by Odette Stone
I took a deep breath. “I’m heading up to bed to do some reading. I want to tell you that Matt will be home soon, but I think we both know that he could be a few hours yet.”
He nodded.
I started walking upstairs but looked down at him when he began to speak.
“When Matt invited me, I had no idea that he lived with you. Nor did he mention that this was your place. I thought I was just crashing at Matt’s.”
I smiled at him. “Consider yourself lucky. Matt’s bachelor pad was, in my opinion, uninhabitable at the best of times.”
I took a few more steps and stumbled. Bachelor pad. My face burned. Maybe this sailor wanted to have more space to pursue women. I stopped walking, grasping the railing tight. I turned and looked down at him, shocked that he was watching me.
I tried to find the right words. “If you…uh…have a date that goes well you can bring her home. I don’t want to cramp your style…or anything…with stuff like that.”
He stared up at me, his angular face without expression.
I blushed. An awkward pause hung between us, which galvanized me into filling the silence. “So, don’t worry about me. I would be…uh…happy for you.”
I was so red. I got up four more steps when he spoke. “What do you think that is?”
His words stopped me in my tracks.
“What?”
“You said that you didn’t want to cramp my style. What do you think my style is?”
With my heart in my throat, I looked over the railing down at him. His gaze was so intense. What did I think his style was when it came to women? They would be beautiful, sexy and a hell of a lot more experienced than me.
“I think your style is probably sophisticated and experienced.”
Great. I sounded like a 90-year-old pensioner. I took two more steps.
“You would be surprised at what my style is,” he said, his voice so quiet I almost didn’t hear him.
I had no idea what he meant by that. I gave him one last wild glance before I concentrated on getting up the stairs and into my bedroom.
I stood looking around my room, unsure why I felt so caught off balance. It made no sense that I was working so hard to make this man feel so welcome when he made me feel so uncomfortable. Pressing my hands to my warm cheeks, I focused on getting ready for bed.
Chapter 6
I glanced at the slim Cartier watch on my wrist. If I didn’t hurry, I was going to be late for my shift at the gallery. I stared at my reflection in the mirror and smoothed down the houndstooth pencil skirt. My hair hung in a thick curtain over my shoulders. I had taken undue care with my makeup. I had no idea why I was fussing so much with my appearance today.
I stared at my reflection. That was a lie. The reason why I fussed had everything to do with our new houseguest. Sometimes when you're around someone that impresses you, you don’t want to slink around in your baggies with your hair in a ponytail. You want to feel like your best self.
My high heels clattered on the hardwood of the stairs. At the bottom, I stood and stared at the island, a light-hearted feeling tickled in my chest. A bowl of perfectly sliced fruit and a glass of orange juice awaited my arrival. My heart contracted at the unexpected gesture. Someone had prepared my breakfast for me.
I slid onto the bar stool and hesitated as movement on the garden patio caught my eye. Jackson, clad only in runners and a pair of shorts, squatted deeply. My eyes drifted over muscular thighs and a taut ass. Sweat glistened on his golden skin. He moved to pump out endless pushups. The thick and corded muscles of his arms contracted each time he lowered himself with perfect form. My fork hovered over my bowl as I worked to look away.
I swallowed hard forcing myself to concentrate on my breakfast. Matt had arrived home long after I had gone to bed and I still hadn’t talked to him about our new houseguest. The two men could not be more different. Why were they still in contact with each other? Why had Matt asked Jackson to stay here? For three months? Was this man really going to live with us for three months?
My betraying gaze pulled back to the patio. He performed some crazy hard jump lunge thing that involved a pushup. Didn’t old acquaintances get together for a casual beer and a promise to do it again in the next five years? How did you go from never seeing someone to inviting them to live with you for three months? And why had Jackson agreed? What was the deal between Matt and Jackson? There was more to that story, but until I talked to Matt, I had no idea.
I stood and dumped my empty dishes into the sink. If I didn’t leave for work now, I would be late. Without saying anything to the huge man on the patio, I grabbed my bag and walked downstairs.
I sat in my mini, begging it to behave. “Please baby, please don’t do this to me.”
No matter how many times I turned the key, my mini just ground away in a wha-wha-wha sound that never turned over the engine. I put my head on my steering wheel and took a deep breath. I was going to be so freaking late.
A knock sounded on the window next to me. I turned and blinked at a six-pack that would make Arnold Schwarzenegger envious. I rolled down my window.
“Having some car troubles?” Jackson sounded out of breath.
“She’s pretty fussy. I meant to get her to the mechanic.”
“Huh.” His hands were on his hips. “Why didn’t you?”
The man was blunt. I peered up at his face. “Matt told me I’d get ripped off at the garage and said that he wanted to take my car in for me.”
“Try again.”
I turned the key.
He listened. “That could be anything. Your alternator, your fuel, your starter.”
“So nothing you can fix with a piece of string and some chewing gum?”
“Are you comparing me to McGyver?”
“If the shoe fits.”
His lips twitched as he studied my car. “You need a ride to work?”
My thoughts tumbled. I needed a ride, but I didn’t want to impose. “Aren’t you working out?”
“Just warming up. Haven’t got to the fun stuff yet.”
If that was the warm-up, I hated to know what the work out entailed. I internally debated. I could call a cab, but it could be 30 minutes before one showed up here. “Okay. I would appreciate it.”
“Let me grab my keys.”
He disappeared upstairs and reappeared a couple of minutes later wearing a green t-shirt that said US NAVY across the front and a pair of jeans. He walked me to the passenger side of his truck and opened the door for me. Embarrassed by his chivalry, I moved to step up into the truck. My tight pencil skirt impeded my ability to lift my leg high enough to get in.
“Need some help there?” He sounded amused.
Why was this happening to me? So much for looking sophisticated and mature.
I spun and almost bumped into his chest. His big frame blocked me in. “I’m just going to go change.”
“Hang on.” His hands grasped my waist, and I squeaked as he lifted me onto the seat like I was a five-pound bag of sugar. No effort required on his part. Our eyes met, and then he winked at me before shutting the passenger door. The man winked at me! I sat there trying to breathe like normal. Suddenly I had that very familiar feeling of tingling butterflies in my stomach.
No no no no.
Don’t even go there. This is Matt’s friend. He may be hotter than Hades but do not get fluttery around the man. He’s in the flutter-free zone.
He climbed into the driver seat beside me.
“So where to?”
“In Soho. Do you know where that is?”
He turned the key, and loud music blasted through the speakers. Matt didn’t listen to loud music. He only listened to non-digitally recorded classical music. Matt said that digitally recording music destroyed real art. The music that was blasting now was big and about as un-classical as you could get.
“I think I can figure it out,” he said over the music.
He drove like a bat out of hell. Before I could get my seatbelt on, he had
backed up at about a hundred miles an hour. I was shocked and desperately trying to put my belt on as he shifted through all the gears as he tore up the street. I braced myself as he brought the vehicle to full speed. Now we wildly fishtailed on the gravel road around a bendy corner. I held onto the ceiling strap as we flew over a bump and I swear the entire vehicle took on air.
“Holy shit!” I breathed as we took another corner and he swerved expertly to deliberately hit a large puddle. Water poured over the windshield, momentarily blinding us.
I looked at him in part horror and part amazement. He seemed indifferent to the fact that he was driving his truck like we were in a life or death car chase.
“So do you like working at the gallery?” he asked mildly, as we wove around a bus and then around the corner. No one I knew drove as he did.
I was breathless. I couldn’t tell if I was terrified or excited or both. “I love it. I know it’s only part-time, but what people don’t realize is that this is my dream job. I would pay to work there.”
He threw a glance my way making me feel self-conscious. My skirt was riding too high up my legs. I discretely tried to yank my skirt down over my thighs.
My hand reflexively hit the dash even though my seatbelt held me back, as he slammed on the brakes due to a group of pedestrians that crossed the road and we came to a complete stop. We didn’t speak. We didn’t move. I was acutely aware of him beside me. His clean scent filled my nostrils. His long fingers slowly, impatiently tapped on the steering wheel as we waited for the last of the crowd to cross the street.
“What people?”
I chewed on my lip. Damn. Why was I always inadvertently disclosing details about myself? “Some people think I need a real job.”
“Who?”
I didn’t answer right away which made him turn to look at me, taking in my heels and my skirt that seemed determined to climb up my legs. “Just people.”
We watched in silence as one last person jogged across the road. “Fuck em.”
“What?” my voice faltered. I watched as his muscular forearm negotiated that stick shift like he owned it. Again we accelerated to an alarming speed.
He looked over at me. “People can mind their own fucking business. Do what you want.”
My eyes were wide. First of all, shouldn’t he be keeping his eyes on the road? And secondly, no one I knew talked like this. The last person who had given me this kind of advice, sans the f-word, had been my granny.
“You remind me of my grandmother,” I blurted out.
His eyebrows went up a fraction. “That’s a first.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
Jackson laughed and looked over at me. “No. I like it.”
My stomach flopped. The guy had great teeth. And again with that smile. Did he know that his smile changed his face, morphing him from a good-looking man into a heart-breaking sex god? Sheesh. I forced myself to look out the front windshield.
“She was just always telling me that life was short. That I shouldn’t pay attention to what other people think.”
“She’s right.”
“That’s easier said than done.” I turned my head to look out the passenger window. I didn’t recognize the feeling in my gut. It was part loneliness and fascination. When was the last time someone had encouraged me to stand up for myself? Jackson felt like dangerous territory. He made me miss my granny.
We pulled up in front of the gallery in record time. I was early, mostly in part to his Indy 500 skills.
“Can I have your car keys?”
I stared at him.
“I want to take a closer look at your car. Maybe I can fix it.”
I fumbled in my purse and handed them to him without question. “I can take my car to the garage.”
He ignored my protests. “What time are you done?”
I shook my head. “Oh, I can take a cab home.”
“You’re hosting my sorry ass. The least I can do is pick you up.”
“4 PM.”
Without another word, he swung out of the truck. By the time I had my seatbelt off, he was opening my door.
“I can do it.”
He took my hand, and I scrambled off the seat, hovering for a moment on the edge. I probably should have just jumped but I'm a chicken, and I hesitated. He gave a half laugh and reached up and plucked me off my two-foot ledge before setting me down on quivering legs. His fresh scent invaded my senses.
“Thank you for the drive to work.” I tend to get formal when I'm nervous. “It was enjoyable.”
It was enjoyable? Who even talked like that? I swear to God my granny sometimes channeled through my body just to mess with me.
A half smile played on his lips as he looked at me with a mixture of curiosity and bafflement. “You're welcome.”
I straightened my shoulders and nodded. “Have a nice day.”
And without looking back, face on fire, I walked into the gallery.
Chapter 7
I walked straight to the back and pulled out my phone to call my friend Beth. She was the only one who knew me.
Beth answered after one ring. “Yo.”
“I'm freaking out.”
“Do tell.”
“We have a new houseguest who’s an old friend of Matt’s.”
“Matt has friends?”
There wasn’t a lot of love lost between Beth and Matt.
“Ha, funny, Beth. The new houseguest is staying with us for three months.”
“WTF! That’s such a dick move on Matt’s part. He doesn’t help you plan the wedding but decides to add a houseguest to the mix?”
“I was caught off guard.”
“So is this guy as douchy as the rest of Matt’s posse?”
A fair question, since most of Matt’s friends were complete nightmares at the best of times.
“Even worse. He’s…attractive.”
I could hear Beth thinking. “Like how attractive?”
I winced. “Remember the crush I had on the hockey player in the second-year of university?”
“Now that guy was stupidly hot. No one could blame you for that. Even I drooled a bit when I saw him.”
“It's possible this guy is hotter than the hockey player.”
“Shut up. Impossible.”
I scrunched up my face. “You know my thing about big, athletic guys. I get all weird.”
“What kind of weird? Like the need to rip your clothes off kind of weird, because I'll stand behind you on that one.”
“Beth! Remember how bad my crushes were?”
“Mmmm…..I was there. If anything you were committed. No one could fault you on that.”
“I obsessed over the hockey player for almost a year before I had a conversation with him.”
“Oh my God, I forgot that you got up the balls to speak to him once.”
“Those crushes were endless fodder for my therapist. They were deemed unhealthy.”
“What did your therapist know? I'm pretty sure she wore orthotics.”
I laughed again. “I can feel it.”
“What?”
“These butterflies inside of me. The dry mouth. The pitching of my stomach. I can’t carry on a normal conversation.”
“Aw, are you developing a crush?”
“Beth. He’s my houseguest. He’s living with me. I can’t be crushing. I'm engaged.”
“Sweetie, I love my man, but if you knew the number of times I had fantasies about Kurt Browning, you would be stunned.”
Beth harbored her own little crush on a particular aging Canadian figure skater. “Isn’t Kurt getting a bit long in the tooth?”
“First of all, he’s perfect, and secondly, the heart wants what the heart wants.”
“So talk to me when Kurt Browning moves into your guest bedroom.”
She started laughing. “I can’t argue that logic. I would be a mess. A complete wreck.”
“Look I'm not saying that I have full-blown, hockey player passion, but I can f
eel it starting, and I can’t go there. I love Matt.”
“Look, show me a cross-section of a hundred thousand women across America, and I would bet every single one of them has a little secret hanky spanky in her pocket for some guy, whether it is the mailman or the Chinese food delivery kid. It’s normal.”
“Really?”
“You gonna act on it?”
“No!”
“Well, then just accept that by getting married to Matt this is going to be one of the first of many happy fantasies for you in your marriage.”
“Beth,” I moaned, laughing.
“Besides hot guy would be lucky to get someone like you to crush on him from afar. You kind of missed your calling as a stalker.”
“Beth!”
We were both laughing when we hung up.
It alarmed me how many times Jackson popped into my head during the day. I talked to people, I helped set up an exhibition, and I stepped out for a sandwich with my co-worker, but intense flashbacks of Jackson’s warm hands on my hips kept coming back to me. I needed to gain a level of control over myself. I vowed to stop thinking about him.
This was just an old pattern of mine rearing its head. My therapist used to tell me that the only reason why I had these monster crushes versus actually having a real live relationship with a guy was that it was safe. I could live in a fantasy world about them where everything was perfect and I never actually had to deal with the realities of a relationship. It was all fantasy, and she had repeatedly challenged me on that fact. Didn’t I want truth more than fantasy? Fantasies were safe. And I had a lot of control in my head.
But who is to say that reality is better? I mean, Matt was real. He was real life. And that came along with a lot more issues than my fantasies. Like the hockey player had ever told me he was too busy working. Hockey player never forgot to call, and he never got too busy. He had been the perfect boyfriend in my mind while he lasted.
I took a deep breath. Matt may not be perfect, but he was my fiancé. This is where I should be putting my attention. Just because there were a few bumps along the way was no excuse to start daydreaming about someone else. Matt was everything I wanted in a husband. We were going to get married, and everything was going to be great. I would have my family. Besides there was nothing safe about Jackson and any extracurricular thoughts about him were wildly inappropriate.
