A Slippery Slope

by Tanya Gallagher

  We stay like that for a while, Jackson behind me while I’m on my computer, his thumb straying across the side of my neck. It’s so casual, just him, and I don’t even notice I’m leaning into his touch until I feel him still behind me.

  I drop my hands from my keyboard and look over my shoulder. Jackson’s eyes are fixed on mine, focused and intense. He moves his hand to my cheek, quiet and calm, like I’m a wild horse about to startle. The bottom of my stomach drops out and my heart skips and skips and skips.

  Jackson rubs a thumb over my lower lip. “You are crazy turned on right now, aren’t you?”

  “What?” I choke out. I squeeze my legs together because, dammit, I am.

  Jackson drops his hand. “You are. Your face is all pink and your breathing just got super fast.”

  “Oh my god. No, Jackson. I’m just doing my job.”

  “And your eyes are big, too.”

  I bite my lip and taste the salt of his skin. I want to put his finger back in my mouth and suck it hard. I want to taste him again, for real. But those are dangerous thoughts. I shake my head at him. “Shut up. It’s not like I can do anything about it, even if I was.”

  He tilts his head at me.

  “Parents’ guesthouse? No boyfriend?” I remind him.

  “Those sound like excuses to me.”

  “What?” I snort. “Are you offering yourself up for the job?”

  He gives me a long look. He is.

  My face flames and it takes me a second to breathe. What the hell is happening?

  “Jackson, if you think sleeping together is good idea, your judgement is seriously flawed.”

  “It’s pretty hard to be around those images and you,” he says. “It gets my imagination going.”

  I suck in a breath and remind myself that Jackson Wirth has slept with more women than I want to think about, that he’s so full of shit he could fertilize a farm. Jackson already proved he didn’t want me all those years ago. Nothing has changed.

  “Oh, don’t, Jackson,” I tell him. “You have to know that I can sniff out a line from a mile away. Just because I have a vagina doesn’t mean I’m going to fall for it.”

  He grins but his eyes stay serious. “It’s not a line.”

  “You don’t even know me anymore,” I protest. “I’m different.”

  “In some ways, sure. But you’re also still you. Smart and funny and sexy. You’ve got this amazing drive and you don’t even know how special that is.”

  “Okay, now you’re really trying to get into my pants.”

  “One of these days you’re going to stop running away from me, Natalie. And then we can test products for real.”

  “Don’t hold your breath,” I tell him, but my voice sounds shaky, even to me.

  And that’s when the doorbell rings.

  Chapter 19

  Oh shit.” I slam my laptop closed and try to clear all the bottles off the counter. “Is it five already?”

  “Seems that way,” Jackson says, ambling toward the guesthouse door. It takes me a second to realize he intends to answer it, but by then it’s too late to stop him.

  “Abigail and Nico,” he says, an announcement and a greeting all in one. He makes a grand gesture, cocky and pompous, and steps back to let them in.

  I reach the door just as Nico barrels through. “Hi Aunt Nat,” he says and then slams on the brakes. He turns to Jackson. “Who are you?”

  Jackson sticks out his hand for Nico to shake. “Jackson Wirth. Dinosaur hunter and pirate.”

  Abby’s eyes flash wide with surprise and it’s not just about the dinosaur hunter bit. I haven’t told her about Jackson and me and this business deal. The last time she saw us together was at Holy Grounds, and the time before that I was actively trying to run away from him.

  Shit. My best friend will think these are pretty key details to have left out and I know I’m going to hear about it.

  “We’re just wrapping up here,” I tell Abigail now, nodding my chin at Jackson.

  I’m so worried about her reaction that it takes me a minute to notice she’s dressed up. She’s gone beyond the usual lip gloss and low-cut shirt to lipstick and glamour curls and a slinky dress.

  “You look hot.” I smack her butt playfully as she steps through the door. “What’s the occasion?”

  “Don’t sound so suspicious,” she grumbles, but she preens over my compliment. She looks at Jackson, who’s still talking to Nico, before lowering her voice. “I’ve got a date.”

  I haven’t heard Abigail talk about a date in a long time and I’m so excited for her I almost squeal. “My baby’s all grown up,” I say and we both laugh because Abby has her shit together way more than most people I know. She’s a single mom. She kind of has to.

  Abigail hands me an Easter basket stuffed with markers and glue and no fewer than three rolls of tape. “He’s really into building stuff right now,” she explains. “Should keep him occupied for a while.”

  “We’ll have a blast,” I assure her. “Go have fun, okay?”

  She gives me a squeeze and blows a kiss to Nico before heading back into the night.

  I turn back to Jackson. “I’ve got it from here.”

  “But Jackson and I are going on a dinosaur hunt in the backyard,” Nico tells me. “He can’t leave.”

  Jackson nods his agreement.

  I press my lips together. I’m not entirely convinced that Jackson doesn’t have an ulterior motive for wanting to stay, and I need some space from him. I can’t believe how close I just came to saying yes to his insane proposition. I can’t even begin to think about the consequences.

  Fuck me. I need to get back to Boston, and get away from the chaos Jackson causes in my life. I want my world easy and ordered again. I want a routine and time to dream and a business that works. But as much as I don’t want to need Jackson, I have to admit that he’s a big part of this business now. Which I guess means, for now, that he can stay.

  I sigh. “Okay, fine.” Nico cheers.

  The three of us spend the next thirty minutes poking around Gayle’s garden and collecting stones and sticks and leaves and curls of bark. The syrupy spring air smells like cut grass and lilacs, and somewhere inside Gayle’s house, a vacuum comes to life. Down the street I can hear kids playing witches and wizards, and I imagine them riding around on tree branches that came down in the last storm. The whole night feels like something big is coming down the line, something sweeping in with the changing seasons.

  It reminds me, swiftly, of the way Abby and I would lie out on her trampoline on nights just like this, waiting for the stars to come out. It’s actually kind of what all of high school felt like. Being happy to be right here, while also looking forward to when everything would change.

  The second we dump our basket of garden treasures on the kitchen table, Nico pokes my elbow. “I’m hungry.”

  Right. Food.

  I’ve been so caught up in my day that I don’t actually have a game plan, especially not for dinner.

  “Grilled cheese?” I offer. I’ve developed quite the habit the last few weeks. Easy, quick, and delicious. I just pretend the calories don’t exist. My face compresses. “Oh wait. I’m out of bread. We could order a—”

  “Mac and cheese.” Jackson looks at Nico. “I bet you’d like my secret dinosaur hunter pirate recipe.”

  “Jackson, if your secret recipe comes from a little blue box, I’m fresh out.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Jackson walks to my refrigerator and calls over his shoulder to me. “You guys can just build me a pirate ship while you wait.”

  “A pirate ship!” Nico crows. He looks up at me, his eyes sparkling. “Can we use the dogwood bark for the sails?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  I watch in surprise as Jackson pulls cheese and milk and mustard from the refrigerator and sets them on the counter. Apparently he’s been paying attention to more than just the beer in my kitchen.

  Nico pulls me down to the table. �
�Come on, Natalie. I need you to help me.”

  “I’ve got it,” Jackson assures me.

  Okay then.

  I help Nico make a rough frame for his boat and together we line the bottom with leaves. By the time Jackson sets down bowls of mac and cheese in front of us, the ship is almost done. My kitchen’s warm and filled with steam and the smell of butter.

  The three of us gobble up Jackson’s dinner. He’s somehow made a miracle from my limited pantry items, creamy and salty and super comforting. He even sneaked in some peas which Nico doesn’t seem to mind. But then, anything coated in this delicious cheese sauce would turn to gold.

  Jackson Wirth can really cook. How the hell is he always surprising me?

  Jackson catches my eye and my stomach drops into my knees, heat pooling in my core.

  I chose Boston, I remind myself. I chose the Commons and Fenway Park and sake in Chinatown. The things I don’t know about Jackson, I don’t know for a reason.

  As the night goes on I keep expecting Jackson to leave, but he stays. I can handle Nico on my own for a little while, but it’s nice to have Jackson’s help. I can’t imagine doing this every day, alone. Abby is so brave. And probably so damn tired. I make a mental note to do way more babysitting for her while I’m here. Girlfriend needs a break.

  After we eat, Jackson insists that Nico and I sit on the couch.

  “Are you going to tell scary stories?” Nico guesses when Jackson turns off the lights.

  I cut my eyes at Jackson. “Abigail will kill me if he can’t sleep tonight.”

  “Nah.” He shakes his head. “She’ll kill me. And it would be a waste of a pretty face.” He arranges my plaid blanket around Nico’s shoulders. Then he flicks on a single lamp and sits on the floor.

  “A tiger!” Nico says, watching Jackson’s hands cast shadow puppets on my back wall. “A duck!”

  The guesthouse still smells like cheese and butter, and in the warmth and darkness I watch Jackson, the weirdness of this afternoon slipping away. I lose track of time as he creates magic, but I can feel a smile etched on my face the whole night.

  “Asleep,” Jackson murmurs after a while. I blink in confusion before noticing Nico pressed against my side, his face relaxed as he dreams.

  I slide out from his arms, taking care not to wake him. It’s just Jackson and me again in the growing shadows.

  “How are you so good at that?” I ask. I don’t remember ever seeing Jackson with kids. “Tell me a story.”

  Jackson shrugs and stands up. “When I lived in California my parents both worked a ton. I had a kick-ass babysitter who did shadow puppets for me when I was scared of the dark. Julie.”

  I try to process this but all I can say is, “You were afraid of the dark?”

  “Don’t laugh.” He reaches out a hand to pull me to my feet. “I was like five and a Californian. I was used to lots of sunshine.”

  “Mhmm,” I say. I realize my hand is still in Jackson’s, and I let go quickly.

  He looks at the space between us. “Let’s have a drink. Payment for babysitting.” It’s a dangerous proposition.

  Should I share a drink with Jackson? I don’t know what’s a good idea anymore. The past few weeks I’ve been pushing him out the door like I’m Cinderella, but somehow it’s well past my cutoff time and he’s still here. There’s something fizzy about the whole day with Jackson, like the first time I had caffeine after four p.m. I was working a night shift and I called Jackson from the back room of Holy Grounds, sugar and caffeine spiking through my blood.

  “It’s your fault,” I told him, demanding he take me somewhere after my shift. “You got me hooked on coffee.”

  Jackson drove me to the park at the edge of town, the one with the giant amphitheater where the local theater put on plays and firework displays in the summer. There was no one there, so we could shout out and listen to our voices echo.

  “Natalie Bloom,” he called into the crisp night, and hearing my name from his mouth a hundred times spoiled me.

  “Jackson Wirth,” I called back, and we echoed around each other for a while. When our voices faded we lay with our heads together on one of the benches and watched the stars.

  The park, for me, became another secret place. Another Jackson place.

  “Okay,” I tell Jackson now, whispering so I don’t wake Nico. I’m bubbly and half-drunk on him and I want him to say my name like he did that night. Like I meant something to him. “But no caffeine or beer for me. I’ve got to work in the morning.”

  “Fine,” Jackson says. “I’ll have what you’re having.”

  I grin at him and make my way to the kitchen. “Hot chocolate?” I verify, raising an eyebrow.

  “Only if there’s whipped cream.”

  “Consider it done.” He clears the dinner table while I heat milk on the stove. I try not to notice the way the muscles in his arms look in the light, strong and able. But he’s there and he’s Jackson, so I notice.

  When I hand Jackson his drink I take one last hesitant look at my sleeping godson. Then I make a decision that I hope I don’t regret.

  “Come on,” I say as I lead Jackson out the door and into the cooling night.

  Chapter 20

  So are you going to tell me why Jackson Wirth was at your house for three hours last night?” Abby leans her hips against the counter, pale morning light streaming in the window behind her.

  “I thought you came in for coffee,” I protest, lifting up her flat white. She reaches for it but I hold it hostage, hoping she’ll drop the subject.

  Last night Abby found Jackson and me sitting in the Aroindack chairs that Gayle bought even though they look better than they feel, drinking hot chocolate, watching the stars, and discussing lube. As you do.

  She’d been quiet when she’d curled her sleeping son into her arms and part of me hoped that her silence meant she’d accepted whatever it was that was going on. I should have known she’d give me the third degree.

  Maybe she’ll let me change the subject. “How was your date last night?”

  Abby tries to keep a straight face but a small smile plays over her features. “We’re not here to talk about me.” She gestures for the coffee. “Come on, Nat. Hand me my drink and spill.”

  I sigh, finally relinquishing her cup. “I wish I knew why he was there that long, too.” I don’t mention the four hours he spent at my house before that. I definitely don’t mention the porn.

  Abby makes a face at me and I sigh. “Listen, he came to me after he found out about the business and wanted to work together.”

  “What?” She takes a step back from the counter. “I thought this was your thing.”

  “It is,” I assure her, shuffling a pile of napkins. “We have a contract in place and he’s going to help with marketing stuff. It’s my business and my money.” I pause, swallowing the lump of guilt in my throat. I don’t love that I lied to my dad about how I plan to use the money, but technically it is in my bank account now. “Jackson’s helping me through the launch and he’ll get a cut of the profits. This is purely a business decision.”

  “Mhmm.” I can tell Abby doesn’t believe me. “Please be careful, babe. I don’t want you to get burned.”

  I don’t ask her if I’m being stupid because the look on her face tells me all I need to know.

  Today I can’t worry about it, though, because Penchant is taking the next step. I know which lube I’m going to buy to get this company off the ground. After work I plan to send a purchase order out into the world. And, yeah, Jackson’s going to be there.

  When he finally arrives at the guesthouse, he comes bearing gifts.

  “What’s this?” I ask, accepting the wrapped package he thrusts into my hands as he steps through the door.

  “Open it.”

  I pull out two coffee mugs, one etched with the word Penis and the other spelling out Vagina. They’re like His and Hers mugs, but dirty. I’m strangely touched.

  “Don’t read into it too much,
” Jackson says, as I burst into laughter. “I’m just offsetting the cost of all the coffee I’m drinking.”

  “And beer,” I point out.

  “And beer.”

  A million years ago Jackson used to bring me gifts from Wirth & Sons when he thought they might amuse me. I’d been surprised by his first gift, a tiny snow globe of the Boston skyline that he dropped into my lap. He’d liked my shock, and kept trying to surprise me.

  “Not such a bastard after all, am I?” he’d asked me, clearly pleased by my reaction.

  “I never said you were. I don’t make a policy of hanging out with bastards.”

  He’d smiled so much his eyes crinkled up and my body flushed. After that Jackson kept trying to one-up his last gift. Sometimes he brought me gag gifts and sometimes he brought me forgotten things that were made more lovely because he had found them—a spoon embossed with the words “cereal killer,” a garden gnome missing his left arm. Jackson had painted the stump of the arm a bloody red.

  The best gift of all, though, was the blank journal he delivered to me right before junior prom. He wrote a note in the pages, just for me, but not in the front. He’d tucked it in the middle of the book, where I found it a few weeks later.

  “You’re halfway through,” he’d written. “Keep going.”

  God, how could I not love him?

  “Thank you,” I say now, clutching the mugs to my chest.

  “Are you ready?”

  “You tell me.” I lead him to my computer where I’ve got a purchase order queued up. Jackson leans over the computer, scanning the document. “Everything look right?” I ask, and he nods.

  “All you need to do is send it,” he says. “And send over the wire transfer.”

  A knot forms in my stomach and prickles of heat race over my chest. It’s one thing to type up an order for twenty-five hundred bottles of silicone personal lubricant, and it’s quite another to send it. And paying for that order with my dad’s school money? That’s a whole other beast.

  If I do this, my safety net is gone. If I do this, there is no backup plan, no last chance to go back to school. I can’t even count on my dad’s forgiveness. Just a lot of lube.