Must Love Jogs (Must Love Series Book 2)

by Xavier Neal

  “You know your father and I did not spend the money we did for you to throw your talent away. It’s insulting enough you are still with this ensemble, the least you could do is make sure the people who pay to hear you play receive their money’s worth whether it was hard earned or not.”

  Feebly, I reply, “I know.”

  There’s a small sigh followed swiftly with a follow up to her assumption. “So, you’ll be practicing?”

  Against my better judgment, I answer, “Mostly.”

  “Excuse me?””

  “Mostly…”

  “As in you’ll be mostly rehearsing. What exactly do you plan to do with the rest of your time?”

  “I um…I actually have a date.”

  Okay, so I plan to have a date. Or maybe two.

  “Oh,” the surprise in my mother’s tone is unsettling. “A date?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is this someone you work with in the orchestra?”

  “No.”

  “Someone you met while working? Perhaps a conductor or composer or…” her voice strains to continue, “a producer?”

  “No.”

  “Did you meet this man while purchasing a new bow?”

  “No…”

  There’s a small pause before she tries once more, “At a seminar? Did you finally attend one your father recommended on uplifting and strengthening ties to your community?”

  “No.”

  “Hm,” she hums with judgment in her voice, “then perhaps this man is not a good fit for you.”

  I try not to glare. “Just because I didn’t meet him doing one of those things?”

  “Because it means he’s a distraction from those things. From your life’s passion. From your culture. You don’t need someone like that in your life, Mable. You need someone who has equal drive and commitment towards the same activities and principles.”

  Her logical explanation churns my stomach.

  Is this what I sound like? Is this what the rest of the world hears every time I talk? Better yet, is she right? Is that really the life I want to lead? Is that really the life I need to lead? That I should lead?

  Rather than continue a conversation I have no desire to have, I lie, “Mother, I am receiving another call. It’s work.”

  “Oh, take it. Work should always come first.”

  The explanation for why I am exactly the way I am. Having not one, but two parents, drill that into you while they schedule your entire life accordingly, is a lot of pressure.

  I end the call with a curt goodbye and immediately dial another number.

  There are two rings before Blake’s accented voice greets, “Afternoon Angel.”

  “Hey…” My hand nervously fidgets with the gold music note necklace I’m wearing.

  Why do I always find myself slightly terrified to talk to him? Why am I afraid I’m always going to screw it up? Could be because I successfully tanked our first two conversations and now that I actually enjoy being around him, I don’t want to accidently do it.

  Without any warning, I blurt, “I’m boring.”

  Blake lightly laughs. “Are you lookin’ to pick a fight with me?”

  A small smile crosses my lips. “No.”

  “Not gonna lie. Kinda sounds that way…”

  “I just…I’ve come to the realization I’m boring. Really boring. Like a PBS special on…clouds, level of mind numbingly boring.”

  “Well, you do look good in white, Angel,” he says with enough sexual undertone to push my thighs anxiously together, “but you’re far from boring. I think you’re just afraid you’re going to get addicted to fun and it’ll affect your playing.”

  “So, you do think I’m boring.”

  He chuckles again. “I think you should tell me what caused this conversation.”

  The exchange with Dana clashes with the one from my mother in a less than pleasant nature. “I think we should go out again.”

  My best friend wins this round. Something has to change. I don’t like the way my mother depicts my life, and I hate how I feel while living it even more. They say life begins at the end of your comfort zone. God, I hope I survive what’s on the other side of mine.

  “I think we should go out tonight.”

  “Uh…” Blake’s voice trails off lurching my heart into my throat.

  “Or not,” I swiftly correct. “We don’t have to go out. Ever. I get it. I-”

  “Whoa. Whoa,” Blake rushes to interrupt. “Slow down, Angel. I would love to take you out tonight, but I’m picking up my five nephews and taking them roller-skating.”

  The information furrows my eyebrows. “You have five nephews?”

  “Actually, seven.”

  “Seven?! Like a couple from each brother?”

  “No. Five are from my oldest brother and then my second oldest brother has two. But I’m not picking them up. Just Big Foot’s.”

  “Big Foot? Like the mythical creature? Are you telling me you’re picking up a mythical creature’s children to avoid telling me the truth?”

  “And what do you think the truth is? That I’ve found another piece of ass to take home tonight, but wanna string you along ‘til you’re willin’ to give it up? Is that the man you’re accusin’ me again of bein’, Abby? ‘Cause I gotta say, I haven’t done shit to deserve that.”

  Guilt grabs me by the throat.

  He really hasn’t. The unusual devotion to me would imply the exact opposite. Why do I have to keep sabotaging myself? What’s it going to take to get me to stop?

  “His real name is William Jr.,” Blake quietly explains. “We call him Big Foot because of his size.”

  “He’s bigger than you?”

  “Yeah. But not by a lot. He’s 6’6.”

  “Holy shit!”

  The two of us laugh together, eradicating any doubt I let my mind create.

  “You do know I’m only an inch shorter, right?”

  “I didn’t actually….” Officiousness spurs me to ask, “Are you and your brothers all the same size?”

  “Big Foot is the tallest and the biggest, hence the nickname. Eddie, Oliver, and me are the same height, but I am on the leaner side in comparison to them. Then there’s Runt.”

  “Runt? You have a brother named Runt?”

  “Ford,” another chuckle leaves him, “his real name is Ford, but the whole fam calls him Runt since he is the smallest at 6’0.”

  “Wow…”

  “I can take you out tomorrow night if you want and tell you more about them,” Blake casually suggests. “That is unless you’re interested in roller skating and poorly cooked pepperoni pizza.”

  Before I can give myself a chance to overthink it, I say, “I’m in.”

  The shock in his voice is conspicuous. “You sure? Five boys, rolling around all uncoordinated is not going to be easy.”

  “You should probably be more worried about me falling on my face than them.”

  Blake’s laugh sweeps over me once more leaving me in a tranquil like state. “Don’t worry. I’ll be packin’.” My body begins to tense when he adds, “Hope you don’t mind Captain America Band-Aids. They’re all the rage with the Shaw boys.”

  Relieved it wasn’t a sexual reference and irritated with myself for wrongfully assuming again that’s all he cares about, I sweetly say, “I think I’ll be okay, but they may have to explain to me who that is.”

  The appalled sound on the other end spirals me into more laughter.

  This’ll be fun. Maybe. Possibly? I haven’t had much time around children or roller rinks or second dates. This could be the very adventure I need or it could be the very reason my mother believes I should only stick to what I know. I’m desperately hoping it isn’t the latter.

  “And then Cap kicks in the door like BOOM!” Reed, Blake’s nephew, describes.

  “Volume,” Blake chuckles from his seat beside me.

  “Sorry Uncle B,” he apologizes quickly, but then diverts his attention back to me. “And then Cap d
oes his shield like this.”

  The poorly acted actions cause me to grin all over again.

  I have never spent this much time around children, but I have to admit, they’re highly entertaining. Their lack of concern with how embarrassing something may make them look and disregard for who is watching or judging is remarkable. I wasn’t fortunate enough to grow up with that mentality. My parents constantly reminded my sister and me how the entire world was always watching and criticizing. How important it was to present ourselves in a respectable way at all times. Silliness was an unacceptable behavior in our household as well as whenever we were in public, which led me to consider it unacceptable in general.

  “Hey,” Blake interrupts the enthusiastic demonstration. “Why don’t you go play with the twins? Looks like Adam could use a little bit of help.”

  Reed glances over his shoulder where his oldest brother is chasing around a pair of adorable, rambunctious boys on the skating rink floor. He nods profusely, has a long sip of his empty soda cup, and then rushes to join the others.

  I give Blake a wide smile. “Are they always this lively or is it all the sugar you are pumping into them?”

  “Bit of both.” He chuckles and wraps his arm around the back of the table behind me. “Come on, didn’t you ever do shit like this when you were a kid? Eat a bunch of crap and then ride the sugar high?”

  “No.”

  “Not even on your birthday?”

  “No.” The urge to end the conversation becomes overwhelming. All of a sudden, Blake gives my arm the gentlest stroke with his thumb and the resistance disappears. I slightly melt against his touch, the warmth replacing any trepidation over revealing too much of myself. “We didn’t have birthday parties. We had birthday dinners with our parents. They would take us to these upscale places, kids obviously didn’t belong, and we would usually have steak. For dessert it was typically, tiramisu.”

  A look of horror falls onto Blake’s face. “No cake? No ice cream cake?”

  I give him a playful smile. “I take it, ice cream cake is your favorite.”

  “By a landslide, and also the absolute best cake to serve when your birthday is in the middle of summer.”

  “Wouldn’t know. I didn’t go to any birthday parties.”

  His brown eyes fill with befuddlement once more. “No friends? Even as a kid?”

  “No. My parents were adamant about our time being spent on less ‘frivolous’ things.”

  They aren’t monsters, but they have never been the warm and fuzzy type.

  Blake shakes his head. “I can’t imagine not havin’ had a childhood. Me and my brothers were always into something and people used to beg to come hang out at our place. The parties we used throw in the barn on Friday and Saturday earned us quite the reputation.”

  “I have no doubt you have always had quite the reputation, Blake.”

  He gives me a crooked smirk. “We were quite the batch. Gave my parents hell and a good reason to drink.”

  “Are your brothers as cocky as you are?”

  “Charming,” he corrects. “The word you’re looking for is charming.”

  “It isn’t.”

  His frown successfully gets me to laugh once more. Instead of joining in, he watches, with wide eyes and a bright expression.

  No, it’s something I’m not used to doing often, but it is definitely something I am learning to enjoy more and more. Blake makes it easy to laugh and even easier to smile. His goofy nature is actually endearing, and the child-like carefree attitude feels exactly like what I was hoping for when I quit traveling.

  Blake pulls out his cell phone, turns on the camera, and extends it to fit us both in the frame. “Smile for me, Angel.”

  I stare at my reflection with displeasure. “Are you going to post this picture too? Like you did of the one we took on our first date?”

  He nods, thumb stroking me again. “I want the world to see how lucky I am…”

  Personally? Social media is one of those things I don’t understand. I never feel social when I use it. I never have anything to “share” or “update” about my life. I don’t see the point when those you care about should have real connections to you. But Blake says their business gets bigger boosts when he posts, and his dedication to multiple platforms is also what got him the promotion at his job. I guess it works for some people…

  His tilted head presses against mine, and I unconsciously smile at the connection. There’s no hesitation on his part to capture the moment.

  “Damn, you’re quick.”

  “Not where it counts,” he teases while his fingers fly across the keys.

  The sexual reference sends my mind to a path it has steadily been traveling down since we first met.

  No. I don’t wanna rush things, but it doesn’t mean I can’t continue to have reveries about him naked on top of me.

  Blake’s eyes catch mine and he smirks as if he can see what I’m picturing. Thankfully, he lets it go and states, “I love this song. Classic, Tim McGraw.”

  “I don’t know who that is.”

  “Favorite country singer.” He doesn’t wait for a response. “You will hear plenty of him while we’re together. Teach you to two step in your livin’ room if you want. Or salsa if you prefer. Of course, that would have to be to different music…”

  My face cringes. “Are you gonna start singing Tiny Dancer while you teach me those things? Because I am far from tiny.”

  “You don’t know Tim McGraw, but you know Elton John?”

  “I met someone who used to work with him. Mutual circles. I…searched his stuff after that. I have a fondness for it. I like the strong strings.”

  He shakes his head, astonishment appearing in his expression again. “Let’s go skate again Angel, and I’ll tell you why I feel Tim McGraw is just as important as Elton John.”

  Blake hops up onto his feet and dangles his hand out for me to take. With a shrug, I stand up too. “Fine, I’ll listen all you want, but I’m going to start calling you, Tiny Dancer.”

  “That song was about petite women.”

  “Making the joke funnier since you are a very oversized man.”

  When his grin appears at my attempt at humor, I let myself smile wide only to be dragged back to the rink seconds later.

  To call myself uncoordinated would be a lie. I can play a difficult musical instrument. I can waltz effortlessly. I can also strut better than any other woman in my orchestra in high heels. I’m not a gymnast, but I can definitely do more than just walk on my two legs. However, skating, falls into the category of jogging. It is an activity I should never do.

  Blake stops his crooning to catch me from greeting the floor with my face. He laughs at my flailing despite my scowl. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

  “That’s what you said three hours ago and all I got was a Captain America Band-Aid on my elbow.”

  Another chuckle flows through him and into me. Blake hooks one arm around my waist and tugs me a little closer. “Just follow my lead, Angel. I won’t let you fall again.”

  The double meaning to his chosen words makes it suddenly hard to breath.

  Maybe I should let him take control of our relationship too. Um, friendship? Datingship? That’s not a word, so it damn sure isn’t a thing. Relationship sounds awfully formal for two people who haven’t even kissed yet.

  “There ya go,” he encourages between humming along. “Let your body roll with mine…”

  A soft moan festers behind my tightly pressed lips.

  Is it wrong to want to hear him say that again when we’re naked and alone rather than in a room filled with screaming kids and snarky teenagers?

  I do my best to concentrate on the movements we’re actually making instead of the ones I’ve been dreaming about.

  Oh, and they’ve been so vivid I’ve had to take a cold shower in the morning to prevent from calling him over to make them a reality. It’s ridiculous! I barely know this man and can’t stop fantasizing about him in
ways I have no business doing. I need sex to be more than just about sex. I need sex with another person to have a connection and meaning. I need sex to be about more than just back to back orgasms.

  Our eyes briefly meet and Blake offers me a sweet smile.

  I may need to retract my previous statements. Maybe I don’t need all those things. Maybe I just need it with someone I wanna spend more than one night with. Someone like Blake…