Gimme Some Sugar

by Kimberly Kincaid

  “Listen, I’m going to stop by Joe’s Grocery and grab a sandwich or two on my way there. You want me to grab something for you?”

  After Shane had taken the bait and given him a short dinner order, Jackson hung up and tossed his earpiece and phone onto the passenger seat. He’d done his best not to think about taking Jenna to Dylan and Kelsey’s engagement party, but the reality was it would be way easier to pull off a one-time-only girlfriend charade than to even consider bringing a real date. An odd tingle of unease worked its way up his spine, and he shivered before it dissipated.

  Yeah. Once this party was a thing of the past, everything in Jackson’s world would be right back to normal.

  Just like he wanted it.

  Chapter Six

  Sloane turned her Tom Ford sunglasses up to the dappled sunlight in the backyard and preened, wiggling her fresh pedicure as she propped her feet up at the end of her chaise lounge.

  “I gotta admit it. While there might not be a Starbucks within a forty-mile radius of this place, the Zen going on out here is totally first rate. There’s something to be said for lolling around outside in your pajamas on the Fourth of July. It’s like a whole new version of Independence Day.”

  Carly inhaled a breath steeped in Saturday-morning sunshine and let it percolate in her veins before releasing a sigh of agreement, about both the Zen and the pajamas.

  No two ways about it—the new design of the yard was something else. Rather than jutting off the back of the house in a ho-hum square like its predecessor, the upgraded deck took both the footprint of the house and the feel of the yard into consideration. Thick, honey-colored boards ran the length of the modest bungalow, making the deck look like a seamless extension rather than the tacked-on afterthought it had previously been. The new structure, partially shielded by a verdant canopy of gold-veined oak leaves, allowed plenty of room for two chaise lounges and small side tables on either end. With finishing touches like Carly’s potted herb garden and the delicate wind chimes Sloane had discovered in a flea market clearance bin in Bealetown, the whole setup was nothing short of beautiful.

  Kind of like the man who’d created it.

  “I’m going to remind you that you chose Zen over Starbucks the next time you bitch that there are no baristas to flirt with way out here in God’s country,” Carly replied, smoothing over the image of Jackson in her brain. She padded across the sun-warmed planks to the chaises where she and Sloane had been drinking their morning coffee ever since the seal coat on the boards dried four days ago. “And speaking of coffee, here you go.”

  Sloane took the mug Carly offered and blew her a kiss of gratitude. “Mmm, I do miss having a luscious little barista on every corner. And that sizzling hot pastry chef at the new bakery on Main Street? Totally taken.” Sloane’s pouty moue melted away in favor of her bright-idea expression. “Oooh, maybe I’ll have to write my next book about a hero who works in a coffee shop. You think Starbucks will let me use their name?”

  “Doubtful.” Carly plunked down on the chaise next to Sloane’s and took a long draw from her coffee mug. “Unless your hero wears the Starbucks logo throughout nine-tenths of the book.”

  “If I had my way, he’d be naked throughout nine-tenths of the book. Helllllooooo, barista.” She jounced her inky black brows.

  “Maybe you could give him a tattoo of the Starbucks logo in a very strategic place.” Carly tucked her feet beneath her, and Sloane lifted one shoulder in a demi-shrug.

  “Or maybe I could just get laid and stop obsessing over imaginary baristas.”

  Familiar, needful heat seeped downward from Carly’s belly, making itself at home between her thighs. “Either that or you could seduce a contractor and have the best of both worlds.” Yeah. Thick, corded muscles, a chest that could make retaining walls green with envy, and a mouth lush enough to make a girl want to—

  “Don’t you mean a barista?” Sloane laughed.

  Carly snapped to attention, eyes widening. “That’s what I said.”

  “Au contraire, my friend.” Sloane paused, leaning in to examine Carly with growing interest. “You’re looking a little flushed over there, sweetheart. Have you got something going on that I should know about, or is it just wishful thinking? That contractor guy was pretty smokin’.”

  Carly’s neck prickled. “No! And no.”

  Yes, yes, and more yes. Generously drizzled with a reduction sauce of hell yes, and topped with a lovely garnish of oh-by-the-way-I-kissed-him.

  Well, that settled that.

  “Come on, Carly. It’s okay to admit you’re human. Getting horizontal with a nice, hot bene-friend might be good for you.” Sloane’s lips gave a devilish twist before parting on a dreamy smile. “Unless you’re looking for a swan.”

  “Are you even speaking English?” Carly knotted her arms over the chest of her Islanders T-shirt. Despite its raggedy state, she’d become weirdly attached to wearing the damned thing this week. “I don’t understand a word you just said.” Five years of being out of the dating loop and the terminology had gone off the deep end.

  Sloane didn’t skip a beat as she turned to Carly with the translation. “A bene-friend is just that—a friend with benefits. Think of it as mutually agreed-upon, no-strings-attached sex.”

  “No offense, but I’m not really a one night stand kind of girl.” Carly said with a frown. She might’ve been out of things for a while, but she wasn’t that desperate.

  “No way would I steer you toward a one night stand. Hello, stranger danger,” Sloane replied with a snort. “What I’m suggesting is totally different. Think of it as an agreement between acquaintances to share all the physical benefits of a relationship without the other stuff. It’s completely casual, but without the skank factor.”

  Carly’s hair fluttered over her shoulders as she shook her head, and she pulled it back into a thick knot. “It sounds kind of contractual.”

  “Believe me, sweetheart. If you play it right, the last thing you’ll be thinking about is legalese.” The wicked smile on Sloane’s face made it perfectly clear what would be on Carly’s mind—and her other parts—if she found a good partner for the job.

  She let out a breath, hoping it would extinguish the heat spreading over her cheeks. “Okay, fine. What about the other thing? The flamingo, or whatever?”

  Sloane’s laugh carried over the morning breeze wafting through the yard. “Not a flamingo, a swan—you know, white feathers, long neck. Swans are one of the only species that mate for life. So when you find The Guy, it’s like he’s your swan.”

  Okay, clearly her best friend had lost her faculties. “What guy? Jesus, Sloane. You’re not making all of this up as you go, are you?”

  Sloane flipped her sunglasses to the crown of her head, turning to look Carly in the eye as if this were very serious business. “Not the guy, as in, little t, little g. I’m talking capital letters, sweetheart. The Guy. The one who makes you feel like you’ve got raw electricity in your veins. The one whose laundry you want to steal because it smells like him. The one who would do anything just to have you, and that you would return the favor for, bar none. The Guy.”

  Carly’s brain zeroed in on the scent of clean soap and freshly cut wood, and she shook her head, wondering where the hell it had come from. “Wow. The only thing I ever noticed about Travis’s laundry was that it was usually all over the floor, and I was married to him for five years. Are you sure about this guy thing?”

  “Oh, please.” Sloane clucked her tongue in disgust and lowered her mug. “Travis is a swine, not a swan. I’m talking about someone who can curl your toes from halfway across the room, someone you never want to be without. The Guy is the living embodiment of your happily ever after, honey. Riding off into the sunset is optional.”

  “Okay, definitely not Travis.” Carly sighed. “And I don’t think that’s my thing. I barely have time to do my own laundry, much less worry about The Guy or the ostrich or whatever he’s called.”

  “The swan,�
� Sloane corrected. “So you need a bene-friend, then. Someone to give you a little sugar.”

  “I don’t need anything.” Carly scanned the emerald-green carpet of summer grass flowing out into the yard to meet the grove of trees on either side of the property, while every last inch of her skin tingled at her big, fat lie. The kiss she’d shared with Jackson had been an all-too-startling reminder of what she’d been missing by being alone. Not that Travis had ever kissed her like that.

  “Look, if I’m past due for a little between-the-sheets lovin’, you must be in fucking foreclosure over there. The last person you laid lips on was your ex, and that is just a travesty,” Sloane said with a cluck of her tongue.

  Carly coughed out a laugh. “Thanks for the reminder.”

  Only the last little bit wasn’t exactly true. Not that she wanted to cop to her steamy little escapade, especially since she and Jackson had held true to the whole bygones thing. In fact, she’d barely seen him for the duration of the project after he’d hightailed it out of her kitchen.

  So yeah. Definitely bygones. Casual or not, the last thing she needed was a man who’d probably end up duping her like Travis had, anyway.

  “Sorry. I suppose you’ve been busy at work, so I’ll cut you some slack,” Sloane said, a feline smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “But still. All work and no play makes Carly a dull girl.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, but seeing as how there’s a definite shortage of candidates willing to polish me to a shine, you may just have to live with dull Carly for the time being. I’m not sure anyone in Pine Mountain would be willing to . . . what was it you said? Give me some sugar?”

  “You’d be surprised. The best men for this kind of thing are usually right under your nose.” Sloane paused in thought. “Take the deck guy for example. He’d have been perfect for this. Maybe you can get his number from . . .”

  “No!” Carly jerked up so fast that her coffee sloshed over the death grip she suddenly had on her mug handle. “Uh, I mean, I’m not so sure the deck guy would be a good idea.”

  Sloane arched an eyebrow so high that it breached the top rim of her glasses. “Why not? Did you see the man’s biceps? I had to fight off the urge to swoon when he knocked on the door and asked me to do the final walk-through with him. That man definitely had second helpings of muscles marinara, if you know what I mean.”

  “Oh, I know what you mean, all right,” Carly muttered, blowing out a hot breath.

  “Okay, you’re acting very weird. What gives? And don’t even think about saying nothing. It’s insulting.”

  Carly forced herself not to fidget. What was the big deal, anyway? It wasn’t like it was ever going to happen again. “Okay, fine. Last week, before you came home, I kind of . . . kissed him.”

  Sloane choked on her coffee. “I thought it was just a fantasy thing that prompted that verbal slip! You actually kissed muscles marinara? Where?”

  “On the mouth,” Carly said obviously.

  “No, I meant where were you when it happened,” she replied, starting to giggle. “Not where on his anatomy. Although . . .”

  “The kitchen, the kitchen! We were in the kitchen.” Carly’s cheeks flamed, but it was hard to tell whether it was over the memory of the clandestine kiss or the thought of all the other places that kiss could’ve gone.

  “You little minx. Why didn’t you say anything?” Sloane’s baby blues went as wide as ultramarine nickels. “Are you going to see him again? Please, I’m dying over here!”

  “No, I’m not going to see him again.” She tried to take a deep breath, only to be denied access to anything even remotely calm. “And I didn’t say anything because we agreed to forget about it. Plus, he likes the Flyers, for God’s sake.”

  Her awkward attempt at humor thudded around between them like a giant boulder of trying-too-hard, and Carly finished the last of her coffee so she’d have something to do. Other than revisit the whole biceps-scones-hot-kiss scenario in her head.

  For the tenth time. This morning.

  “And why is it that you’d want to forget about it, crazy hockey fetish notwithstanding? Was it a bad kiss?” Sloane served Carly with a look that suggested she’d lost her mind, but Carly refused to bite.

  “No. Yes. I mean—” Carly broke off and took a deep breath. “No, the kiss wasn’t bad, but I barely know him. Add to that the fact that I’m not even technically divorced, I have a career that dominates most of my waking hours, and oh by the way, I’m leaving Pine Mountain at the first available opportunity, and I don’t think the odds of me getting to know the contractor are too good. Even if it is for . . . you know. Sugar-getting.”

  Carly’s chest filled with resolve, and she held up a hand to stave off the protest she knew Sloane was working up. “So while it’s nice in theory, in practice I just don’t think that whole friends with benefits thing would work out. Plus, I’m never going to see the guy again, anyway. So that’s why I didn’t say anything.”

  Sloane let out a slow sigh, like a balloon with a soft leak. “I hate to see you lonely. But I know better than to mess with you when your mind is made up.” She tipped her head like she was going to say something else, but didn’t. “Well, I guess I’d better get online. Fifty bucks says that wading through the fine print for Starbucks logo rights is going to take me a couple of hours.”

  “Yeah, I have to get to the restaurant anyhow. I know we’re only open for limited service today since it’s the Fourth, but if Adrian beats me to the punch, I’ll still have to listen to him gloat.” Carly swung her feet to the sun-warmed deck, and the image of Jackson’s steady, strong hands as he nailed the boards into place flashed through her mind with startling clarity.

  What if . . .

  No. Jackson Carter, with his broad, beautiful chest and those sapphire-blue stunners that crinkled extra when he laughed, was not a possibility, not even in the casual sense. Carly tamped down the memory of his lips on hers, hot and rich and oh-so-good, for the last time. No more thinking about what-if, she decided with a sad nod.

  It was time to start thinking about what was.

  “You’re lucky I liked you when we started this whole mess.” Shane’s expression suggested he was only half-kidding as he slid Jackson a wary look before stepping back to eye the canopy posts scattered on the lawn. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing here?”

  Jackson scoffed, feigning insult. “This is the same tent we used last summer for the family reunion. Once we get the frame together, getting the canopy on it is a piece of cake.” The food reference echoed for a second longer than normal in his head, but Jackson shoved it aside. This tent wasn’t going to pitch itself.

  It had been over a week since he’d decided to put the pedal to the metal and concentrate on the job in Carly’s backyard rather than the heat in her rare-but-sexy smile. The whole thing should’ve been easy, since he’d only caught shadowy glimpses of her through the windows here and there as he finished the job. He hadn’t even had to worry about facing her for the final walk-through, since Carly’s roommate, a tall, willowy girl who looked like she’d sprung from the catwalk of some upscale runway, took care of it instead. So really, Jackson should be breathing a sigh of relief that Carly hadn’t slugged him for being so forward. Getting jacked up about a woman—even one who kissed well enough to curl his toes—wasn’t on his agenda.

  It couldn’t be.

  So why couldn’t he get her out of his head?

  “I thought this was supposed to be a small family get-together. How is it you suddenly need a canopy tent that takes up half the yard?” Shane’s question jogged Jackson’s thoughts back to the here-and-now of his mother’s backyard.

  “Two words: Brooke and Autumn. I swear my sisters could make a three-ring circus out of a trip to Joe’s Grocery.” Jackson picked up the metal bars that made up the corner post and started fitting them together, waiting for Shane to mimic his movements with identical parts for the opposite side before continuing. “This thing surpass
ed ‘small family get-together’ last week. Now it’s a full-blown epic event. My ma’s been getting food ready nonstop since yesterday morning, and I doubt she’ll take a breath until people start flooding in through the back gate.”

  At least there was one thing Jackson couldn’t complain about. Given his mother’s track record for gatherings like these, the food at this not-so-little shindig was going to be off the rails, and he planned to take full advantage of the down-home spread. Between the barbecue and the beer, he’d be all set.

  Don’t forget about the fake girlfriend. He rubbed a hand over the sudden unease parked on his sternum like a Buick and measured Shane with a careful look.

  “You know, I’ve been thinking. Maybe this Jenna thing isn’t such a good idea. Maybe . . .”

  “Jackson? Are you and Shane okay out there?”

  If Jackson didn’t know any better, he’d swear his mother could hone in on his indiscretions from fifty feet. He clapped his mouth shut, trapping the thought inside.

  “Absolutely. We should have this thing put together pretty soon.”

  His mother leaned out the back door wearing a food splattered apron and an ear-to-ear smile. “Okay. I should have some of this chicken salad ready to go in a bit, in case you two are getting hungry. Just come on in when you’re done.”

  Jackson’s stomach gurgled in a spasm of joy as she retreated to the kitchen, which had to be bursting at the ceiling joists.

  “Well, at least we’ll be eating well for the next week or so.” Jackson shrugged, letting his unease over the party melt into the background of his thoughts as he maneuvered his half of the tent posts into order.

  “Tell me about it. Bellamy’s made four pies in the last twenty-four hours, and had two more in the works when I left. It’s total kitchen insanity over at my place, too.” Shane finished putting together his half of the metal skeleton and stood back to examine his handiwork. “So, you were saying something about Jenna?”