Hard Pressed

by Kate Canterbary

  Brooke: Question. Did he say this with a straight face and/or a soft dick?

  Brooke: Don't answer that yet. More important question: why did you get drunk at The Galley without notifying me first?

  Annette: It's late. We'll talk about it another time.

  Brooke: Now you have to tell me. I won't be able to sleep until you do.

  Annette: Owen came by the shop yesterday.

  Annette: With his boyfriend.

  Brooke: Ah. I see. I'm going to extrapolate for a moment.

  Brooke: Owen comes into your shop with his boyfriend and you go on a bender therefore you must've been hanging on to your Owen+Annette4Ever dreams despite compelling evidence that he doesn't prefer XX chromosomes. With that bubble burst, you got naked and handsy with the sheriff, and unloaded some part of this ridiculousness on him. Given that knowledge, he won't touch you with his ten-inch pole because first, he's a decent guy who knows better and second, he's afraid of catching your crazy.

  Annette: Is there a question?

  Brooke: Were you seriously holding out for Owen Bartlett?

  Annette: I thought it was within the realm of possibility, yeah. Realms can be big places.

  Brooke: And you failed to mention that to me at any point since I've been back in town? Perhaps because you knew I'd whip that insanity right out of you?

  Annette: It never came up.

  Brooke: Serenity now.

  Brooke: You're not asking for my advice but I'm giving it anyway. Buckle up, buttercup.

  Brooke: Go on with your bad self. Stop shaming yourself over naked shenanigans with the sheriff. I'm violently jealous over those shenanigans and I expect detailed reports on his dick. Stop trying to follow a plan. Plans are fucking useless because life will always jack that shit up. I speak from experience. Stop trying to force guys to fit your plans. Men are square pegs, and while they're all about the round hole, they're never going to stop being square. Either embrace the square or find a new one.

  Annette: You want me to fuck Jackson?

  Brooke: One of my favorite things about you is that you do your thing and you don't apologize. You're nice about your thing but you still do it like a badass. So, I hate that you're losing your mind over this right now. I want you to do what you want and not worry about it being wrong. And someone should be getting laid around here.

  Annette: I just don't know what I want.

  Brooke: Then fake it until you figure it out.

  Sometimes, my ideas were bigger than my lady balls.

  Everything sounded fantastic in my head but I couldn't quite execute those ideas. When I was in high school, I had this big idea to read one hundred books over the summer. Not any one hundred books, but the ones a fancy newspaper said everyone should read before they die. To make matters even more special, I decided I'd also analyze those books much like the newspaper's in-house reviewer did. I'd be witty, eloquent, and excessively referential, and traffic would overwhelm my clunky little WordPress blog.

  I didn't make it through ten books. They were boring or pedantic or far removed from any point of relatability, and I gave up. The only person reading my reviews was my grandmother, and that only reminded me that I wasn't finding the reach I'd expected. On top of that, I was stuck inside, racking my head for pithy comments and wrangling code while I wanted to be kicked back on the beach with books I didn't hate reading.

  Looking at the pies I'd baked for Jackson, I couldn't help thinking about that summer. No one knew I'd spent the night weaving strips of dough into a textbook basket weave pattern and coaxing blueberries into glossy perfection.

  I could just as easily deliver these pies to Brooke's house or drop them off at the barbershop around the corner. Those boys never refused free food.

  But just as I knew I didn't want to keep reading those books, I knew I wanted to see Jackson again. I wanted him to look at me like I was as delicious as yesterday's sticky buns. I wanted those things but I didn't want it to mean anything. There was a limited number of things I could manage in a given day and the expectations associated with wanting Jackson weren't on my list. I just didn't have it in me. I could do this as long as I didn't build it up into a huge project like my one hundred books and their pithy reviews.

  If the expectations didn't exist, the risk didn't exist either.

  Still, those pies taunted me all day. They were in the storeroom, secure in a glass container, but they taunted me from all the way back there. With every lull between customers, I found myself pacing down the sidewalk to look for Jackson's town-issued SUV in the station parking lot. Each time I found it there, I debated dashing over to deliver my pies. I figured I'd drop them at the reception desk and retreat, insisting I couldn't leave the shop unattended for long.

  That was my tidy little plan, but somehow the day slipped away from me. When I finished with my last rush of customers, I glanced toward the station and found the sky streaked with pink, purple, and gold. It wasn't my typical closing time but I grabbed my pies and flipped the front sign on my way out.

  I didn't stop to fix my hair or check my teeth for leftover bits of spinach from my lunch salad. I didn't need to do any of that because I was walking in and then walking right back out. No visiting. If Jackson wanted to talk about pie or anything else, he knew where to find me.

  It was just another one of my mind games.

  I pushed through the station doors and waved to Cindy at the reception desk. "Hi! How are y—"

  She cut me off with a wobbly wag of her cane. "Go on back," she said, winking in the direction of my pies. "He'll be thrilled to see you, I know it."

  I sputtered to a stop, blinking as I processed her words. "No, that's fine. I don't want to bother—um—anyone. I'm just dropping—"

  "No can do, my dear," she hollered, waving that cane around like a drunk bride with a penis wand. "He told me to send you right back the next time you dropped in."

  That stopped me fast. The only reason he'd say that was if he expected me to pay him visits and that—that was the kind of expectation I was trying to avoid. "He said what?"

  "He's expecting you," she replied as she answered the phone. "Talbott's Cove Public Safety Office, you got Cindy here. How can I assist you this evening?" When I didn't move, she whacked her cane against the side of her desk and covered the receiver with her palm. "Go on. Don't stand there all night. You know the way."

  I glared at the office door in the back corner of the station. It was slightly ajar. "Wouldn't want to keep him waiting," I murmured as I marched through the station. It was nearly deserted, with only two deputies busy at their computers. It didn't take me too long to slip inside Jackson's office. "Since when am I on your list?" I asked as I leaned back against the door.

  Jackson's head snapped up from studying the documents on his desk and his gaze landed on me. His eyes softened a bit and the hard line of his lips melted into a smile. "Since always," he replied.

  Without looking, he closed the file in front of him and pushed to his feet. His hands dipped into his trouser pockets. Another suit, the coat abandoned on the ancient rack in the corner. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his collar open. No tie today.

  "It's good to see you again, Annette," Jackson said. "I wasn't sure I would."

  He beckoned me forward. At least ninety-four percent of my body wanted to follow his command. Maybe more. That little stronghold in my head wouldn't allow it. Instead of going to him, I deposited the pies on his desk and dropped into one of the empty chairs. He stared at me for a moment, his jaw working and his eyebrows lifting as he watched me cross my legs. "And yet you told Cindy to send me back. You must've had some idea I'd show up here again if you told her that."

  Jackson reached for the Pyrex dish and pried off the lid. "What did I do to deserve this?" he murmured, looking inside.

  "Nothing in particular," I said, as flippant as I pleased. I didn't know why but this man brought out my sassy side. My inner bitch, if you will. That, and the desire to drop my p
anties the minute he leveled me with one of those stern stares. It sounded ridiculous but one look from him and some ancient, cavelady part of me was ready to hand over my undies and take what he had to give. "Why am I on your list?"

  He pointed at me with a pie. It looked miniscule in his big paw. "The better question is why wouldn't you be on my list?"

  I motioned between us. "I know this is really fun, us repeating questions back to each other for five minutes and all, but I'd appreciate an answer."

  "I like you," Jackson said, "even when you're busy hollering at me." He bit into the pie, sighing and murmuring his praise as he devoured it. "How do you do this? What's your secret? I couldn't bake a pie like this with the aid of ten pastry chefs and your magical back alley berries."

  "Answer my question or I'll feed the rest to the firefighters." I reached for the dish but Jackson snatched it away. "I'll do it."

  "You wouldn't dare," he replied, the dish cradled in the crook of his arm like a newborn baby.

  "I would," I countered. I had to work real hard to ignore the throb of enthusiasm from my ovaries at the idea of Jackson and babies. Oof. "I would and I'd make you watch."

  He narrowed his eyes at me. "You're cute but you're cruel. You hide it behind that pretty smile and those fuck-hot ankles—"

  "Excuse me, my what?"

  "—but there's some evil hiding under those dresses. Those fuckin' dresses." Jackson nodded as if he'd proven an essential point and popped another pie in his mouth. "You're on my list because I want you there. If you come to the station, I won't have you waiting for me if I can help it."

  "Gotta get those pies and muffins hot from the oven," I said with a stiff laugh.

  "If that's what you want to believe, sure, Annie," he replied. "The treats are good but you're better."

  I didn't know how to respond to that, instead rubbing the pad of my thumb over my fingernails. "Okay," I murmured. "I'm happy you like them. I played around with a new recipe and that design on the crust. It's fun. Not a big deal, really. Just something I do in the evenings. I like experimenting with baking and I can't eat it all myself."

  Jackson stared into the dish for a moment, his brows winging up as he studied the lattice pattern. "It is a big deal and I'm glad you came up here," he said. "I wanted to see you but it seemed like you were busy most of the day."

  "How—I mean, what?" I stammered. "What do you mean? How did you know that?"

  He swiveled his chair to the side and gestured to the large, wide window. "If I want to see you, I need only look out the window."

  The station's slightly elevated position offered a broad perspective on the village and a straight shot to my store. It could've been creepy, Jackson observing me from atop this hill, but it wasn't. It was overwhelmingly arousing. Of all the vast and interesting things he could've watched—Main Street, the harbor, the Atlantic Ocean stretching off into the horizon—he watched me shelving books and ringing up sales. How in the world did I compare to an entire ocean?

  Finally, I said, "I never realized you had such an amazing view."

  He studied me, his gaze rolling over every inch as if he was remembering me naked. His eyes seemed to darken and heat. That was all it took. I had to tuck my hands under my backside to keep from flinging my underwear at him.

  His throat bobbed as he swallowed the pie. I'd never thought of swallowing as a sexy action before but this man was something else. The longer I spent with him, the more I liked him. And everything about him, right down to swallowing.

  "I do," he agreed, his stare bringing pink to my cheeks. "It's gorgeous."

  I smiled at him in response, glancing to his lips. I was real smooth. My seduction game was on lock. "You wear that pie well," I said, gesturing toward his mouth.

  That was it. The extent of my game. No wonder I was still single.

  Jackson grinned, wise to my play. "Get it for me."

  Drumming my fingertips on the edge of his desk, I said, "You're all the way over there."

  He shrugged. "Then you should come over here."

  "That hardly seems necessary," I replied.

  "You're right," Jackson said, nodding. "It's hard and necessary."

  "That's not what I said," I argued, a laugh taking the sting out of my words. "You know it."

  Another shrug. "It's what I heard." He brought his hands together, brushing off the crumbs. "You're a mile away. Get over here so I can have a look at you."

  I glanced to the door at my back, suddenly aware of the privacy afforded by Jackson's enclosed office. I pushed out of the chair and rounded his desk, my gaze anywhere but Jackson. I needed all of my attention on walking without incident.

  When I reached his side, I leaned back against the desk and finally looked him over. His hands were loose on the armrests and his legs spread wide. His trousers stretched tight across his thighs and I dedicated a long, long moment to studying those thighs and the unmistakable bulge beneath his belt. I glanced up, a shy grin on my face. All I had to do was take this itty-bitty step.

  "Where's your head at today?" he asked, his voice low.

  "Right here," I replied. That was the best I could do. I couldn't handle anything serious. I was fresh off a long-term, one-sided, mostly imaginary relationship and I couldn't dive into the dating game and its associated bullshit right now. But I could be here, with this man who made swallowing sexy, and I could want him. I didn't have all the answers yet but I could want him and it could be as simple as that.

  I leaned in to wipe a buttery crumb from Jackson's scruffy chin, and he answered that gesture with a kiss to my inner wrist. A wave of tingles rolled over my skin and a tiny gasp passed my lips. I stood there, frozen as he pressed his lips to my pulse again. I felt that kiss everywhere. It grazed the back of my neck, tugged at my nipples, and brought a rush of heat between my legs.

  "Jackson," I breathed.

  "Annette," he replied with a growl.

  Take charge. Take me.

  As if he heard my silent pleas, he stood and hauled me close, wrapping his arms around my waist and seating me on his desk. With a hand steady on the back of my neck, he kissed me hard. He was aggressive, and I liked it. I needed it. My hands scraped up and down his flanks, my fingers digging into his soft tissue in silent demands to claim more of him.

  His teeth scraped over my lower lip while he filled his palms with my breasts. My head fell back as I groaned and I decided I didn't care whether I knew any of the answers. I wanted this man and if the hard cock trapped beneath his clothing was any indication, he wanted me, too. And then he kissed me again, and my hands found their way to the throbbing length behind his trousers.

  "Annie, I want—"

  "I don't know what it is about you," I whispered, reaching for his belt.

  "Whatever it is, you're welcome," he replied with a laugh.

  That burst of levity turned into a frantic fumble to get rid of the layers between us. Skirt up, trousers down, panties off, his fingers on my clit. His mouth was on the pulse in my neck and his cock was in my hand, and—

  "Wait," he panted. "Wait."

  7

  Grate

  v. To reduce a food into small bits by rubbing it against the sharp teeth of a rasp.

  Jackson

  * * *

  I couldn't do this. There was no way I could take her on my desk. I didn't care whether it was late and most of the crew was gone for the day, we'd still have to be quiet. She deserved more than I could offer her here.

  "Wait," I said, groaning. "Wait. Annie, wait."

  She reared back, her eyes wide and her touch gone. "What? What did I do? What's wrong?"

  "This is too quick," I argued. We were on my desk, for fuck's sake. I was all for indecent but this was unnecessary. I had a perfectly good bed a few minutes' walk from here. "Let me do this right. Let me treat you right."

  She pursed her lips and cut her glare to the side, unimpressed. "Really? That's what you want?" She aimed a glance at the heavy erection bobbing against
my belly. After a beat, she took me in hand, stroking just enough to keep me hard and hungry. "I must've misinterpreted this."

  Why was I doing this? Why couldn't I follow my instincts and fuck her like I'd dreamed? Why couldn't I take what she was offering without second-guessing?

  "I don't have a condom," I replied, my fingers circling her clit. She was so wet. So wet. She'd slipped off her panties but now I regretted missing out on doing it for her. I wanted the pleasure of stripping her clothes off, watching her body reveal itself to me. None of this was right. Not for our first time together. "If you really want this, you'll want it in ten minutes when I get you into my bed."

  A cloud passed over her eyes and I knew I'd pushed her too far. I'd forced her to consider what she truly wanted again, rather than what felt good in the moment. And hell, I was all for the feel-good option but I could wait until she was certain about it for more than a minute.

  "I shouldn't have—we shouldn't have done this. I should go." She dipped her chin and reached for my trousers. Pulled them up, tucked me in. "Perhaps our paths will cross some other time."

  Annette went to slide off the desk but I wasn't ready to watch her go. I leaned forward, caging her in with my hands on either side of her hips, and brushed my lips down her neck. "You were going to let me fuck you on this desk two minutes ago. That requires something stronger than 'perhaps.'"

  After a long pause, she tipped her face up to me, a smile quivering over her lips. "Enjoy the pies, sheriff. I'll see you around town."

  She pushed off the desk, scooped up the panties she'd kicked off, and marched to the door without a backward glance.

  "The next time I have you under me," I called, loud enough for her to hear but too low for my deputies on the other side of the wall, "it won't be on a desk."

  She dropped her hand to the doorknob and inclined her head to the side. "Good night, sheriff."

  8