I Want You Back

by Lorelei James

  Their unquestioning support humbled me. And I wanted to be the type of father that Mimi looked up to. The man in her life she could always count on.

  “What else is on your mind, Jax?” Jensen asked.

  “Parental protocol. Do I tell Lucy that Mimi broke the rules when she was with me? Because that might bring me more trouble.”

  “Like?”

  “Like why didn’t I know that Mimi was running around in another building? What was I doing that I couldn’t properly watch our child? Why hadn’t I known she’d broken a rule until a week after it happened? I don’t want to hand her a damn excuse to justify me spending less time with her. What sucks is that she has precedents for that type of reaction.”

  I fought the roar of frustration building inside me, a roar I used to drown in whiskey and women. Now I forced myself to utilize the redirection exercises my counselor suggested. Breathe in, clench my fists, breath out, release them.

  After three rounds of that, I felt the frustration ebb. I opened my eyes to see Jensen studying me warily. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Goddammit. The last thing I wanted was for my youngest male cousin to see me struggle. To see me as weak.

  But you are weak. Admitting that is the first step toward finding real strength.

  I exhaled again. “Sorry.”

  “Dude. Don’t apologize. I’m just happy to see that you have coping mechanisms that work for you.”

  “Thanks. Some days are easier than others.”

  Jens leaned forward. “You have people to talk to? Or is assuming that you do just another place where we’ve all failed you?”

  “I see a counselor once a week. He heads up the group therapy sessions at Hazelden. After I completed the program he referred me to a colleague in Chicago. After I moved back here, he took me on as a private client. I’m lucky to have him.”

  “I’m really freakin’ relieved to hear that.” Jensen paused. “I know you’re tight with Nolan, but if you ever need someone else to talk to, someone who understands the public demands of being a pro athlete, who feels the need to numb the constant aches and pains associated with using your body as a battering ram, call me. I’m not some punk-ass kid anymore.”

  I locked my gaze to his. “I know that. I appreciate the offer, so don’t be shocked when I take you up on it.”

  “Good.” Jens stood. “Now, come here, bro, and hug it out.”

  “Jesus. You sound like Martin.”

  “Wrong. Martin calls me brosky.”

  I laughed. We did the backslapping-man-hug thing. Then I followed Jensen to the door.

  He faced me. “As far as the Mimi situation . . . you gotta tell Lucy what Mimi did and how you dealt with it. That said . . . Snow Village is secure. Emphasize that. Emphasize that you gave Mimi consequences for her behavior. She’ll see your honesty as a step forward. Better to be up front now than for Mimi to spill the details in a few months, which will cause Lucy to wonder what else you’d kept from her.”

  “You’re right. Maybe I’ll find my balls and tell her about my upcoming move at the same time.”

  Jensen’s jaw dropped. “Jax. Buddy. You still haven’t told her?”

  I shook my head. “The space isn’t ready. They’re finishing the trim work and final installation of the private elevator this week. Move-in date is still up in the air.”

  “Who all knows about this move?” Jensen asked, shooting a glance down the hallway toward Mimi’s bedroom.

  “You. Since you’re my landlord.”

  “That’s it?”

  “I didn’t bother to talk to your brother about taking on the remodel since he’s focused on historical renovation.”

  “Your brother doesn’t know either?”

  “Nolan would try to talk me out of it.”

  Jensen clapped me on the shoulder. “Good luck telling her, because you’ll need it.” He grinned. “Speaking of getting lucky, got to get home to my wife so we can end our date night with a bang.”

  After he left, I locked up, grabbed a sparkling water from the fridge and plopped into the recliner. I found it weird that married couples had “date” nights. Wasn’t that the whole point of getting married? So you didn’t have to come up with dating type stuff? Christ. I sucked at dating.

  With the TV off and silence filling the space, I nestled my head into the cushion and closed my eyes. My mind wasn’t calm. It zigged and zagged until it settled on a direction I hadn’t wanted to go. To my very first conflict with Lucy and our first date, which, ironically enough, still was the best date I’d ever had . . .

  * * *

  • • •

  On the drive to Pizza Lucé, I didn’t let that little blue Corolla out of my sight to the point I was tailgating. Lucy already thought I was annoying; proving I was an asshole driver wouldn’t come as a surprise to her. But no way was I letting her ditch me; I’d never been so drawn to a woman.

  It’d been a long time since I’d met a woman who hadn’t immediately known who I was. Not my ego talking, but the truth. Anytime I ventured out in Chicago, either alone, with my teammates or with a woman, I got recognized. After living out of the Twin Cities for several years, whenever I came home, the odds of anyone recognizing me either as Jaxson “Stonewall” Lund, Chicago Blackhawks hockey player and rival to the Minnesota Wild, or just as Jax Lund, one of the heirs to the billionaire Lund family fortune, were still pretty high.

  The Lund family name was synonymous with power, money and prestige in the community. Plus, I’d been the high school hockey standout as well as part of the college hockey team that brought the Frozen Four championship to the University of Minnesota. So it’d been refreshing that Lucy had treated me like any other guy who annoyed the piss out of her with rude, entitled behavior. Add in the fact she was hot—man, I could worship those legs of hers for days—and unapologetically prickly . . . I wanted to see if she had that attitude in bed.

  I parked quickly enough I was able to do the gentlemanly thing and help her out of her car.

  She said nothing, just arched a brow at me. But she didn’t remove my hand from the small of her back as I ushered her inside the restaurant.

  The scents of yeast and basil, oregano and tomatoes greeted us. The male host said, “Two for the restaurant side or the bar side?”

  Lucy answered, “Bar side, please. A booth by the windows if you’ve got one.”

  The host offered her a dazzling smile. “Whatever the lady wishes.”

  The smarmy asshole hadn’t even looked at me.

  Once we were seated, she held out her hand.

  “What?”

  “Your cell. Hand it over.”

  I leaned across the table and kissed her palm. “I left it in the car.”

  “Umm. Well. Okay.”

  That little peck on the palm flustered her.

  Good.

  The host cleared his throat.

  I glanced up. I’d forgotten the little shit was still there.

  He handed Lucy a menu, then me. “Wine list is on the back.”

  She smiled at him. “Sorry. Beer girl.”

  “A woman after my own heart. The beer on tap is listed on the second to the last page. And might I suggest you try the Spring Splendor from a microbrewery in Wisconsin? It’s a full-bodied IPA with hints of apple blossom, green wheatgrass and honey. It’s the quintessential beer for spring.”

  Fucking hipster.

  “While my beautiful date is debating what her heart desires”—besides me went unsaid—“have the bartender pour me whatever seasonal Schell you’ve got on tap. Sixteen ounce.”

  The dude bristled.

  Lucy said, “I’ll have the same.”

  As soon as the guy left, she leaned in. “This date ain’t starting out so hot, ace.”

  “Why? Because I was brusque to the server who was salivating
all over my date?”

  She blinked at me. “Salivating? Really?”

  “Slathering on the flattery too.”

  She snorted and busied herself scouring the menu.

  “Salivating and slathering is my job, hot stuff. Not his.”

  Without missing a beat or looking up from her menu, she said, “Hit me with some flattery.”

  “I can’t decide if I’ll wrap my fingers in your silky hair the first time I kiss you or if I’ll curl my hand around the back of your neck as I taste my fill of those full lips of yours. I may not kiss you tonight, but by our third date you will know how perfectly wicked it’ll feel to have my mouth all over you.”

  Lucy slowly lowered the menu. Her pupils had nearly disappeared in her dark brown eyes. “Are you a good kisser, Jaxson? Or do you just talk a good game?”

  “Anytime you want to find out, baby, all you gotta do is ask.”

  She smirked . . . and damn if it didn’t straddle the line between evil and challenging. “Fair warning that this verbal foreplay is all you’ll get from me tonight: I don’t fuck on the first date.”

  “So I can’t call you loose.” I smirked. “But then again, Luce, I guess I can.”

  She started laughing. The sound of it had me joining in. We were still snickering when the waiter—not the brownnosing host boy—delivered our beer.

  I raised my mug to hers for a toast.

  But she beat me to the punch. “To loose women and annoying men.”

  “Skål.”

  After that first sip, I said, “What kind of pizza are we ordering?”

  “Pepperoni and green olive.”

  I shook my head. “Sausage and black olive. With hot peppers.”

  She shook her head right back at me. “With green peppers and green onions.”

  “Nope. With purple onions and mushrooms. Chicago deep-dish pan style.”

  “Wrong. Thin crust.”

  The waiter returned. “Are you ready to order?”

  I kept my eyes on hers. “We’ll take a large hand-tossed crust, loaded with all toppings except anchovies.”

  “Extra cheese?” he asked.

  We said, “No,” simultaneously.

  “The man can compromise,” she muttered before taking another swig of beer.

  I just smiled. “So, Lucy Q, are you a native Minnesotan or a transplant?”

  “Native. Born and raised in the Twin Cities. How about you?”

  “Same.” If I told her I didn’t live here now this would be our first and last date. “And your family?”

  “My mom lives here. She and my father divorced when I was ten. My sister lives here too.”

  “Older sister? Younger?”

  “Older by two years. What about your family?”

  “Most of my family lives here. I have one brother. Younger by two years. I have a lot of cousins. We spent so much time together growing up that they’re almost like my siblings.”

  “Sounds fun.” She made a ring on her cocktail napkin with the bottom of her beer mug. “Ever been married?”

  “Nope. Never came close.”

  “Me neither.” She gave me a curious look. “What do you do for a living?”

  “Guess.”

  “How did I know you were gonna say that.” She continued her perusal of me. “You’re a finance guy. Probably a stockbroker, given the annoying conversation about salary that I overheard.”

  “Nope. Not even close.”

  “Is Jaxson your first name or your last name?”

  I said, “First,” and nothing else.

  “What’s the big deal about you not telling me your last name or what you do for a living?”

  I slumped back in the booth with a sigh. “Me telling you will change things. And I like you and how this is going, so I’m not ready to wreck it.”

  Her eyes searched mine. “I’ll let you hedge. For now.”

  “Sounds like you’ve already made up your mind there will be a second date, despite your erroneous statement that this date wasn’t going well. What do you do for a living?”

  “Guess.”

  I had that coming. “You’re a baker.”

  “What about me caused you to make that claim?”

  “Because you smell amazing. Like lemon cupcakes coated with sweet buttercream frosting.”

  “That’s my body lotion,” she retorted. “Try again. You have two more guesses about my occupation.”

  “You’re a . . . nurse.”

  “Sort of. But that’s not what pays my bills.”

  “How can one ‘sort of’ be a nurse?”

  “One guess left.”

  “What do I get if I guess correctly?”

  “Nothing, because you won’t figure it out.”

  I took a swig of beer. “She has a high bullshit meter. She likes to argue. She has a haughty demeanor. She dresses well—feminine yet professional. I’d say a high-powered attorney, but if that were the case you’d be driving a Mercedes, not a Corolla. So my final answer is . . . you’re an advocate in a social services department.”

  She made a deep-throated “you missed” buzzer noise and I burst out laughing. Not what I’d expected from her. At all.

  “In a show of faith because I’m proud of the fact I graduated from college, I’ll tell you that I’m a graphic designer. Which means I can’t draw for shit, but I’m creative and excel at organizing computer images into functional graphics.”

  “Do you like your job?”

  “I love it. It’s nearly impossible to find a stable, full-time job now in our industry. Too many graphics people are stuck with freelancing jobs because companies prefer to hire out for specific campaigns, rather than having an in-house graphics department.”

  “What do you do for fun?”

  Lucy cocked her head, sending that glorious hair cascading onto the table. “What’s with the twenty questions? I thought you intended to prove that you aren’t annoying. Being grilled by a guy who’s embarrassed to confess how he makes a living or refuses to divulge his last name skirts the line from you being annoying into you being an arrogant ass.”

  “Point taken.” I smiled and brushed her hair over her shoulder. “I was going for mysterious.”

  “You failed, buddy.”

  I laughed. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed so much. Especially at my own expense. “Ask me three things about myself.”

  “Do you have a closer relationship to your mom or your dad?”

  Great question—and one I’d never been asked. “My mom.”

  “When was the last time you cried?”

  Jesus. She could be a professional interrogator. “Two months ago.”

  “What made you cry?”

  My subconscious said, I got the fuck beat out of me during the final game of the season and I was pissed off that we lost, but my mouth said, “I had a physical injury.”

  “What’s your—”

  “Huh-uh, Lucy Q. That was three questions. Anything you ask me from here on out? You have to answer too.”

  “Fine. What’s your favorite song?”

  “Today it’s ‘Brown Eyed Girl.’ What’s yours?”

  She shot back, “‘King of Wishful Thinking,’” without missing a beat.

  I laughed. God. This woman. I was already half-crazy about her. “Seriously, Luce. What do you do for fun when you’re not working as a graphic designer?”

  Lucy drummed her fingers on the table. “I pick up sexy, nosy, secretive men in car washes.”

  “Now I’m crushed that I’m not the first to fall for your prickly charms.”

  “Ah. But you are.” Her smiled faded. “I’ll admit . . . it’s been a while since I’ve done anything fun, Jaxson.”

  I swallowed my flip response. “You’re beau
tiful and you could go to any club or bar in the metro area and never have to pay for a drink. You wouldn’t lack for dance partners. And you wouldn’t have to go home alone unless you chose to. As a lifelong resident of the Twin Cities I’m guessing you’ve got tons of friends. You’re honestly telling me that you aren’t out and about at least some of the time taking advantage of being hot, sexy and single?”

  “Will it put me in a different light if I admit if I’m not working or taking care of my mom I don’t know what to do with myself?”

  My eyes narrowed. “Taking care of your mom?”

  “She was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was in college. Thankfully she had good health insurance and we were able to get her into Mayo. She went through two rounds of chemo, so my sister, Lindsey, and I moved back in with her. I deferred a semester of school, and Lindsey and I took turns taking her to appointments, because it’s a bit of a drive to Rochester.”

  “That explains your ‘sort of a nurse’ response,” I murmured.

  “After the cancer went into remission, I refocused on school. Then I graduated and focused on my job. Pretty boring, huh?”

  I snagged her restless hand. “Pretty fucking amazing, actually, that you’d put your life in a holding pattern to be there for your mom.”

  “She’d do it for me. And I wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on school anyway, since I was so worried I’d lose her.”

  “Doesn’t make it—or you—any less amazing, Lucy Q.” I kissed the back of her hand. “I want to take you out and do every fun thing you’ve ever wanted to experience but couldn’t because you were singularly focused on doing things for other people.” I rubbed my lips across her knuckles and watched the pulse in her throat quicken.

  “Why me?”

  “It’s not a line when I say I’ve never felt this kind of pull. I want to learn everything about you. Your likes, your dislikes. What makes you laugh. If you throw things when you’re angry. If your skin tastes salty sweet. If I can make you melt on my tongue.”

  “Jaxson.”

  “Lucy.”

  “Even without understanding why you’re determined to keep things from me, I know we’re horribly mismatched, you and I.”

  “You can’t know that after spending only an hour with me.”