeles. My dad left four years before my mom died. Just … left. As a ten-year-old, I didn’t really know what that meant. She said he was angry, and when he cooled off he’d be home. He came home four years later. With fucking Francine.” I laugh. It still hurts. God … I think it will always hurt.
“He brought his whore to my mother’s funeral. It was the day I found out that I could land a punch … that I could break someone’s face. That I wanted to break someone like that. And after all these years, having no idea where he lives, we run into him at a fucking swimming hole in New Mexico. What are the chances?”
Avery rests her hand on my leg. “Did you have to live with your dad after your mom died?”
“No.” I grunt a breath of sarcasm. “I lived with my uncle—my dad’s brother. He was more like a cousin to me because we were only eight years apart in age. He’d just gotten an apartment in L.A. after being abroad for two years.
“After the incident at the funeral, everyone knew there was no way I was going to live with my dad and Francine. She was twenty. Six years older than me. Skinny … big boobs … and she had it all on display at the funeral. My mother killed herself because she’d gained over one hundred pounds, was morbidly obese, and diagnosed with diabetes. My father never missed a chance to make her feel ugly and worthless. Kids at school made fun of my mom before she died. I hated them. I hated my dad. I hated every person who reminded me of the women he slept with while my mom ordered takeout and cried herself to sleep.”
Avery starts to slide her hand off my lap, but I grab it.
“Don’t.” My gaze remains fixed on the busy road. “You’re not her. You’re not them. You’re not my revenge.”
“I think you’re saying that because I’m here, out of my element. But you didn’t feel that way the day I walked into your cafe. Had we not been forced to be together for this long, you wouldn’t have asked me out on a date. You wouldn’t have given me a second look because, upon that first look, all you saw was another Francine.”
“And all you saw was another guy who would break your heart—monkey-spanking dick cheese. Had I asked for your phone number, you would have taken one look at me, made a shitload of assumptions, and walked out without a single glance back.”
She pulls harder, freeing her hand from mine, and hops off the tailgate. “We don’t make sense together.”
I slide off the tailgate and close it. “Probably not.”
Avery turns toward me. “Eventually, we have to go home. And there will be questions to answer.”
“What questions?”
“Questions like, what are we doing?”
“We’ll answer them later.”
She shakes her head. “You’re delaying the inevitable.”
I take the sack from her and walk toward the door to the laundromat. “I’m not.”
Avery follows me. I hold the door open for her as she gives me a narrow-eyed glare while walking into the building. “You are. You’re using me for sex on your summer road trip.”
“I’m having sex with you on my summer road trip. And it’s surprisingly good sex. The questions … well, maybe by the time we get to L.A., we’ll have the answers.”
I don’t really believe that at all. I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m doing. But it doesn’t serve a purpose to let her know that right now.
“Surprisingly good sex? Wow …” She opens the first washer and piles clothes into the rolling basket. “That statement sounds like the preamble to the rest of our trip—no sex.”
I help change the loads to the dryers, keeping my gaze on her and a smirk firmly planted to my face while she tries to ignore me.
“So what do you do in L.A.?”
Avery shuts the dryer door and stops, giving me two raised eyebrows. “I’m a massage therapist. Was a massage therapist.”
I shake my head. “When you’re not working or shopping or going to get your hair and nails done … what do you do?”
She blinks several times. Damn! That’s all she does. I swallow the reality in small doses so I don’t choke on it. Avery is a diva.
“Never mind. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.” I shoulder past her to put money into the dryers.
“That’s not it,” she murmurs. “You didn’t put me on the spot. It’s just …”
“It’s fine, Ave. That’s a lot, and there’s only twenty-four hours in a day.” I continue to change clothes from the washers to the dryers, moving twice as fast as Avery.
“Don’t be a dick.”
I feed coins into the last dryer and turn around. Avery eases onto a clothes-folding table. Her wrinkled brow cast down with her gaze as her feet dangle in the air.
“I’m being a dick?”
She answers with silence.
“I’m just trying to get to know you.”
More silence.
I rub my forehead and blow out a slow breath. “I cook. It’s not just my profession, it’s my passion. When a shipment of fresh, local produce arrives, it gives me a ridiculous high. I can’t wait to create something pleasing to both the palate and the eye. When I’m not cooking, I’m reading food blogs. When I’m not doing that, I’m on my Harley or walking dogs from the animal shelter because I did it with Addy, and…” I shrug “…it’s just something I’ve continued to do.”
Avery lifts her head.
Without taking a breath, I continue. “I like space, the infinity I see through my telescope. It makes my troubles feel insignificant. I like old sayings, but not as much as I like new ideas.”
“What are your troubles?” Avery whispers. Worry shrouds her sunny blue eyes, turning them blue-gray like an impending storm.
“Memories.”
Her teeth brush her lower lip several times as the lines on her forehead intensify. “I like baseball and peanuts. I love peanuts. The saltier, the better. I mean … I want to tell you that I love to travel, watch Broadway shows, spend warm afternoons at vineyards sipping wine and eating bruschetta … but those are things I’ve done with men. Wealthy men. I’m not wealthy. In fact …” Avery frowns. “I’m dirt poor at the moment. I can usually snag tickets from friends at work to see a baseball game. Peanuts are in my budget. And when I’m by myself—alone—I like …”