Hit the Spot

by J. Daniels

  I shimmied my hips. I bounced on my heels.

  My mind was on that sweet old lady I served today the entire time I was dressing and checking my big ass out in the mirror. I wondered if she ever finished the cross-stitch she was working on while eating her tuna salad on wheat.

  That seemed to keep Jamie’s words from circling in my head and threatening to wrap tight around my heart.

  It was a danger I had to stay constantly aware of lately. And the more time we spent together, the more trouble I was having staying constantly aware.

  As I descended the stairs, the amazing aroma of freshly heated Bangkok Orchid filled my living space, and the only thing I started thinking about was eating and possible negotiation tactics if Jamie decided he liked the pineapple fried rice and wanted the second container for himself.

  “You get drinks?” I called out when I finished descending, readying to turn toward the kitchen since I was figuring he had himself covered but I was going to need to grab something.

  Sitting on the couch and facing forward, Jamie held up a bottle of the Extra Sweet Pure Leaf Tea I typically kept my fridge stocked with but was currently out of, meaning he must’ve noticed I was running low yesterday and came prepared just in case.

  Huh. That was nice. And thoughtful. And kind of sweet.

  And by kind of, I meant really sweet.

  Shit.

  I focused on the smell of the food again and how hungry I was instead of letting meaningful gestures take root inside me. I had to stay smart about this.

  “You got somethin’ in mind you wanna watch while we eat?” Jamie asked as I moved around the couch and took my seat on the cushion I typically sat on, keeping space between us since he was sitting on the other end.

  “Something with a lot of action. Like a war documentary.” I twisted the cap off my sweet tea and took a sip. “News would be good, too.”

  No romantic storylines there.

  Jamie chuckled. “Not really feelin’ either of those, but there’s a game on. Yankees are playin’ the Royals.”

  “Perfect.”

  Sports. Yes. That was a safe choice.

  I sat on the edge of the couch and peered into the open containers littering my coffee table while Jamie cued up the TV.

  “I think you got one of everything,” I observed, pulling back the flap on the ginger and mushroom.

  “Didn’t know what you liked. Figured I’d cover my bases.”

  “Oo, spring rolls.” I licked my lips and started untwisting the end of the bag containing one of my favorite appetizers from Bangkok Orchid.

  Jamie was chuckling again beside me. It sounded warm and beautiful somehow, though I wasn’t sure how a laugh could sound beautiful; still, it did, and I thought about how good he probably looked laughing the way he was, so I turned my head, tucked my hair behind my ear, and gazed in his direction, really looking at him for the first time since I came down the stairs.

  I was too busy eyeing the food when I took my seat on the couch to do any looking in his direction, and boy, did I miss a spectacular sight.

  Jamie was sitting with his elbows on his knees and body angled forward, still shirtless, meaning all his tanned, glorious muscles were showing and flexed since he was bracing weight. And although that in itself was an eyeful one would have serious difficulty looking away from, that was only part of the package I was labeling as spectacular.

  Jamie had great hair. Amazing hair. Chin-length layers and wavy with pieces curling lower and reaching those big muscles at the tops of his shoulders. It looked great wet. It looked great partially wet when most hair would look frizzy unless you put some product in it. It looked great even though I was certain he always let it air-dry.

  I could pull off that look but only with the help of products, and again, I didn’t think Jamie used any on his hair.

  He always wore it down. And if pieces fell in his face, he’d tuck them behind his ear or leave them as is, looking like he didn’t give a shit, and somehow, even that he could pull off better than anybody else. I was sure of it.

  When he arrived here, it was down, as usual, and when we were finished going at it on the couch, it was looking wavier, messier, and shockingly, even more amazing.

  But now it was partially pulled back. Everything above his ear was secured in a hair tie at the back of his skull, keeping the top half out of his face and leaving the rest to curl against his golden delicious neck.

  I stared at Jamie and he stared back at me, smiling, and yes, I was correct in assuming how beautiful he looked in his amusement, but I was unprepared for the degree of beauty a hair tie could provide.

  I could see each and every one of his sharp features without any obstructions. His hairline, which was fantastic. He had the slightest widow’s peak. And he just looked good with his hair pulled back. Sexy. A little scrappy.

  Like he was ready to pick a fight or pop the hood of my car and check the oil.

  Sheesh.

  That was a nice visual. Jamie all grease-stained or with his knuckles wrapped up.

  My phone started ringing just as Jamie was asking, “You all right there, babe?”

  I blinked, focusing on his eyes and not his hair, hairline, sun-kissed skin, or anything else I was seeing for the first time without obstructions.

  “I’m great. Starved and ready to put away some of this food,” I answered. Then I looked toward the table, where the ringing was coming from.

  I wasn’t lying. I was just leaving out a few details.

  Leaning forward, I exchanged my spring roll for my cell, which was hiding behind the container of chicken with red curry, saw my mom’s name flashing on the screen, and informed Jamie as he was muting the game, “It’s my mom. She’ll be quick.”

  “No rush. Don’t really need sound,” he returned, setting the remote down.

  I settled back against the cushion, knees bent and feet tucked partially under my hip, and pressed the phone to my ear after hitting Accept.

  “Hey, Mom,” I greeted her, eyes on the TV and the game Jamie had kept muted.

  “Pumpkin, I’ve about had it with your father,” she snapped. “Do you know what he did today? Because that man is so stubborn, I made an appointment for him to see Dr. Kennedy myself, and he never showed! Never called. Nothing. Just stood the man up. Can you believe him?”

  “Is he still having heartburn?” I asked, feeling my stomach tighten with worry.

  “He’s still having something. Complains of his chest feeling tight. I don’t like it. And he’s popping those damn Tums like they’re M&M’s. Those things aren’t doing him a bit of good.”

  I exhaled heavily, feeling the couch dip beside me as Jamie stood and moved around the coffee table. “I don’t think it’s heartburn,” I murmured into the phone, turning my head and watching him disappear into the kitchen.

  “I don’t either. And that could’ve been confirmed today if he would’ve just kept his appointment with Dr. Kennedy, but you know how he is.”

  “Yeah, I know. Wait.” I felt my forehead wrinkle as I turned back around. “Isn’t Dr. Kennedy your plastic surgeon?”

  “He’s still a doctor, Tori. He went to med school.”

  Oh, yeah. Right. I was sure he at least knew how to use a stethoscope.

  “Well, I don’t know what to do, Mom. You can’t make Daddy go to the doctor. Not unless you drug him and get him there while he’s unconscious.”

  “That might be my next move.”

  “Do you want me to talk to him again?”

  “Not right now. I’ve put him in a bit of a mood. He’s smoking a cigar outside and shootin’ his gun,” she said, her voice exhausted. “Maybe try tomorrow?”

  “Okay.” I bit my cheek and nodded. “I’ll give him a call after work.”

  “Thanks, pumpkin. I don’t know what else to do here.”

  “We’ll figure it out. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  That was a lie. I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t even considering heartburn anymore. Ther
e was a strong possibility this was something else, but I wouldn’t worry my mom.

  “Okay.” She sighed. “Talk soon. Let me know how it goes.”

  “Okay, Mom.”

  “Bye, pumpkin.”

  I disconnected the call and dropped the phone onto the cushion beside me, my head tipping back and eyes closing as I struggled to keep my thoughts from drifting to worst possible scenarios and terrible worries.

  I didn’t know what to do. I had a good idea how the conversation with my dad was going to go tomorrow. And I was serious. I really didn’t think he’d ever go see a doctor unless he was passed out cold and forced to go against his knowledge or will.

  But he promised me. He promised if the Tums stopped working, he would take care of this. Was I just supposed to wait him out?

  I felt Jamie’s hand on my forehead, brushing my overgrown bangs to the side.

  “Take it your dad is still sick and not gettin’ checked out?”

  I opened my eyes and looked up at him. “He’s stubborn and insisting it’s heartburn,” I said.

  “Maybe it is.”

  “Maybe it’s something more serious and the dangers of him not getting it checked out are only making matters worse,” I shot back. “Maybe it’s nothing. But he won’t know that unless he goes to the doctor and gets checked out. And I can’t drag his body to a vehicle and hoist him up into it when he’s knocked out and nothing but deadweight. I have zero upper body strength.” My eyes slid to Jamie’s thick, muscled shoulder. “You don’t seem to have that problem.”

  Jamie was smiling softly when I looked back up into his face. “Maybe you give it another day. See how he is tomorrow night.”

  “I doubt it’ll make much difference.”

  “Might.”

  “Slim chance.”

  “Babe.”

  “Mm?”

  “Give it another day,” he repeated, not requesting this time but telling me that was what I needed to do, and there was something in Jamie’s voice I was hearing. Something comforting, like he knew I just needed another day, he was sure, and things would be better.

  He was promising it. I didn’t understand how Jamie could do that, but I knew that’s what he was doing.

  I let myself believe him. I wanted to.

  Swallowing, I whispered a “’kay,” as I looked up into his face again, unobstructed by those sandy waves he had. “I really like your hair like that,” I shared.

  He smiled; no teeth, just full lips stretching slow and dimples popping out.

  I really liked his dimples, too. But I’d shared enough.

  “That’s two,” Jamie replied, looking pleased.

  My brows pulled together.

  “Wearin’ you down, babe. First my cock. Now you’re diggin’ my hair. Pretty soon you’ll be admittin’ to likin’ it all. To likin’ me.”

  “Never,” I returned, poker face engaged.

  “It’ll happen.”

  “Nope.”

  “I’m wearin’ you down.”

  “You’re letting our food get cold. That’s about the only thing you’re doing right now.”

  Jamie threw his head back and roared with laughter, and from the angle I was sitting to him, I had full view of his neck, which was golden, had thick cords running down each side and muscles there, too, plus a predominant Adam’s apple, which was moving with his enjoyment.

  I really liked his neck. Maybe more than his dimples.

  He had a really good laugh, too.

  When Jamie was finished finding what I said funny, he looked down at me again. He was grinning. Bright white teeth. Dimples. The whole shebang.

  Nope. I liked his laugh and his neck, but his dimples were holding top rank.

  “Better quit listenin’ to you list what all you like about me, then,” he said, humor still heavy in his voice. “Don’t know how good this food will be heated up twice.” He rounded the couch and the coffee table, looking to reclaim his seat.

  “No threat there,” I replied, sounding sassy as I reached for my spring roll. “I just named the only other thing I like about you.”

  Jamie didn’t sit at the far end of the couch this time, where he typically sat. No, he picked up my phone and placed it on the coffee table, then he sat on the cushion next to me, turning his head and looking over after he settled.

  I didn’t know if he was looking at me waiting for me to protest or to question why he’d just chosen the middle cushion, which was the spot nobody chose unless they had to—it wasn’t as broken in and you didn’t have an armrest—but I didn’t do either.

  Keeping his eyes, I bit into my spring roll, sharing around my mouthful, “Still warm. You’re lucky.”

  Jamie’s gaze lowered to my mouth, his lips twitched, then his eyes met mine again. “Fuckin’ right I am,” he replied.

  My cheeks heated. I knew he was not referring to being lucky in terms of the food. And before I reacted any more to hearing that, I broke eye contact and shoved as much spring roll into my mouth as possible.

  We ate our dinner with the game muted, talking about random things. His sister, where she lived, and if she’d be visiting again soon. He didn’t know the answer to that last one, but she lived four hours away in the same town as his parents. Jamie told me about his lessons that day, and I told him about the staring match Stitch and Shay competed in when she took an order back that was wrong and was forced to speak to the man she was hell-bent on ignoring.

  After we were finished eating and the leftovers were put away, we watched the rest of the game unmuted. I fell asleep sometime after the seventh inning stretch, my head starting out on Jamie’s shoulder and then getting moved to his chest when he pulled me down and stretched out on the couch, putting me between him and the back cushion and situating me so I was partially lying on top of him.

  Belly full of food and horizontal with a good-smelling man under me, I couldn’t fight it. I dozed pretty quickly after that.

  My eyes fluttered open when I felt cool satin underneath my legs and a sheet being pulled up my body. I was in my bed. I turned my head on the pillow and watched Jamie move toward the door.

  “You’re leaving?” I asked, sitting up and gripping the covers to my chest. I swore I didn’t sound panicked. I was just curious. And maybe a little surprised.

  But when Jamie turned his head to look at me, I knew he was hearing emotions in my voice I was sure weren’t there. He didn’t speak. Looking away, he closed the door instead of walking through it, and then he started removing his clothing.

  “It’s fine. I was just asking,” I said, watching Jamie step out of his shorts and lay them across the bottom of the bed where his shirt was, having already discarded that.

  He walked around the bed and climbed in beside me, wearing only his briefs.

  “Really, Jamie. I’m not asking you to stay.”

  “You want me here. I’m stayin’.”

  His hand reached out. I felt it curl around my hip, then I was being pulled closer and turned so I was facing away, his arm wrapping around my waist and his legs pushing mine to bend.

  “I never said—”

  “Babe, shut up,” he interrupted. I felt his lips press down the line of my neck to my shoulder. He drew in a slow, deep breath. “Be leavin’ you early in the mornin’. I had to move my lessons up ’cause of shit I got goin’ on, so if you wake up and I’m not here, that’s why.”

  “Is that why you were heading out?” I asked, blinking into the darkness of my bedroom.

  “Yeah.”

  “What sort of…shit do you have going on?”

  Jamie’s breath burst against my shoulder.

  “What? That’s what you called it,” I said, knowing he was laughing at me for repeating his term for the obligations he had.

  “Sweet when you say it, though,” he told me, then his arm gave me a squeeze as my lip curled up.

  I was totally blushing. Thank God I was facing away.

  “I got an interview with Rail Magazine afte
r lunch,” Jamie informed me. His tone casual. “Last year that shit took all afternoon and I had to cancel on people. I’m not tryin’ to have that happen again, so I’m gettin’ started early.”

  I caught the last bit of his statement looking into the shadow of his face, which was peering above my shoulder, seeing as my neck was craned and I’d turned my head as far as I could comfortably turn it.

  “You’re being interviewed by a magazine?” I asked. I could hear the wonder in my voice. Wow. How cool was that?

  “Yeah,” he answered, still just as casual. “It ain’t a big deal.”

  “Like, a real magazine?”

  “Pretty fuckin’ legit, yeah. You surf or follow the sport, you know Rail. They’ve been around since the fifties.”

  I blinked, thinking on that. Huh.

  I really needed to start checking out the other magazine sections at Barnes & Noble. I typically stuck to Women’s Interest when I browsed.

  “I think that’s really cool,” I told Jamie. His shoulder jerked. He was playing it off. “I’m serious. I do.”

  “I get that, babe. And I appreciate you thinking somethin’ I’m doin’ is cool, but really, it ain’t a big deal,” he repeated. “I’ve done a bunch of these, and half the time they always end up pissing me the fuck off ’cause they ask questions that don’t got shit to do with surfing. That’s what I’m there to talk about. Hell, that’s what I’d rather be doin’ instead of some stupid interview. I just do ’em to bring business to Wax. Plus, my sponsors like it. Keeps them happy.”

  “Well, I still think it’s cool. And I’m really looking forward to reading it,” I said with enthusiasm as I looked into the shadow of his face.

  Maybe he’d mention me in the article…

  I pinched my eyes shut. Really, Tori? Really? Then I quickly uncraned my neck and plopped my cheek against the pillow again.

  I sighed. Do not even go there.

  Jamie chuckled. His chest shook against my back. Then he kissed my neck before dropping back on the pillow behind me and, with his arm already tight around my body, gave me another squeeze.