by Penny Reid
Lifting me slightly away, he gazed up into my eyes, giving me that hazy, happy look of his, and my insides turned to melted crayons, a permanent mess.
“Finish this sentence,” he whispered, his attention trailing down to my lips. “I love it when Rae . . .”
Hmm. “When Rae?” I shook my head. “I don’t know. You tell me.”
He wore the small, secretive (and shy) smile I loved so much, pulling me down to whisper in my ear, “Guess you can’t totally read my mind.”
I dipped my mouth close to his ear and finished his sentence, “—yet.”
Chapter 20
*Raquel*
“I think Mick Jagger would be astounded and amazed if he realized that to many people he is not a sex symbol, but a mother image.”
David Bowie
“I’m starting to understand what you meant about Jackson being a boy scout,” I whispered, smearing suntan lotion on my face and neck in front of my mirror.
Nor, apparently, could I read his mind.
Charlotte stood behind me in the doorway to my bedroom, a coffee mug in her hand, and I met her eyes in the mirror. She and the kids had spent the night. The kiddos were at the main house, Charlotte had slept with me in my bed, and Miguel slept in the second bedroom that had become his room. Dave slept on the couch in the living room, he said he preferred it.
I was currently getting ready for my fourth fishing date with Jackson. Every Wednesday morning at 5:00 AM, he picked me up in his truck, hauling his beautiful boat behind him, and we drove over to a big lake. He’d told me the story of the lake on our first date, some sort of old gold mine that the locals filled up with water. Now it was a huge fishing spot but also quite secluded; the lake could only be accessed by those who had property around it. Jackson used a friend’s property, backing his truck up to their boat launch.
Anyway, we would launch the boat, he would park in front of his friend’s house, we’d get on the boat, and we’d spend all day fishing and just generally having the best time talking about anything and everything. But no touching. Like, never. Never ever. And it was driving me ca-ray-zee.
“I warned you.” Charlotte sent me a sympathetic look, her voice raspy with sleep. She’d woken up around 4:30 AM, even though summer school was now at an end and she could sleep in if she wanted.
“You didn’t warn me, it’s not something to warn me about. It’s—” I huffed, turning and motioning for her to come inside my room and shut the door. I didn’t want Miguel or Dave to hear this. One of them would be getting up soon to follow me to the lake. They didn’t come on the boat with us, but they parked in front of the empty house and waited for us to finish fishing.
At first, I’d felt bad. But then Dave told me to get over it. “It’s my job, Raquel. I don’t want you feeling bad about me doing my job. If I didn’t like this job, I’d get another job.”
Dave was good people.
Charlotte closed the door and crossed to the bed, sitting on the corner of the mattress. “If me telling you that Jackson is a boy scout wasn’t a warning, then what was it?”
“It was two friends talking about their dating experiences and preferences.” I stood in front of her, spreading the extra suntan lotion up my arms. “Jackson is wonderful.”
“Yes. He is. But he was a boy scout with me for months, we had no spark at all.” She took a sip of her coffee, inspecting me. “But I thought things were different with y’all. I’ve seen your chemistry firsthand, I figured you’d been using that boat as your love shack. It’s got a bed, right?”
“It does have a bed,” I said, the words coming out like a wistful lament. “It has a double bed, and he keeps it covered with a tarp, and on top of the tarp he’s placed supplies.”
“You mean he’s gone and put a chastity cover on the bed?” She chuckled, shaking her head. “He’s reverting to his puritan ways. You need to do something about it before the time finally does come and he keeps a sheet between your bodies when you have sex.”
I rolled my lips between my teeth to keep from laughing, but it didn’t help. I still laughed, my shoulders shaking.
She wasn’t finished. “Then he makes you wear a scarlet—”
“Okay, stop. Just, stop and help me figure this out.” I sat next to her on the bed.
“I’m happy to help, but first you have to tell me what’s going on. Or, you know, what’s not going on.” She gave me a meaningful look.
I knew exactly what she meant. I’d been tight-lipped about stuff with Jackson. I felt certain he didn’t want Charlotte—or anyone else—to know the details of our relationship. But I needed to talk to someone. Surely it was okay to speak in generalities?
She must’ve seen my reluctance because she sighed, setting a hand on my knee. “Listen, I don’t need details. In fact, I don’t want them. But if you have a problem and you need help, you should be able to talk to someone about it. If you don’t talk to me, who can you talk to?”
“Sienna?”
“And?”
I shrugged.
“Oh, baby.” She patted my knee. “Then just talk to me. You know I won’t say a word to anyone.”
“Do I know that?”
Her mouth dropped open.
I rushed to explain, “You and Sienna were gossiping about Jackson that one night, and although none of it was bad, per se, I know he doesn’t want to be the subject of any gossip. I know it bothers him. I also realize you would be doing me a favor, helping me think through this, but I need your promise that whatever I say never leaves this room. You will tell no one.”
A frown of concern appeared between her eyebrows. “It bothers Jackson? That the womenfolk talk about him and his legendary sexual prowess? I thought guys ate that kind of stuff up.”
I shrugged again, not willing to divulge more on this specific subject. She didn’t need to know the depth of Jackson’s aversion to being gossiped about, or why he felt so strongly about it. Just that he did.
“Okay, yes. Absolutely. You have my promise. I will say nothing. And I’ll shut down talk when I hear anyone else gossiping about him. I’m—I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, it’s in the past. Now you know. Don’t beat yourself up.”
“I’ll try not to. I care about him, you know. He’s always been one of the people around here who has never pitied me—for what happened with Kevin. He’s a good friend. So, I’ll be a better one.” She wore a self-deprecating smile, patting my knee again. “Now, let me help. Tell me what the issue is.”
“Jackson won’t touch me.” The words burst out, and I covered my face.
“Like . . . at all?”
I shook my head.
“But I thought—wait a minute. Y’all were missing from the group Friday at the jam session. Sienna found you all flustered with your shirt untucked.”
“Okay. Yes. You’re right. There was that one time.” I dropped my hands from my face.
In addition to our fishing excursions, I’d also seen Jackson sporadically over the last month. Sienna had invited him over for dinner a few times, we’d run into each other downtown while I was with Charlotte or at the community center for jam sessions on Friday nights.
The instance to which Charlotte referred had occurred less than a week ago and caught me completely off guard. Jackson had pulled me into a dark room with absolutely no warning, away from everyone, covered my mouth with his and feverishly kissed me everywhere my skin was bare, giving me two orgasms with his fingers before Sienna and Dave had shown up calling my name.
We hadn’t talked about it after. He’d behaved like a gentleman the rest of the night, but he did leave early, explaining that he had to work on his typical Saturday off. I’d expected him to text me or call me and talk about it. But he didn’t bring it up during our text exchanges, and now I was left wondering if I’d imagined the whole thing.
“But, Charlotte, other than this past Friday, the only time he touches me is to either give the back of my hand a kiss or to hug me from behind—�
�� and then he always places a lingering kiss on my neck that gets me hot but gives me no relief “—and I’ve been counting the hugs. He’s given me seven. Total. AND he only touches me if no one is around, which is basically never.”
“Rae, both y’all are still followed by photographers. Of course he’s not going to touch you in public. He’s trying to be respectful of the gossip you have to deal with too.” She seemed to reflect for a moment, then added, “And me, for that matter. I think he’s being careful about showing too much interest in public because he doesn’t want anyone in Green Valley to think the kiss at the ATM was real, because then folks might start feeling sorry for me.”
“Okay, that makes sense.” And that actually made me feel a little better.
“And if he found a way to give you two some privacy at the jam session last week, enough to get a few decent kisses in, then he might be feeling just the same as you—frustrated and wanting more.”
“That’s a good point.” I nodded, thinking back to our hot encounter on Friday. “But what about the boat? No one is with us on the boat. And whenever I invite him over here, he declines.”
“I have no idea why he hasn’t made a move on the boat. But, honey, you got a full house here. Dave on the couch, Miguel in the other room. You might not mind getting busy with your man with two bodyguards nearby, but Jackson is old-fashioned that way.”
I nodded, this all made sense, however— “Then why hasn’t he invited me over to his house?”
“Probably because Boone is there.” She twisted her lips to the side thoughtfully. “But you should ask him about the boat. Ask him why he won’t make a move on the boat.”
“Wait. Back up. Boone? Who is Boone?”
“Boone is that hot deputy that came here over a month ago asking if you had any complaints about Jackson. Remember? It was the day your little assistant rage quit. Or, you fired her. Anyway, Boone is Jackson’s roommate.”
I thought back. “What? Jackson has a roommate? Why didn’t I know this?”
Charlotte shrugged. “I don’t know. Boone is kind of quiet. I imagine living with him is like living with a ghost. He moved into Jackson’s house over a year ago. I think he rents out his old place and runs a few other rental properties. He takes after his uncle Trevor that way, real good with money.”
I was having trouble following Charlotte’s train of thought since I remained focused on just one part of it. “I feel like the fact that Jackson has a roommate should’ve come up before now.”
“Have you and Jackson talked about all your roommates in LA?”
That had me pausing. “I guess, no. No we haven’t. But they’re not my roommates. They’re staff I pay to—”
“—live with you.” She nodded, wearing a small smile. “You and Jackson only get Wednesdays to be together privately. I don’t figure he wants to use the time to discuss Boone, just like I don’t figure you want to use the time to discuss the people who live with you.”
“That’s true.”
“So—” she sipped from her mug, eyeing me over the brim “—go ahead and ask Jackson today why he hasn’t made a move on the boat.”
I twisted my fingers. “I don’t want to ask him.”
“Pardon me?”
“I told him I would trust him to tell me what he wants—or ask for what he wants—and that I’d let him set the pace. I told him I would be patient.” I winced, bracing for her reaction.
“Well.” Charlotte shook her head, pity in her eyes. “That was a mistake.”
“I know that now!”
“I mean, yes. You should trust him to tell you what he wants, that part was good. But you should never—and I mean not ever—tell a man that you’re going to let him set the pace. Either they’re too fast or too slow. There’s no in between with men. Feast or famine.”
“What do I do?” I covered my face again. “I told him I would be patient, but ever since Friday—especially since Friday—I feel like I’m dying here. I want him so much. And he’s just . . . gah!”
Charlotte made a considering sound, and I felt the mattress lift as she stood. I peeked at her between my fingers and watched her pace the room, her expression thoughtful as she muttered, “We’ll just have to make him lose control somehow.” Her attention flickered over me. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
I glanced down at my green capris and white UV filtering shirt. “Yes?”
“No.” She set her coffee cup down on my bedside table. “You got a—a—swimsuit? Better yet, a bikini?”
“Jackson said it’s not a good idea to go swimming in the lake when it’s this hot.”
“Who said anything about swimming? Just tell him you’re working on your tan.” She wagged her eyebrows. “You’re wearing a bikini, if you got one. And those cutoff shorts. Oh! And that white halter.” She opened the drawers of my dresser and started rummaging around. “What time will he be here?”
“In fifteen minutes.” I pulled off my capris, jumping into action. I wasn’t certain her plan would work, but what did I have to lose? Wearing a bikini didn’t seem unreasonable, wearing a bathing suit on a boat was perfectly normal behavior. And what was the worst that could happen? Maybe he wouldn’t notice. Maybe I was overthinking this. Maybe—
“Fifteen minutes is plenty of time.”
I hesitated, my fingers twisting in the hem of my shirt. “Charlotte, is this dishonest? Or am I—I don’t know—playing games? I don’t want to play games with Jackson.”
“What? No! You’re putting on a bathing suit and hoping for a reaction. Show me a woman or a man who doesn’t dress a certain way hoping for a reaction from the person they like, and I’ll show you a naked gorilla. There is nothing wrong with wanting your guy to admire you. Even married people do this. Stop fretting and go put on this bikini.” She held up a black string bikini that still had tags attached.
I walked over and accepted it, not yet convinced. “I’ll need to put on more suntan lotion.”
“No! Don’t you dare. Make him put it on you,” she said, then she chuckled to herself. Evilly. “That should do it.”
Dave—already awake, dressed, and drinking coffee in the kitchen—lifted his hand in the air as I walked out of my bedroom, “I promised Domino I’d ask you these five questions. Number one, have you called Harrison back?”
“Yes. We’re playing phone tag.” This was the longest we’d gone without talking in four years, but I’d finally called him back this week.
Unlike my first two weeks in Green Valley, I hadn’t been avoiding him purposefully this last month. But with Sasha leaving, I’d been working eighteen-hour days trying to make sense of her organizational structure, follow up on items she’d neglected, and undo damage caused by some super rude emails she’d sent to people over the two weeks I’d been gone.
Eventually, I’d reorganized her entire system, migrated all appointments onto a shared calendar, moved tasks into an app called Trello, and then—finally—worked through the tasks, answering all emails myself.
As of two days ago, everything outstanding had been completed, and my days settled down.
“Okay, thanks.” Dave lowered his thumb. “Number two, did you like any of the candidates he sent for Sasha’s replacement?”
“I did, and I have a draft email on my computer with the names I’d like him to interview.”
“Great.” He lowered his pinky finger. “Number three, did that salon work out? Were you happy, and do you want his people to schedule another appointment?”
“Yes. They were great.” Things had been getting hairy, and the salon had me feeling smooth and silky again.
“Good to know. Number four, did you look at the new script from Gavin for Midnight Lady, and what do you think?”
I heaved a sigh and covered my face. “Ugh. I looked at it. I hate it.” I didn’t know what to do. I thought about sending back extensive notes and rewrites, but I doubted Gavin would listen. And now I didn’t want the part at all. I wished there were a way for me to
have the final say on the scripts and creative direction of my films.
“You’ll have to tell Domino that yourself. And, last one, when do you think you’ll be done here?”
For some reason, I glanced at Charlotte. Her eyes were lowered to the carpet like it was the most interesting carpet she’d ever beheld.
“I’ll be another month, at least.”
“Fine.” He lowered his hand, his eyes sweeping down and then up my body. He looked at Charlotte. He looked at me again. Then he said, “I’m guessing I shouldn’t go today.”
“Probably a good idea,” Charlotte answered, pushing me toward the door, grabbing the cooler we’d prepped last night. It was my turn to bring the food.
Once we made it to the front door, she put a bag on my shoulder that contained sunscreen, sunglasses, my wallet, my phone, and a change of clothes. On my other shoulder she placed the strap of the cooler. “Too bad you didn’t make any sexy food, like banana pops or something.”
“Or ice cream,” I said.
She gave me a look, like I was weird, then stepped back and studied me. “Stop stressing. You don’t have to take off the white halter or shorts if you don’t want to. But if you do, and this bikini doesn’t do the trick, there’s no hope for Jackson James.”
I laughed outwardly even though I felt stressed on the inside. I’d already tried the skimpy-clothes approach when I’d first arrived in town and brought him that pie for Operation Deputy Distraction. Then again, he’d been dating Charlotte at the time.
And yet, what I wore didn’t seem to make any difference to Jackson the times he’d hauled off and kissed me with little or no warning.
Jeans and a sweatshirt the rainy day of the ATM kiss. My orange maxi dress the night we drove around and he’d been . . . friendly. Black yoga pants and a T-shirt the afternoon at the picnic. I’d worn all of those outfits since, and they hadn’t elicited any particularly amorous reaction from him.