Hit the Spot

by J. Daniels

  “Next,” I encouraged, chewing and swallowing my bite.

  Syd chuckled. “Um, I don’t think I need to offer up any more examples. Those are pretty concrete,” she said, her voice light with triumph. “He knows you find him attractive, he’s capable of laying on the sweet and giving you something besides his arrogance, and he’s seen what it takes to break through and reach your soft. Knowing Jamie, he’ll be aiming for it again now that he knows you got one.”

  “My soft?” I questioned, brow furrowed.

  “Your heart, Tori.”

  Oh, please. My girl was living in lover’s land and was apparently drinking the Kool-Aid if she thought Jamie ever hit me that deep.

  “This is ridiculous,” I murmured.

  “It’s not. And I think you’re underestimating him.”

  “He was joking, Syd. No way would Jamie make a bet he’s guaranteed to lose.”

  “It’s not a guarantee.”

  “Yes, it is,” I stressed.

  “He hit your soft, Tori. He’s capable of hitting it again. I just know he is.”

  I dropped my fork into the bowl and sat it in my lap, gripped my phone, and braced myself to argue until my tongue grew tired.

  “Syd—”

  “He wasn’t joking,” she interrupted, nearly hollering at me. “Okay? He was serious and meaning this bet between you two, and I think you need to be prepared for what’s coming.”

  I blinked rapidly, feeling wrinkles gather on my forehead. What the…

  Speaking of bets, I’d put money on Syd pacing whatever room she was in right now and doing it while twisting a lock of her hair around her finger.

  Something was off. Her voice jumped with anxiousness. She sounded edgy and maybe a little too sure of herself.

  So I started fishing.

  “Why do you sound like that?” I questioned.

  “Why do I sound like what?” she questioned back with no change in her tone.

  “Like that. Like you know something.”

  “I don’t know anything. I’m just saying, it’s not a guarantee he’ll lose and you need to be ready.”

  “Ready for what, Syd? What aren’t you telling me?”

  I was frowning at the tops of my knees when I heard the unmistakable sound of a motorcycle drawing near.

  Not strange. I lived next to a busy road that had direct access to the beach, and bikes flew up and down the street all the time. Especially on a nice night like tonight, cloudless with a cool breeze blowing.

  But what was strange was the sound kept drawing nearer. And nearer. As if this bike wasn’t simply passing by.

  I lifted my eyes to the bay window, leaned forward, and squinted when the engine cut off.

  Right outside my house.

  No. No way.

  “Syd,” I said in warning as I stood from the couch and sat my bowl on the coffee table. “Did you give Jamie my address?”

  “Did I mention how good your pie was? Brian had seconds,” she quickly informed me.

  My best girl was avoiding. She was guilty and she was avoiding.

  The entire conversation we just had was making all kinds of sense now. New sense. As was her tone.

  A knock sounded at the door.

  I gasped, my hand squeezing that phone so hard I thought it might break. “Tell me you did not tell that loser where I live,” I hissed as I marched across the room.

  “I can’t do that,” she responded.

  “Syd!”

  “Well, I can’t! I’d be lying if I said I didn’t tell him!”

  “You are unbelievable,” I scolded her, reaching the door. I stood on my toes and peered through the peephole.

  King of all bastards was smirking like an idiot.

  Perfect.

  “Go away!” I hollered.

  His smirk twisted into a smile as his upper body shook with a laugh. He stepped closer while jerking his head to get his wavy hair out of his eyes, looked directly at me through that peephole, and warned, “Open up, Legs. Don’t make me pick the lock.”

  I dropped back onto my heels. My spine straightened.

  Pick the lock? He wasn’t serious, was he?

  “What did he say?” Syd whispered excitedly in my ear. “Put me on speaker so I can hear everything.”

  I scowled. Seriously? She was terrible. And a traitor if I ever knew one.

  “He said thanks for being Team Jamie all this time. He appreciates it,” I lied. Then I disconnected the call without saying a good-bye, per usual, set my phone on the console table, pressed my fingertips to the door, and stood on my toes again to glare at blue eyes.

  “I am not letting you in,” I informed him. “So you might as well get back on your bike and head on down the highway. And when you reach the ocean, do us all a favor and keep going.”

  He cocked his head. “Babe, don’t play with me. I got pie I wanna eat and I don’t wanna do it sitting out here on your porch. Open up.”

  “What?” I looked as low as my eye could see, which reached close to mid-torso on Jamie. “What are you talking about? What pie?”

  He lifted his right hand when prompted, and when he did, I saw he was holding my late nana’s ceramic pie plate with the ruffled edges and the washed-away floral lace design speckling the side.

  It was irreplaceable. It held meaning and memories and was always cherished and handled with love.

  And it was delivered to me on a motorcycle. By a loser…

  Gasping, I stepped back and made quick work of the lock, then I twisted the knob and swung the door open, getting right up in Jamie’s face to yell, “Do you have any idea what this pie plate means to me? Give me that!”

  I reached for it, but Jamie held it out of my grasp.

  “Relax before you make me drop it,” he cautioned, all calm and smooth while keeping his arm between us to hold me back.

  Before I make him drop it? I bared my teeth.

  “Give it!”

  When I stepped closer to try and snatch it again and bring it to safety, he stepped into me, wrapped that arm that was between us around my waist, picked me up, and carried me with him inside, all while balancing my precious pie plate with a hand I didn’t trust.

  “Let go of me!” I cried, wanting to twist and wiggle free but keeping still so I wouldn’t jar the plate.

  He did let go of me, but not until after he kicked the door shut, stared deep into my eyes, squeezed me tight with the one arm keeping me off the ground, and said in a low, promising voice, “Know what this means to you, so fuckin’ relax. I was careful.”

  Chest rising and falling rapidly, I blinked up at him after my bare feet touched the hardwood floor.

  Syd must’ve told Jamie about the plate. She also must’ve trusted him enough to get it to me safely, but that didn’t mean I trusted him. I wasn’t even sure I believed him, even though the evidence was right in front of me.

  “How?” I asked. “You need two hands to ride, don’t you? How were you careful?”

  Jamie slid his hand along my back and settled it on my hip, stared down at me, and held the plate next to my shoulder while explaining, “Just was. Rode one-handed before. I knew what I was doing. And before you give me any more shit, know if I thought I was riskin’ dropping this thing, I would’ve pulled over, dialed up Sunshine, and gotten her to come help me out. Okay?”

  “I don’t like you risking something of mine that’s precious,” I replied. “I don’t trust you, Jamie.”

  “No? Could’ve fooled me. I thought we were tight.”

  I scowled. Then I shifted my scowl between the plate and his face, asking, “Are you gonna hand that over or do I need to beg?”

  Jamie’s eyes brightened and his dimples popped out. “Begging already?” he teased. “That was quick. I thought for sure I’d be workin’ you up a little before you gave it up, Legs.” He slowly shook his head. “Gotta say, you made this too easy. I’m a little disappointed.”

  I felt his fingers tense on my side, then realizing he was st
ill touching me and remembering what touching led to yesterday, I quickly stepped back and held my hands out, palms up and expecting.

  Jamie breathed a laugh, looking between my hands and my face, then he lifted the plate and inhaled, keeping his gaze on me and smiling through it.

  “Fuckin’ starved for this. Smelled it the whole ride here. Come on.”

  With wide eyes I watched him walk past me and head for the couch.

  My couch. In my house.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I called out, trailing behind him.

  He tossed a pillow out of the way and sat down on the far end. After setting the pie on the coffee table, he gripped the bottom of the dark oak and pulled it closer until the table was almost touching his knees.

  “Sit down. Eat with me,” Jamie ordered, rubbing his hands together and hovering over the plate after pulling back the Saran Wrap. He tipped his chin at my bowl of noodles. “See I interrupted you, so don’t give me shit about not bein’ hungry. I know you are. Come on.”

  I stopped beside the couch and stuck my hands on my hips. “What makes you think I want to eat with you? I don’t even want you in my house.”

  “Too bad.”

  “Excuse me?” I bent a little at the waist. “Too bad? Are you crazy? I could call the cops, you know? You’re trespassing. This is private property.”

  Jamie laughed under his breath. He turned his head to look at me.

  “You reach for that phone and I’m gonna give you a repeat of yesterday, which I don’t mind doing, babe, considering what your fuckin’ mouth tasted like, so go ahead,” he warned, letting his gaze settle on the cleavage popping out of my dress, which I realized I was openly displaying for him since I was bending for emphasis.

  Shit.

  I quickly straightened up. “You can’t threaten me like that,” I informed him.

  His eyes took their time reaching my face, and when they did, they were burning.

  “Think I just did,” he stated. He cocked his head. “Now, you callin’ or what?”

  I quickly realized I was in a bind, and under no circumstances did I want or need a repeat of yesterday, except for maybe the part where I tapped Jamie with my car. That I wouldn’t mind doing daily.

  But the other stuff, which led to me making bedroom noises? No. No way. That was never happening again.

  Huffing out a breath, I shook my head.

  Jamie smirked, then looked back down at the plate he was hovering over and fished out a precut slice with his hand.

  “Normal people use forks,” I commented, not at all sounding rude, in my opinion, but simply pointing out the facts.

  “Good for them,” he shot back, sounding every bit of rude. Bastard. He glanced over at me before taking a taste. “You gonna stand there and watch me eat or are you gonna sit?” he asked. “’Cause you can do either one, Legs, but I ain’t goin’ anywhere until I enjoy this pie, and you ain’t rushin’ me.”

  “I don’t want you here.”

  “And I already cleared up my views on that when I said too bad,” he reminded me. “Warned you already, so I don’t know why you’re actin’ all surprised about this.”

  “Warned me about what?” I asked, stepping closer.

  Jamie exhaled exhaustively as if this conversation was a chore for him, please, sat his elbows on his knees, and held the slice above the plate in case of drippings, which I appreciated but I wasn’t about to tell him that. Then he looked me in the eyes and went on to explain, “Said you’d be seeing a lot of me while we both wait for you to cave and come beggin’ for my dick, and that’s what’s goin’ on here, babe. You’re seeing a lot of me. Got your address from Sunshine, which I’m guessin’ you figured out by now, meanin’ I don’t gotta limit my exposure to the shifts you work at Whitecaps. Anytime I feel like seein’ you, I’m gonna see you.”

  I blinked at him, trying to absorb everything he’d just said but only managing to focus on the very first horrible chunk of information he shared, and while I focused on that shocking admission, my heart started racing.

  “You were serious about all of that? You actually want to bet me?” I asked.

  Jamie lifted his brows. He didn’t say anything, but I read that look. He was serious. Completely serious. Meaning Syd was right.

  I was in a sex competition with Jamie McCade.

  Son of a…bitch.

  “I’m not playing,” I quickly announced, shaking my head. “No way. No way.”

  This was absurd.

  Jamie looked back down at his slice. “You’re playin’,” he said.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Yeah, babe, you are.”

  “Don’t tell me what I’m doing, Jamie.”

  His eyes cut to mine again, only now they were filled with heat and a desire to challenge. Then I watched as he placed the slice back in the dish, shoved the coffee table away, sucked the juices off his fingertips while coming to his feet, and once they were clean, reached down with both hands to work at his belt.

  My eyes jumped between his hands and his face as my heart went from racing to runaway, threatening to break free from my chest. Why is he working at his belt? He’s supposed to be eating pie and then leaving. What is going on?

  “What are you doing?” I asked. My voice shook with anxiousness.

  His belt whipped lose, startling me. Then he popped the button on his shorts while sharing, “Bet already started, Legs, so if you’re tellin’ me you ain’t playin’, that means you’re throwin’ in the towel and admittin’ this is what you want. And if that’s the case, I’ll take my pie after I’m done takin’ you.”

  What?

  WHAT?

  His eyes darkened. “Time to find out how greedy that pussy really is,” he growled, unzipping his shorts.

  I inhaled sharply through my nose. The sound from his throat and the slide of his zipper rolled up my spine.

  “Wait!” I pleaded, holding up my hand while his reached inside his shorts.

  Jamie froze. He cocked an eyebrow. And he waited.

  I was on the verge of throwing up. I’d never felt panic like this. Not just because of what I’d prevented, but because of what I knew to be fact; there was only one way I could play this out.

  “Fine, okay? I’ll play your stupid game,” I told him. “Just please don’t…take out your penis.”

  I turned my head away and winced.

  Good God. What was happening? I almost saw it.

  I almost saw Jamie McCade’s penis.

  That wasn’t a risk I was willing to take. I’d seen ugly penises before, but knowing my luck, there would be nothing ugly about what Jamie was packing and no amount of lying on my part would convince that loser of my disinterest.

  He’d most likely won trophies for that thing, too.

  A chuckle drew my attention back around.

  “Why, Legs? What’s your problem? Once you see it, you know it’s game over for you?” Jamie questioned with all the arrogance in the world while zipping and rebuttoning his shorts.

  Probably.

  What? No! I pinched my eyes shut.

  God, I was going to kill Syd. She was basically dead to me.

  “Just sit down and eat your stupid pie,” I ordered, stepping between the couch and the coffee table and huffing in annoyance.

  I wanted to get back to my food while it was still warm, and maybe if I let Jamie eat, he’d leave sooner rather than later.

  Maybe…

  I was clinging to that hope, as weak as it was. I wanted him gone.

  No. I needed him gone.

  So I picked up my bowl of barely touched pasta and resumed my position on the couch, only now I was sitting smashed up against the armrest instead of in the middle of the cushion.

  Distance was my friend. I’d given up on comfort.

  Laughing under his breath, Jamie took a seat and scooted the coffee table closer again, causing my knees to bend since my bare feet were propped up on the edge.

  I twirled nood
les around my fork and started eating.

  He started eating, too.

  Not that I was watching, because I wasn’t. I kept my eyes on the muted TV and took up lip-reading a repeat episode of Law & Order: SVU.

  When Mariska kneed a perp in the balls, I smiled and imagined he had ocean-salty hair and a surfer’s build.

  He didn’t. He was old and bald and looked like a retired bus driver. But in my head, I was watching someone different drop to the floor.

  This was the best show ever.

  I was on my third bite of pasta and engrossed in the storyline when Jamie finally spoke.

  “Damn. What kind of pie is this?” he asked, smacking his lips loudly and humming in delight.

  “Strawberry rhubarb,” I answered.

  “Strawberry what?”

  “Rhubarb.”

  “What the fuck is a rhubarb?”

  I slurped some noodles into my mouth before turning my head.

  “It’s what you’re eating,” I said around my bite, delivering some sass with my answer. “If you’re curious about it, you can go home and google ‘what is a rhubarb.’”

  He sucked on his index finger while staring back at me.

  I watched his lips, fully capable of doing a lot of things, remove the juicy goodness of my pie from his fingertip for a full second before realizing what I was doing and lifting my gaze.

  Rookie.

  Should’ve gone with the macaroon recipe. No juice, meaning no sucking on anything.

  Live and learn, Tori.

  “Ease up on the attitude, babe. You’re gettin’ me hard,” Jamie shared. Then he leaned a little closer and added, “Unless that’s your goal, then by all means. Keep throwin’ it.”

  I sucked in a breath, quickly cut my eyes away, pressed my back firm against the couch cushion, and resumed eating my pasta.

  My attitude was getting him hard? He wasn’t serious, was he?

  Do not look for evidence. Do not look for evidence. Do not look for evidence.

  “Christ. This is gonna be a cake walk,” Jamie chuckled. “I had you pegged to give me a run, but I take that back. I’m doubtin’ you know what you’re even in for.”

  I was on the brink of reacting to that comment with more sass when Jamie grabbed the remote from between us and pointed it at the TV, unmuted it, leaned back, kicked his legs out, and propped his sneakers up on the coffee table, crossing his feet at the ankles. Then he dropped the remote, threw one arm behind him over the back of the couch, and draped his other across the armrest, keeping his eyes on the program.