“But I didn’t give any indication that anything else was going on. And Jason kept calling me Ms. C, so it wasn’t like he was being overly familiar.”
“Oh? So Jason has called you Jenna before?”
Jenna sighed. “No. Will you knock it off? Jason’s always been respectful. Has never crossed the line. He even offered to ‘have words’ with the guy.”
“Uh oh.”
“Uh oh, what?”
“When does Jason turn eighteen?”
“Next month.”
Cathy shook her head. “Don’t you get it? Once he’s eighteen, he’ll be legal. And you’re single. And now he’s getting all caveman-protective. Come on, Jen, do the math.”
“You’re being ridiculous. Jason has a crush, but that’s it. I’m older than he is and I have a child. He’s not going to want to go there.”
“He wants to go somewhere, all right, and apparently he’s recognizing the same thing in your Tall, Dark, and Gorgeous crazy rich guy. What is Stud’s name by the way?”
“I forgot to ask.”
“You forgot?”
“It’s not the first thing on my mind when he’s standing there tossing ten grand at my feet simply to sleep with him.” Or kissing her senseless on her front porch—a little factoid she’d neglected to share with her friend.
“If he’s as gorgeous as you’ve described, I’m thinking you might want to pay him ten grand. Or, at the very least, take his. So what if you’re not a hooker? Anyone could be if the price is right. Ten g’s sounds right to me.”
“He accused me of not having standards. Me!”
“Sweetie, let’s not lose focus. Ten grand, a hot guy, and sex. None of which you had prior to yesterday. I’m thinking it’s a win-win situation.”
“Except for the part where everyone in town is now going to be looking at my house as a brothel. Memories are long in this town.” She sighed and tucked her frizzy hair behind her ears for the tenth time. And for the tenth time, it wouldn’t stay.
Cathy tapped her foot.
“What?”Jenna asked. “You’re saying I ought to consider it?”
Cathy shrugged. “What you do with your own love life, or lack thereof, is no business of mine.”
Since when? “Cathy, he propositioned me. Treated me like a hooker.” Although if he kissed all hookers like he’d kissed her, Cathy was right; those ladies should be paying him.
“So? If you were one, you’d expect him to. I mean, those chicks aren’t exactly looking for soft lights and flowers. It’s business, through and through.”
“But why does he think I’m a hooker? That’s the part that’s bugging me. What did I ever do? I mean, I met him in the grocery store, and even then, I didn’t meet meet him. He was just in the aisle.”
“How’d he find out where you live?”
Jenna shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe he asked someone at the store. It’s not like it’s a big secret. Someone could have pointed out the flyers that I have on the bulletin board there, advertising my services.”
“Nah, he would have known you were a tutor if he’d seen that. You list every subject you’re qualified to teach. He certainly couldn’t make that mistake.”
“Yet he did.”
“Yeah, but that’s the thing. Why does he need a hooker? If he’s a rich, gorgeous lust-magnet, what’s up with that? And, hey—does he have a brother?”
Jenna rolled her eyes. Some things never changed. “You’re married.”
“Doesn’t mean I’m dead. I can still look.” Cathy let out a low whistle. “And, oh, mama, am I looking now.” She nodded behind Jenna. “Tell me that’s your Stud.”
Jenna blew out an exasperated breath and looked over her shoulder. “He’s not my—”
Oh hell yes he was. Especially if her hormones had anything to say about it.
“Stud” was circling the track around the park in nothing but running shorts, sneakers, and a shirt crumpled in his fist. And sunglasses.
Sweat glistened on him. So not fair, when sweat always made her look like a drowning poodle. Not an ounce of flab jostled with any footfall; no, on him, muscles moved as nature had intended, flexing, contracting all over the place in all sorts of mouth-watering ways. And she wasn’t the only one who noticed.
Mrs. Parker, who’d just had a hip replaced last month swiveled with her walker so fast, she might end up needing a second surgery if the guy got any closer or his smile grew any more devastating. Megan and Mallory, the sixteen-year-old Baxter twins, were definitely salivating, and, sadly, Jenna could find nothing wrong with that. The guy was an equal-opportunity lust magnet.
“He’s heading over here.” Cathy gulped. Even happily married pregnant women weren’t safe from his pull.
Jenna shook her head. The guy could be as gorgeous as he wanted, but he still thought she was a hooker. And worse, had treated her like one.
Though that kiss had been nothing to sneeze at…
He rounded the bend, his chest expanding with each breath, abs tightening. Not that she was looking, but it was kind of hard not to when it was right there on display.
She also wasn’t drooling, but she tucked her chin down and headed toward Trevor just in case. Hormones or innuendoes—or repeat kisses—she was up for none of them.
“Jenna?”
But when he said her name like that—out of breath and husky, which she knew was because of his run but her hormones weren’t getting that message—Jenna had to face him.
And cursed herself for doing so. And then him even more.
No one should look as good as he did—covered in sweat or otherwise. Which begged the question of why he was interested in hiring a hooker in the first place. Maybe if she could get beyond that, she could forgive him for going to the police—
No. That wasn’t happening.
He jogged over and ran the t-shirt over the back of his neck. “You’re out early.”
“Oh? You think I should be sleeping in?” She wanted to bite her tongue. Her hormones needed no mention of anything remotely having to do with bed around him. The memory of the kiss was enough to keep them hopping. “That my late nights keep me up? I told you, I have a son.” She waved her hand toward the picnic table. “Three-and-half-year-olds don’t sleep in. I hear that doesn’t happen ’til they’re teenagers.”
“When does his dad get him?”
She’d like to see his eyes, but he had the reflective sunglasses on again. Hmm, come to think of it, he’d had them on whenever she’d seen him. Maybe he had a problem with his eyes. Maybe that’s why he needed a hooker—no one else would—
She didn’t allow herself to finish that thought because there was no way that was the reason. The guy could get anyone from senior citizens to jailbait and all ages in between as proven by the looks he was still getting as he spoke to her; vision problems wouldn’t matter. Besides, he’d recognized her easily enough.
Or maybe buying someone’s body put an automatic homing device between them.
He’s not really buying your body. Remember that.
Duh. Jenna shook her head. “Trevor’s dad is… out of the picture. Trevor stays with me.”
Mr. Gorgeous ran a hand over his jaw—which just drew attention to the square perfection of it. Was there nothing wrong with this guy?
Oh, yeah. He hired hookers.
“What’s your name?” she asked. “If we’re going to be, um—“this ought to be good; how to phrase this?—“working together, I should have something to call you.”
The grin he gave her only highlighted those lips that had been on hers yesterday with all sorts of good vibes and bad consequences. “It’s Bryan.”
“So, Bryan, what do you do that lets you go jogging instead of clocking in early and still be able to blow ten grand on me?”
That question hung between them with all its interpretive nuances, sparking embers that hadn’t really burned out from that kiss on her porch yesterday.
“I work for myself.”
“W
hat do you do?”
“Electrical and some construction. Getting ready to start a big project next week.”
Yes, he looked like a construction worker—the kind they used as fantasy heroes on the covers of the romance novels she used to read before life had kicked the belief in happily-ever-afters out of her.
“Ahem.” Cathy cleared her throat louder than seasonal allergies would require as she approached—and Cathy didn’t have seasonal allergies.
But Jenna welcomed the distraction from imagining what that six-pack would do when Bryan hefted a couple of two-by-fours.
“Cathy, this is Bryan. Bryan, Cathy Mayfield. Best friend extraordinaire and happily married mother of soon-to-be-number-two.” No sense lumping Cath in the same hooker boat she was in.
Bryan adjusted his glasses, but he didn’t remove them. “Nice to meet you.”
Cathy tittered like some blushing virgin, which Jenna knew hadn’t been the case since tenth grade.
“So, are you in town for long, or are you just passing through?” Cath asked with a hand on her cocked hip.
What was this? The Wild West?
“I have to check on the boys.” Jenna excused herself and headed back to the table. Men were tough enough to figure out, let alone ones who were deliberately being obtuse. Toss in a lust-struck best friend, and Jenna wanted out. Trevor was easier. When he cried, he was either hurt or tired. When he was cranky, he was either hungry or tired. And when he smiled, he was pure joy to be around. She could use some pure joy in her life right now.
“Hey, kiddo. Whatcha makin’?” She ruffled his hair.
“A felefant.” Trevor held up the gray blob. This brand of modeling clay didn’t come in gray, which meant the clean-up job of separating their creations back into the correctly-colored canister was now a non-issue.
“An elephant? That’s great! Look how long his trunk is.”
“No, Mommy. That’s his tail. This is his twunk.”
Jenna hid her smile. She’d thought that was a leg. Ah, well, sculptor probably wasn’t high on Trevor’s list of What I Want To Be When I Grow Up. Right now it was a policeman, a fireman, or a football player. Jenna didn’t like any of those—too dangerous for her baby.
“You’re doing a great job, Trev.”
“Look at mine, Jenna.” Cathy’s son, Bobby, held up his glop of gray and peered out from under his baseball cap. “I made a hippamouse.”
“You guys have your own zoo.”
The two three-year-olds’ eyes lit up and more gray clay got pulled apart as they dug in and started working on “rhinosaurs” and “moo cows.”
“He’s pretty talented,” Bryan said over her shoulder.
Jenna stiffened. Not because he was standing so close, but because he was stepping into her world. Her real world, not his make-believe hooker one.
She had half a mind to turn around right now and ask him what kind of mother he thought she was that she’d turn tricks with a three-year-old in the house. She’d also like to ask him what kind of guy propositioned suburban moms. And kissed them on their front porch as if the world were ending tomorrow.
“Does he play any sports?”
Jenna was just about to push him away, but, unfortunately, Trevor heard that question and squinted up at him.
“I pway soccer and t-ball. Mommy says maybe I can pway football when I get big and stwong like you. I wike football. Do you?”
“Yeah, I do.” Bryan adjusted his sunglasses. “Who’s your favorite team?”
“Michael’s. He’s the cutie and makes all the points.”
And squashed kids with nasty elbows to the face if they tried to take the ball from him. Even his own teammates. No way was she letting Trevor play with that bruiser. Not until he was big enough to defend himself.
She bet Bryan could defend himself.
Jenna blinked. Now where had that come from?
Then Bryan shifted his weight and his arm brushed hers, sending the little hairs there to full attention, with the skin and nerves beneath needing no urging to follow suit, and she knew. God. It was as if he’d bathed in pheromones. The sweat probably had a lot to do with it. As did those abs.
“QB’s a good position. Have you ever played it?”
Trevor shook his head, but Bobby bounced to his feet on the picnic table bench, waving his baseball cap in the air like a rodeo cowboy. “I do. With my daddy all the time. I get to throw the ball to him and we make touchdowns and Mommy cheers.”
Jenna didn’t glance away fast enough to miss the wistfulness on Trevor’s face that she was sure matched hers. If only Carl had wanted to be a family. Oh, he’d wanted a family—his own. Not some “whore’s bastard,” as he’d called Mindy and Trevor.
As if anyone could call Trevor anything other than what he was: sweet and loving and a wonderful little boy. She didn’t know who Mindy had created this child with—sadly, Mindy didn’t either—but whoever the mystery DNA donor was, he had great genes.
“You want to play football with me some time, Trevor? I’m a good catcher, too.”
It was all Jenna could do not to kick Bryan’s shin. This was her son. He might have bought her for ten grand, but he hadn’t bought Trevor. And she was going to make sure he knew it the moment they were alone.
“How about I come over this afternoon and we play? I’ll even bring lunch so your mom doesn’t have to make any. What do you think? Would that be okay?”
Jealousy twinged in Jenna’s gut. Bryan was relating to her son in a testosterone-way she never could, and the hope-filled look Trevor gave her killed any excuse she would’ve made.
Two sets of expectant eyes—well, one set and one pair of sunglasses—turned her way.
As if she could say no now. “Sure,” she said through gritted teeth, but ended up lightening her tone when Trevor smiled. “That’s a great idea. Right, Trev?”
Trevor was so happy he could only nod. There might even be a tear in his eye. Which put more than a few in hers.
Jenna turned away. Trevor had started asking more questions lately. Wanting to know why he didn’t have a daddy and if Jenna could get him one. She’d love to, she really would, but her dating pool was severely limited now that she’d gone through her friends’ single friends. Those dates had pretty much fizzled out when they found out she had a child. And she didn’t do the bar scene. Other than the Universe dropping a man on her front porch she didn’t—
Oh no. No way. Just because Bryan had shown up on her porch and liked kids didn’t mean—
He’d propositioned her! He paid for hookers! What kind of man would that be to bring into Trevor’s life?
Although, as she caught a glimpse of his smile, square jaw and that hard, trim body, she had to admit he was a fine specimen of manhood. And one hell of a kisser.
The hiring hookers part, however, put him out of the running.
Even if she hadn’t exactly turned him down.
Chapter Seven
Jenna had never seen Trevor as excited as he was during the three hours he waited for Bryan to show up. He kept wanting to open the front door to check for Bryan’s truck so often that she ended up leaving it unlocked while she tried to let the magazine in her hands keep her attention.
When she read the recipe for broccoli mashed potatoes to the point that she had it memorized, she admitted it wasn’t working.
“Is he here yet?” Trevor asked for the umpteenth time.
“Not yet.” Jenna set the magazine on the end table. She didn’t know when she’d ever been so nervous. Even when she’d had to tell her parents about her pregnancy she’d known what to expect: disappointment from her mother and the unflagging support from her father. That, she’d been prepared for. This?
She was in over her head with this. With Bryan. Her mind was saying one thing, her body the exact opposite. And with Trevor’s reaction, her heart was siding with the body part of her.
“Come on, Trev, let’s go potty one more time before Bryan gets here. That way you won’t
miss any of the game.”
“Okay, Mommy. Will you put cereal in the water? I wanna hit them.”
He was well beyond the aim-for-the-holes-in-the-cereal stage, but it’d keep his mind off Bryan.
Cereal wouldn’t exactly cut it for her.
While she helped Trevor take care of business, Jenna wondered if she should stop this farce before Bryan arrived. Trevor was already developing hero-worship simply because the guy wanted to throw a ball. She’d tossed a few to him when they got back from the play date, but Trevor said she didn’t do it right. That wasn’t true—she had a good arm. For a girl, he’d said, a phrase that was sure to have originated in the know-it-all mouth of Michael.
But what Trevor had meant was that she wasn’t a guy. And, more specifically, she wasn’t his dad.
He couldn’t see Bryan in that role. They’d just met him.
Which begged the question of what she was doing letting him play football with her son, but luckily, Trevor’s target practice precluded her from having to answer.
“Wook, Mommy, I hit all of them!”
“You sure did. Now let’s get you ready for your game.” She helped him straighten his shorts, checked the temperature of the water before he washed his hands, all the while only half-listening to his chatter about touchdowns and “feed goals.”
“What do goals eat, Mommy?” earned him one of her smiles—and a masculine chuckle from outside the bathroom.
Jenna froze.
Bryan wouldn’t just walk in—
His gorgeous face appeared around the doorframe. “Hey, Sport, you ready?”
Apparently he would. Ten grand’s worth of presumptions.
“Front door was open,” was his explanation when her eyes met his sunglasses in the mirror over the sink. What was with the sunglasses? Did he think he was a movie star or something?
He certainly thought he was someone, obviously, by the way he’d just waltzed in here as if he owned the place. Owned her, yes. At least in his mind. But her home? No way in hell. She needed to nip this in the bud right now.
Beefcake & Mistakes Page 4