by Aly Martinez
“I’m not trying to get off the hook for anything. I like cooking for you. If I called and said I had a crap day and wanted you to come over, would you?”
“Of course, but—”
“Okay. See you in a few.” She hangs up before I can say anything else.
I guess I’ll be seeing Jesse tonight after all, and that thought propels me off the couch and into the shower. This day just got a hell of a lot better.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jesse
OVER THE next few weeks, Brett and I fall into an easy groove. We see each other every morning at Nell’s and hang out about three to four times a week. I make a point to cook him as many meals as I can, including preparing his favorite fruit and granola for him to keep at home on the weekends. Last week, he asked me to put together a grocery list for him, and now he keeps his fridge stocked with ingredients for me to cook dinner at his place. When he first asked about it, my heart stopped at the idea of how serious that sounded—my making his weekly grocery list. I talked myself out of reading too much into it. I have to remind myself daily that we are just dating. Nothing serious…yet.
I haven’t heard from or seen Sarah again since that day at the coffee shop. She all but disappeared. I have no idea if Caleb spoke with her or not. I can’t imagine that would have gone over well with Brett. He was so protective of her after the way she reacted to Caleb. I don’t think he would be very pleased if he caught wind that Caleb showed up to have a “talk” with her.
Brett doesn’t talk about Sarah or even acknowledge that she exists. That doesn’t mean it escapes me when he disappears on Thursdays. I don’t ask questions, and he doesn’t offer any answers. I’ve grown to dread Thursdays. Always worrying about what’s going to happen. Is she going to assault him? I can’t help but feel like one day she is going to realize what she is letting go and want Brett back. I can’t compete with her. He spent years loving her. Maybe he still does. I can’t think like that though. I promised myself to give him the benefit of the doubt, but it’s a struggle.
My mind goes wild with ideas. I understand what he is doing by spending time with her and why he does it. It still hurts like hell when he disappears every week though. Like clockwork, he calls me every Thursday night at eight. And even though we only live three miles from each other, we spend two hours talking on the phone.
I’d love to see him every night, but with as wild as things got in those first few days we were together, I know it’s best if we take this slow. By slow, I mean having sex every time we are in a fifty-yard radius of each other. Brett is always in the mood, and trust me, one look at Brett “in the mood” would put you in the mood too.
One day last week, he had an early meeting at work, so he came for breakfast around ten. Nell’s was empty. The breakfast rush had come and gone. I was excited, thinking it would give us time to talk and hang out. Brett had other plans. He flipped the sign on the door to ‘closed’ and dragged me into the back office for a mid-morning quickie. It was better than his usual middle-of-the-night quickies we have on the weekends when I sleep over at his apartment. Brett may have made me a little more adventurous, but that doesn’t mean I’ve completely escaped my shy ways.
For days after the office make-out session, I wondered if there were cameras in the office. I went so far as to freak out when I realized that I’d probably just made a porn that, one day, my mother and brother would stumble across on the internet. I don’t know why my mother would be looking at porn on the internet, but that doesn’t make the thought any less consuming.
I was so nervous that, one night, I woke up Kara to ask if there were any cameras. Of course she knew the answer to this question and assured me that Nell isn’t that high tech. She then told me all about her sexcapades in that office, thus ensuring that it was a one-time deal for Brett and me. I’ll never be able to look at that office desk the same way again.
By early November, Brett and I are floating right along in our non-relationship relationship. We pretend that what we are doing isn’t serious, but we both know it’s pretending. One Friday night, when we get home from the most amazing greasy dinner at a hole-in-a-wall restaurant twenty miles outside of town, he surprises me by asking me about my holiday plans.
“So, gorgeous, tell me what you do for the holidays?” he asks when he pulls up to his apartment.
“Well, Thanksgiving, I usually spend the day at my mom’s house. I help her cook while my brother sits on his lazy butt watching football. Then Christmas, I usually just hang with Kara. My mom goes to visit her sister down in Florida for a week, and Eric goes to his college fraternity Christmas party in Boston.” I stop talking when an annoyed look crosses his face. “What’s wrong?”
“Your brother goes to a fraternity party and leaves his little sister alone on Christmas Day?”
“It’s no big deal. Kara’s family lives in Washington, and tickets are too expensive that time of year. For the last few years, we’ve had Christmas Eve spa nights. Then we spend Christmas Day watching movies and spiking our hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps. If I were with Eric, then Kara would be alone. Really, it works out best for everyone.”
“Bullshit!”
“Um, excuse me?” I ask, startled by his reaction.
“Bull. Shit,” he repeats slowly so there is no confusion about his opinion on the situation. “There is no way I would leave my sisters alone on Christmas. That’s a special day that is meant to be spent surrounded by family. So I have a big problem that he would think his douchebag fraternity brothers are more family than his own blood,” he finishes, blatantly upset.
“Okay, I agree that my brother is a…douche, but I disagree about everything else. I do spend Christmas with my family. Kara. You think her being alone is better than us having a fantastic day laughing and watching A Christmas Story and getting drunk? Seriously, that movie only gets funnier when you’ve been drinking. I love my brother, he’s great, and he would do anything for me, but it would be a miserable day spent staring at each other. We still fight like we are twelve. I’m not even joking. Last time I saw him, he tied my shoelaces together. He may be a fancy bigwig attorney now, but he’s still my annoying older brother deep down. Before you judge me, what exactly do you do during the holidays?” I ask, throwing some sass in his direction.
“For the last four years, I’ve worked every Thanksgiving. I volunteer so none of the guys with families have to work. My sisters both go to their in-laws. So it’s not like I’m missing anything. Christmas, on the other hand, is kind of a big deal with my family. Every year, we get together at my parents’ house. Everyone, including all five of my nieces and nephews, spends the night and we wake up the next morning to my mom’s homemade monkey bread and breakfast casserole. Santa comes for the little kids in the early morning. Then, while they are playing with their toys or sleeping from a sugar crash after eating the entire contents of their stockings, the adults swap presents.”
He shrugs likes it’s no big deal, but it makes me pale. Jeez, after hearing about Kara’s and my Christmas drink-a-thon, it really is sad.
“Let’s go in, Jess. I don’t want you getting cold, and that shirt isn’t going to do much to keep you warm,” he says, glancing down at my pink scoop neck sweater, which reveals a good bit of cleavage. This is yet another item from the Kara Reed collection.
“Are you working this year? On Thanksgiving, I mean.”
“Nah. The guys caught on that I’ve worked the past few years, so Smith signed up to work before I could. He gave me some speech about being happy to avoid his in-laws, but I know it’s a load of shit.”
Before I give myself a chance to really think it through, I rush out an invitation that I know is going to freak him out. “Spend Thanksgiving with me and my family.”
“No, babe. That wasn’t the point of this conversation. You go spend time with your family. Maybe afterward, you can come spend the night and give me all the thanksgiving I need,” he jokes, but his smile doesn’t quite rea
ch his deep green eyes.
I know this isn’t going to be an easy fight to win. He doesn’t even know it’s a fight yet. But he’s already lost this battle. No way am I leaving him home alone on his first Thanksgiving off in years.
“Please come, Brett! You can watch football with my brother while mom and I cook. We always make so much food. You can help keep it all from going to waste. Please! I can introduce you as a friend. It doesn’t have to be a ‘meet the parents’ situation. I know we are taking this slow, but I’m not going to let you spend Thanksgiving alone. Please!” I whine, begging like a child.
He rolls his eyes and lets out a loud sigh. “All right, babe. No need to start batting your eyelashes. I’ll come. What kind of beer does your brother drink?”
I squeal, launching myself over the small center console and into his lap. He really needs a bigger car. I’m not a big girl, but this thing is tiny. I only manage to get my upper body over it before getting stuck, so I work with what I’ve got. I smash my chest against his then give him a deep, passionate kiss.
He laughs against my lips. “I vote we start Thanksgiving tonight. You don’t happen to have an Indian costume, do you?” he asks, reaching behind my awkwardly positioned body. He shoves both hands into my jeans and squeezes my butt.
“Brett, your hands are freezing!” I try to jump away, but he’s holding me too tight and there isn’t anywhere to go in this sardine-can-sized car anyway.
“I know. I told you we should get inside. Just give me a minute. I’m warming up my hands.” He laughs while I squirm to get out of his icy grip.
It’s no use though. He is so much bigger and stronger than I am. I can, however, hit him where it really hurts, and I’m not talking about actually laying a finger on him.
“If you don’t stop now, I’m not, um…having sex with you tonight.” For some reason, this only makes him laugh louder.
“Oh, sweet Jesse. Don’t make threats you can’t follow through with.”
“I could totally withhold sex for one night,” I say, feigning confidence.
“Well how about this, gorgeous. We don’t waste time trying to figure it out. Trust me. No one wins in that situation.”
He’s so right. I might be annoyed with him, but I am so looking forward to a night spent naked with Brett.
“Can we just go inside? The beer in your fridge is calling my name.”
“Why, Jesse Addison, are you becoming a lush on me?
“Probably,” I answer truthfully. I have been drinking more since I met Brett, but there is just something about curling up on the couch together and drinking a few beers.
“Well, I like it! You always get a little kinkier when I’m fucking you after a few beers.” He opens his door, and heads around the car to open mine.
If there is one thing I will never get used to about Brett, it’s that he’s always a gentleman. Yes, I do realize I called him a gentleman after he said something about f-ing me. That’s just Brett though. He drops the F-word like it’s a comma. If he’s drinking, it spans all parts of speech: noun, verb, pronoun, adjective. At first, it shocked me, but now I kind of like it. I hate to say it, but I’ve accepted his colorful vocabulary as part of the sexy Sharp package. It might make me a naïve fool, but hearing him refer to our nightly bedroom activities like that makes me a little hot. Okay, I’ll admit it—a lot hot.
“So, Thanksgiving at my house?” I question one last time before stepping out of the car. I want to make certain we’re on the same page.
“I already said yes. Thanksgiving at your house. I’ll bake a pie or something.”
“No!” I shout, startling him.
“Jesus! What is wrong with you?” He stops in the middle of the sidewalk.
“Brett, I’ve tasted your cooking. The last thing I need is my mother and brother keeling over from food poisoning. Just bring beer, and don’t get any ideas about brewing it yourself.”
“Damn, that was harsh! Just for that, I’m taking it nice and slow tonight.” He continues to the door.
“Is that a bad thing? Because it sounds pretty, um…stimulating to me.”
“Oh, babe, you have no idea what you are saying right now.” He drags me into his apartment.
A few hours later, he proves that nice and slow isn’t always good. It’s torturous—and my absolute new favorite.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jesse
ON SATURDAY night, I arrive at the bar to meet Caleb and Brett. The guys spent the evening smoking cigars and having drinks for one of the detectives’ retirement party. Brett called earlier asking if I wanted to meet them out or if I would rather stay in for the night. As appealing as staying in on a cold and windy Chicago night sounded, we do that all the time. Going out sounded like fun, especially when Brett told me it was a dance club and not our normal sports bar. Since we were doing something out of our norm, it gave me the opportunity to wear something special too.
After shopping for three hours this afternoon, I found a super short navy-blue dress. I wanted to wow Brett. That’s what keeps relationships alive, right? This little dress should have no problem spicing things up. The top crisscrosses in the front, doing a great lift-and-push-together trick on my boobs. I paired it with the same knee boots of Kara’s that I wore on our first date at the Bears game. Brett spent the whole night staring at my legs, so I know he liked them.
I must have been lost in my thoughts because I didn’t see Eric until I slammed into his chest.
“What are you wearing?”
Rubbing my cheek where I face-planted into my brother’s chest, I look up to see a furious look on his face. “Jeez, Eric. What the heck is your problem?”
“Are you aware you just walked into a bar…in your underwear?” he asks like I have lost my mind. Apparently that’s what he thinks I have on, because he quickly takes off his suit jacket and throws it over me.
“Stop it. You’re going to mess up my hair,” I say, swatting his stupid jacket away.
“Jesse, what are you doing here?” He leans into my face, trying to intimidate me. He is such a jerk sometimes. I swear, he still treats me like his seven-year-old baby sister.
Eric is three years older and he’s always been hard on me. While I may be short, Eric is definitely not. I look like my mom, and Eric is the spitting image of my dad. Sandy-blond, perfectly styled hair and toffee-colored eyes. He isn’t huge like Brett, but he isn’t anything to sneeze at either. When we were in high school, he ran off every guy who even looked in my direction. When he went away to college, he left half of the football team behind to look after me. I blame him for the fact that I didn’t have a real boyfriend until college. So listening to him question me about my clothes and why I’m here annoys the crap out of me.
“Get out of my face, dog breath,” I say, reverting back to our teenage years. I try to walk past him but he grabs my arm, spinning me in a full circle before pushing me up against the wall.
“Let’s go. I’m taking you home. I have no idea what you think you are doing here, especially dressed like that, but I can promise you aren’t staying.”
“Are you kidding me here? Get your hands off me! Guess what, loser! I’m a grown woman. You can’t make me do anything. Now let me go before I knee you in the jewels.”
“All right. Up you go.” He bends down, planting a shoulder into my stomach and lifting me up onto his shoulder.
“Put me down! I’m wearing a thong and you are flashing everyone my butt!” I yell, trying to grab my skirt.
I am going to kill him for this. I swing my legs, hoping at least one of them lands a kick to the stomach. I must have accomplished my goal because I hear him grunt. Then I feel hands around my waist lifting me to my feet. Instead of being released, though, I’m crushed into a man’s chest. When I struggle to free my head enough to look up and see who’s holding me so tight, Caleb’s irate eyes meet mine.
“It’s all right, baby girl. I’ve got you.” He tries to comfort me then whispers again to himsel
f, “I’ve got you.”
“Jones, cuffs!” I hear Brett yell from behind me.
I turn, confused to see my brother lying facedown on the ground. Brett has one knee in his back and both of Eric’s arms pulled behind him. For the first time in my life, I hear my brother cussing. And not just your average run-of-the-mill bad words. He is saying things that would give Brett’s mouth a run for its money. Caleb releases me only long enough to flash his badge to the police officer and bouncer rushing over to us. The officer pulls out his cuffs and tosses them to Caleb, who pulls me back into his body, tucking my head into his chest. I hear the click of metal and Brett reading Eric his rights.
“Caleb, let me go.”
“Shhh…you’re okay. Brett’s coming,” he responds so lovingly that it makes me melt. See, now this is how a big brother should act.
I feel Brett’s hand touch the back of my shoulders just before I hear him ask, “Is she okay?” I don’t even have a chance to answer before I feel him reach under my legs and pick me up.
I have no idea what it is about men thinking that, just because I’m small, they always need pick me up. My legs work just fine. I don’t need to be carried around like a toddler everywhere I go.
I finally find my voice. “Put me down!”
“I’ve got you, gorgeous.”
“I’m well aware you have me, honey. The only problem is you also have my big brother cuffed and laying on the floor.” He stops moving and looks back at my brother, who is now sitting up and talking to the uniformed officer.
I prepare to explain this whole mishap to him when he turns back to look at me. “You’re not bailing him out, so get that look off your face.”
“What do you mean I’m not bailing him out? Of course I’m not—” I can’t even finish my thought before he interrupts me.
“Good. That asshole is sleeping in a cell tonight.”
“No, he isn’t. I’m not bailing him out because you aren’t taking him to jail.”
