Maybe This Time

by Jennifer Snow

  Damn if he could figure it out.

  “My fault?” his sister asked, looking innocent as she passed dessert forks around the table.

  “Yes, your fault. You were the one who suggested she move in, remember?”

  “Hey! I’m not the one who asked her to the hockey game last night.”

  All heads swung in his direction. Hyenas, a pack of them, ready to attack.

  His mother looked ready to start planning a wedding, and even Ash, the quieter, less overbearing brother, was looking at him with a smirk.

  Quick—divert attention. “Yeah, well, I’m not the one going into business with her,” he said, shooting a pointed look at Becky.

  His sister’s eyes narrowed into thin slits, and luckily there was a table between them. The knife she held to cut the ice cream cake looked really sharp.

  The heads swung toward her.

  “What business?” his mother asked.

  “I think I hear the football game. Boys, shall we leave the ladies to talk?” Jackson said, standing quickly and grabbing his plate of dessert.

  His brothers were quick to do the same.

  “Jerks!” Becky called as they left her with their mom, who no doubt would have a million and three questions for her about her new venture with Abby.

  Better her than him in the hot seat, he mused. Though he knew he’d get an earful from her later.

  Sitting on the sofa, sandwiched between his two brothers, Jackson turned the volume up on the game.

  Ben turned it back down. “Don’t think you’re off the hook that easy.”

  “What?” he asked, a mouth full of cold ice cream giving him a brain freeze.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t Abby Jansen divorcing your best friend?” Ben said.

  “Not that he doesn’t deserve it,” Asher said, his attention glued to the television, but obviously listening. “I saw him at a club after we played in L.A. last year, some redhead clinging to him like he was a life preserver.”

  Yeah, Jackson had to admit maybe Team Dean wasn’t the right team to have always supported in the past. Though he wondered how much of his new feelings toward his best friend were a result of attempting to reduce some of his own guilt for the ever-growing attraction he felt for Abby. “She was looking for a place and I wasn’t ready to move yet, so it worked out. Besides, as you said, Dean’s my friend. I thought it was the right thing to do for his family.”

  “I don’t know about that, but I’m glad you didn’t move in there yet. There might be an opportunity for you to check out,” Ben said, glancing at his cell as it chimed with a message.

  “No.”

  “No? Just like that? Not even going to hear me out?” he asked, reading the text on his screen next to a picture of some hot brunette.

  While Ben was busy replying, Jackson turned to Asher. “Do you know what this is about?”

  His brother nodded, checking hockey stats on his own phone. “The Eagles, they’re looking for three new flex players for when the boys get called up.”

  His old team. Jackson turned to Ben. “Like I said, no.” He’d tried that path to an NHL career before without success. He was older now and in less than ideal shape. He couldn’t compete with the young nineteen-year-olds anymore. His brother should understand that. At thirty-one, Ben had five or six good years left before he’d be forced out by the younger, faster, better players. He’d be retired by forty.

  “Try out. What’s the harm in that? If you don’t make it, I won’t bug you about it anymore.” His phone chimed again. This time it was a picture of a blonde next to the message.

  He shook his head. “Forget it.”

  “You know you still want to play, man,” Ben said, typing furiously, as another text came in.

  Did he? There was no denying the twist in his gut when he watched his brothers play or the feeling of remorse he felt whenever he watched replays of his own time on the ice, but did he truly still have the burning desire to play?

  Luckily Ben’s cell rang, saving him from having to answer. His brother grinned. “I have to answer this.” He turned the phone toward him and an image of a cute redhead flashed on the screen.

  A brunette, a blonde, and now a redhead—his brother always covered the bases. He shook his head. “How many of these women do you have on the go, man?”

  “Enough to stay busy, but not too many to keep them all straight,” he said with a wink, answering the call. “Hey, baby. I was just thinking about you…”

  Jackson shook his head as he turned up the volume on the football game. Ben’s playboy lifestyle was going to come back to bite him in the ass someday. It just hadn’t happened yet.

  * * *

  Abigail’s arms ached as she moved the last box of her items into the middle of the living room and surveyed the mess of stuff she’d just unpacked. The unexpected outing last week had put her behind schedule getting things organized, and she was determined to get everything done that evening. She hated clutter and living out of boxes.

  Why had she packed so much from the house in L.A.? Looking at the stacks of old books, CDs and DVDs yet to organize, she wished she’d had a backyard bonfire with all of it instead. She yawned.

  Where on earth did she begin?

  A glass of wine sounded like as good a place as any.

  After pouring a glass of pinot grigio, she picked up the divorce papers she’d received from Olivia Davis that afternoon and carried them into the living room. She sat on the floor near the fireplace and read the documents.

  She was a free woman again. Dean had finally conceded to the settlement her lawyer had been fighting for and she had full custody of Dani. She should be celebrating. But with Dani spending the night at Taylor’s, the extent of her celebration was a bottle of wine and unpacking. The symbolism wasn’t lost on her. In her hand, she held the end of her past and all around her was her new future waiting to start.

  “Knock knock…”

  Jackson’s voice in the hallway made her jump. What was he doing there? She quickly stashed the divorce papers under the couch and stood, knocking over the wine glass. Luckily the cheap plastic goblet was empty, and she bent to right it as Jackson entered the living room.

  “Hi…Hey…” She stammered, tucking her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “What are you doing here?” She hadn’t seen him in a few days, though it would be a lie to say he hadn’t crossed her mind—too often for comfort, in fact.

  And now he was standing in her living room—his living room, technically—looking amazing in a pair of jeans that hugged his thighs, a tear in the right knee, and a black collared shirt, opened at the neck beneath a black leather jacket. His hair was gelled in a purposeful mess, and the five o’clock shadow along his jawline—as always—tempted her touch.

  What the hell was it about that stubble?

  Shoving her hands even deeper into her pockets, she commanded her body to stay firmly where she was.

  “I came to drop off the new lock and set of keys to the shed in the backyard. Sorry, it took longer than I’d planned…” He looked around the cluttered space. “Wow, I wasn’t expecting you to have so much stuff.”

  She shrugged. “I’m hoping to be unpacked and organized by Christmas.” She forced a laugh.

  He studied her for a moment, then shook his head as though shaking a thought away. “Anyway, here are the keys.” He started toward her with his hand extended, and she was nodding, though not really hearing his words.

  Her mind had taken an unwanted detour to the look in his eyes when she’d touched his hand at the hockey game. Such a simple gesture…a stupid simple gesture that had served to complicate things between them, blur some imaginary line. She took the keys and played with the key ring, trying to summon the courage to say something about the other night. To explain that whatever that was wasn’t something that could turn into something more.

  He cleared his throat and spoke before she could. “The other night at the game…”

  Her
head whipped up. “Yeah?”

  “That was…”

  “Nothing?” she said weakly, hoping to fill in the blank correctly. Or partly hoping at least.

  “I wouldn’t say nothing,” he said. “I mean, there’s something happening…” He coughed. “Between us.”

  She was shaking her head furiously, but an argument refused to verbalize.

  No doubt because it would be bullshit.

  Jackson took a step closer. “So you’re saying you didn’t feel a connection?”

  “I didn’t feel any connection,” she said quickly, backing up slightly. The heat from the fireplace now toasting the back of her legs. “That would be crazy…weird, right?”

  Another step closer. “Crazy weird because?”

  “Because of Dean,” she said emphatically.

  “Right. Dean,” he said as his gaze fell to the floor and landed on the divorce papers under the couch. “But it looks like there is no Dean anymore…at least not for you.” He moved even closer and now was just inches away.

  Oh God, it was hot in here, and it wasn’t just the fireplace. She swallowed hard, the urge to close the gap between them overwhelming. But…“There’s still a Dean for you though, right?” Damn. She had no idea which answer she wanted from him. Her mind was hoping his friendship with her ex-husband would be enough to make him retreat. But her body was screaming Dean who?!

  His gaze locked on hers, and he reached out and tucked her hair behind her ears, cupping her face with his hands. “What if it doesn’t matter anymore? What if all that matters is what I want?”

  “What do you…”

  Her words were silenced by his mouth crushing hers a second later. Her arms fell limp to her sides and she blinked several times, not moving, not breathing…too in shock to kiss him back. She just stood there motionless as his lips finally realized they weren’t getting any response from hers.

  He backed away a fraction of an inch, still touching her face. “I have no idea where that came from,” he said.

  “No shit,” she whispered, still in shock.

  He released her and took a big step back. “I’m sorry,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I’m going to go.” He started to walk toward the door, then stopped and turned. “No, you know what? I’m not going to go.”

  “You’re not?” She’d somehow found her voice again.

  “No.” He paced the living room between the stacks of boxes, head down, muttering to himself as though trying to make sense of what had just happened.

  Had he forgotten she was standing there? “Jackson, do you want to let me in on what’s happening right now?”

  He glanced up at her and stopped pacing. His Adam’s apple bobbed twice as he seemed to weigh his words. “Abby, the thing is…” He stopped.

  “The thing is…” she coaxed.

  “Remember second grade?”

  Her eyes widened. The thing started that far back? Wow, this was obviously not a short story. “No.”

  He sighed. “Of course not. The truth is…” He stopped again.

  Oh for the love of God! “Jackson, why did you kiss me?” Should be an easy enough question, but he looked confused, pained…tortured.

  He stared at the ceiling for what seemed like forever, before lowering his gaze to hers. “Because I have feelings for you.”

  Feelings? “Like good feelings?” she asked, lowering herself back down to sit on one of the unopened boxes. She couldn’t trust her legs for this conversation.

  “No, terrible, unwanted, unreciprocated, completely wrong feelings…but they’ve always been there, and now it seems they have a mind of their own,” he said, his shoulders slumping as though a weight had lifted from them.

  Only to be placed on hers. What the hell did she do with that information? “But you…”

  “I know.”

  “I mean you treated me…”

  “I know.” He sighed, sitting on a different box in front of her. The cardboard gave way and he ended up half stuck between the folds. “I know this is terrible timing.” He looked frustrated as he tried to reposition himself in the box.

  At any other moment, the sight might be hilarious.

  “And it’s been killing me trying to decide if I should tell you any of this. I’ve held it in so long, I thought I could continue to keep it hidden, but the truth is, since you’ve been back, it’s been harder and harder to keep this to myself. Being around you and not touching you, not kissing you, not holding you is torture, and I think you’ve felt it, too.” He paused.

  His words were an arrow straight to her heart, but she had no idea what to do with them. Her own feelings for him had come on so sudden, yet so strong, and now he was telling her that he’d always felt something for her? She bit her lip as she nodded. “Things have definitely felt…different lately.”

  “Different.” He looked disappointed as he nodded. “Okay.”

  A long silence fell between them.

  “So, that’s why you always…”

  “Yes.”

  “And you never…”

  “Yes.”

  Realization was a long time coming, but now the effect of it hit her like a freight train. Becky had been right. Abigail’s ex-husband’s best friend had always been in love with her. Was still in love with her.

  Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit. She stood and now it was her turn to pace. “But…Oh, but…”

  He struggled to crawl out of the nearly flattened box. “Abby, don’t freak out.”

  Too late.

  “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t expect you to ever feel the same way, and that one-sided kiss just now pretty much confirmed it,” he said.

  She stopped and stared at him. “It did?”

  “Yeah. I mean I’ve always known you’d never…”

  “I’d never what?”

  “Go for someone like me. Go for…me.”

  And why the hell not? “How do you know that?”

  “Because you dated guys that were…not me,” he said, placing his hands on his hips, a look of frustration etched on his handsome face.

  “You never showed the least bit of interest. How could I possibly have known how you felt?”

  “You’re right. And now it’s too late.”

  Too late. She nodded slowly, wondering why that idea made her stomach turn. She didn’t return his feelings…did she? She had some feelings—definitely attraction—but real, sincere feelings?

  Her mouth went dry.

  Oh God. One thing was certain, she didn’t not share his feelings.

  “Now that I’ve made things even more awkward between us than they’ve ever been, I think I’ll go.” He headed toward the door. “Let’s try to forget about all of this, okay?” he asked, his expression desperate as he lingered, a hand on the door.

  Forget about it. Yes. Definitely the best thing to do. The only thing to do.

  Then why was she walking straight toward him, her eyes locked on his? Stop, Abigail. Do not do something you’ll regret.

  Too late. Her arms reached up around his neck as she stood on tiptoes to place her lips gently against his. Not the desperate, longing, full crushing attack he’d placed on hers, but a soft, inviting gesture she had no right to offer.

  “Abby,” he moaned against her mouth placing his hands on her hips. “This is not forgetting about it.”

  “I know, but the way I see it, if we’re going to forget about it, why not add more things to the list?” she whispered, licking her bottom lip.

  * * *

  Impossible. The only word to describe this moment right now. This sight before him of Abby Jansen’s beautiful face just inches from his. The feel of her body so close, pressed against his, would be impossible to forget. And impossible to recover from. Their lips had touched twice, and already the dull aching in his heart had magnified. His untimely kiss, then hers, sent his common sense packing. He’d fantasized about this moment so often, he wasn’t sure the reality of it would ever compare.

&
nbsp; Not that he could find out.

  He shook his head, desperate to free himself from the fog clouding his judgment as he broke away from her kiss. “Abby, you know this is not a good idea,” he said, not knowing where he found the strength to remove her arms from around his neck and hold her away. His seventeen-year-old self would be kicking his ass right now.

  Her lips formed a pout that would buckle the strongest of resolves. “Well, it certainly can’t be any worse than any of my previous decisions,” she countered.

  He wasn’t so sure about that. “Believe me, there is nothing I want more than to take advantage of your bad judgment right now, but wherever this is coming from is not from a clear head, and I don’t want to hurt you.” He also didn’t want to hurt himself by giving her any more control over his heart than she already had and had always held.

  She frowned as she folded her arms across her chest. “So, you didn’t mean any of what you said—you don’t have feelings for me?”

  “Don’t do that, Abby. If I didn’t, I’d pick you up right now, carry you into that bedroom I’d hoped would be mine, and make love to you until I was the only man you could remember.”

  She let her arms fall, allowing her sweater to fall open and reveal the tight lace of her tank top across her breasts, as she stepped toward him. “Maybe that’s exactly what I need.”

  Maybe tonight. But then what?

  She reached up with both hands and cupped his face, her eyes locked with his. “Make me forget, Jackson. Forget everyone else but you.”

  * * *

  When his lips met hers, there was still a brief hesitation in his eyes, but as her fingers crept up the back of his neck and tangled in his hair, she felt all resistance melt from his body. His grip tightened on her waist as his mouth crushed hers. She felt his tongue along her bottom lip and a soft moan escaped her as her lips parted. His fingers dug into her flesh as he held her in place.