I drifted to sleep with a smile on my face and an armful of my woman.
12
Tuesday
I woke up and the first thing that hit me was heat at my back. I was on my side, Jackson behind me. The next was the strong arm that was wrapped around me, holding me close. This was not part of the sex-only agreement. Not that I had firsthand knowledge, but I was fairly certain this was not how this was supposed to go.
I’d never done it, but I did have friends, both female and male that regularly participated in no strings sex and, not that they’d waxed poetic about every detail and nuance, I didn’t think cuddling or even spending the night was a part of the program.
And, if it was, it wasn’t going to be a part of mine.
That didn’t mean I wasn’t going to take a minute and enjoy how good it felt having Jackson in my bed. Stupid. I was so stupid allowing myself to sink into his embrace. But I wanted to know. Just for a few minutes while he was asleep and it was safe, I wanted to feel normal.
If Travis hadn’t come into my life, if I hadn’t trusted him, if I hadn’t been so blinded by all his bullshit, I could’ve had this. A man, a real relationship, love and faithfulness. I would’ve had it.
There’d been a time in my life I’d needed to be loved so desperately I’d lived with my head in the clouds when I’d thought I’d found it. When I’d heard rumblings around the fashion shows that Travis was cheating, I confronted him, then believed him when he’d said it was nothing but jealous gossip. The rumors flew, then they turned into something worse, people no longer gossiping, instead looking at me like I was a clueless chump. I’d allowed that. But even all of that didn’t compare to his kill shot, his ultimate betrayal.
I was no longer the naïve idiot who’d needed to be loved. He’d taught me that the love I’d envisioned for myself wasn’t real. I knew my grandparents had shared it, I’d watched them. So I knew. But a love like that had come about during a different era when people were still kind and honest. What they had was an old-fashioned love. It was pure and honest. That kind of love didn’t exist. Not anymore. My parents didn’t even have it. I was stupid to think I could have had something from days gone by.
Travis had provided a valuable education, and I’d graduated with my Ph.D. I was never going there again. But I would take this, Jackson’s warmth surrounding me while it was safe, and he was none the wiser.
“Morning,” Jackson whispered into my hair.
His sexy, gruff sleep thick voice doing nothing to help me pull back into my cocoon.
“Sleep okay?” he went on.
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
His arm around me tightened, and his hard-on pressed into my ass. Realization hit. He hadn’t spent the night to hold me, he hadn’t finished. Last night I’d fallen asleep before I’d paid him back for his generosity. And he’d been generous—with his mouth and his fingers.
Despite what I wanted Jackson to believe, I was sure he had more experience than I did. But that didn’t mean I hadn’t had a few men over the years and none of them had taken their time or given me anything close to what Jackson had. Nor had I ever lost control and spoken to any of them like I had to him last night.
My face went up in flames remembering all the things I’d said. All the things I’d begged him to do to me, and everything I’d said I wanted to do to him. No wonder he was still here. I hadn’t made good on my promises. God, even when I knew what this was, I’d still stupidly thought he’d spent the night for different reasons.
The denim scraped my bare legs as I turned in his arms to face him. Jackson Clark was a good-looking guy; he was no less hot first thing in the morning with his hair messy and face mellow. He was calendar worthy. I could see him in his uniform pants, boots on, shirtless, posing in front of a fire engine. Mr. July. I could totally see women buying that calendar and never flipping to the next month when they got to him.
What the hell did he want with me? I was thirty-one, emotionally bankrupt, untrusting, with an uncertain career and nothing to offer.
“What has you thinking so hard, Sweetness?”
Hell no! We were not talking about what I was thinking. We weren’t supposed to be talking at all.
“Sorry I fell asleep on you last night.”
My hands went to his chest, and I’d like to say I was unaffected; more than just my palms were tingling as I touched him. My brain short-circuited and all my common sense took a hike. If I was smart, I’d end this now.
I wasn’t made to be able to carry out this type of arrangement. I was destined to live the rest of my life celibate, because there was no way to deny I felt more than physical attraction when I touched Jackson.
“What are you doing, baby?” he asked, placing a hand over mine as I went for the button of his pants.
Well, if that wasn’t mortifying, I don’t know what was.
“I’m . . .” I trailed off because I was embarrassed that I was so bad at this he had to ask.
“Tuesday?” His tone was gentle. “Look at me.”
Why did he always want me to look at him? And kiss him. What the hell was up with that? Couldn’t he just fuck me and leave? That’s all this was.
“Tuesday.” My eyes snapped to his and he was studying me. Dammit.
“I believe payback is in order for last night. You want it now or are you gonna come back later to collect? But I’ve got shit to do today, so you need to make your decision quick.”
All the sleep fled from his face, all the gentleness, poof, gone.
Back was the pissed off man who’d taken me to bed. The one that didn’t look at me with kindness. This was who I needed him to be.
“Later,” he growled. But not in the sexy, feral kind of way he did when his mouth was between my legs.
He pressed a hard kiss against my lips and rolled out of bed.
I watched in horror as he tagged his tee off the floor, gathered his socks and boots, and headed for the door.
Not even a goodbye.
Not a look back.
Not a wave.
He slammed the door behind him, and was gone.
I fell back on the bed, stared at my ceiling, and wondered what the fuck was wrong with me.
Then the answer came.
Travis Manning and all of his lessons.
13
Jackson
Payback?
What the fuck?
I fought the urge to throw Tuesday’s coffee pot across the room. I was so pissed I had to get away from her. Even knowing she would throw some fucked-up attitude my way I hadn’t been ready for that.
I hadn’t been ready for the sting to twist into a burn that hurt so damn badly I couldn’t swallow it. I couldn’t stand the look on her pretty face when she spewed out the words. If she thought I’d missed the hurt that had flashed when she’d tried to paste on the fake bluster, she was wrong.
I saw what it took for her to utter those words. When I’d had her body blazing, she could moan all the dirty things she wanted to do to me and make it sound so fucking sweet. But lying there looking at me with hurt flashing, talking about payback coming from her pretty mouth, was the nastiest, jacked-up shit I’d ever heard in my life.
I’d never felt so dirty.
And that was saying something. I wasn’t a monk. I’d had my fair share of one-night stands, drunken encounters I can’t say I’m proud of, but none that I regret. Yet, never had I walked out of a woman’s bedroom feeling like I needed a shower to wash away words spoken.
Fucking payback?
Was she for real?
I was watching the coffee brew with my back to the entrance of the kitchen. I couldn’t see her, but I felt it the minute Tuesday hit the room. The air crackled, and I struggled to get a hold of my temper.
“Jackson—”
“Don’t.”
“Maybe we should—”
“I said, don’t. Leave it, Tuesday.”
“I thought you’d left.”
Y
eah, I bet she had. Or more to the point, I bet she wished I had.
“You thought wrong.”
I turned to face her and found no joy when she flinched. I was pissed and made no effort to hide it. This was me. I was honest to a fault. I didn’t hide shit, if someone asked me a question, they were getting honesty. If I didn’t like something I came straight out and said it. I wasn’t changing who I was, therefore, she caught the brunt of my anger. It was written all over my face.
I glanced over her shoulder, a big bouquet of flowers sitting on her dining room table catching my attention. Her gaze followed mine slightly, turning to see what I was looking at.
“Thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful,” she told me.
“Come again?”
“They’re beautiful. Roses are pretty enough, but I love wildflowers. The color of those brighten the room.”
She was still looking at the bouquet, and I saw her in profile, I didn’t need to see her face to know she’d softened.
“Babe, I didn’t send you flowers.”
“What?” Every muscle in her body went tight. “But the card—”
“What did it say?”
Tuesday walked over to the flowers, found the clear plastic stick, and pulled the small card free with a shaky hand, and read it out loud.
“It was nice seeing you. You looked as beautiful as ever.” Her voice wobbled as she read.
Something was wrong. She seemed almost scared. I took the three strides needed and pulled her into my arms, some of my anger ebbing away.
“Sweetness?”
“I’m not listed, Jackson. I’ve gone to great lengths to keep my phone and address private.”
“When were those delivered?”
“Yesterday.”
“This happen a lot?”
“What?”
“You getting flowers from admirers.”
The thought of men sending her flowers did not sit well with me.
“Not any . . . um. No.” Her answer was shaky and unsure.
“Why go to great lengths to keep your information private?”
Tuesday stiffened before she started trembling and then started to pull away.
“Babe, what the fuck?”
“I just don’t want people knowing where I live.”
That was a lie and something we’d come back to.
“Could those be from your agent? The card said, it was nice seeing you.”
“Jackson, my agent is threatening to sue me. At this point, I think she’d send me a pipe bomb, not flowers.”
We’d be coming back to that, too. Right after I figured out why she went to “great lengths” to keep her address private. I get a single woman not wanting her information on blast but her shaking in my arms, freaking out about goddamned flowers went beyond general precautions.
“Anyone from the show?” I continued.
“Maybe. But it would be unusual. And I’d think they’d sign their name. That’s actually why I thought they were from you.”
“Why’s that?”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, and no offense, but I kinda thought not signing the card was pretty arrogant. Like, I should automatically know who they were from.”
My lips twitched despite how pissed I still was and now concerned. “None taken.”
“You really didn’t send them?”
I hated that she sounded scared, hated even more that something didn’t feel right.
“No, Sweetness, I didn’t send them.”
“I think I want to throw them away now.”
I let go of her and watched as she turned, picked up the glass vase, walked to the sink, dumped the water, and tossed the flowers in the trash, glass container and all.
“I’ve Googled you,” I said conversationally.
“You did?” Her face paled and a new look crossed her face. It wasn’t fear, she looked like I’d slapped her.
What the fuck?
“Yeah. I found a video and watched you strut your fine ass down the catwalk, saw your picture in advertisements. I’m actually more than surprised I hadn’t recognized you. I had no idea how much of a celebrity you were.”
“You’re taking it a little too far. I am hardly a celebrity.” She still looked flushed and her hand was shaking so badly it’d taken her more than one try to pull the carafe of coffee off the burner. “I’m a nobody.”
I came up behind her and pulled her back against my front, pinning her between me and the counter.
“Babe,” I spoke near her ear. “You’ve been on dozens of fashion magazine covers. You’re in print ads for perfume that costs as much as most people’s weekly paycheck. Your sexy feet showing off shoes I know cost more than my monthly salary. I’m not exaggerating. You’re hardly a nobody.”
She shook her head and was putting forth so much concentration into stirring her coffee you’d think she was performing brain surgery. She was shit scared, and I didn’t have the first clue what she was afraid of.
“Listen, Jackson, I’ve got a lot of errands to run and I still need to shower. I should get on that.”
She was sporting her getaway. Retreating to her corner.
“Why’s your agent threatening to sue you?”
“I already told you why.”
“Explain it to me again.”
With a huff, she abandoned her coffee and turned to face me.
“This is not us, Jackson. Remember? We have sex, you leave. No personal conversation.”
“Bullshit.”
“What do you mean bullshit? That was what you agreed to.”
“Sweetness, if you think I’m gonna stand here watching you shake like a leaf, looking upset, and not ask questions you’ve lost your mind.”
“You’re right. I have lost my mind. I was crazy to think this could work. It can’t.”
“It’s working just fine,” I told her.
Or it would be once I got her to open up to me.
Tuesday’s posture changed, and she rearranged her features with a look of defiance. It was cute she thought her being stubborn was going to push me away.
“I think we’re done. You can let yourself out.”
She tried her best to push me away, the movement only bringing her closer to me. I loved she was so tall, her height meant I didn’t have far to go when I leaned down and brushed my mouth against hers, then to her forehead where I let my lips linger for a moment, breathing in her gardenia scent.
“I’ll see you soon, Tuesday.”
“No, you won’t, Jackson. We’re done. This isn’t going to work,” she whispered.
“Bet?”
With one last peck on her forehead, I set her aside and moved toward the door. I heard her mumbling something but didn’t stop.
I was in my truck, backing out of Tuesday’s driveway thinking about the best way to get her to open up to me when a horn blared. An old, beat-up Nissan Sentra was pulling away from the curb, and my head was so full of thoughts of Tuesday, I hadn’t even seen the car.
Fuck.
I needed to get my shit together.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, I was pulling into my parents’ driveway. They still lived in the house I grew up in. It was outside of the city limits and one of the last few places that hadn’t been taken over by developments. When my dad bought the house, he was still in the Army. After a deployment, he’d needed the space and quiet. After he got custody of Nick and married my mom, the space was needed for a different reason, he had a family.
It was a good thing I’d left Tuesday’s when I had. I’d forgotten I’d agreed to help my dad repair and paint an old wooden fence that really needed to be pulled out and replaced altogether, but my mom refused. She wanted it repaired. Reagan Clark was sentimental. Dad had put the fence in after I was born to help contain me. Not that I hadn’t been able to crawl under or over the split rails, but it gave them enough time to get to me before I disappeared into the woods behind the house. Mom refused to let Dad take it
down, she said she liked to sit on the back deck and remember us boys playing. Not that Nick had done much playing back there, he was much older than I was.
I parked my truck and saw my dad already in the backyard. I was late, no doubt I was going to get an earful.
I jogged to the side of the house, and my dad turned, did a once-over, and shook his head.
“You lose your watch, son?”
“Nope.”
He shook his head again, noticing my blue cargos and station 57 tee and asked, “You been home since your shift?”
“Nope.”
“Boy, I know you’ve made it your life’s mission to tag every available piece of ass south of the Carolinas, but don’t you think it’s time to slow down?”
There were two things to note: first, when my dad said piece of ass, he wasn’t being a disrespectful prick like Sam, therefore, I didn’t correct him. The second was, I didn’t hide shit from my dad. I also didn’t lie. I’d gone to him when I knew I was close to losing my virginity and we’d talked. He was honest, he explained things that teenage boys don’t talk about with each other, and he told me straight up what my responsibilities were toward the girl. Being that we had an open relationship, he hadn’t held much back, and in the years since then we’d talked some more.
He also understood that my options were vast, and while I’d learned to be more discerning with the women I took to my bed, I hadn’t always been.
“Working on it.”
“Working on it? Doesn’t look like you’re trying all that hard, wearing yesterday’s clothes looking like you just rolled out of bed.”
“Yes, but the woman whose bed I just rolled out of is the woman I’m trying to nail down.”
“By the looks of it, I’d say you managed the nailed part.”
Smartass.
“Where’d you meet her?”
“Nick’s house.”
“Come again?”
It was rare I got to surprise my dad. And his look of confusion was priceless.
Claiming Tuesday: The Next Generation Page 8