“She’s totally gorgeous and obviously in love with you. She said you’ve been together for years, and—”
He blew out a breath in frustration. “Lexie may still have her looks, but at the rate she’s going, she won’t have them for long.”
I froze at his statement. “What do you mean?”
He sighed while combing his fingers through his hair. “She’s a drunk, Lauren. Has been for a while now, promises to get help, dries out, but always falls off the wagon. I thought I could save her, thought what we had was worth saving. That proposal was my desperate attempt at giving her something to live for outside the bottle. Thank Christ I wised up. Being married to her would’ve been hell.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that. Then he got me off his lap, stood up, took my hand, and led me to my front door. “Keys, baby.”
Without even thinking, I dug through my bag, feeling around for them since I had one of those kinds of purses that also served as a black hole, making it impossible to locate whatever I needed at the moment.
He put his arms around me and smiled gently while placing a kiss on my forehead. “Rather not spend any more time talkin’ about the past, okay? You and I are just gettin’ started, and I’d like to take in some more of that sweetness before I share with you some of the bitter. Can you give me that, Lauren?”
I finally felt my keys and gave them to him, just the way I did the first night we were together. “I can give you that, Sullivan,” I teased, “but I fully expect for you to make it up to me.”
A sly grin curled the edges of his luscious mouth as he opened my door and threw his arm around my shoulders. “Baby, making up is one of the things I do best.”
Chapter Five
Rule #4: Listen to what your family thinks of him.
Completely ignore their opinions and do what you want to do anyway.
Four weeks later
“Gosh, Lauren, holding out on me much?” Myer was staring at my man.
“What are you talking about? I tell you everything, too much if the way you blush over my stories is any indication.”
Myer playfully swatted me on the arm while leaning in closer to sneak another peek at Jackson, who was in the kitchen with Wade. “Hush, I don’t mean all the down-n-dirty stuff you’re always spoutin’ on about. I’m talkin’ about how that gorgeous, blue-eyed man is in your kitchen, cooking for your friends! How many times have we hung out and not once have I seen this domestic side of him.”
“What are you taking about? You’re always bragging how Wade helps out ’round the house. It’s not like you’ve got some useless couch potato on your hands.”
“I know that, but Wade’s not a black-leather sexy biker man! I love Wade to death but the last time he tried cooking he ruined two of my good pots.”
Instead of answering right away, I took a sip of the red wine I had in hand, watching them working in my kitchen. Jackson and I were hosting a Super Bowl party for both his friends and mine later that night, and he had insisted on making most of the food himself. Myer and Wade had come by early to help out.
At least that’s the line they used to get in the door. She hinted later that their game plan had been for Myer to keep me occupied while Wade was to play ersatz concerned-big-brother and grill Jackson on his intentions when it came to me. In their minds, a month was long enough to know if this was the romantic equivalent of a playdate or a real match made for the future.
“On another note, I hate to break it to you, girl, but it looks like the only grilling going on is happening to the burgers and dogs and not to my man.”
She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “My Lord, can Wade be any more useless?” Myer was now plumping up the cushions on my sectional. “Not only is he not digging in and finding out more about Jackson’s intentions, but I think that’s the second time Jackson’s had to take the knife away from him before he chopped off his own fingers.”
I unfolded some chairs for extra seating. “Myer, I did not ask you or Wade to serve as my social guardians ad litem here. It’s only been a month and I’m just enjoying myself, okay?”
Myer swiveled her petite frame away from the couch, pulled me by the arm and started walking us toward my home office. “Fellas, I just need to help Lauren with something. Be back in a jiff!”
I looked back toward the men in time to see Wade not even looking up while marinating chicken wings and Jackson catching my eye, smirking, before I was thrown into the other room. Just from that look alone I knew he knew what Myer had been up to, which was probably why the last thing I heard before she slammed my door was him offering Wade another beer to keep him off point.
“What are you doing, hauling me in here? Have you lost your damn sense? There’s a million things to do before everyone comes over!”
She straightened her spine and thrust up her chin, which alerted me that she was deadly serious. “Lauren Elizabeth,” she started, and as anyone from the South knows, when someone uses your first and middle name, they mean business. “Answer me this question: are you in love with Jackson or is this just a fling?”
I froze in place. “Wh-what are you talking about?”
“Answer me, Lauren, what is it?”
The skin on my arms suddenly felt chilled, and I absentmindedly rubbed them to quell the rising goose bumps. “I don’t—I don’t know yet, okay? It’s only been a month!”
“Hmm,” she drawled, sounding completely unconvinced. “How often do you two see each other?”
“Um…almost every day.”
“And does he sleep over here?”
“Sometimes, although usually we’re at his place because of Charlie.”
“And do you or do you not have about half your wardrobe over there already?”
“What’s your point?” I started to feel defensive, not knowing or liking where this was going.
“Got a toothbrush there? Your own drawer?”
I sighed. “Yes and yes. Again, your point?”
Then she strutted over to my vision board and ripped off my mama’s dating rules. “Here, take this.” She thrust the paper at me. “I may not agree with the way your mama wanted you to go about things, but I still like the idea of you finding Mr. Right and not Mr. Right-Now.”
I took the paper from her and stared at it.
“The part of you that kept this list up is the one that wants something serious. Marriage, babies, the whole shebang.” I looked up at my friend who stood before me, but she had lost the stern demeanor and was now offering me her usual sweet smile and comforting arm squeeze. “So, which is it, Lauren? What do you want?”
I let out my breath, willing the emotions and tears to stop rising to the surface. “I’m really falling for him. He’s completely amazing, and he totally gets me.”
Myer let out a relieved sigh. “I’m so glad to hear that because I think you two are great together!”
I bit my bottom lip and looked down.
“Uh-oh, I know that look. What’s the problem?”
I glanced down at my mama’s list, shaking my head. “It’s just that I didn’t expect to fall for him as hard as I have, and I’ve done everything ass-backwards, according to this list. And I don’t know if Jackson wants to settle down anytime soon. I mean, he’s already thirty-five. Shouldn’t he have been married with kids by now if that’s something he wanted?”
An amused expression crossed her face as she shook her head at me. “Lauren, the man had asked someone to marry him, and you told me how he told you that he had stuck with her through three stints of rehab, and walked away only when he realized she wasn’t going to change for the better anytime soon. And the last time we hung out with you two, he kept talking about wanting to take you cross-country on his bike this summer, after vacationing with his family. That’s not the kind of talk you get from a guy afraid of commitment.” She gingerly took t
he list out of my hands and pinned it back on my board. “Forgot those rules, Lauren. You and Jackson are finding your own way. The question is, do you want a future with him? Do you love him enough to stand by him as your choice?”
Thinking of a future with Jackson enveloped me in a haze of happy I’d never experienced before. Thinking of bringing him home to my parents and sisters brought about another feeling altogether—panic. I could see my mama sitting cross-ankled in her Lilly Pulitzer dress, back ramrod straight, with my daddy in his golf shirt and chinos, standing by her. By them on the couch would be my sisters and their husbands, younger versions of my folks in very similar garb and expressions as I offered up Jackson for their inspection.
He’d stand there in his leather jacket and worn denim jeans and mussed-up, after-sex hair, and while I’m sure my sisters would offer their thumbs-up for landing a hottie, they’d all pester me afterwards for, once again, falling for someone “inappropriate for a real future”. They’d be pacified that he was financially comfortable, being his own boss. Plus they’d like that he owned a slew of properties and made good money flipping houses. I’m also sure my daddy would respect Jackson succeeding in such a high-risk enterprise, one where most others lost their shirts and the rest of their luggage. But I couldn’t see them being able to look past his tats and foul language and penchant for motorcycles. They’re my family, and I loved them, but if I’d never fully fit in, then Jackson Sullivan sure as hell wouldn’t either.
Just then the doorbell rang. “Ah—” she chuckled, “—saved by the bell. Let’s get out of here and mingle.”
I was still coming back from my mental trip into the future. “Give me a minute, ’kay, Myer?”
She turned her head and smiled at me. “Take your time, sugar. I’ve got enough charm and sass to go around.” Then she winked and left me in the office.
From where I was standing, I could see some of Jackson’s friends, some of mine, coming into the house. Jackson was fist-bumping with his buddies and introducing himself to my friends, most of whom he didn’t know yet. I watched him relaxed, completely at ease, introducing himself as my man, shaking hands and grabbing the extra food and drinks they brought in.
I hadn’t invited a lot on my side. Besides Myer and Wade, I had asked a couple of the other mural artists from my work over, Tricia and Ryan, and my awesome neighbors, Samantha and Jessica, who were sisters living in the house down the street, the one they grew up in and were now restoring. Jackson had invited his riding buddies, most notably Mad Max, Rails and Legs. Then I saw his best friend, Kyle, coming into view. They stood side by side and could have easily passed for brothers, with their luscious full mouths and strong jawlines, although Kyle’s coloring was a bit lighter and his hair was much shorter. They had met in high school and had stayed close, in spite of their lives looking completely different from each other’s. Kyle went on to law school and had become one of the top litigators in the country, although you wouldn’t be able to tell by looking at him, with his worn-down-from-too-much-wear Allman Brothers concert tee and black-as-night jeans with motorcycle boots. Kyle also usually came in with a woman, and rarely with the same one twice, at least from what I had seen over the last month. But tonight, he came alone.
Most of Jackson’s friends came in wearing their leather and denim, some having MC jackets with patches, and had faces with either handlebar mustaches or goatees. My group looked like a cross between boho chic and country-club swank, but interestingly enough, it seemed everyone was mixing well, grabbing food and making themselves at home in front of the TV as the game was about to start. I walked to the edge of the room, taking everyone in, and feeling really happy to see the two sides seamlessly mingling.
I felt something cold against the side of my arm and found Jackson offering me a beer. I grabbed it and he draped his arm around me, giving me that light-up-my-world smile of his.
“Have a good talk?” he asked with an amused glimmer in his eye.
“Better way to phrase that is if I had a good listen.”
He threw his head back and laughed, pulling my front to his side, and kissed the top of my head. “God, woman, you make me laugh.”
My right arm was around him and I still had the beer in my left hand. I placed my head on his chest and closed my eyes for a second.
Are you in love with Jackson? Myer’s question echoed in my head. I shook the words off and went for the laugh instead.
“I’m here for the rest of the week. Please remember to tip your servers on the way out,” I joked.
Jackson grabbed my hair and pulled on it, forcing my head and neck up. He may have been laughing before, but he looked deadly seriously now. “Let me have a taste, baby,” he practically hummed and then gave me a kiss, taking everything I had to give. Just as the tingle from my mouth started to thrum through the rest of the body, he broke it off and whispered, “You here for a week or so, or are you in this with me for the long haul?”
My eyes widened and he took the bottle out of my hand, placed it on a nearby table, then caged me against the wall with his body. I looked to the side, feeling self-conscious about the intimate way we were standing. This maneuver was not new—he often liked to have me this way in order to get my full attention—but I wasn’t used to others outside our little bubble seeing it.
“Jackson, please, not now…”
He took my face in his hands, forcing me to look right at him. “Don’t have to talk about this now, but you need to know I’m not playing. I’m in this. I’m all in.”
My body seized and the rest of the room disappeared in a hazy fog. All I could see was him. He was all I could taste and smell and feel. I had opened up and shown more of myself to Jackson in these past weeks than to anyone else I’d ever known. In turn, he let me into his home, his bed and his life, wide open. In one month, I had already met his family, most of his friends, and had seen all of his properties and current house flip site. And now he was telling me I had his heart and his future.
“Why are you saying this now?”
His mouth got close to my ear and he swept his arms around me. “Figured if both you and I were getting grilled by Wade and the babe, would be good if you knew where I stood.”
I snorted a laugh at his funny and opened my mouth to respond, but just then everyone in the room let out yells and cheers as the Washington Redskins got the first touchdown of the game.
“Jax! Dude, you’re missing the whole thing!” blared out Mad Max. “Give the woman a rest. You can ram her against the wall later.” That comment got a bunch of whoops and yelps from his biker buddies and a collective blush from my female friends.
Jackson gave me a quick kiss then hoisted himself off me to join the crew on the couch. I just closed my eyes and hung my head low so I could hide behind a curtain of my hair. “Please just kill me now, Lord,” I mumbled under my breath. “Or at least all the witnesses to that last scene.”
“Stop hiding, Lauren,” said Samantha, my gorgeous friend. She was a petite thing, only five foot one and about a hundred pounds, if that. But she had a gorgeous long mane of auburn hair and these off-the-hook lavender eyes. “It wasn’t that bad. Besides, your man is completely edible. Does he have a brother I could nibble on?”
I peeked at her from between my blonde strands, narrowing my eyes. “I’m totally embarrassed, Sam. You know I hate being the center of attention!”
She placed a hand on her hip and shook her head at me. “Yeah, I don’t get that.” She unconsciously swayed her frame to some imaginary music in her head. Jackson’s friend Kyle was staring at her from across the room, looking as if he were ready to ravage her right on my buffet table. She continued without caring what her effect was on the men in the room. “I’ll never understand why you dislike attention and make such a fuss. I consider it my own personal superpower.”
“Yeah I know that, Samantha.” I smirked while lifting my head. “That’s
because you thrive on it, like oxygen or chocolate.”
She tilted her head to the side and gave me an impish grin. “All actors are like this. We can’t help it. You know you love me.”
Samantha was a stage actor who actually got regular work. Washington DC has a vibrant performing-arts scene, and she loved everything about the theater world, except for the less-than-reliable actors she had dated. “I’m supposed to be the artsy, mercurial one,” she’d often say. “I should never date a man who takes longer to get ready than I do or who keeps his old reviews pasted on his dressing-room mirror.” Samantha was on an official man-break until, at least, the end of summer stock.
“There are worse things to have to deal with than a hot guy who can’t get enough of you,” she said while fixing the stray strands around my face. “Jackson is totally yum. And he knows how to fix things. And he drives a badass Harley. And he cooks and fucks you well.”
It’s fair to say Samantha might have looked all glittery and pixie dust, but she had a mouth like a drunken sailor. Again, part of her charm.
I looked over at him, engrossed in the game with our joint crew, but still keeping an eye on me. “Yeah.” I sighed. “I’m totally screwed.”
Samantha opened her mouth to speak again, but the doorbell ringing cut her off. I looked around the room, surveying to see if someone was missing, but everyone we invited was there.
“You think someone on our street’s complaining about the noise?” I asked Samantha.
She waved me off. “Oh please. Our street’s awesome. Besides, you’re not blasting hip-hop. We’ve got the game on. Everybody’s got the game on.”
I walked over to the door, but whoever-the-someone-was on the other side had decided to start opening it too. By the time I got to the doorknob, it was halfway open.
There stood what might as well have been an apparition. It was my parents, the last people I’d ever expect to just, well, appear.
Rule Breaker Page 8
