I hummed an affirmative. “And I immediately proceeded to fight her.”
“That sounds about right.”
I waved my empty glass and he refilled it. With a groan, I asked, “Why am I like this? Why do I . . .” I made a vague gesture signaling what-the-fuck-ever with my free hand.
“Why do you attempt to dismantle everyone you take an interest in?” he asked. I nodded. “Because it’s in your nature to be . . .”
“A righteous bitch?”
“I was going to say ‘fiery.’”
“Is it ironic that I kind of want to push back on that description?”
Jeffrey laughed. “It’s certainly endearing, but an acquired taste. What did you even fight her about?”
“The greatest divider of them all: politics.”
“Yikes.”
“I know.”
He crossed his arms and shifted until he was facing me, giving me his full attention. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I gave him the abridged version of events, omitting some parts and glossing over others. The more I talked about it, the angrier I got, but by the time I was finished I only felt . . . embarrassed. Guilty. Jeffrey’s face was sympathetic, but I had known him long enough to know what he was thinking: I understand why you would be upset, and I hate to say this, but you overreacted, Gwen.
The kicker was, I didn’t mind a little fiery disagreement in my life. My livelihood relied on brawls dressed up in pleasantries, after all, and I needed minded debates in my relationships. And while it’s true what happened with Jackie mad her stick in my mind and got me worked up the way that I liked, I had left feeling irritated and off-balance. What happened wasn’t a spirited debate, it was a nice, flirty meeting soured by my defensive streak. And the look on her face when I dug into her . . .
I groaned and took another generous gulp of my drink. “It just sucks because . . . it was going so well, you know? We had met up before and there was this spark. There was something there, I felt it. So, of course, I had to bulldoze it to the ground.”
I had been in The Rose what felt like a million times since my divorce. I’d hooked up with regulars. Some of those hook-ups even turned into fun, if short-lived, relationships. Since the reelection circuit had come back around again, my personal life had been put on the back burner. Now I’d finally gotten back out there only to let myself become my own worst enemy. Again.
I threw back the rest of my drink and held it out to be refilled with what I hoped was a persuasive smile. He rolled his eyes, but refilled it nearly to the brim.
“I thought this was supposed to be celebration wine.”
“It is. It can also be wallowing-in-self-pity wine. Wine is versatile like that.”
“You know, you could still fix things with this woman. You could apologize.”
I frowned down at glass. “I’m not very good at that.”
“No, no you’re not,” he agreed. “But if you like her, it wouldn’t hurt to try. Unless you think you were right.”
“I always think I’m right. Doesn’t everyone always think they’re right?”
“Sure, but were you really right?”
I ran the conversation over again in my head. Yes, Jackie had been wrong to generalize all politicians. Her unwillingness to engage in the process yet criticize the results had hit a sore spot for me. But had she been entirely wrong? No. I would be lying if I said being disenchanted with politics was immature. Plus, as a campaign manager, it was my job to go after those non-believers.
“Yes, but I was wrong, too,” I decided.
“Then there you go.”
I drained half my glass as if I could use wine to drown the embarrassment bubbling up in me. Now that I knew I was in the wrong too, what could I do about it? Camp out at The Rose until I spotted a six-foot woman with gorgeous eyes and a smart mouth?
I could do that.
“How did you put up with me for so long?” I asked, rubbing my finger over the edge of my glass.
He took a sip of his own and smiled at me fondly. He placed the bottle in front of me with a tiny flourish. “Patience and love. And alcohol. A whole lotta alcohol.”
I had Rita, our campaign scheduler, book Jeffrey another week of morning shows as the election trudged on. A particularly grueling Monday brought three daytime talk shows on the heels of an eight o’clock morning show taping. After Jeffrey finished his interviews, I let him off the hook to go rest up while I grabbed something dark and caffeinated from a cafe down the street.
Overall, the day had been shitty, but manageable. I’d left the last studio studio more confident than ever that the good people of the 35th district would see Jeffrey was the right choice. I had done my job, and damn it, I had done it well.
So it was only fitting that things would then go crashing horribly around me, because why the fuck not.
Over the rim of my coffee cup, I spotted none other than Jackie Dunn. A flash of mixed emotions curled its way through me all at once: shock, residual anger, embarrassment, and finally, guilt.
I debated getting up and going over, maybe even paying for that bottle of water in her hand as a peace offering, but before I could parse out whether that was a phenomenally bad idea or not, Jackie’s eyes found mine across the room.
She stared back at me with wide eyes before she settled on a small, awkward smile. I returned the gesture with a quick wave, then immediately felt stupid for doing that. Fuck, I was off my game.
The moment of hesitation that passed over Jackie’s face was the only warning I got before she started making her way over to my table. Luckily, it gave me just enough time to check my lipstick in the reflection of my phone and compose herself into something resembling elegant nonchalance.
“Hey there,” Jackie said, long fingers of one hand curled around a cup of coffee and the other hand shoved in her pants pocket. I was equally annoyed and pleased at how good she looked. She wore a pressed black pantsuit and a crisp dress shirt with the top two buttons undone. Fuck.
“Hello,” I replied coolly. I smiled back, no hint of teeth, unlike the nervous half grimace Jackie was sporting. My time spent in politics had provided me with two essential skills: one, the ability to seem like I was listening when I wasn’t, and two, the ability to look composed and in charge under pressure.
Right about now, Jackie might as well have been one of my constituents mistakenly complaining about the potholes on Fifth Street as if I were personally responsible. I was outwardly unmoved and unfazed even as a my my muscles tensed until I felt like a rubberband pulled taunt and ready to snap.
“What brings you away from the office?” she asked.
I pointed to the sign of the KW47 building peeking out above a skyscraper. “The office moved.”
She laughed and looked away. Silence stretched on, punctuated by the buzz of conversation and traffic around us.
“And where are you going all dressed up?” I asked, gesturing to her clothes. If I used the opportunity to take in more than just the garb, well, I couldn’t be blamed for it.
“Just left, actually. Had a meeting with my agent.”
“Doesn’t sound like it went well.”
“Agents aren’t exactly the best people to casually converse with.”
“Are you telling me Jerry Maguire lied?”
She smirked. “Is Bob Roberts a political documentary?”
“Touché.”
Flirtatious banter came surprisingly easy with Jackie. It was always difficult to find someone who matched me tit for tat, who could keep up and make me stumble over my words when I spent most of my days in the spin zone. There was an unpolished shyness to Jackie, but I could see glimpses of spark and confidence the more we talked. It thrilled me—which was why I didn’t want to let it go.
“About what happened at The Rose—”
“I’m sorry,” Jackie blurted, cutting me off. “I’m so embarrassed about that. I don’t normally do that, I swear.”
I was tempted to accept the
apology and leave it at that, but Jeffrey’s words about making things right circled in my head, annoying and right. I sighed and smiled helplessly.
“It’s fine. I’m partially to blame for that, too. I get heated easily when it comes to the things I care about, and you took the brunt of that.”
Her lips quirked up in a half smile. “It’s okay. I told my roommate about it and she said if I kept getting into fights with attractive women I was going to be, quote, ‘forever alone like a meme from 2010.’”
I groaned. “Once again I feel so, so old.” The rest of her comment hit me and I smirked. “Attractive women, huh?”
Jackie’s skin was light enough for me to catch the dusting of pink rising out of her color. I wanted to trace its origins with my fingers.
“Oh, please. We’re adults here, right? You’re hot. Ridiculously hot.” She laughed, and it sounded more like a groan. “And I’m an idiot.”
“A ridiculously hot idiot,” I corrected.
“She also said that I needed to get laid, and for once, she’s right.” Her lips twitched into a smirk. She offered her hand for a shake and I took it, but she didn’t let go. Her palm was big enough that it nearly dwarfed mine. “So can we start over? I’m Jackie Dunn, and I think you’re hot.”
“Hi, Jackie Dunn. I’m Gwen Crawford, and I’ve got about,” I glanced down at my watch, “four hours to kill.”
Jackie’s eyes widened slightly, and for a moment I was afraid I’d gone too far. Then she smirked and leaned in toward me, and that thought was banished from my mind.
“If that’s you inviting me back to your place, there has got to be a slicker way to do it.”
I smirked. “What do you want from me, Dunn? A bouquet of flowers? A handwritten invitation? Should I rent a U-Haul and hook it up to my truck first?”
Her eyes raked over me in a bold sweep. I straightened up and let her look, a thrill tickling up my spine.
She grinned wickedly. “I didn’t take you for a pickup truck kinda gal. Unless . . . does Toyota make those diamond-studded now?”
I rolled my eyes and most certainly did not smile, not one bit. “Are you going to drag me for being bougie or are you going to take me home?”
I was being direct, but when you’re pushing forty and making up for lost time, you could afford to be direct. By the way her smile turned lazy and coy, she didn’t mind much. I couldn’t see that nervous newcomer I’d met at The Rose anymore. She had me on the ropes, and she knew it. That got me more heated than I was willing to admit.
“Are you kidding me?” Jackie said. “Who says no to being propositioned by beautiful, bougie women in the middle of the day?”
She offered to call the Lyft to pick us up. Once we were inside the car, I caught glimpses of the nervous fish-out-of-water I’d seen in Jackie her first night at The Rose. I reached over and placed a hand on her knee, shooting for reassurance. She looked back at me and smiled.
Curiosity temporarily won out over horniess when we got to her place. It was huge, as expected, with a high ceiling and hardwood floors. She led me down the hallway and past the kitchen, where I could see a tower of dirty dishes. There were jackets thrown over the back of a large, plush couch, and the TV was on, buzzing with some Western. It was messy, but that only made the big space seem more cozy.
Figuring I had restrained myself long enough, I pressed her against the wall in the hallway and raked my fingernails up her abs. God, she was hard and soft in all the right places. Heat radiated off her and warmed my fingertips. I indulged myself and ran my hands over the planes of her body, teasing her with light touches of my long nails. She bucked up into my grip with a moan that rattled deep inside me.
Long, slender fingers grabbed my ass and squeezed as Jackie swiped her tongue across the pulse point in my neck. A heady rush left me lightheaded and wanting. I grabbed her by the forearms and tugged.
“Bed. Now.”
She surged forward and captured my lips in her own. She managed to walk us backward into her bedroom without breaking the kiss. I didn’t get to take in much of the bedroom—white walls, a rose-colored room divider in the corner, a tower of soda cans made to look like what might have been a poor attempt at the Eiffel Tower—before she was all over me and my brain short-circuited.
Her fingers skittered across my ass and down, down to crevice of my pussy, featherlight and teasing. No doubt this was revenge for my earlier actions.
I tugged at her shirt—cursing whatever prudish moron invented buttons—and growled, “Off.”
She pulled away and started nimbly unbuttoning her shirt with a smirk. “Are you always this bossy?”
“Yes.”
“Even during sex?
“Keep talking and you won’t find out.”
She chuckled and wrapped her arms back around me. The kisses she peppered across my neck drained any annoyance I had right out of my body. Her fingers hiking up my skirt so she could outline my pussy through my panties nearly turned me into mush.
Her arm was the only thing holding me up when she dragged my panties to the side and ran a teasing finger over my clit. I whined and bucked into her handling, seeking more contact as heat threatened to burn me up from the inside out.
“God, you’re already wet,” she panted against my ear. I wanted to think of something snarky to say back, but all I could do was moan her name.
At this point, we weren’t even going to make it to the surprisingly small bed not two feet away. My legs were jelly as she teasingly circled my clit with the soft tip of her finger. Before I knew it, though, I was being let down gently on the bed with my legs open wide around her narrow hips.
She gently pulled my panties off and tossed them carelessly across the room. My thighs twitched in anticipation as she lowered herself between my legs, bright eyes and blown pupils locked on me as she swiped her tongue across my folds.
I shot a hand out and grabbed a fistful of dreadlocks. “Oh, fuck.”
Jackie’s wide palms rucked my dress up around my chest and squeezed my breast over my bra. My hips twitched and stuttered against her tongue as I chased the feeling of mind-numbing bliss. Wet, sloppy sounds joined my pants and moans and made everything sound positively filthy.
I groaned in disappointment when she pulled back. The sight of her wide, pink lips glistening around a smirk sent heat through me that hitched my breath and curled my toes.
“Get up,” she said with a slap to my thigh.
I fumbled over myself to comply. I kneeled on the side of the bed while Jackie shucked off her pants and boxers—basketball print boxers, and holy fuck there was that adorable again—and laid down on the bed. My mind kicked into gear, and I hiked up my skirt and positioned myself over her face. Her hands gripped my hips as she swiped another teasing lick over my pussy. I tried to grind down, but her hands were too strong.
I watched her lick her lips and moan. “God, you taste so good.”
“If you don’t stop teasing me, I swear to god I’ll rip your tongue out and use it myself.”
She mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like grumpy old woman. A second later it didn’t matter because she was pulling me down on her lips and I was incapable of coherent thought.
I had enough presence of mind to reach back awkwardly and slip my fingers between the folds of her pussy to reciprocate. She moaned, sending vibrations up through me that rattled my teeth and made me keen. I wanted to last until she came, until she was bucking and riding my hand with the same desperation I had smoldering inside me, but my gut burned in that way that told me I was close.
I came with her name on my lips. Her hands kept me pressed down against her tongue as I rode out the shockwaves pulsing through me. When I was finally spent, I slid to the side and stared up at the ceiling as I waited for regain the feeling in my extremities
Jackie rolled over and grinned down at me. She slowly licked her wet lips and cocked her head at me innocently. She barely looked winded at all. Fuck her and her youthful refra
ctory period and sinfully sweet smile.
I expected a snarky comment about my stamina in my old age. Instead, she gripped my cheek and ran her thumb across my lips.
She sucked in a breath. “You’re amazing, you know that?”
I do know that, so why does hearing you say it make me feel so fucking alive?
I surged forward and locked our lips together before I could do or say something stupid.
Four
Jackie
A week.
It had been a week since me and Gwen . . . “hooked up” sounded like such a crude, elementary way of describing it, but, well . . . hooked up. There was no professional or mature way to describe it, not while I still had a slight ache in my wrist and neck.
So it had been a week since we hooked up, and I hadn’t heard a word from her since we swapped phone numbers after she extracted herself from my bed.
Of course, a voice in my head that sounded suspiciously like Olivia said, phones these days are so advanced that they can work both ways. How about that?
Okay, so, yes, technically I had Gwen’s number, too. Technically there was nothing stopping me from scrolling through my contacts and texting her. Nothing except awkwardness and an irrational fear that a woman whose pussy I’d tasted extensively might suddenly decide she hated me, or something.
So nothing physically stopping me, no.
Mentally, though, it was a goddamn field of landmines.
I grabbed my phone off the coffee table and stared at it. Which was a key part of the ritual I’d established since the last time we saw each other: Get up, make breakfast, watch The People’s Court, and stare longingly at my phone thinking about calling until I psyched myself out and dodged calling. Wash, rinse, repeat.
It was a good thing Olivia had already gone to work. I didn’t think I could stomach her off-putting mixture of waggling eyebrows and concerned Mother Hen head pats at my waffling.
The black screen of my phone reflected the lost expression on my face back at me.
If I did make the first move, would I even say?
Sugar & Ice Page 4