“That’s it, I’m silencing my phone,” I threaten.
“I’ll knock it off,” he says. “Won’t happen again.”
“It better not,” I warn.
Jack stores the bag of groceries into the storage compartment on the back of his bike. We both climb back on the motorcycle, and once again he drives us to some unknown location. During the drive I slip my hands up the inside of Jack’s shirt, placing my cold hands on his hard, chiseled stomach. He sucks in a sharp breath at the skin-on-skin contact. A little while later, I go to remove my hands, but he grips them with one of his large hands, and I hear him yell over the rumble of the bike and the buzz of the traffic, “Don’t fucking move them!” I keep them where they are.
Twenty minutes later and a few towns over, Jack pulls into the parking lot of this really strange looking building. I’ve never seen it before so I ask him about it.
“It’s a shooting range. I’m going to teach you how to properly shoot a gun.”
What the hell? Okay, I wasn’t expecting that. This is turning out to be a strange kind of day.
Jack walks us down a long hallway until we get to a set of locked double doors. He reaches into his jacket pocket and takes out a card that he swipes to gain entry. Once through the doors, he leads me to a row of what looks like booths. He pushes me into one, slides in behind me, and then decks us out in protective gear. He pulls a gun from a holster inside his jacket and places it in my hand telling me that it’s a Glock 22—like that’s supposed to mean something.
He proceeds to give me thorough instructions on how to aim and fire the gun correctly. The first couple of times he keeps his hands on mine and guides my actions. I don’t do too badly, until he leaves me to my own devices. I couldn’t hit an elephant at point blank range if my life depended on it. It’s not because I’m total shit at aiming and shooting. I mainly blame Jack, because as I’m trying to shoot at the target, he’s pressing into me with a very obvious hard-on, and his thumbs are rubbing the skin on my waist underneath my t-shirt. How’s a girl supposed to concentrate on shooting when that’s happening?
While I’m reloading the clip—I’ll be damned—I just barely hear Jack’s freaking ringtone again. You’ve got to be kidding me. I twist around and look at him with an arched eyebrow. “You do realize I’m holding a loaded weapon, right?” I ask.
He removes the ear defenders and growls, “Yep, and it’s got me so fucking hard.”
I reach down and grab his cock with my hand, making sure to keep the hand holding the gun away from him. “Keep it up, De Luca. And you’re going to be shooting blanks courtesy of my new friend Mr. Glock,” I tell him. All he does is smile that panty-dropping grin at me, and I turn into a pile of goo.
“My turn,” he says, taking the gun from my hand. “Shooting’s not your thing,” he adds.
“Fuck you. I can’t concentrate while you’re rubbing your hands and cock against me. It’s very distracting. Let’s see how good you can shoot while I rub my tits and pussy against your body.”
He lets out the deepest and sexiest laugh I’ve ever heard. “That’s sounds like a challenge, Ms. Clare. Challenge accepted.” I watch as he gets into a perfect stance for shooting. When he raises the weapon, aims and fires, I take the opportunity to press my tits up against his back and grind my crotch against his hip. His left hand grips my hip, effectively pulling me against him even more. After he empties the clip, he brings the target forward to examine it. This time he’s sporting his shit-eating grin when he shows me the target sheet. All head shots.
“Show off,” I mutter. He laughs and pulls me in, capturing my mouth with a kiss. Damn, it’s pointless trying to put space between us.
“Why’d you bring me here, Jack?” I ask after breaking from our kiss.
“Wanted to see how hot you look firing my gun. I was not disappointed,” he admits.
“You look pretty hot yourself,” I say, my lips brushing against his.
Jack rests his forehead against mine and whispers against my mouth, “Let’s get out of here.” I watch as he re-holsters his gun, and then turns, grabbing my hand and lacing our fingers. We walk out of the building and head toward his motorcycle again. He’s still being pretty secretive and won’t tell me where we’re going next.
About ten minutes later Jacks turns down a dirt side road, and about twenty minutes after that the road comes to a dead end. The only thing I can see other than trees is a small path heading to God knows where. Jack gets off of his motorcycle and pulls me down by the waist. He takes my helmet off and places it on the seat. I watch intently as he walks to the back of his bike, removes his jacket followed by his gun holster. He opens the storage container, hauling out the bag with our sandwiches, salad, and a blanket. Then he replaces it with his holster. He closes the lid and pulls a key out of his pocket, locking it.
“Jack, are you sure about this?” I ask because I’m anything but sure. I haven’t a clue where we’re going.
“Trust me,” he says. “You’ll love it.” As long as I’m with Jack, I’m sure I will.
He takes hold of my hand and guides me toward the path. Jack doesn’t say much as we walk to our destination, but I can sense a bit of unease in his expression. It’s almost as if he’s nervous or not sure he should be bringing me here. That’s crazy, right? I mean if he didn’t want to bring me here, he wouldn’t.
After only a few minutes, I hear the sound of water rushing close by. Another five minutes pass by, and we break through the end of the path. Oh my God! It’s breathtakingly beautiful. It’s like a little piece of paradise. My eyes take in the slow moving river, the lush green grass, and a huge California Pepper tree. Jack doesn’t relinquish the grip on my hand as he leads me over toward the gigantic shade tree.
Once we reach the tree, I help him spread out the blanket and we sit down on it. Jack’s strangely quiet as he unpacks our food. I’m not sure what to make of it, but it makes me very uneasy. He always seems so sure of himself, and it’s not like him to be so withdrawn.
“Jack, are you okay?” I ask cautiously.
“Yeah, I just haven’t been here in a long time,” he says in a shaky voice. His eyes glance over at the river, and I can see the tears building up in his eyes. “Be right back,” he says, getting up and walking toward the water. I don’t follow him because he clearly needs a minute to himself. How odd, I’ve never seen this emotional side of Jack. It’s actually kind of comforting to know this total badass guy can be so affected by something. I study his movements as he strolls along the riverbank, stops, crouches down, and picks up a rock before throwing it into the moving water.
Feeling like I’m intruding on a private moment, I lie back on the blanket, close my eyes, and enjoy the peace and quiet. Being out here kind of reminds me of my father. When he was alive, he would sometimes take Ella and me camping to a similar place in Massachusetts. I was a tomboy when I was really young and loved going camping. Ella, on the other hand, didn’t like it as much. She really only went with us because we didn’t like to be apart for so long. I’m so relaxed I don’t even realize that I’m getting sleepy and, before I know it, I fall to sleep in the shade.
I wake up to shaking. “Holy shit! It’s an earthquake!” I scream out in panic. My mother warned me about all of the earthquakes California has before I moved here, but I thought she was pulling my leg. Jack’s laughter snaps me out of my panic.
“Relax, Payton. It’s not an earthquake. I was just trying to wake you up, so we can eat lunch,” he says, laughter still in his voice.
“It’s not funny,” I say, scowling at him.
“Yeah, it is,” he returns. Bastard!
Jack’s lying down on the blanket—propped up on his elbows—watching me. I get the bag with our lunch, take out his sandwich, and throw it at him. I watch him as he unwraps his turkey, provolone, and tomato sandwich then takes a massive bite out of it. “Fuck, that’s good,” he groans.
I’m starving, so I take a smaller bite of my Caesar chi
cken sandwich. “Ohmigod,” I moan, with a mouthful. “So good,” I add. Jack’s quiet chuckle reaches my ears, and I can’t help but look over at him and smile.
When our bellies are full, we both lie back and enjoy each other’s company and the peaceful surroundings. Jack’s reaction when we first arrived is unsettling, and it’s still at the forefront of my mind. If it was so upsetting to come here, I’d like to know why he chose to bring me here today. “Why were you so upset when we first arrived?” I blurt out.
“My father used to bring me fishing here when I was a kid,” he says, but doesn’t elaborate. I know there’s more to it than that. Before I can ask anything else, he looks over at the river and says, “I haven’t been back here since he passed away.”
“Why did you bring me here if it upsets you so much?” I ask cautiously.
“I used to love coming here with my father, but once he was gone, it was too painful to return without him. Now that I’ve got you in my life, I have someone I can share this place with again,” he admits. He understands what it’s like to lose a father, and it endears me to him even more. I push him so that he’s lying flat on his back and stretch my body out on top of his. My lips lightly brush the pulse point in his neck, and I breathe in his clean, manly smell. I continue placing soft kisses up his neck, across his jaw, and on his lips. His hands go to my head, and his fingers tangle in my hair as he presses me closer to his mouth.
“Thank you for sharing all of this with me. I can see why your father loved bringing you here,” I whisper against his firm lips. Jack starts kissing, licking, and nipping his way across my jaw until he reaches the sensitive skin behind my ear where he whispers, “He would’ve loved you.”
I pull up quickly, sitting up on his body, my legs straddling his hips. “Please don’t say things like that when there’s no truth to them,” I say, my voice trembling.
His hands reach up pushing the windblown hair off of my face. They slide down and cup the sides of my face. “Who fucked you up so badly?” he asks, his eyes darkening.
“You don’t know what you’re asking,” I respond defensively.
“I don’t know who did it, and I don’t know what they did, but when I find out, they’re going to fucking pay,” he angrily vows. I want to tell him what happened, but I’m afraid that he’ll leave me when he finds out, and I don’t think I can survive it right now. I just got him back in my life, and I want to prolong it as much as possible. He tugs me down toward him again, enfolding me in his arms and kissing the top of the head. We stay like that for another five minutes or so when Jack suddenly rolls me off of him.
“Come on, time to go home,” he says, his gorgeous green eyes looking down at me.
“Do we have to?” I ask, looking back up at him. A dazzling smile slowly spreads across his face.
“We’ll come back again soon, I promise,” his voice softens as he strokes my cheekbone with one finger.
“Make sure we do,” I say before brushing my lips against his, softly kissing him.
We pack everything up and hike back to the motorcycle. Once Jack packs everything away, we reluctantly head back home. I don’t think either of us is ready for this day to end. By the time we pull into my driveway, the sun’s already setting. Jack’s still respecting my need for time and for us to take this a little slower, but I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to do it. He’s beginning to wear me down.
“I had a great ti—” but he cuts me off with a scorching kiss. His lips consume me. Oh, fucking hell, I’m definitely not going to last much longer. When he finally gets his fill, he pulls back, and my lips are sufficiently swollen.
“I had a great day, too, baby,” he says huskily, his arms wrapping tightly around my waist and his erection pressing hard against my belly. Should I or shouldn’t I invite him in? Nope, forget it, Payton. You need time, remember?
“Goodnight, Jack,” I sigh.
“Goodnight, bella,” he mutters against my lips, but before he leaves, I feel him press something cold and metallic into my hand.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“Pepper spray. Keep an eye on your surroundings. If Dag, or anyone else for that matter, approaches you and tries something, do not hesitate to use this shit. Just aim and spray,” he instructs.
“Aim and spray, seems easy enough.” He chuckles and gives me one last kiss before leaving on his motorcycle. I watch his taillights disappear as he turns at the end of my street.
I walk through the front door and head into the kitchen, placing the can of pepper spray on the center of the island. I grab a quick glass of water and head upstairs to get a shower. For once, the water isn’t boiling hot. It’s probably the first time that I haven’t wanted to scrub the skin off my body. Once I’m sufficiently clean, I get out, dry off, throw on a fresh pair of panties, and a pink tank top. It’s still kind of early, but it’s been a long busy day, and I’m practically falling asleep as it is, so I climb into my comfy bed.
I’m almost asleep when a pounding noise downstairs jolts me awake. Amber or Molly weren’t here when Jack dropped me off from our date, so I figure it might be either one of them and they forgot their keys, which happens a lot, actually. The banging starts again.
Not bothering with putting anything on to cover up, I rush down the stairs and pull the door open without checking to see who’s there first. Huge mistake. It’s Dag. Not the person I want to see right now … or ever. He looks slightly intoxicated as his body sways in the doorway.
“Dag, what the fuck are you doing here?” I ask, clearly annoyed by his unexpected presence.
“I want you back, mamacita,” he drunkenly slurs.
“You never had me in the first place. It. Was. Fake.” I say, desperately trying to get my point across to him, once and for all.
“Maybe for you, but not for me. Give me another chance, we can make this work,” he pleads, but it’s useless because nothing he says will change my mind.
“Dag, just go.” I try to close the door, but he jams his foot between the door and the doorframe, preventing it from closing.
“No, I won’t fucking go!” he yells, reaching in and grabbing me roughly by my upper arm. He tries to yank me closer to him, but fuck that shit.
My knee comes up, and he goes down. Dag’s on the front step in the fetal position, grabbing his crotch. “You fucking bitch!” he spits.
“I thought you liked it rough, asshole!” I scream down at him. “Don’t come near me again, or I’ll go all Lorena Bobbitt on your ass. Well, not on your ass, but I’m sure you get the picture,” I threaten then slam the door shut and lock the deadbolt.
I jump, and my heart almost hammers out of my chest when I hear, “You took that fucker down! It was awesome!” Molly’s standing at the foot of the stairs, and I’m guessing she saw the whole ordeal.
“Jesus Christ! Where the hell did you come from?” I shriek. Nobody was home when Jack dropped me off.
“You were in the shower when I got home,” she says.
“You’re home early. Thought you were working until close?” I ask her.
“I was supposed to, but it was dead, and I asked if I could leave early. I’ve got an exam tomorrow, and I could use the extra study time. And now I’m super glad I did because I would’ve missed that. He’ll be lucky if he can ever get it up again. You really nailed him hard,” she says excitedly.
“I did, didn’t I?” I return.
“You sure did, chick. And I loved how you were like, ‘I’ll go all Lorena Bobbitt on your ass,’ and shit. That was fucking priceless,” she busts out laughing and can’t help but join her. “I just wish I had my iPhone to record it. That shit would go viral,” she manages to get out before running back upstairs. I quickly follow behind. Once I’m in my bedroom I call Jack.
“Hey, beautiful,” he greets quietly. I hear voices in the background.
“Hey, yourself. Just thought I’d call to let you know Dag made a reappearance,” I inform him.
; “Did you pepper spray the asshole like I told you,” he grits out.
“No, but I effectively kneed his balls up into his throat,” I say, and Jack’s laughter roars through the phone line.
“Remind me never to piss you off,” he says jokingly.
“Jack?”
“Yeah.”
“Thanks again for today. I had a great time,” I tell him.
“Me too, baby,” he returns. “Any plans on Sunday?” he asks.
“Nada. It’s my day off, and I’ve no plans as of yet,” I say hopefully.
“Wanna take you out for supper.”
“Sure. Where to? Dressy or casual?” I ask. I don’t want to dress up if he’s taking me to a pizza joint. And I definitely don’t want to be wearing jeans if he’s taking me somewhere fancy.
“Can’t tell you the where, but dress casual,” he informs me.
“Okay, great.”
“Gotta go. Later.” He disconnects.
I wonder where he’s taking me, and why it’s such a secret. I guess I’ll find out soon enough. Sunday’s only three days away. I crawl back into my bed with thoughts of Jack in my head and before long I fall asleep.
* * *
Waking up well rested the next morning, I decide that after breakfast I’ll clean out my car and then maybe go visit Ella and the kids. Feeling happy and content for the first time in a while, I really don’t feel like wasting my day away doing nothing. I’ve got to work later this evening, but until then I’ve got loads of free time.
I shower, throw on shorts and a tank top, pull my hair back into a ponytail, and finally eat a banana, bowl of cereal, and drink a glass of orange juice. After loading my dishes into the dishwasher, I slip on a pair of flip-flops, walk outside to my baby, and haul the little hand-held vacuum from the trunk.
Pulling out the car mats, I shake the sand off and lay them down on the driveway. Then I turn the vacuum on and start sucking all the loose sand from the car floor. Pushing it under the driver’s seat, I hear a dinging sound as the vacuum sucks up something underneath the seat. It’s probably a coin or something, and I don’t intend on looking through the dirty canister for loose change. Yeah, not going to happen.
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