by Holly Jaymes
“He was. But you know what they say about the love of a good woman.”
I laughed. “What do they say?”
“Something about a man only becomes a man through the love of a good woman.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Is that a real saying?”
“Look it up,” he said with enough confidence to have me believing him.
“So, I’m not a real man?”
He grinned. “You’re a pretender.”
“I’m okay with that.” Even so, I remembered seeing Mason with Willa at their wedding, and thinking how great it was for him to have someone who loved him the way she did. And for him to have someone to love. Mason had always been a bit of an introvert and loner growing up. And really intense. Willa brought out his more playful and open side. And apparently, Allie had some sort of effect on Josh that he’d decided to settle on one woman.
That wouldn’t happen to me though. Or if it did, it would be awhile. Right now, I had to get my head in the game and save my football career. I couldn’t get distracted by anything, including a feisty artsy redhead who’s disdain for me made me want to change her mind about me.
Chapter 4: He Makes Me Mean
Emma
I woke that morning early enough to paint the mist blanketing the lake. It made me think of an enchanted world like the Lady of the Lake in the Arthurian Legend, which I hope I’d captured in the blues, grays, and forest greens of the work.
As I was getting ready to start my shift at Paradise Java, my mother called. Like me, she was an early riser, except instead of painting, she spent her mornings exercising and checking email. Once a week, she included a check-in with me.
“Hi, Mom,” I said when I answered.
“Emma. I’ve been hearing that fire season will be bad again this year. That cabin of yours is a fire trap.”
Fires in California were getting progressively worse every year, it seemed. But I didn’t feel my location or home was in any worse shape than anyone else’s. Last year, a fire took out the more affluent Haynesville Ridge area of Eden Lake.
“I’ll keep that in mind. I sold a painting,” I said, wanting to get her off the topic of my moving back to Los Angeles. She tried to be supportive, but I knew she felt like it was a matter of time before I grew out of trying to make a living as an artist.
“Oh. That’s wonderful.” Her tone was more automatic than enthusiastic.
“To a pro football player.”
“Oh?” That did pique her interest. “Who?”
“Tucker McLean. Do you know him?” I checked the clock and thinking I’d be cutting it close to arrive at work on time, I carried the phone with me as I packed my day bag.
“I know of him. Everyone here does. Quite the ladies’ man. How do you know him?”
“He’s from this area and is in town to train with his brother.” I slung my bag over my shoulder and made my way out the door, picking up the painting I’d wrapped up for Tucker. I wasn’t sure how to get it to him as I didn’t have his number. I decided that if he didn’t come by Paradise Java in the next day or two, I’d get a hold of Mason, who was expected back from his honeymoon.
“I guess that could be a real boon for your work,” my mother said.
I stopped as I started to lock my door. “What do you mean?”
“I know you usually post a picture of a buyer and their purchased painting on your Instagram. A picture of someone like Tucker McLean would probably go viral. It could lead to a lot of interest in your work.”
I hadn’t thought of that. Like most things about Tucker, the idea of it both excited and annoyed me.
“I suppose so.” I wondered if he’d be okay with a picture, but then I remembered that he was often in selfies on social media, although they usually included some random buxom blonde.
“Perhaps you’ll make a living at this, after all,” she said, although it didn’t sound like she believed it.
“That’s the goal. I’m getting in the car to go to work now, Mom.”
“Yes, of course. I’ve got to get going too. Love you, honey.”
“Love you too, Mom.” I hung up and tossed the phone into my bag.
My day at work went normal, as expected. That afternoon, Mason came in and I was excited to see him and hear about his honeymoon. That is until I realized Tucker was with him. I don’t know what it was about him that rubbed me so wrong. Well, that’s not completely true. Part of what put me off was his cocky arrogance. But if I was completely honest, I also didn’t like how he had the ability to make a woman feel special, when in fact, she wasn’t.
At Mason’s wedding, Tucker’s charm initially worked on me. I was a smart, independent woman, but I was still a woman who could be beguiled by a sexy man who said all the right things. At first, I was excited that a man as handsome and sexy as Tucker would show an interest in me. But it became clear that he wasn’t interested in me, specifically. Anything that had boobs and a vagina was of interest to him.
Today was no different. I’d see him looking over at me, and then seconds later he was taking a nice long look at Allie Dalton. So, I suppose my disdain for him came partially from anger at myself for being taken in by him. I wouldn’t let that happen again.
When Allie left after meeting with Mason and Tucker, I took advantage of the lull in customers and went in the back to get the painting. Again, I had the tug of war of feelings. I was rude when I suggested he didn’t understand how much the painting cost and he made my guilt about that worse by paying more. I really wanted him to stay in the jerk jock category, but too often he was generous and charming. It made me look bad. Damn him.
I carried the painting to the table that he and Mason were sitting at in the corner.
“Here’s your painting,” I said, handing him the framed sixteen by twenty-inch package.
“Ah great,” he said, taking the painting. He undid the wrapping and held up the picture. “What does this look like to you?” he asked Mason as he held up the painting.
Mason studied it. “Night time on the lake?”
“Look closer.”
He eyed me for a moment before returning his attention to Tucker and the painting. “McLean Corner.”
Really? I frowned. I’d found this area on a walk and thought it would make a lovely vantage point for a night time painting. Had I really stumbled on the lover’s lane of Eden Lake? No one was there making out when I painted it. Then again, it was a cold winter night.
“Yes!” Tucker grinned. “Not the place I’d have expected a woman like you to be, Emma.”
I glared. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I wasn’t pious. I wasn’t a virgin.
“You strike me as a woman who likes to keep her sexual escapades behind closed doors.”
“Tucker,” Mason said with a shake of his head.
“I definitely don’t like it on TMZ,” I quipped.
“Touché.” Tucker nodded his concession.
Since we’d come to a truce of source, I urged myself to ask for the picture. “Um…I usually like to take a picture of the painting with its new owner to post on my Instagram.”
Tucker shrugged. “Sure. I don’t think that would be a problem.” He looked at Mason who nodded in agreement.
“It could help clean up your image, although, do football fans like art?” I was trying to be funny, but I didn’t quite manage to infuse humor in my voice.
Tucker’s amiable expression dropped to irritation and he pulled the wrapping back up on the painting.
“Don’t do me any favors, Em.”
“It’s Emma.” I hated being called Em.
“And don’t pretend that getting a picture of me on your Instagram wouldn’t be profitable for you.”
“Tucker,” Mason said again in that voice that suggested he was trying to censure him.
“No, Mason.” He leaned toward me. “We both know that you’ll take this picture - and tag and hashtag me - all for the purpose of having people find you and your art. You hate that wha
t I’m saying is true because you don’t like me. And yet, my debauchery can actually help you. You’re having a hard time reconciling that, aren’t you?”
He was right. I looked over at Mason, who seemed to side with Tucker on this as he shrugged at me.
“Of course, a picture of you holding a painting instead of a woman, could help you too,” Mason offered.
Tucker nodded. “I’m not denying it, but when it comes to who’s going to get the most from it, it’s her. If I wanted the positive publicity, I’d take a picture with you, Mason. You’re the steady, well-liked, reputable McLean.”
See, it was happening again. Somehow, Tucker, the sex-addicted jock was coming out looking better than me. I was looking like a bitch.
“I apologize if I offended you, Mr. McLean,” I said, moving to put my phone in my pocket.
“Take the picture,” he said, pushing the wrap back down. He smiled, but it wasn’t the signature Tucker McLean grin. I held up my phone, snapped the picture and put it away.
“Thank you. I hope you like the painting.” Taking a breath because I was embarrassed and annoyed, I then asked, “Is there anything else you need? We have some muffins that just came out of the oven.”
“I’m good,” Mason said. “Tuck?”
“I’m good.” He stood, looking at Mason. “What time should I meet you tomorrow?”
“Six? We’ll do the Crowder loop,” Mason said. I knew the Crowder Loop was a trail up the mountain, although I’d never hiked it.
“See you at six. Thanks for the painting, Em…Emma.” He strode out.
I exhaled a breath and turned to go back to work.
“Emma,” Mason’s voice had me turning back. He stood, with his drink in hand. “Listen, I know Tucker can come on strong with women, but he’s not hitting on you.”
I knew he was saying that to make me feel better, and yet, for reasons that made no sense to me, it hurt. Why wasn’t he hitting on me? What was wrong with me? See. Tucker McLean was making me crazy.
“He’s here to train,” he finished.
“Okay.”
He studied me a moment and then said, “You could try a little harder to hide your dislike of him.”
Shame and guilt roiled in my gut, which made me angry at Tucker again. There was something seriously wrong with me.
“I apologize—”
“I’m not the one you should apologize to. Look, Tucker is a great guy. Yes, he’s young and sowing his oats, but he’s a good person. I’m sure he offends many feminist sensibilities, but he’s not misogynistic. He’s not a douche. He just enjoys the good things in life.”
I nodded. “I’ll remember that.”
“Good. Now, can I get a mocha with a double shot and whipped cream to take home to Willa?”
I smiled. “Coming right up.”
When I brought him the drink, he said, “Listen, Willa and I are having a little party this weekend to celebrate Willa’s birthday. Tucker will be there but so will others - Wyatt, Josh, Allie…we’d like you to come too.”
“That’s nice, Mason, but I don’t want to intrude—”
“You’re our friend, Emma. We’d love for you to be there. Plus, you could bring by that painting I asked you to make.”
I smiled, loving how romantic he was to have a painting made of the special place he and Willa shared. He wouldn’t tell me how to get there and, instead, had given me photographs of it.
“It's a secret,” he said, and I remembered thinking how sweet that was. He was truly one in a million.
My luck with men was more like that of my grandmother and mother. It was nonexistent. In many ways, I should have been able to spot Tucker’s player ways as I’d dated someone just like him for three years in college. He’d been the star quarterback. Sexy. Handsome. Smart. As graduation neared, we’d planned to live together. That is until I caught him with one of the cheerleaders and learned that he’d been cheating on me almost since day one.
“I’d love it if you were there when I give the painting to her,” he finished.
“I’ll be happy to bring the painting,” I said.
“Great. See you Saturday.”
I watched him leave. When my friends would meet a perfect man who was taken, they’d ask, “Do you have a brother?” Mason had a brother, but Tucker didn’t have Mason’s sense of romance or loyalty.
With a shake of my head, I went back to work. I was wasting too much time thinking about Tucker, so I was glad when customers came in to distract me.
Chapter 5: Trying to Behave
Tucker
There was nothing to prove how unfit I was like training with Mason. The first day - a five-mile trail run, and then yoga with Allie - nearly killed me. It wasn’t like I hadn’t been doing anything. I’d been running and doing my physical therapy, but I hadn’t been running hills or on uneven terrain. And I hadn’t done much strength training beyond my therapy. So that night, I spent most of the evening in the hot tub trying to make my muscles stop screaming.
The next morning, I was back at it with another trail run and instead of yoga, I did basic bootcamp strength exercises like pushups and pullups.
“Let’s have a catch,” Mason said when I dropped down from the pullup bar, as sweat dripped down my chest.
I made a circle stretch with my throwing arm. “Sure.”
We headed out of the gym Mason had built onto the house. It wasn’t big, but it served his purpose in his digital fitness empire, and mine for getting in shape out of the way of prying eyes.
Because of the house expansion, the yard was a bit smaller, but there was still some grass and surrounding it all were trees.
“When you and Willa have kids and you have to build a swing, you won’t have room for throwing the ball,” I said.
“We’ll figure it out.” He tossed the football to me.
I caught it and for a moment just held it. I realized that as much as I loved football, it had been awhile since I’d held a ball in my hand. A shimmer of nerves skidded along my skin as I had a moment to wonder if I’d ever get fit enough to keep my job.
I looked over at Mason who was standing a ways away, but I could tell he was watching my reaction.
“You’ve got time, Tuck,” he said. “We’ll get you ready.”
I nodded, gripped the ball aligning my right thumb and middle finger in a straight line, my index finger near the nose, and the remaining fingers on the lace. I turned to my right side and looked over at Mason. Then I loaded the ball back, keeping my elbow up above my armpit, I stepped forward, twisting my left arm to the left as I threw the ball, using my index finger as the last touch to create the spiral.
The ball flew across the yard with a slight wobble, but Mason caught it.
“How’d that feel?” he called to me.
“Like I haven’t thrown in a while.”
He threw the ball back. Mason hadn’t done sports in school. He was more cerebral. After becoming a SEAL and then a trainer, he had strength and mass, but he still wasn’t a football player. His ball wobbled and shanked to the right.
“That must make you feel better,” he said as I ran after the ball.
“It would if I was competing against you for the job.”
We tossed the ball for a little while and then stopped for water and relaxing on his deck.
“You’ve built a nice home here, Mas,” I said as I looked out over the yard.
“With Willa, it’s complete.”
I smirked. “You’re sappy.”
He shrugged. “Someday, if you’re lucky, you’ll see what I mean.”
I inhaled a breath as I considered that. I wasn’t against marriage, but I had a hard time imagining being married. It wasn’t even a concern of being limited to one woman. It was more because I’d never met a woman that I could imagine spending more than a week with.
“I worry I’d get bored with one woman,” I said.
“Then you’re meeting the wrong women.”
The French doors of t
he home office opened and Willa appeared. “What’s this about women?”
“Just touting the virtues of finding a good woman.” Mason reached out, putting his arm around her and pulling her to stand next to him.
She leaned over and gave him a kiss.
“Sappy,” I said again.
Willa smiled. “Sappy is quite nice.”
“I agree.”
“I was thinking we could grill. Will you be staying, Tucker?” she asked.
“Nah. I’ve hit my sap threshold,” I joked. Mostly, I didn’t want to be in their way. They were still in their honeymoon phase and I didn’t want to get in the way of that. I stood and stretched. “The whirlpool tub is calling my name.”
“You can use our hot tub,” Mason said, rising from his chair.
I looked over at the tub. It was inviting, but then I wondered how many times he and Willa had done the deed in it. Then I wished I didn’t have that image in my head.
“Thanks, but I think I’ll eat, soak and sleep at home.”
“Short run tomorrow then rest,” Mason said. “And be here by seven for Willa’s birthday.”
I saluted. “Aye aye.”
Willa gave me a hug. “I’m glad you’re home, Tucker.”
As I headed back to my condo, I considered stopping for a smoothie, but wasn’t sure I was in the mental place to spar with Emma. Instead, I headed home, cooked up some chicken and vegetables that I ate while sitting on the balcony overlooking the lake. Then, with a protein shake made with ice cream, I filled the garden tub and climbed in for a long soak with Epsom salts.
The next day, I took a run along a path near the lake. While the season hadn’t started, there were several people so the run felt more like an obstacle course. I’d need to find a more secluded place for flatter runs. I did a few of Allie’s yoga recommendations. As I returned to my condo, I considered a swim, but I didn’t want to get too tired. I wanted to be alert and alive for Willa’s birthday party.
I didn’t know what to get a sister-in-law, especially since she was married to a billionaire who could buy her whatever she wanted. Eden Lake had many shops, but no mall. Ultimately, I ended up buying her a silver frame she could put her wedding picture - or whatever she wanted - in.
