Tequila & Tailgates (A Country Road Novel - Book 2)

by Andrea Johnston

  Together.

  As one.

  I’ve managed to bring him close to the edge and know that it’s not going to be long before he comes. Increasing the rhythm as his hands grip my hips, I’m quickly chasing my own orgasm. Within seconds we’re both coming undone. It’s glorious.

  Climbing off Jameson, I reach for the towel that was laying on the bed as he discards the condom. The euphoria begins to wear off almost instantly. Regret is still far from my emotions but the realization of where I am and how bold I just was isn’t.

  Returning to the bed, Jameson takes the towel from me while he runs his eyes over my body. Slowly, and as if he’s noting each curve as he does. Tossing the towel to the floor, Jameson tugs the covers I’m lying on, ultimately forcing me to lift my butt so he can pull them down.

  Once the comforter and top sheet are pulled down, he crawls into the bed next to me. I begin to turn toward the edge to leave when he tugs me back toward him so I’m on my back.

  “Where’re you going?” he asks, rolling so his body is shielding my own. His arms cage my head between them, forcing me to look at him.

  “I just … I thought,” I whisper, looking over his shoulder instead. It’s only us here yet I’m whispering. Afraid of what he’ll say. Afraid of what won’t be said.

  “Hey. Ashton? Look at me.” I do. “I want you to stay. Do you have regrets?”

  Shaking my head, I will the tears I feel to please stay hidden. Swallowing where they reside in my throat, no tears fall. Thankfully.

  “Come on, it’s been a long night. Cuddle up.”

  I can’t help but giggle at his cuddle up reference. So ridiculous. Turning on my side, I allow him to pull the sheet over us, spooning me from behind. Moving the hair that’s fallen over my shoulder to the side, Jameson gently kisses the small space between my neck and shoulder, sending a shiver down my spine.

  Silence envelops the room. Unable to sleep, every thought imaginable is running through my head. His breathing tells me Jameson is still awake.

  “Should we talk about this?”

  “Probably, but I think we should wait for the sun to rise before we have any sort of conversation.”

  “I can handle that,” is my reply through a yawn.

  Allowing the remainder of the tequila in my system to lull my body to sleep, I feel satisfied. Content.

  Scared. I’m not sure my heart can handle this again. Reaching for a piece of the wall I’ve built to protect it, I vow to protect it at all costs.

  This time.

  The sun shining is normally a wonderful greeting. However, the morning after with a sudden wave of regret is a different story. What rational, warm-blooded, intelligent woman would regret sex with Jameson Strauss?

  Oh yeah, me.

  Kill me now.

  After “cuddling up” and what amounted to the equivalent of a mini nap, I found myself blissfully unaware of the lack of sleep as Jameson brought me to another orgasm. And, if I hadn’t experienced it, I wouldn’t believe round three was possible. Around the time the sun began to rise I finally fell into a deep sleep.

  Three times and twice as many orgasms in just a few hours. Good Lord, that man is a beast. Add to that beast mode status and my very long hiatus from sexy times and it’s no wonder my body aches. Aches in the best possible way.

  Stretching and turning to my side, I realize I’m alone in the bed. But, unlike the last time I was in this position, I can hear someone moving around the house. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee is wafting through the house. And what’s that? Bacon. Sweet and glorious bacon.

  Finding and assessing my panty situation, I resolve that they are a complete loss. Beast. Smiling to myself, I make quick action in the bathroom before grabbing the T-shirt hanging off the end of the chair in the corner. Hitting me just above my knees, this will do for now. Sure, I could go to my room and find something to wear, but coffee is the priority.

  Nerves start finding their way to my stomach. Flips and flops that I could blame on all the tequila we drank last night but won’t. These flips with huge flops are courtesy of the morning-after talk that is about to happen and all that goes with it. With deep breaths and my poker face, I take a step into the kitchen but stop before I can make my presence known.

  Standing at the stove is a shirtless and messy-haired Jameson. Considering how dark the room was last night and early this morning, I didn’t have an opportunity to completely appreciate his body nor his beautiful art. Each time he lifts his coffee cup, the muscles in his back flex and the tattoo of a large wave that begins between his shoulders and migrates around his shoulder, ripples like a storm building offshore. The muscles in his back flex and move like flipping bacon and drinking coffee is a sport. My eyes follow the outline of each muscle as they dip into his low-riding sleep pants and linger ever so slightly on his perfect and delicious ass. Yes, delicious.

  Swallowing the lump that’s forming, I realize the severity of this moment. I need to act nonchalant, as if this is no different than any other one-night stand. This time we’re older. We’ve each had our share of moments like this with others. Why should this be any different? Only, it is. In so many ways. With other guys my heart isn’t at risk. With other guys, I haven’t already fallen a little bit in … something … and ignored it for years.

  As if he can hear me thinking, Jameson turns his attention to me. Smirking and squinting his eyes, he says nothing as he sets his cup on the counter and flips the burner on the stove to off. Something about his expression has me equally turned on and afraid. Not of him, of what’s to come. And, by the looks of him, it’s me that’s about to come.

  Before I utter a single syllable in greeting, he captures my face with his hands and presses his lips to mine. Sighing, my lips instinctively part and he takes the invitation to deepen the kiss. A kiss I feel all the way to my toes. Resting my hands on his hips, my fingers itch to pull the waistband down and make that coming idea a reality. I don’t. Instead, he pulls away placing a sweet, lingering kiss to my forehead.

  “Mornin’, sleep well?”

  “Hmm…” Momentarily dazed, I offer no other response, but he does. In the form of full belly laughs.

  “Shut up. You can’t just kiss a girl like that and expect conversation. I need coffee.”

  Moving toward the coffee pot, I pour myself a cup, adding a splash of creamer before bringing the cup to my lips. A few sips in and I feel Jameson behind me. And by feel, I mean feel him. On my ass.

  “There, you’ve had coffee,” he purrs into my ear as his hand comes around my waist. Tugging my earlobe between his teeth, his hips thrust forward, causing my knees, who now have a mind of their own, to buckle. I wish I had saved those panties. I need the barrier at this moment.

  “J, we should talk.” My voice reflects my uncertainty.

  This is that moment. The one that if a vinyl record was playing it would scratch, creating uncomfortable silence. Stepping back, Jameson clears his throat and moves to where his coffee cup is sitting. I turn to face him, leaning against the counter. Two sips of my coffee and neither of us say anything. A stand-off, if you will. It’s an unspoken fact that the person to speak first is going to set the tone for this conversation. I suppose since I stopped what was likely to be the fourth set of orgasms in a span of only a few hours, that person should be me.

  “So, last night? It was … nice.”

  A grumble is Jameson’s response as he turns his attention back to the stove and turns the burner to the on position. Maybe nice wasn’t the compliment he was looking for. I mean, “mind blowing and out of this world” seems a little dramatic for conversation over coffee. Sometimes he’s such a child.

  Setting my cup down on the counter, I walk to him and reach across to turn the burner off again. Taking his hand, I lead him away from the stove. Since I haven’t grown five inches overnight, this is a little awkward for a conversation. Pulling the hem of the T-shirt down, I hop on the counter. Not the most sanitary of options but at least w
e’re closer to eye level.

  “More than nice.” One side of his lips twitch. “Very nice.” Both sides twitch and he takes a small step forward, between my legs. Which, since they are controlled by the knees that buckle, spread just a little bit to make room for him.

  “Continue.”

  “God, you’re such an ego-maniac. Fine, it was fantastic. You know this. I didn’t realize how tense I have been. I feel fantastic this morning.”

  “Me too,” he replies with a hand on each of my thighs. Calm down, Vagelina. “I think we should do it again.” Oh boy.

  “Stop. Come on, we have to talk about this.”

  “Fine, don’t be so dramatic. Let’s talk. You first.”

  “Me? You’re the guy, you should totally go first.”

  “Nuh-uh, ladies first.”

  “Whatever. Fine. It is what it is and, well, I mean we’re both mature adults and what not. I think we can just chalk it up to tequila.”

  “What if I have a different idea?”

  Distracted by his thumbs that are slowly tracing circles on my thighs, I close my eyes. Allowing myself these seconds to absorb the tingles throughout my body, I say nothing in response. Instead, Jameson leans in closer, his lower body hitting the edge of the counter, his hands now moving higher under my shirt. Tilting my head slightly, I feel the warmth of his breath on my ear as he continues.

  “What if I think we should keep doing it?”

  He cannot be serious. Jerking my head forward, I glare at Jameson.

  “Hear me out,” he says when I begin to speak. “Look, we’re both busy and working a lot lately. Neither of us are doing much dating and, at least for me, this is the most relaxed I’ve felt in weeks. So. I propose we keep this part of this friendship going. What do you say?”

  “What? You want some sort of booty call option? I’m not a whore, Jameson!”

  “Whoa whoa,” Jameson sputters as his hands fly up in defense, stopping me from continuing my rant. “I didn’t say whore or booty call. Do not put words in my mouth, Ashton.”

  Relaxing, I motion for him to continue, not sure if speaking is the best option for me at this point. Insinuating I’ll be one of his booty calls. As if.

  “As I was saying, more like friends with a few benefits. Multiple benefits if last night is any indication.”

  My eyes squint as I attempt to assess his level of seriousness. Huh, this might work. I do feel more relaxed today, better than I have in longer than I’m willing to admit.

  “We’d need rules,” I state very business-like. This needs to be emotionless.

  “Of course, you’d want rules. I don’t think that’s necessary. When one of us is done with this, it ends. What do you say?”

  “One rule.”

  “Fine, what?”

  “Monogamy. No sleeping with others. If you meet someone and want to hook up, you tell me first and this ends.”

  “Deal. But, I have one too.”

  “Oookkkaayy,” I reply.

  “Don’t fall in love with me, Sunshine.”

  Planting a quick kiss on my lips, he laughs and turns toward the stove.

  Jameson may be joking, but it is also likely a little too late for that.

  It’s been two weeks since our conversation in the kitchen and this friends with benefits thing has been surprisingly beneficial. I’ve slept better than, well, ever. Maybe it’s the big bed and down pillows. Perhaps it’s the spooning or the way I’ve grown accustomed to Jameson’s low snores. I refuse to acknowledge that it is, in fact, almost every night I am gifted with multiple orgasms. Multiple.

  So far, we’ve both managed to keep this casual and uncomplicated. Well, as uncomplicated as it can be to essentially be sleeping in a man’s bed and letting him do very amazing things to your body. If I compartmentalize what’s happening with who we are, I’ll be fine. Or so I tell myself.

  I’ve also cancelled the last two appointments with my therapist because I assume this little change in circumstances would be frowned upon. Sure, I could lie by omission and not tell her. But, she has this freaky way of making me talk. It’s incredibly annoying, but I suppose it’s why I keep seeing her.

  This morning in the shower I was trying to pinpoint what part of this arrangement is making me relaxed and, well, for lack of a better word, happy. Around the time I was combing the deep conditioner into my hair, I smiled at the thought of the nights we fall asleep talking and laughing.

  “I have a question.”

  Snuggling into Jameson’s side, my head in the crook of his arm and my hand on his abs, I hum, “Hmm.”

  “Would you rather walk on nails or sleep on a bed of nails every day for a month?”

  “Neither. I like it here, thanks.”

  “Come on, Ash.”

  “Hmm, well are you in the bed of nails?”

  “Sure.”

  “Then the bed.”

  “Finally! You admit you can’t get enough of me.”

  “Uh, slow down there, turbo. I figure if you’re there, then I’ll just lay on you.”

  Hands grip me by the hips and pull me over so I am, in fact, laying on top of Jameson. A squeal and giggles are silenced by his kiss.

  “I’d sleep on a bed of nails for you anytime.”

  Acknowledgment is the first step for most situations and this is no different. I acknowledge that being awoken with whiskers tickling my neck and the smell of a cup of coffee on the nightstand are absolutely on the list of reasons for relaxation. Laughing and not being embarrassed by my ridiculous questions or silly answers add to my happiness.

  Tipping my head back under the stream of water I allowed myself to enjoy the realizations for my current mood shift. The shower door opened and a quick draft skimmed across my skin. I didn’t open my eyes but did allow a smile as the true reason for my relaxation and subsequent happiness laid his lips upon mine.

  Lie to myself as I might, Jameson is why I’m relaxed. And, well, happy and truly content each day with where I am. We’re finally at a point where I believe we are friends and Jameson wouldn’t intentionally do anything to hurt me. The benefits I experienced in the shower absolutely contribute to the happiness, but it’s the natural aspect of us becoming friends outside of my brother and outside of our group that is making the difference.

  A text from Jameson earlier reminded me that this is Hope’s weekend at the house. He left work early to pick her up. Normally she’s only over one night, but Julia hasn’t been feeling well and asked that Jameson take Hope for an extra night. He jumped at the chance.

  I’m not too proud to admit that I was a little jealous. Not of Hope, I love that kid, but of the fact that having a little three-foot houseguest also means that there will be no sleepover. No sleepover also means no glorious and mind-blowing orgasm in my immediate future.

  Normally, I would take this night off from work and hang out at Doris’s Tavern, spend the night with Mel and Shelly. Not only would I rather just be home hanging out with Jameson and Hope, I think I’m too damn tired to even consider the drive. Instead, I went to the store and bought the ingredients for pizza and pulled out one of my favorite movies to watch with Hope.

  Since a night of mind-blowing sex and orgasms is off the table, I need to find another way to relax. This is ridiculous, I sound like some horny girlf … just girl. Sliding into a bathtub of bubbles, I laugh to myself while tapping my Kindle to download a new book. Staying in the bathtub long enough for my fingers to prune, the water to turn from steaming hot to lukewarm, and to dismiss the fact that I almost labeled myself sounds like exactly the relaxation I need.

  Pulling on my favorite pajama shorts and a tank, I pause momentarily to determine if a bra is necessary. A quick glance toward the mirror confirms, it is. I can hear Jameson’s voice in my head as I clasp the hooks. He’ll be disappointed that undergarments are even in the picture. Just as I finish braiding my hair, the sound of little feet running down the hall and my door flying open put a smile on my face.

  �
��Uncle J said you were gonna make pizza with us and watch a movie! Are you gonna?”

  Hope’s face is bright enough to light a thousand blocks of the city. I may not hold as much enthusiasm as a five-year-old but I can fake it like the best of them.

  “Sure am! I even got us extra dough so we can make a dessert pizza. What do you think of that?”

  “Ohhhh dessert! I love dessert. Is there chocolate? My mama says chocolate makes me cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs. I don’t know why she thinks cereal is cuckoo but she does. I’m gonna tell Uncle J!”

  And off she goes. Like a tornado blowing through my space and suddenly gone. Finishing my braid, I pull on a pair of socks before finding Jameson and Hope in the kitchen. Her excitement is contagious as I enter the room and I can’t help but clap along with her as she shares with Jameson my plan for dessert pizza.

  “Yes, Hope, that was very nice of Ashton to get dessert pizza. Did you thank her?”

  “Thanks!”

  “You’re very welcome. Hey, Hope, your uncle looks like he may need a shower. What do you say you and I get your stuff and put it in my room?”

  “K! I’ll get my sue-case!”

  Not waiting for either of us to respond, Hope skips out of the room. Alone. For the first time, this arrangement we have suddenly seems awkward. We’ve kept our time together to the house and in our own little bubble. Having another person here, five years old or not, is making this all different. When we’re alone, talking, and naked, none of this is off balance.

  Just as the word “naked” crosses my mind, Jameson wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me to him. Not seeking permission, he kisses me like it’s been days instead of hours since he’s seen me.

  “You do know you are sleeping in my bed tonight, right? Nothing is different.”

  “Nope. That’s inappropriate. And I’ve been kind of thinking about that.”

  The tension in his grip evident, he doesn’t let go but instead pulls me closer to him.

  “What do you mean?” he grits out.