by S. E. Harmon
He smiled humorlessly. “Well, it was just an idea.”
“Would you guys like something to drink?” The stewardess’s timing couldn’t have been better. “We have coffee, juice, water…several premium wines—”
“Yes,” we said in unison, and then shared a quick grin. Well, at least there was something we still agreed on.
*
The house was dark and quiet as I shouldered my way in the door, weighted down with two bags, my purse, and a bag of fast food. I sighed happily, dropping my bags in the entryway. I kicked off my shoes a scant moment later, and dropped a towering stack of mail on the side table.
There was nothing that made me appreciate home like traveling. I padded to the kitchen in bare feet and stared into the fridge for a minute, more out of habit than anything else, wasting electricity as cold air wafted around me. I finally decided on a Coke Zero, and drained almost the entire thing as I went around opening up the house. I took a long shower to wash the travel off of me, letting the horrors of the airport swirl down the drain, and then threw on some comfortable Tweety-bird pajamas. Routine items out of the way, I collapsed on the couch with a huge sigh.
I was hungry, but not hungry enough to move and grab the bag of food on my kitchen island. I had just enough energy to stare at it longingly. My phone vibrated, and I reached for it quickly. It was only Lane, making sure I’d gotten in safe. Apparently, she was the only person in my family who cared whether or not my flight had taken a header into the Atlantic. I texted her back home safe with a couple smiley emoticons.
It was pretty obvious by now that he-who-shall-remain-but-a-memory was not going to call. It was hard to deny that I wanted him to, especially after almost spraining something vital lunging for the phone. But it wasn’t like I could do the calling myself. I’d already pushed enough. Laid out my terms. The next move had to be his.
It wasn’t like I could send him a “let’s keep having casual sex” muffin basket. Or a naked candygram. I had some pride. I quickly googled naked candygram on my phone to be sure, and came up empty. Yeah. So no naked candygram. Like I said. I had some pride.
I scrolled through my phone, glancing at pictures we’d taken together during that idyllic week. Paddle boarding pictures, the obligatory random sunsets and sunrises…a couple shots of us fooling around for the camera with funny faces and putting bunny ears on one another. I scrolled some more. One of him with my dad’s dog, Molly. One of him smiling at the camera, the other arm around a faded green paddle board.
I thumbed to the next picture and sighed. We’d been at the beach that day, and he’d stuck out his tongue at me when I wouldn’t stop taking pictures. The sun was in his eyes, turning the hazel into warm, melting taffy, and even in my funk, I couldn’t help but smile at it a little. I deemed the picture my favorite, and set it as his call picture. And my home screen. And my background as my conscience silently judged me. I didn’t care. The first step was admitting I had a problem.
I have a problem.
I finally drifted off a few hours later, snuggled into the nook of the couch, letting the sounds of the air conditioner lull me to sleep. When I woke, he was next to me, an inscrutable expression on his face, half-obscured by the moonlight. I blinked blearily, looking over every inch of his face.
“You’re here,” I breathed.
He smiled, but didn’t speak. No words were necessary as he took my mouth with his, kissing me as if he never wanted to stop. I sank my fingers into his hair, trying to pull him closer, but he resisted. There was no deepening of the kiss. He didn’t cover my body with his or try to take off my clothing. Just sweet, drugging kisses that made me feel lethargic and punch drunk. And frustrated.
I opened my mouth for him to take advantage, but he ignored me, sinking his teeth gently into my bottom lip. I tugged on his hair again, needing him closer, wanting him to overpower me, overwhelm me…just wanting more…
“Jackson,” I finally said, frustrated. “I want you.”
“Do you?”
“Of course I do,” I said, brows creased in confusion. I reached for him again and he began to dissolve under my fingertips like candy floss in the rain, and I tried to hold on to the disappearing pieces. “No,” I muttered as his arm disintegrated. “No.”
Frustrating, disappearing man. And what on earth was that bloody annoying noise?
I woke to the dawn filtering in my living room, my head tucked in an odd position on the couch. Sweet baby Jesus. I could already feel my back and neck locking up like a stubborn Rubix cube. It didn’t help my mood that my neighbor was having another morning screech-fest in the shower.
I rubbed my eyes blearily, wondering oh-so-many things. I wondered if Julian would mind if I didn’t come back to work. Like, ever. I wondered if I could maybe reenter my dreams at exactly where I’d left off. I also wondered if my neighbor knew there were other artists in the world besides Taylor Swift, and if she’d perhaps like an iTunes gift card to explore her options.
I checked my phone and realized I had a good thirty minutes before I had to get up. I closed my eyes and snuggled back into the sofa throw pillows, hoping a better dream Jackson would visit me this time. Maybe one who wouldn’t dissolve, and liked to do dirty dream things. I tried my best to ignore the fact that my phone had no missed notifications.
He hadn’t called. Part of me had thought that he wouldn’t.
The other part of me knew that he shouldn’t.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
My Keurig was on the fritz. That was enough of a reason to throw something clean out the window, in my opinion. Luckily, I had saved the last scraps of coffee from my trip. Nuking it would probably leach the last of the flavor out, but hell, beggars couldn’t be choosers. I stuck the Starbucks cup in the microwave and hit the popcorn button.
I stared at the slowly spinning cup like a zombie, still only half-awake. One would think a week of vacation would’ve prepared me for coming back to work on Monday. Surely that was enough vacation for one person. Well. Long story extra fucking short?
It wasn’t.
It didn’t matter how ready I was, though, because short of debilitating injury, I had to go in. I wasn’t going to lie—I thought about my front steps for a few minutes, but they weren’t high enough to do any real damage. In fact, they looked just high enough to twist an ankle. Julian was mean enough to expect me to hobble in anyway. That would mean I had to drag out my Airwalk compression boot, and who needed that hassle?
I rushed through my morning routine, throwing on some slacks and a button-down blouse. I remembered the meeting we had with Torchwood Technologies at the last minute, and stepped in a pair of heels instead of my usual flats.
Thanks to Julian, the Groupon King, the front of the store was a mess by the time I arrived. It seemed like everyone in the tri-state area had schlepped their broken electronic devices to our store. Julian was talking with a customer as I made my way through the throng of people, and threw a hand up, signaling me to wait. Of course, I pretended not to see and skedaddled for my office. I’d have to face the music eventually, but I was pretty sure I could avoid him until after lunch.
The morning was a whirlwind of catching up on correspondence. It seemed like every email I answered was rerouted back to my inbox with six more friends in tow. I went out to the front to help troubleshoot some Groupon issues, and then to the back to troubleshoot some tech trouble. Suffice to say, for most of the morning, I didn’t know whether I was coming or going. I was more than ready to peel out of there for a late lunch, and almost ran smack dab into Julian when I opened my office door.
He had a stack of papers in his arms, a pen behind his ear, and a harried look in his eye. Those eyes narrowed. “Where are you going?”
“Lunch, Jules. Even poor, overworked bosses get lunch, don’t they?”
“Not the late ones,” he said.
“Five minutes,” I protested. “I couldn’t have been over five minutes late.”
“It was more like t
wenty. And don’t forget the meeting you have with Torchwood at two o’clock. The CFO has another meeting before yours, so they’ve changed it into a working lunch.”
“Damn. I’ll have to cancel lunch with Adam.”
“One of the techs also seems to be having quality issues with his repairs.” He was barely listening as he continued going down his laundry list of concerns. “We might have to let him go.”
“Then do it. I trust your judgment.” I gave him a sly look, never able to resist teasing him. “Unless you can’t handle it without me.”
“Hah!” He scoffed. “I’ve had this place running like a top.”
“A wildly spinning, out of control top that’s about to take out the city maybe.” I raised an eyebrow. “Have you seen the front? It’s a madhouse out there.”
He scowled, shuffling through the stack of papers threatening to fall out of his arms. “Got it all under control. Don’t worry.” He finally unearthed the paper he’d been looking for and slapped it on my desk. “Sign. Here, here, and there on the bottom.”
I scanned the invoice quickly before signing. “I know you have it under control. I trust you.” At his look, I amended, “I’m learning to trust more.”
“Nice of you to start learning to trust on Groupon explosion day.”
“Which was your harebrained idea in the first place.” I gave him a look, and used my best Samuel L. Jackson voice. “No more motherfucking Groupons.”
He gave me the hairy eyeball before snatching the invoice back and hustling for the door. A minute later, he popped his head back in the doorway. “Did you say you were having lunch with Adam?”
“Yeah.” I barely glanced up from my phone as I texted Adam that I couldn’t make it.
“Adam,” he repeated, his thin eyebrows going way, way, way the fuck up. I made a quick mental node to demand he stop threading. “Why are you having lunch with your ex?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I sent him a wink. I loved driving Julian crazy. It just killed him not to know everything.
He didn’t look amused like he normally would. He looked pissed. “Are you two getting back together?”
“Jesus, Jules. It’s just lunch.”
“I thought you and Jack were…you guys seemed like you were…” He finally stopped spluttering and ran a hand through his hair. His cheeks were flushed, but I didn’t need that visible sign to know he was upset. “I thought you and Jack were together.”
“We were.” I finished my text and pressed send. “And now we’re not.”
He stared at me, nonplussed, before shaking his head. “I really thought you guys were hitting it off.”
“We did.” I plucked at the hem of my shirt, uncomfortable with his regard. “But then it just…ran its course, I guess.” He continued to stare at me as if I’d pulled the Hubble telescope out of my purse, so I tried again, trying to explain something that I didn’t quite understand myself. “We want different things. I mean, come on, Jules, you of all people know it was a fake arrangement.”
“That’s what it started out as,” he said, his brow furrowed. “But it seemed like it was turning into something more.”
“It was just a favor, nothing more. In fact, I don’t think I ever properly said thank you for your help,” I said. “So…thank you.”
“Funny thing about that. After his birthday party, he wanted to know why you wanted a fake date. When I told him, he asked me not to find anyone else. He wasn’t doing me a favor, AJ. I was doing him one.” Jules stared at me as he let that information settle. “So maybe you should think about that when you’re at lunch with Adam.”
I didn’t bother to correct him that I wasn’t going to lunch with Adam anymore. Or that it had been just a friendly lunch in the first place. I knew exactly what he meant.
*
It was important to realize that one cannot watch Cupcake Wars at midnight without eventually wanting to eat a cupcake. That was the only explanation I had for being in the kitchen at one in the morning, whipping up a batch of mini cupcakes. They weren’t like any of the fancy concoctions I’d salivated over on the big screen, but they were chocolate. They were also finally cool enough to frost, and most importantly, they were all mine.
I was in the middle of trying to make a swirl on the top of one when my phone rang. I looked at the screen and almost dropped the frosting. Jackson’s seaside picture stared at me on the vibrating phone, challenging me to pick up. I waited so long to decide that I was afraid it would go to voicemail, but finally I swiped a finger across the screen. “Hello?”
“Hey.”
“Hey,” I repeated. Scintillating conversation. But God, it was good to hear his voice, even if he didn’t sound warm and welcoming. In fact, he sounded kind of angry. “How’re you doing?”
He didn’t answer my question. “Did you really go out with him today?”
I stood there for a second, my brow furrowed, before I figured out what he meant. “You keepin’ tabs on me, Sparks?”
“Will you just answer the question?”
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him none of his business. But then I thought about how I’d feel if he was dating someone else, and it stole the sarcastic comment from my lips. “No,” I finally said. “I had a business lunch. But even if I had met with Adam, it would be a lunch between friends.”
He was quiet for a moment, and I didn’t speak either. Sometimes you just had to let the silence be what it was. Finally, he said, “I don’t like you being with him.”
“Okay,” I said.
“In fact, that’s a little too mild for how I feel about it, AJ. I fucking hate you being with him, even if it is just for lunch.”
“Okay.”
“Even for an hour. A fucking minute.”
“Okay.”
“And will you stop saying okay?”
“What do you want me to say?” I asked, my voice quiet. Hell, I didn’t want to say anything at all. I wanted to touch him, and show him how much I missed him. Show him all the things I found too difficult to put in words.
He sighed, a soft sound tinged with frustration. “You know the agreement I said I’d think about?”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve thought about it.”
I was almost afraid to ask, in case his answer was no. “And?”
“I’m saying yes. I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” he grumbled. “Might as well see you, too.”
“Oka—” Remembering his demand that I not say “okay”, I quickly corrected myself. “I’m glad you’re saying yes.”
“If this is the only way I get to have you, then I’ll take it.”
I bit my lip. “I want to see you.”
“I want to fuck you.” His voice was a rough growl that sent shudders down my spine. “I’ll be there in an hour.”
I stood there for a moment, nonplussed, wondering if I had enough time to freshen up and run around like a crazy woman. I decided yes, and proceeded to do both. The doorbell rang a scant hour and two minutes later, and I headed for the door, fresh from the shower, my hair still damp and up in a bun.
When I opened the door, he was standing there, looking sexy as sin in worn, stonewashed jeans and a white t-shirt. Damn, he looked good. Edible almost. And he smelled even better. His expression was slightly hesitant as he surveyed my face.
His gaze dropped to my attire, and he smiled. “I see you dressed for the occasion.”
I glanced down at my Hello Kitty pajamas and then gave him a little twirl. “Just for you, sweetheart.”
“I think I’ve changed my mind,” he teased.
He better be kidding. Just in case, I fisted my hand in the soft material of his shirt and towed him in like a prize fish I’d landed. His mouth lifted with amusement, but he let me pull him in and shut the door behind us both. “So.”
“So.” I flattened my palm against his shirt where I’d mussed it, and rubbed it back flat. And if I so happened to take the scenic route across Tight Pecs City,
population Jackson, what of it?
“I’m here,” he said conversationally.
“That you are.”
“And you’re here.”
“I am,” I agreed. “The sky is also blue.”
He raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“I thought we were announcing obvious things.”
He grinned. “Do you do anything else with that mouth other than make smartass comments?”
I hooked a finger in his jeans, pulling him closer. “Sometimes. I sing. I eat. I talk quite a bit. I lick things sometimes.” When my hand reached his zipper, those beautiful hazel eyes went dark. “Sometimes I do more than that.”
His throat worked as I reached into his pants and boxers, and stroked his length in my hand. “I might need a demonstration.”
“I might be willing to provide one.” Might be willing? I’d wanted to do this for him for a while now. I sank to my knees with little hesitation. It wasn’t something I did often, and certainly nothing I volunteered to do, but with him it was different. I wanted him to fall apart in my hands. I wanted to be the one who made him lose it. And from the looks of things, I was definitely going to get my chance.
He bucked a little, but I already had him firmly in hand. He was good-sized and thick, with a purplish mushroom head that leaked fluid already. I stuck my tongue out for a long leisurely taste, and by the time I was done, he was having a hard time even getting air in his throat. His breath stuttered and his stomach jumped under my palm as I licked again, taking the scenic route.
“Fuck,” he groaned. He reached for my hair, but drew back, taking a deep breath as his hands balled up into fists.
“It’s okay,” I managed, before taking him back in my mouth in one slow, sweet glide.
I liked his hand in my hair, holding on tight but not pulling, maneuvering my head the way he wanted it. And I liked it even better when he lost a shred of his precious control, and urged me on faster, meeting my mouth with desperate thrusts. His shaking hands messed up my hair, gathering and regathering it as the slippery strands fell through his fingers.