“Sacred, huh?” I nod in agreement. “Okay, then. What do you really want for your birthday?”
The question seems innocent enough, but the tone says something completely different. Something Vagelina recognizes. Oh yeah, I’ve named my lady parts.
“That requires another shot or two. You in?”
“I’m good for one more, but one of us in this group needs to have our bearings.”
Another shot for both of us and I agree with having my bearings, too. Without them, I’m sure I would have offered up more in our little game of Truth or Dare. Instead of telling Jameson that I dream about him fucking me senseless, I told him my biggest wish was for my parents to retire and travel like they’ve always dreamed. Cop out? Absolutely. But still technically the truth.
A few hours after those shots I find myself in Jameson’s truck, headed to his house. I don’t want to go home. Honestly, I don’t want to be alone. I’m still living with my parents and there’s something depressing about returning to my childhood bedroom after celebrating my twenty-first birthday. Jameson finally gave in to me essentially begging him to stay at his house. When I asked, I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t thinking of the logistics and I certainly wasn’t thinking of my heart. We’ll be sharing a bed. Jesus take the wheel.
Jameson and I go through the motions. Small talk, quick tour of the house, and him handing me one of his T-shirts to sleep in. I stand in front of the bathroom mirror looking at myself. I’m not unfortunate looking, but I could maybe invest in some gym time. And perhaps fewer burgers and more salad. Whatever. I’m not a siren and surely not a seductress. I just want a night with someone next to me. Yes, a someone I want to ride like a pony, but that’s neither here nor there.
Once I’ve changed out of my clothes and into Jameson’s shirt, I use his toothpaste and my finger to brush my teeth. I turn down the hall and hesitate in the doorway to his bedroom. I should sleep on the couch. Truthfully, I should go home. I should put my clothes on, call a cab, and go home. That’s what I should do. I’m not exactly known to do what I should do.
The overhead light is off but the small lamp on the end table illuminates the room. I glance from the bed that remains intact, toward Jameson, who is standing beside it. He looks up and catches my eye. A moment passes between us. The air in my lungs ceases to exist. The electricity in the room is evident. My eyes widen and his smile appears. Lord, give me strength.
Tentatively stepping into the room, I remind myself to breathe. It’s sleep. Nothing more.
“Sorry I didn’t have a toothbrush or anything,” Jameson says to me, as if I am capable of holding a conversation in this moment. I watch as he pulls the covers back. I take in his appearance. Low-slung sleep pants that rest on his hips, allowing that muscle that nobody really knows the name of to peek out. The one that sits on his hips and basically points to the region I’m not supposed to think about. The one muscle that basically makes every woman an idiot. Yeah that’s the one calling to me … “Ashton, I’m right here. I’m so inviting but you can’t have me.” Stupid no-named muscles.
“Ash?”
“What? Sorry. I’m just tired. Umm, it’s okay. I improvised. Are you sure about this? I can just sleep on the couch. This was a bad idea.”
“It’s fine, come on. We’re adults. It’s just a bed. We’ll pretend it’s a hotel.”
“Okay, if you’re sure.”
“I’m sure. Come on, it’s late.”
I take the few steps toward the bed, noting two tablets and a glass of water on the end table. I look up at Jameson. “You’ll thank me in the morning. Take the Ibuprofen.” Nodding, I take the tablets along with a large drink of water.
Pulling back the covers on my side of the bed, I take a deep breath before slowly sitting down and exhaling. I tentatively lay down with my head on the pillow. Lifting up my head, I pull my hair to the side and straighten the covers over me, pulled as far up to my chin as possible. My hands are crossed over one another across my rapidly beating heart. To an outsider, I’d look like I’m mocking a person in a coffin.
Closing my eyes, I feel Jameson take the place next to me and hold my breath. I’m not sure why; it isn’t as if not breathing will somehow make this moment stop. Regardless of whether or not I’m breathing, I’ll still be in Jameson’s bed.
“You okay? Warm enough?”
“Yep, good,” I respond, looking up at the ceiling.
“Ash, you know I can still take you home. You’re obviously freaking out or something.”
I flop to my side to face him. Big mistake. He’s under the covers, holding his head up with one hand staring at me, with a grin that looks a little like the Big Bad Wolf and I’m Little Red Riding Hood.
“I am not freaking out. I’m just …. never mind. Goodnight, Jameson,” I retort before once again flopping on my side, but this time with my back facing him. His response is a laugh. Not a chuckle or snicker. Nope, a laugh. Asshole.
“Night, Sunshine.”
A groan is my response. I hate that name. A few beats pass and I let myself relax and succumb to sleep.
Sleep is what I need now. Alone and in my own bed. Parking in front of the house, I note the front porch light is on and a glow from inside the house tells me that Jameson left the light on for me. Purging these memories and ignoring the resurfaced feelings toward Jameson would be a lot easier if he’d just stop being nice. And hot. If he could wake up tomorrow ugly, that’d be fabulous.
Fatigue is setting in. The post-high crash I feel after one of my nights out is a fraction of what I feel after an anxiety attack, but I know I’ll sleep well tonight. And dream of Jameson. Likely where my memory during the drive left off.
Surprisingly enough, the dreams of Jameson didn’t haunt my sleep. I had the best night’s sleep I’ve had in days and woke up rested and ready to handle all my business. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee was a nice surprise when I woke up. As was the note from Jameson next to the coffee pot. He and Hope won’t be home until late afternoon. That means I have the house and day to myself.
The morning flies by as I check item after item off my to-do list. A text from Piper to call her earlier has me curious. Once I’ve finished cleaning my bathroom, I decide to call my day complete and grab my phone to call Piper. Collapsing on the couch and tossing my feet over the arm rest, I pull up Piper on my contact list. Before the first ring completes I hear her voice.
“Ashton Marie.” Oh boy. I have no idea what I did but first and middle name is never a good thing, regardless of who is using it.
“That’s my name. What’s up, sister to be?”
“Where were you last night?” Shit.
“Out. Where were you last night?”
“I know you were out, your brother told me that. With who? Not me and not him. Spill.”
“Nope, privacy is still a thing. And tell my brother to shut his trap.”
“I already did. I didn’t know he was so gossipy!”
We both laugh and then there’s an awkward silence. Piper and I don’t do awkward and we rarely do silence. This is odd, but before I can acknowledge it, Piper clears her throat and speaks.
“Is everything okay, Ash?”
“What? Of course, why?”
“I don’t know. I just wanted to make sure. I know I’ve been kind of MIA since I moved in with Ben. I’ve kind of sucked as a best friend. Then Ben said Jameson was acting like a jealous asshole or something last night and I just wanted to see if everything was okay.”
“Jealous? Yeah, I don’t think that’s what it was. I think Jameson is less jealous and more just asshole.”
As I make that statement I hear a giggle and it’s not coming from the phone. Closing my eyes, I send up a little prayer that it isn’t who I think it is. When a throat clears, I know it’s exactly who I hoped it wasn’t.
“Uh, Pipe, I’ve gotta go.”
“Oh shit, did he just walk in? Whoops!”
“Yeah big whoops,” I say to Piper as I slowly lift
myself from my laying position on the couch. I see two sets of the same sapphire-blue eyes. One is glaring and the other full of mischief.
“Yeah, talk to you later.” I don’t even bother waiting for Piper’s goodbye as I set my phone on the table and stand to turn to Jameson and Hope.
“Hey, guys!” Wow, Ashton, way to oversell the hello.
“Hi, Ashton! Uncle J says you have a tree on your house. Is it a big tree? Why did it fall? Were you scared? I bet you were. You’re going to have to move your stuff ‘cause that’s my room and I need to have my own piracy.”
“Privacy,” Jameson corrects as he continues to stare at me. His lack of expression is freaking me out. Scratch that, there’s an expression. It’s borderline homicidal laced with a little bit of sexy. Not sexy, angry. Yeah, sexy angry. Oh, forget it.
“Wow, Hope, that was a long list of questions. It really was a big tree and I was a little scared but thankfully I wasn’t home when it fell.”
Jameson just continues to stand there. His posture is stiff and his scowl obvious. Two can play that game. Offering him my signature “you want to play” look of pursed lips and a single raised brow, I return the stare. Unblinking. That’ll show him, challenge accepted. He blinks first and I can’t help but feel a little satisfaction. My point made, I return my attention to Hope, who has now climbed up on the back of the couch, staring at me.
“Ash?”
“What’s up, sweetie?”
“Do you love my Uncle J?”
Two simultaneous and differing responses can be heard. My gasp in horror and Jameson’s laugh. I look at him and he’s suddenly gone from bitter asshole to laughing. And the hell if he doesn’t look absolutely sexy.
“Wha–what?” I stammer.
Huffing in response, Hope hops down so she’s imitating the position I was in when they walked in. “I said, do you love my Uncle J?”
“Well, your Uncle J is my friend so I love him like a friend, I guess.”
“Ah, Sunshine, that was so heartfelt.”
I start to flip my middle finger at Jameson but remember we have an audience.
“Oh. ‘Cause you said he was an A word. My mama says that about my daddy. But she loves him so I wondered. I’m going to my room.”
After her proclamation, Hope hops off the couch and heads toward my room. She’s a firecracker, that’s for sure, and I don’t even argue with her when she walks into my room.
“Sorry about that. I explained to her that you were staying here now and she’d have to sleep in my room. She’s not really cooperative.”
“It’s okay. I have to work tonight anyway. She can stay in my room and I’ll just sleep on the couch. I planned that anyway so there are clean sheets on the bed and I’ve set things aside for me to sleep out here.”
“No, you can have my room and I’ll sleep on the couch. I appreciate you doing this. Julia wants her to have some independence with the baby coming. She’s worried she’ll be jealous. I’m supposed to let her ‘find her voice’ or some shit.”
“Well she seems to be doing fine. I’m going to need to get ready for work soon but was going to make some dinner. Are you guys hungry?”
“Actually, we were going to make pizzas. How about you get ready for work and join us after. You still have a few hours, right?”
“I do. Sounds good. Mind if I make a salad, too?”
“Nope, sounds good.”
I offer a smile and pivot to leave the room when I stop. Turning, I note that Jameson has started his way toward the kitchen.
“Hey, J?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry about the asshole reference.”
“Are you sorry you think I’m an asshole or that you said it?”
“Both?” I say with what is supposed to be a smile but feels more like a grimace. “I’m just sorry, okay?”
Responding with only a nod, Jameson walks away, leaving me standing here like the jerk I am. I know I’ve screwed up. I continue to stick my foot in my mouth. My reality is that I’m not a nice person all the time. Sometimes I speak before thinking and this happens to be one of those times. Jameson wasn’t an asshole or anything of the sort. He was concerned and being a friend. I just can’t seem to leave well enough alone.
Pulling the zipper up my boots, I stand in front of the mirror to assess tonight’s outfit of choice. It’s Saturday night and I usually put a little more effort into my outfit. Comfort is priority one, followed by being able to stay cool. Saturdays tend to be the busiest and rowdiest at Country Road. My outfit needs to be both functional and cute. I’m still a girl at the end of the day.
Dressed in a pair of dark skinny jeans and simple black shirt that is essentially backless, I have my hair pulled into a high ponytail, and my makeup is a little heavier than usual with a smoky eye and glossy lip. I hope I don’t pass out from exhaustion before washing my face tonight. Otherwise, I’ll wake up looking like Rocky Raccoon. Grabbing my phone off the docking station, I pick up the pajamas I set aside and my pillow to put in the living room before I leave.
Once I’ve set my pajamas and pillow in the living room, I turn toward the sound of adorable little girl giggles. As soon as I reach the doorway to the kitchen, I stop dead in my tracks. Before me is a scene that is sure to cause any woman’s ovaries to engage.
Standing side by side are Hope and Jameson. Hope is wearing a very pink apron and a crown. Of course, she is. Only, Hope isn’t who has my attention. Jameson is standing next to her, also wearing an apron, singing horribly while covered in flour. Each time he kneads the dough, his arms flex and pulse. Okay, maybe they aren’t pulsing but I am. Holy combusting ovaries.
While Hope sprinkles flour on the counter, Jameson continues his rendition of Summer Lovin’ from the movie Grease. Giggling uncontrollably, Hope sings along with the chorus. A huge smile takes over my face. This scene. A tough, rugged, hot as hell man with a sweet little girl is what movies are made of. Well, probably books first and then a movie. Whatever. I’m lost in thought so much I don’t stifle my laugh when Jameson lifts his shoulders to the beat and attempts to dance. Obviously hearing my laughter, Jameson suddenly stops singing and taps his phone, stopping the music. Hope, however, continues singing.
“Don’t stop on my account,” I say between laughs.
“Ashton, you look like a princess.”
“Thank you, Hope. Whatcha guys doing?”
I’m speaking only to Hope but I can feel Jameson’s eyes on me. My pulse increases under his gaze. Well, more assessment than gaze. He’s quiet and I can only assume he’s still angry with me about earlier. I’ve apologized, he’ll need to get over that.
“Pizza. Uncle J and I always make pizza. He already made yours, it’s in the oven. When the beeper goes off it’s done.”
I look to Jameson and he just shrugs and turns to wipe his hands with a towel.
“Thanks, J. You didn’t have to do that.”
“It’s no big deal. I know you have to leave soon so I figured I’d get it in first. You look nice.”
“Oh, uh, thanks.”
I’m not sure why his compliment makes me feel uncomfortable, but it does. Not like creepy, stalker uncomfortable, but like he’s continuing to assess me. And he is. His eyes drift over my body and it’s as if he’s activating each goose bump on my skin as he does. Is it hot in here? A drink. I need a drink. Shit, I have to work. A Diet Coke it is. I grab a glass from the cupboard and fill it with ice before pulling a can of Diet Coke from the pantry.
“Ash?” I hear from behind me. Turning, I note a less-than-happy-looking Jameson. “I think part of your shirt is missing,” he grits out between clenched teeth.
“Huh?”
Indicating my back with his finger, I smile in contrast to his grimace. “Nope, it’s all there.”
Before he can say another word, the timer sounds on the oven and Hope squeals and claps. Jameson moves toward the oven and I am graced with the view of him bending to remove my pizza. As he stands to face
me I quickly recover from my gawking and give my attention to the little princess observing the exchange.
“Oh, I need to make my salad.”
Smiling, Hope shakes her head. “Nope, Uncle J made one for you.”
Confusion marring my face, I look to Jameson, who simply shrugs. “It seemed like you were running late so I figured I’d make it for you.”
So maybe those goosebumps are more like goose-mountains or something. “Thank you.” Those two words don’t seem like enough, but they’re all I have. Which must be enough because a quick nod of his head and a slight smile is all I get in response. Obviously, Jameson isn’t interested in a conversation, so I turn my attention back to the little princess who is.
“So, Hope, what song was that you were listening to?”
“It’s Danny and Sandy from Grease. It’s my favorite movie ever!”
Confused that Julia would allow her five-year-old to watch Grease, I quickly look to Jameson for confirmation. He’s silently laughing but composes himself when he sees the confusion on my face.
“It would appear that someone has been getting up early in the morning and putting in a movie before anyone else is awake. Julia said she’s been so tired with this pregnancy that she was grateful for the extra sleep. It never occurred to her to check what Hope was watching. That is, until Hope started singing one of the songs in the bath.”
I look over at Hope, who is strategically placing her pepperoni on her pizza, ignoring our conversation.
“I didn’t think that Julia would allow that. I mean, it’s one of my personal favorites, but your sister is a little more, umm, conservative when it comes to Hope,” I respond with air quotes around conservative.
“Okay, Princess Hope, let’s get your pizza in the oven.” Hope puts her finger up, indicating she needs more time with her pepperoni. “Conservative? I think you mean overprotective. And, yeah, she was, but that was before she got pregnant and this one started acting like a teenager,” he says, motioning toward Hope, who is now beaming with pride as she looks over her pizza.
Tequila & Tailgates (A Country Road Novel - Book 2) Page 8