by Q. B. Tyler
Within moments, I see Ava entering my office with a bit of a bounce in her step. Where does she get all of this energy? There’s a subtle sway to her hips, and I can’t stop myself from getting momentarily hypnotized as she walks toward me. “Hi, Jackson.” She smiles, and my eyes dart away from her hips and to hers, and it’s as if she doesn’t realize I was just momentarily checking her out. Either that or she doesn’t care.
“Ava.” I nod as I stand from my chair and walk toward her. “This is a surprise. To what do I owe this pleasure?” I take a moment to admire what’s she’s wearing: a white blouse tucked into navy high-waisted pants that make her legs look a mile long. And again, with a sweater that is too light for winter. What is this girl’s aversion to a coat?
She giggles and shakes her head. “So formal.” She hands me a tin with a bow wrapped around it, and I cock my head to the side.
“What is this?” She got me a gift? For what? A foreign feeling spreads through me.
“Well, I wanted to say thank you for last night. Coming to get me and making sure I got home safe… paying for the cab.” She blushes slightly.
Why wouldn’t I pay? Doesn’t she have any idea how much money I make?
“I remember you used to have an incurable sweet tooth. Chocolate chip was your weakness if I remember correctly.” She nods towards the tin. “To say thank you.”
I’ve done favors for tons of people over the course of my life, and no one has ever done anything so—thoughtful. Hell, even last week I'd lent twenty thousand dollars to a friend, and his reply was “Thanks, douchebag,” and a promise he wouldn't blow it all on strippers and cocaine in Vegas. Not that I'd eat anything he baked.
Realizing I haven't said anything, I reply, “Ava, you didn't have to do this.”
“I know; I wanted to!” she chirps, and I'm overcome with that familiar feeling again.
Her smile, her cheery disposition is infectious.
“Well, thank you very much, Ava. I do appreciate the gesture.” If there was anything I learned from my mother, it was manners. I suppose I'll have Michelle send her a thank you card or flowers later this week.
“So, this is your big fancy office, huh? Impressive, Walsh.” She smiles, and I can't help feeling a sense of pride at her compliment.
“I like it.” I say as a smug grin finds my face.
“I'll bet! You can fit my entire apartment in here.”
I frown thinking about her in a tiny apartment all by herself. “You don't have a roommate?”
“Oh, I do. It's just… close quarters.” I look around my office and then back at her as I try to imagine how an entire apartment for two people could fit in here. “But we get along great!” She adds as if I'm concerned with that in the slightest.
How is she sharing a space this small with someone? I mean my office isn't small by any means, but I'm certainly not sharing it with another person to eat, sleep and shower. What the hell?
“Ava, you should stay with me; that's ridiculous. I have plenty of space,” I blurt out before I can even catch the words. She spins around from the artwork on my wall, her mouth ajar.
“Oh my God, Jackson. That's very kind of you, but totally unnecessary. My roommate, Darcy, is great. The space really isn't an issue, and she's a bartender, so we hardly see each other. We basically just high five each other in and out of the apartment.” She giggles. “I promise it's fine.” She assures me, but I'm not convinced. She looks around one final time. “Anyway, I just came by to drop these off; I have a class soon.”
“So, you don’t have time to join me for lunch?” I ask, realizing that’s the easiest way to show her my gratitude for the baked goods.
She looks down at her watch, and her eyes widen. “No, I have to get back.”
“Dinner then?”
Two
* * *
Central Garden was an upscale restaurant that sat above the city, overlooking Central Park from the sixteenth floor. The waitlist to get in was at least six months long at any time, unless of course you were Jackson Walsh. I walk toward the door to see Ava staring down at her phone just outside. I frown, wondering why she's standing outside in the cold.
“Ava?” I ask as I reach her, touching her elbow softly.
“Hi!” she says, her cheeks pink from the chilly air.
“Why didn't you go in?”
“Jackson, this restaurant has a crazy waitlist. I'm sure they're used to people trying to get in all the time. Besides, if I told them I was here with you, they'd probably laugh at me.”
“Why?” I ask. You're a stunning woman, Ava. I'm sure they'd assume you were my date.
“Well--” She bites her lip, and my cock reacts immediately. Down boy, this isn’t a date. “I just wanted to wait for you, that's all.”
“Okay, after you, Ava,” I tell her, guiding her into the building and out of the cold.
We sit at my usual table tucked in the corner of the restaurant, and I can’t help but notice the look that hasn’t left Ava’s face since we ascended to the sixteenth floor. “This place is beautiful.” She looks at me nervously, and I can almost hear her thoughts.
“Order whatever you want, Ava. Don’t worry about it.”
She blushes and tucks a hair behind her ear. I can’t say I remember how easily her embarrassment showed across her creamy skin. “Okay.”
An hour and two bottles of wine later, I feel more relaxed than I’ve felt in months. I’ve never been at such ease talking to anyone. Ava is brilliant, witty and wise beyond her years. The conversation between us flowed effortlessly, and I don’t think I’ve laughed as much as I have tonight.
“So, you like law school so far?” I ask her as I bring the glass to my lips, sipping the red wine she’d insisted on choosing. It was sweeter than I liked, but I didn’t hate it.
She nods, leaning forward. “I love it.” Her eyes light up as her lips find the rim of her glass. “NYU is great.”
“Do you have any idea what kind of law you’d like to practice?” I make a mental note to reach out to my father to let him know that eventually little Ava Remington very well may need a job.
She shakes her head. “Is that… bad? That I have no idea?”
“No, Ava. The world is your oyster. You can do anything you want.”
She nods, and I don’t miss the emotion that crosses her face briefly. It’s almost as if no one has ever told her that before. No one had told her that she could be anything—do anything she wanted.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” I ask her, changing the subject, and she cocks her head to the side, giving me a smirk.
“Why? Did my brother ask you to find out?” She slides the spoon through her lips, sucking the crème brûlée we had ordered, and I try to ignore the reaction I have to the sultry whimper she makes when the sweet substance hits her tongue.
Stop it, Jackson, this is T’s baby sister. Truth was, I hadn’t even told Tucker I was having dinner with his sister.
“No, Ava.” I shake my head as I lean back in my chair and cross my arms over my chest. “Your brother didn’t ask. I was just wondering if there was a guy. One who allowed out by yourself, in New York City, at eleven o’clock at night.”
“Allowed, huh?” She throws her head back in a hearty chuckle, and I wonder if she’s had a little too much wine. “There’s no guy, Jackson.”
“You really shouldn’t be running around by yourself late at night, Ava.”
“I wasn’t running around; I was at the library. You know, studying.”
“Well when you’re studying late, you call me. I’ll make sure you get home safe.” I shoot her a stern look, but she doesn’t falter under my gaze like people usually do.
“Jackson…”
“I mean it, Ava. Don’t make me call Tucker and Sam.”
She rolls her eyes and leans forward, putting her elbows on the table. “What about you? Is there a lady in your life?”
I think about the last woman I’d been with. I’d met her out at a bar
a few weeks back. Tale as old as time: we got drunk; we fucked, and I haven’t spoken to her since. I shake my head. “Nope.”
“I--” Her words stop when the waiter comes by our table for what seems like the hundredth time. Back to hit on Ava again? The waiter had made it his mission to “check” on us every ten minutes. Filling Ava’s water, her wine, checking to see if she needed anything. It was pitiful, really. I wasn’t sure if Ava was naive or just not interested, but she barely paid his efforts the time of day. She was polite and courteous, but she never once gave him the indication she was interested. Frankly, he was beginning to piss me off.
“Can I take that from you, Miss?” he asks, pointing to the empty plate in front of her, and she nods.
“Oh, yes, please. Thank you.” She smiles her one-hundred-watt smile, and for a moment I’m just as speechless as the poor waiter. She really is beautiful, and if I didn’t think Tucker would beat me within an inch of my life over touching his sister, I’d let the copious amounts of wine lead us to the point of no return.
But I couldn’t--or rather, I wouldn’t.
The waiter leaves, and I can’t escape the snort that leaves me. Ava’s eyes find mine curiously. “What’s so funny?”
“He’s so hot for you.”
“Who?!”
Ah, naive it is. “The waiter, Ava. You really didn’t notice?”
“Oh, he was just being nice!”
“No, Ava. That is not nice. That is flirting. That is ‘please let me take you home and cook you breakfast tomorrow morning.’” Not that I had any experience cooking breakfast for a woman, or that I let them stay through the night, but it seems to work for my brother.
Ava’s cheeks turn pink, and it spreads to her ears and down her neck. Is she that embarrassed at just the idea of sex? I wasn’t even graphic. It’s not like I said they’d be ass fucking till sunrise. I smile to myself. So, she’s a bit of a prude then? And for some reason, it makes me happier than it should.
“Is that what you do for women? Cook them breakfast in the morning? Is that a part of your moves?”
“No, Ava. It’s not.” I shake my head. “I’ve never made breakfast for anyone.”
“Why?”
“Not my style.”
“What is your style then, Jackson?”
I freeze, not knowing exactly how to explain this without sounding like a colossal asshole. Normally I wouldn’t care, but in just this short period of time, I’ve realized I actually care what Ava thinks about me. “Women just…they know the deal.”
Ava takes a long sip of her wine before setting it down. “I see. So, you don’t…like them much.”
“No… I mean, yes, I like them; it’s just—it’s complicated, Ava.”
“It’s just sex.”
I rub my hands over my face, the wine getting to my head and making things fuzzy and unclear. “Yes.” I tell her honestly.
“And you like it?”
“Like what? Sex? Of course, who doesn’t?” Maybe she’s a relationship girl. No meaningless sex. No one night stands. No blurry faces. Strings most definitely attached.
She looks away from the table, and I wonder if she’s looking for the waiter. Maybe all this talk about sex has her thinking about the blond-haired frat boy who had been eyeing her all night. “I mean, casual sex. It works for you?”
What is she doing, research? I need to derail this conversation. If Tucker finds out I’m encouraging Ava to start sleeping around New York, he’ll murder me in my sleep. “Yes, but it doesn’t work for everyone,” I add. “It won’t work for you.”
Her lips purse, and I’ve never been as fascinated by a woman’s mouth as I am by Ava’s perfect pout. Between the lip biting and her pursing, she’s going to drive me insane. “Why not?”
“Because you’re innocent, and you’re too good for that shit.”
She snorts and shakes her head. “Yeah, that’s the problem,” she mumbles under her breath, but I hear every word.
“What?”
“There’s this guy in my class…” she trails off. “Kennedy Burke.”
I snort at the pretentious name, and I wonder just how many generations have had it. “Sounds like a third.”
“A fourth,” she corrects.
“Of course. So, tell me about Master Kennedy.”
“He’s really charming and very good looking… Very smart.” She traces the rim of her glass while a somewhat dream-like gaze crosses her face as if she’s fantasizing about him. After a few moments, she focuses back on me. “He’s asked me out a few times.” She shrugs. “But I keep saying no.”
“Why?”
“It’s the chase. He’s slept with five girls from our class already. Once I go out with him… he’ll get bored.” She sighs. “They always get bored,” she says more to herself than to me. “And then he’ll move on.”
“Bored? With you?” How? She’s easily the most interesting woman I’ve ever talked to. Hell, she might be the most interesting person, male or female.
“When I don’t… put… out…” She bites her lip, and I can tell she’s very uncomfortable by this conversation.
So, she’s definitely not doing the casual sex thing. Good for you, Ava.
“The pseudo big brother in me is very proud of you, Ava. You shouldn’t just be sleeping around.”
“But I like him.”
“The Kennedy.”
“Can you not put ‘the’ in front of his name? It makes him sound like a prick.”
“He probably is.”
“Is not! I’m going back and forth with whether or not I should, you know…,” she tells me. “Part of me thinks it’s a terrible idea, but… he’s really cute.”
“Because that’s a reason.” I roll my eyes.
“You’ve slept with woman over a lot less, I’m sure.” She narrows her eyes at me, and I can’t argue with her. I chuckle, not knowing how to respond to that when she continues. “So how does it work?” she asks, and I look at her curiously, needing more clarification. “The casual sex thing? You just take them home and then it’s ‘wham, bam, thank you ma’am; I’ll call you an Uber?’”
“Sometimes there’s more. You wound me, Ava.”
“Aren’t you too old for this?”
“For sex? No, Ava. I am not too old for sex,” I say sardonically.
“No, casual sex. Isn’t that like college and one-year post college bullshit?”
“I don’t think you can put an age on wanting to feel good; don’t be so judgmental.”
She shrugs. “I guess you’re sowing your wild oats and whatnot. When are you going to settle down and get married, anyway?” The waiter brings the check and slides it in front of me. I hand him my credit card without looking at the bill.
“Okay, Mother. Can you not?” I chuckle.
She takes a deep breath and blows it out. “Okay, if I tell you something, will you promise not to laugh?”
“Depends on if it’s funny.”
“I’m serious, Jackson. Please.”
“Alright, shoot, but no promises.”
“Well… I’m just a little nervous about going out with Kennedy because, I mean…if I decide I want to have sex with him, I may not be good at it.”
“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” I tell her as I sign the receipt the waiter brought back. I look up from the receipt to see her fiddling with her cloth napkin, and I set the pen down. “Ava, did a stupid guy from your past tell you that you were bad in bed or something? He’s an asshole; don’t listen to him.”
She swallows and shakes her head. “Forget it; do you want to get another drink?”
I look at my watch and see it’s a quarter to eleven, which means I have no hope of doing any work when I get home. What the hell? It’s a Thursday night; people should be out.
Two Manhattans and a shot of tequila later, Ava and I are reminiscing about the old days at a dive bar known for their nachos near her apartment. I push the plate toward her, having eaten my weight in cheesy chips, and
she clears her throat. “Okay, so remember that time you pushed me into the creek behind the school?”
“I did not push you; you fell!”
“Bull shit! If by fall, you mean in response to your hand on my shoulder, then sure, Jackson, I fell.”
I laugh remembering how I didn’t mean to send her into the water. I had forgotten she didn’t weigh quite as much as Tucker, so horsing around with a six-year-old was quite different. “You were fearless and such a little tom boy. I still can’t believe you didn’t rat me out.”
“I wanted you guys to keep letting me play with you. If I told on you, you probably wouldn’t have.” She shrugs as she takes a long sip of her drink. “Of course, not long after that you guys stopped hanging out with me anyway.”
“We were twelve, Ava. You were six.”
“Still hurt!”
“I’m sorry; how can I make it up to you?” I chuckle.
Her eyes find the ceiling, then she turns back to me with a wicked gleam in her eye.
I don’t like where this is going. Maybe she’ll just ask for money. That I can do.
“Well, maybe there is something…” She looks up in the air.
“Shoot.”
She downs her drink and turns on the bar stool to face me. I look at her, and before I can ask her what she’s getting at, she blurts out, “I’m a virgin, and I don’t want to be anymore.”
I freeze, the whiskey sitting in my mouth, because I am too scared to swallow it for fear of choking. I look at the petite brunette, brown-eyed girl I’ve known for years as she waits with bated breath for my response. I finally get my drink down my throat successfully, and I wipe my mouth. “Wow…” I shake my head. “Good--for you?”
Tucker will be so happy to hear this. Actually, maybe I shouldn’t tell him that? But, why not? I’d be thrilled to hear my little sister was still hymenally challenged.
Gross.
Okay, no more drinking.
I push the highball glass away from me and shake my head before taking a long sip of the water instead.
“I wouldn’t say it’s necessarily good?”
