by Cindi Madsen
“Yeah, but you like more than this guy’s penis.”
Of course Jackson swung open the door at that moment, and I doubted I was lucky enough for him to have missed hearing at least the word “penis.”
“Keeping girl talk classy as usual, I see,” he said, and his poker face was much better than mine, enough so that I had no idea how what he was thinking or feeling about what he’d overheard.
Maybe I shouldn’t have given him a key. It was something I’d never given a guy before, but it seemed counterintuitive to not provide my contractor with a way to get inside to work on the house when I wasn’t there.
I prayed Savannah would drop it. Usually Jackson got all pissy when we talked about guys in front of him. Probably the way I felt pissy when I wondered if he was going to continue casually dating the debutante, and why wouldn’t my mind drop that already? Ugh.
I also hoped he wouldn’t say or do anything that’d give us away. As Savannah pointed out, she was way too good at reading body language, and she knew both Jackson and me too well for us to keep things hidden for long.
Although we had managed to keep our last fling secret.
“Fling” didn’t quite seem like the right word for that week, but I didn’t want to go into that, especially with the human lie detector in the room.
“We should take a break.” I set my roller in the tray. “I need to talk to Jackson about what he’s doing in the kitchen.”
“Please say you have coffee,” Savannah said, putting her roller next to mine.
I grimaced. Coffee was what I drank to have enough energy to get to my Cherry Coke, but if Savannah didn’t have a regular supply, her woodland-creature-adorableness flipped to rabid animal mode. In the cutest of ways, while still being absolutely terrifying.
“Okay,” Savannah said. “I’ll go grab some sustenance from the Daily Grind and be back in like fifteen to twenty. With enough caffeine, I think we can knock out this room and the stairwell today.”
“That would be awesome.” My arms were now onto the fact that my promises to not keep abusing them were false, and they ached and burned with a vengeance. I couldn’t wait to never see a paintbrush or roller again.
Sorry, condo wall that couldn’t decide what color it needed to be—yeah, it was totally the wall’s fault. I was just the paint messenger.
I looked over at Jackson, and he winked at me, a wink that said I remember what you look like naked and up against that wall over there. He was so going to get us caught.
“Okay, so who wants what?” Savannah picked up her giant purse and glanced from me to Jackson.
“Just get me a large cup of the blackest coffee they have,” Jackson said.
“Black like his soul,” I added, because if I didn’t throw in a couple of verbal jabs, his sister would find us out for sure.
His eyes met mine, mischief dancing in the green. “And Ivy needs iced coffee to go with the temperature of hers.”
Savannah sighed. “Really, guys? I thought you two were trying to get along. Do I need to take away any nail guns? Other tools that inflict damage?”
“Anything can be a tool of pain if you believe in yourself enough,” I replied with an over-the-top grin.
She gave another sigh.
“And actually, an iced caramel macchiato would be awesome, thanks.” I rubbed a hand on my neck and let it drift slowly down my body. “Guess Jackson knows just what I like.”
Okay, now I was just begging to be caught, but the way his eyes flashed was worth it.
Savannah paused, her hand on the doorknob, and glanced over her shoulder at us. “Please don’t kill each other while I’m gone. I was feeling all kinds of proud that you were getting along.”
“Yes, Mom,” Jackson said, and she shot him a look like she might kill him herself.
The second the door closed behind her, I released the laugh that’d been dying to break free. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad that we can nearly have an entire conversation without biting each other’s heads off, but I kind of missed verbally sparing with you.”
Yesterday we hadn’t even bothered with words at all, besides things like faster, harder, and don’t stop.
Jackson strode over, placed his hand on my hip, and slipped his thumb under the hem of my shirt, rubbing the skin there into a tizzy. “Same here. Although I think I might need to punish you for that black soul comment.”
“I’d expect nothing less.” I tipped onto my toes and planted a kiss on his lips. We didn’t have time to do justice to any of the fantasies flickering through my brain, so I should probably keep the kissing to a minimum, but the way he kissed was a form of foreplay, so I figured it was still on the strictly sexual, not-emotional side of the scale.
He molded me to him, ran his tongue over my top lip, and then pulled back and pressed his forehead against mine. “To be continued later tonight.”
“You bet your fine ass it will be.” I ran my hand down his chest, getting a thrill at how quickly his heart beat against my palm. “We’re in agreement that we shouldn’t tell Savannah about any of this, right?”
“Do you see a future with a picket fence and two-point-five kids?”
My heart rate screeched into the danger zone, and my lungs stopped taking in oxygen.
He chuckled and dragged his fingertips across my collarbone, the panic easing as a dizzying swirl of desire took its place. “That’s what I thought. Which is why telling Savannah would be a bad idea. If we explain we’re just having fun, she’ll be mad at both of us for doing that to each other, regardless of whether or not it’s what we both want—mostly because she’ll never believe us, since her brain doesn’t work that way. And if we say we’re just seeing how things go, she’ll have visions of you in a white dress and me in a tux dancing through her head.”
I swallowed hard, the panic overtaking the pulsing need coursing under my skin. “Okay, that’s enough analogies that give me hives for a day.” I bit my lip. “I just feel bad keeping things from her.”
“I know.” His hand came to rest on the side of my neck, his thumb pressed over the pulse point that quickened even more at his touch. “But we’re doing it for her good. And this is about no complications, right?”
I slowly nodded, even though there were complication land mines all over the place. Denial seemed like the best way to address those right now.
“Okay, then.” He dropped his hand and took a step back, and I immediately missed his touch and the warmth of his body. “Let’s head to the kitchen. I realize you were just making an excuse to talk to me when you mentioned it, but I need to get your opinion on a few things.”
“You’re asking my opinion?”
“Yes, boss. Because unlike you, I’m open to suggestions.” Apparently the verbal jabs weren’t quite over, although the grin he aimed at me softened it.
“Well, here’s something not open to suggestions,” I said. “I’m going to make you pay for that comment later.”
His grin only widened. “Bring it, babe.”
I decided to let the term of endearment slide, because when he said it, it was more like a promise of naughtiness, which totally meant it hardly counted.
Chapter Fifteen
Four weeks into the project—three of which I’d had Jackson’s help for—and the place was really coming together. I mean, the floors still looked like a paint and debris graveyard, but the kitchen had new white cabinets with this white backsplash that Jackson talked me into. Because I could listen to other people’s opinions.
I leaned my forearms on the gray-swirled quartz countertop and ran a hand over its smooth, cool surface. I wanted to skate across it—I totally wouldn’t, because the counters were flawless and I was scared to even test them by cooking anything, even though I’d been staying the night more and more. I’d even brought over some toiletries and clothes. And enough condoms to keep Jackson and me otherwise entertained when the need arose. Which was pretty much every night after we finished working. I’d be so tired that
I’d think I didn’t even have the energy for sex, but then he’d give me a look or brush his hand across my back, and all my energy renewed like a video game character who was ready for one more round.
Let’s see, it’s been…just over a week since we started fooling around.
Last time the walls started closing in right around this point. As if I’d summoned them with my memory, those metaphorical walls pressed against my lungs, increasing the pressure with each breath I couldn’t catch.
It’s not the same. For one, it hadn’t been seven days in a row. We’d missed two in there when he’d sent that ambiguous text about being busy. Two, we had more defined boundaries this time around. And three, we had to be around each other all day, no option for space, or we’d never finish the renovations in time.
I thought about how we had to wrap up everything in the next few weeks, and a different kind of pressure built, like my heart was fighting with my lungs and then they decided none of them could fit in there together, so they all decided to battle it out for control.
Since I couldn’t make heads or tails of that, I thought about the last time Jackson and I had started up our frenemies with benefits arrangement, looking for clues to help us avoid that same ugly outcome, where the end meant the loss of benefits and the friend part dropped from the enemies part.
Man, I’d been such a wreck when my mom was in the hospital, and he’d swooped right in like a flannel-clad knight on a white horse. The next night he came over to check on me, and after a heated kissing session on the couch, we’d fallen into bed and I’d asked him to stay.
I cringed at the memory, because I wasn’t usually that girl. But he’d stayed, and then we just started spending every night together, like it wasn’t a big deal. At first, it didn’t seem like one. He’d sleep over and make coffee in the morning. Then he’d leave a warm cup on my bedside table before he took off for work so that—as he’d so nicely put it in the note he’d also left—I wouldn’t terrify any children when I left my house un-caffeinated. He’d even drawn a little broom underneath to really drive home the implication I was a scary witch in the mornings.
Most girls would kill for that (well, maybe most would prefer a sweeter note, but I’d be offended, not to mention suspicious, if a guy called me sweet). And it wasn’t like it wasn’t amazing. Funny enough, being around Jackson didn’t give me the same suffocating sensation I usually experienced when a guy overstayed his welcome—which was about an hour or so in most cases. It was just that I started to rely on his comfort at night and that cup of coffee that said he cared, and I didn’t want it to turn into fights over who did the dishes, and why couldn’t I remember to put the lid on the toothpaste, dammit, and why was I sleeping in when the house was a mess?
I didn’t want to spend my evenings watching the time, each hour that ticked by another one that he hadn’t shown up. Broken promises, hateful, sharp words that sliced to the core, and the inevitable crash where the dark side wasn’t a funny metaphor but where you lived day and night, your chest aching because you missed people and they were gone, and why did we hurt the people we claimed to love most?
I’d seen so many of my mom’s relationships go that way. Amazing to awful. Sure, there was a bit in between, but the ugly or sad ending—and sometimes both—came every time. Security became a myth, and I swore that once I moved out on my own, I’d have the stability and control I desperately wanted.
I’d told myself that I’d be smarter, but what did I do within months of living on my own? I met a hot, charming dude who I let sway me over to the optimistic side. I thought I’d experienced enough to know the good guys from the bad guys.
I was so naive. So sure I’d found a good one. That he’d be different.
Embarrassment flooded me as I remembered how hard I’d clung to the first guy who actually seemed to see me. I heard this quote once, and it applied perfectly to my relationship with Tyler: We all eat lies when our hearts are hungry.
I’d gobbled up his lies about forever and bought into all his somedays—someday I’ll take you to Paris, someday we’ll have a place of our own so we don’t have to go so long between seeing each other, and so on and so forth.
I let down every wall and he’d Trojan horsed me.
The honeymoon period faded toward the beginning of second semester. I’d fed him all the information he needed to make each attack on me personal. You’re as crazy as your mother—this is why no one ever stuck around. I can’t deal with you when you’re like this. You just don’t know how a relationship is supposed to work.
I was so determined to not be like my mom that instead of walking away, I dug in my heels and tried that much harder to make our relationship work. And for the record, “like this” was asking why he hadn’t come over when he’d promised, where he was on a Friday night. It was daring to ask that he hold me after we had sex or that we have a conversation beforehand, since I hadn’t seen him for a few days.
Then he’d pour on the guilt, because he’d learned that I was conditioned to give into it—thanks for that, Mom. He’d go on and on about how he was busy and trying to keep up with classes, and I was asking for too much. He’d even choke up as he told me how stressed he was, and I would think, Wow, he really needs me. I’ll bend over backward to make it better, because I love him and we’re in this together, and it’s the least I can do.
I’d turned down an offer to be in the Bioscience Club, which probably would’ve made me change my career to focus on that. Not to mention several other clubs, activities, and parties I could’ve been a part of. Each time I’d chosen him over things I’d talked myself out of wanting, sacrificing myself in the process.
Hindsight made me feel even stupider, but I hadn’t made any other friends, and Rhett and Dixie had just moved away, taking with them my last shred of stability. So I gave my all to my asshole boyfriend, and when he dumped me, I had nothing left.
I pressed my hand against my chest at the ache that bloomed there, almost wishing I could be that naive girl again so I could just enjoy the beginning stages of a relationship but knowing there was no going back.
People expected more, and I didn’t have more to give.
I jumped at the feel of a hand on my back.
“Sorry,” Jackson said. “I thought you heard me come in.” He swept my hair off the back of my neck and pressed his lips there, and I wanted to fall into his arms and forget about everything else.
Which meant I shouldn’t.
Way #8: Repeats equal reliance. Never see a guy two weekends in a row. Spending too much time together leads to attachments and relying on each other. Emotions inevitably follow, and once those are involved, it’s that much harder to regain control.
I stepped away, rounding the counter and fiddling with the new drawer handles. They were pewter and had this carved flower detailing that was subtle and very Victorian. I loved them, even though Jackson had balked at how much they cost. “This kitchen looks so amazing that it almost makes me want to cook. Almost.”
Fully in control now—go me, circling back around to Way Number One—I glanced up, adding a smile to my cooking joke.
Only Jackson didn’t crack so much as a hint of a smile. He was studying me like I’d grown the devil horns he’d once accused me of hiding.
Strike that—it was worse than that. He was looking at me like a problem that he was working out how to fix, like when the cabinets weren’t level and he had to put in a few fillers and do some sanding so the quartz countertops would sit right.
I’m not broken. I don’t need to be fixed. What I need to do is stick to my tried and true ways on how to avoid a broken heart and the other loveborne illnesses that come along for the destructive ride.
Stirring up memories of my relationship with Tyler left it too close to the surface. I’d wrapped up my entire life in him, and after he dumped me, it took a couple of months before I could sort out me from him and recognize myself in the mirror.
I’d sworn never again. Sworn not
to brush myself off, only to dive into the wreckage with another guy, the way Mom did. I took it a step further, deciding I wouldn’t get in deep enough to get messy at all.
Only here I was, assuming Jackson and I would spend Saturday evening together, even after a non-stop week together that felt longer than seven days. Sure, they’d been fun, amazing days, and suddenly it seemed like they’d flown by too fast and we didn’t have enough time left. Another sign that I was getting in over my head. “I’ve got some things to take care of before my shift at the bar, so I’ve got to take off early. I figured we both could use an evening off.”
“Okay,” he said softly.
I’d kind of expected him to fight me on it or that I’d have to add another excuse for him to truly let it slide. The tension leaked out of me at his response.
Then I wondered if he needed a break from me. If he had other plans.
Because I was losing my mind. Losing it to Jackson Gamble and his irresistible irresistibleness. “I know you’ve got dinner with your family tomorrow, too, so we can just rest up and hit it hard again on Monday morning.”
Jackson ran a hand through his hair, and it immediately fell forward as usual, and I wanted to take a turn at running my fingers through it. Wanted him to boost me into his arms and have his way with me on the new counter. We needed to christen the kitchen now that it was finished and the island didn’t do the rocking, groaning-under-my-weight thing.
I started past him, then paused, a torn-apart sensation tugging at me, screaming at me to run. Whispering for me to stay.
I settled for something in between. I braced my hand on his biceps, tipped onto my toes, and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you.”
I didn’t know if I was thanking him for being so understanding, or for the beautiful kitchen, or for a dozen other things he deserved to be thanked for.