by Lisa Gillis
The iPod was also Jack’s gift to him, arriving in the overnight mail on Tristan’s first night home. It came pre-filled with some of the songs Jack and Tristan discussed– mostly classics such as The Beatles.
Rolling over, she grabbed her phone to check the time and leaped from the comfort of the covers when she saw how late it was. Tristan’s physical therapist would arrive in a half hour, and the tot had not yet dressed or eaten breakfast.
Animated characters harmoniously sang, and Marissa realized that his shows now being on his own television was keeping him in his room later and later each morning. He wasn’t quite fully back to his crutches yet, and she picked him up, carrying him to a stool at the kitchen bar and plopped a bowl of cereal down. Then, she went back to clean the plastic portable urinal, brought from the hospital to make use of until he was getting around better by himself.
From her bedroom, her phone sounded, and from the kitchen Tristan screamed, “It’s Jack! Answer it!”
She didn’t and endured Tristan’s disfavor for a half hour.
The call from Olivia didn’t come around noon as Marissa predicted. Her friend actually drove over to try to talk Marissa to her senses. From where she and Olivia were standing in the kitchen, they could easily see Tristan and the PT, in the gym room, moving about in his exercise routine. Since Tristan was occupied, she could talk freely, and Marissa quoted the entire blog article to Olivia.
“Give him a chance to explain,” Olivia pleaded. “Better yet, don’t go all crazy on him. It was two kisses. Men are different. Sometimes they don’t drop everything they have going after only two–”
“Amazing kisses,” Marissa interrupted. “And you’re right. That’s why I want Joel. I have to make him want to drop his hoes. If it doesn’t work, who knows, maybe me and Joel work out...”
But, she didn’t even want to think about things not working with Jack.
Her phone began to rock, and before Tristan could deafen his physical therapist’s ears by screaming at his mother, she answered.
“Hey!” Making sure her voice was carefree, she greeted Jack. “What’s up?”
“I was thinking about coming in Friday if that’s cool. Left you a voicemail...”
Finding some humor in the voicemail, whether or not it was a jab, she paused pouring a cup of coffee and reigning in her raging senses at the thought of seeing him. “Sure, that’s cool. And, sorry about the voicemail. The day’s been crazy, haven’t had time to check it.”
Olivia gave her a goofy stare at this blatant lie since they had just been discussing that very voicemail message.
“It’s cool. Just wanted to double-check before I scheduled the flight.” The sweet sexy rumble of his voice was making her knees weak, and she slid on a bar stool next to Olivia as he continued, “How’s the little rocker?”
They talked a few more minutes before he rang off with a, “See you soon then, Mariss.”
Turning, she found Olivia practically swooning and comprehended that her friend could likely hear through her phone since the t.v. in the den was not making racket as it normally was.
“I can’t believe you are going to do this, Rissa.” Olivia rose to get her own cup of coffee. “What if you screw things up?”
“Trust me. I know how far to take it. I landed Kel didn’t I?” The name of her ex fiancée was repugnant, but she brought it up to drive in the point. Kel had been a major player, dating many women in her semester and a half of college, and she had driven him to pop the question within six months of knowing him.
CHAPTER 17
POURING SPICED CREAMER into her cup, Olivia stirred without a word, and Marissa knew what her friend was thinking but was too nice to say.
‘And look how that worked out.’
But, Jack was not like Kel.
In just a couple of days of being with him, and a couple of weeks on the phone, she found in him an integrity that so many men were lacking. He just needed to understand that when he took her seriously, she would take him seriously. Actually, the thought pricked, what he needed to understand was that he wanted something serious with her.
Regardless, she thought maybe it was important that he see that she had options, and that she was not some desperate white trash mom, or some grown up groupie.
“Fine,” Olivia drug the word out and promptly punched in the call to her husband.
Less than an hour later, the double date between the four of them, Olivia, Michael, Joel, and Marissa was set. They would have an innocent meal at an upscale Italian restaurant.
Reconciled to the date, Olivia took in Marissa’s appearance and asked, “Want to raid my closet?”
Marissa did more than borrow a slinky black dress from her friend.
Olivia sat with Tristan the next day while Marissa sat in a salon having professional highlights streaked through her hair and a trim to the long, layered length. On the day that Jack was to arrive, she did her own nails while Tristan napped off his Tylenol. The physical therapy session that morning had shown optimistic improvements. Tristan was moving about with his crutches better than ever before, and seeing that put a happy spark in her eyes.
Jack sent a text that he was on the ground, and she knew that soon he would be in a rent car navigating an electronic map to their little house.
Pulling a clean shirt from the dryer, she tossed it to Tristan who was in his tiny recliner with his tablet.
“Why do I have to wear this?”
“Because Jack is coming over and you need a clean shirt.”
At the reminder of Jack’s visit, his eyes lit but he stubbornly pushed the shirt away. “I want my red shirt.”
Tristan spoke of his red shirt with the flaming guitar across the front, faded from so many washes. The hem of the borrowed black dress had a tendency to ride up, and pulling at it she rushed to the utility room then rooted through the drier for the requested shirt. Tristan pulled it over his head just as the doorbell chimed.
Shoving the two shirts Tristan was not wearing deep down in the side cushion of the couch, she straightened and gave her clingy skirt another yank managing to work it to a few inches above her knees. Her heels clicked as she crossed the hall floor to the door.
Peeking through the peephole was a mistake.
The effect of seeing Jack never lessened, and she froze for a moment taking in the same basic ensemble as both visits to the hospital: jeans, tee shirt, jacket, and hair pulled into a ponytail. A couple of necklaces, one long and one short, were a new addition as well as a flat onyx looking stud in each ear.
Arcing the door open, she stepped back with a smile of greeting, but he hesitated a moment before stepping over the threshold. His dark eyes heated up as they roved her from head to toe, lingering here and there. A flush flamed her entire body when his gaze hit hers again with a distinct spark of admiration.
As he passed, she received a husky, “You are so rocking that dress, Mariss...”
When he paused in her personal space, she felt a kiss coming on and she used closing the door as a diversion, hollering down the hall to Tristan, “Look who is here!”
Tristan, as it turned out, was avidly watching their exchange, and for the first time in his young life, his expression was not transparent to her. There was nothing she could even liken it to.
Jack went directly to Tristan, bumping fists in the manner that he had taught him the day in the hospital, and they immediately began to chatter as long-lost friends.
Jack’s eyes continually strayed her way as she moved around making sure to stay in his line of vision. Bending, she picked up Hot Wheels cars and filled Bally’s water bowl, bending again to set it on the floor.
Currently, the canine was on the other side of the patio door and not happy at being on the wrong side of the glass especially with a stranger so close to Tristan. The dog, being a frisky lab, always needed several minutes to calm down before being allowed inside when anyone visited. Hooking a finger in her collar, Marissa released her into Tristan’s care
then retreated to the kitchen.
With much importance, Tristan introduced his pet to Jack and asked, “Exactly how much bigger is Bally than Rusty?”
“How about I bring Rusty to visit Bally one day and we can see?”
Pausing her stir of the pot of gumbo on the stove, Marissa evaluated that statement. Bring Rusty to see Bally, as opposed to Bally to see Rusty? In all of her conversations with him, Jack had said nothing of the paternity test that, according to the legal documents, required scheduling no later than next week.
The only time Jack had ever mentioned Tristan going to Los Angeles had included her also in the casual statement. ‘We should take him to Disneyland, and Legoland– does he like Legos?’ Staring into the pot, she saw not food, but Jack’s earnest face.
“Okay guys, who is ready to eat?” Venting stress into one last vigorous stir, Marissa tossed the inquiry over her shoulder. After switching off the burner, she quickly extracted flatware and stoneware from the clean dishwasher.
“Me! Me!” Tristan enthusiastically affirmed, and then the tot’s voice went down a few decibels as he quizzed Jack, “You want some, right?”
“Gumbo?” Clearly not sold on the dish, Jack hesitated. When he sent a dubious glance her way, it automatically slid down to her legs then back up, slowing on her chest before hitting her face.
“My mom makes the best ever chicken gumbo,” Tristan bragged. “It has rice in it too!”
“Well...” Without breaking his gaze, Jack replied, “If your mom made it, I know it’s the best. I will have some of that.”
Although Marissa was getting off on his stares, she knew them for what they were– a sensuous ride on the male ego. Most likely, he was appreciating what he presumed was a woman dressing up just for him.
Tonight’s phase had been initiated, executed, and it was now time to monitor and control.
“Want to eat in there?” Marissa ladled into two bowls as she made the offer, knowing that Tristan was embarrassed anytime he had to walk with crutches around someone who had yet to see.
Tristan agreed, and after dropping a cooling ice-cube into his bowl, she delivered their meal to the den.
Bending at the hips while pulling in her stomach muscles had become a perfected art; after all, she was on the downslide to thirty. As well as this posture being advised at her place of work for spine health, it was useful for bringing in bigger tips. Tonight, as she placed the bowls on the sofa table, what she hoped to achieve from the gesture was far more valuable to her than a casino chip or two.
Triumphantly, she intercepted Jack’s gaze on her backside and sweetly smiled as she ventured, “Were you planning on hanging out for a while tonight?”
Dark eyes melded with hers then dropped to his food, and he picked up the spoon. “I plan on hanging out here tonight as long as you want.”
The husky drop of his voice made the inference clear. If her phone had been conveniently in her hand, she would have swiftly canceled her devious plans of the night and then feverishly hung over him or lay under him all night.
Tristan picked up on the change in atmosphere, silently studying the two of them as he engulfed his meal. Steeling herself against those same dark eyes in his daddy’s face, she moved on with phase one.
“Cool! I thought as long as you were here with Tristan, I would go out for a couple of hours.”
Nonchalantly, she added two cups of sweet tea to the table, remaining bent a couple of extra seconds while pretending to rub a smudge with her finger. The nervous knot in the pit of her stomach was the only thing stopping her giggle at the various incredulous looks crossing Jack’s fine face.
After the first shock faded, he seemed confused then finally furious. “THAT’S why you are so dressed up?”
Shooting a protective look to their son, Marissa returned, “Yes. This is not my normal gumbo getup...”
Interpreting her look toward Tristan, Jack straightened from his sprawl on the floor with the dangerous grace of a jungle cat calmly requesting, “Can we talk a minute?”
Continuing to play her part, she flicked her eyes across the expanse of the room to the kitchen clock as she agreed. “Sure, but I only have a few min–”
Her words clipped off in surprise when Jack closed strong fingers around her wrist and towed her toward the hall. With a look back into the den at Tristan, he randomly entered the first door. The venue, her bedroom, surprised him enough that he dropped her arm. Pausing, he took it all in for a few seconds, her made bed with the many fluffy pillows propped on the headboard, and the neat dresser with a few photos of Tristan tucked into the mirror frame.
“You want me to babysit?!” His brown eyes were thunderous with an emotion that made her hot with longing, yet wary at the same time.
“No.” Carefully, she cultivated her words. “It’s not actually babysitting when he’s your child–”
“No. Marissa. No! I will not ‘hang out’ here while you go out.” Sarcastically, he stressed the slang and tilted his head awaiting her response.
“Why? Jack, you’re doing fine with him.” Deliberately, she misinterpreted his adamant refusal. “You are all he talks about lately. He is getting around great. You won’t have to do anything except give him a teaspoon of Tylenol if he begins hurting. I will be gone two hours max, and will be back in time to get him to bed. And,” she reassured, pretending to misread his annoyance, “I’m only a phone call away. I know I shouldn’t ask, but it’s been so long since I’ve gone out, and the stress lately is just–” The realization that her words had escalated into a whine paused her long enough to regroup. “I need to get out for a while.”
“Okay.”
Marissa was nervously chipping at her metallic red nails as she awaited his next tirade, and when the response was so agreeable, her chin shot up seeing sympathy in his eyes.
“Sure, it’s fine,” Jack gently reiterated. “And how about the three of us go out tomorrow night?”
Her head was reeling in confusion as she crossed the drive to Michael’s Volvo. Carefully, she kept to the concrete so that her heels wouldn’t sink in the grass and twist an ankle the way that her grand plan had twisted around on her tonight.
Was phase one a success? It did not feel that way.
Two hours later, her keys jangled as she unlocked the front door. The dinner was enjoyable. Michael and Olivia as a couple were a blast and Joel was everything Olivia had promised that day. However, she couldn’t keep her mind from Jack. When Joel had extended a coffee invitation, she had politely refused.
Bally met her, jumping around in a typical four-legged greeting, and down the hallway, Jack roused from his place on the couch. Seeing her, he reached for the remote muting the television. Seeing him heated her up in all the right places.
“Hi.” With a genuine smile at the view of him on her couch, she asked, “Did I wake you?” He said he had been channel surfing, and she wondered, “Tristan already in bed?”
“The Tylenol seemed to knock him out. He fell asleep in his chair and I ended up carrying him to bed.”
That image inflated her heart, and in case her feelings were shining in her eyes, she dropped to the couch beside him pretending an interest in a t.v. advertisement.
“Did you have a good time?” his words were soft and curious.
“Yeah. It was good to get out.” Liar. She had really wanted to stay in. With him.
He asked who she had been with, and she answered honestly, then he asked if she was seeing Joel. Each question seemed brotherly, and swallowing her disappointment, she replied, “No. Not yet anyway. This was my first time to meet him.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“What did you think?”
“About Joel?”
When his eyebrows lifted in that mocking way that Tristan’s did when having to explain himself, she almost threw herself on him. Her words came out almost a whisper, “I don’t know yet.”
“Did he kiss you goodnight?”
“
Why?” Now, she was incapable of anything above a whisper.
His hot brown gaze held hers helpless, and with his next words, she lost whatever phase or battle this was.
“Because. You are too beautiful to not be kissed goodnight.”
As his head tilted to hers, her heart began to thump harder than any drumbeat in any of his songs. How in the name of heaven could each kiss be better than the one before it? That was her last rational thought.
Stubbornly, she held back her response, not so much because she had the willpower, but because allowing him to convince her with his lips, hands, and tongue, to kiss him back resulted in a fiery feeling that she had never felt.
She succeeded in this for less than a minute and then her sigh mingled with his breath when she gave over to the tease of his tongue, and her fingers curved automatically into his hair.
The kiss continued, robbing her of any rational thought and sending every cell in her body screaming for more. Her back hit the cushions of the couch, and his weight continued to press.
Frantically, she ripped the band from his hair, desperate to feel it between her fingers like that day in a tour bus, ages ago. Her breath reduced to pants, and when his lips and tongue touched the crook of her neck, she groaned.
The thin clingy material of the dress was barely a barrier between the denim that had grown increasingly harder against her leg. Bringing a knee up slightly, she shifted, and feeling that movement, he did the same until his hardness cradled perfectly against her softness and their moans into the current kiss were synonymous.
The tantalizing tunnel of his hand beneath the dress, from her knee to her thigh and almost hip, had her sucking in a startled breath. The silky strands of his hair dragged across her face as he pulled his kiss from her lips and took it to the depths of her neckline. Tracing his tongue, on the skin just beneath that loose fabric barrier, had her shifting instinctively against his jeans, seeking the relief restrained by a zipper, and in this rapturous delirium, his name breathed through her lips.
Bringing them face to face again, his dilated gaze moved over hers and their lips brushed together. Smiling and speaking against them, he rumbled, “Goodnight Mariss...”
