by Mysti Parker
All Jacked Up
a Beach Pointe romance
by
Mysti Parker
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PUBLISHED BY:
Mysti Parker on Kindle Direct Publishing
All Jacked Up
a Beach Pointe Romance
Copyright © 2018 Mysti Parker
Kindle Edition, License Notes
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited.
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All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and/or persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are the property of their respective owners and are used for reference only and not an implied endorsement. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For veterinarians and all they do for our furry, feathery, and scaly babies.
Chapter One
Jack
It takes me all of two and a half seconds to know whether a woman’s going to wind up in my bed. That's the case with Avery Price. We met at a speed-dating event a while back. Yeah, it’s tacky, I know. But I was bored. Anyway, I could tell she was turned on the entire six minutes we talked, even if she was a little tipsy. She kept running her index finger around the rim of her mint julep glass and licking her lips. Oh, and she circled the yes by my name on the interest form right there in front of me. I’d call that a dead giveaway.
We arranged today’s date at Beach Pointe Roasters for ten thirty on Sunday. It’s probably the most neutral time anyone can have for a date, but she said she wanted to talk first, so I’ll humor her. Except she’s late. Unless my intuition’s way off, she had seemed keen on hooking up and didn’t come across as a no-show. She’s a wedding planner or some such thing, which is risky – it could either mean she's marriage-minded or marriage-shy, depending on how stressful her job is.
I chuckle and sip my double espresso, wondering if my bad reputation has scared her off. If she hasn’t heard it around town, then she may have through her best friend, Leigh or through my brother, Jesse. He wouldn’t bad-mouth me that much, would he, now that we didn’t hate each other?
I’m really not a creep, despite the rumors. I may get around, but I don’t coerce and I don’t sleep with married women. Don’t have to, honestly. My money draws the single ladies in like June bugs to a porch light.
So here I sit at this tall, round table by the window, watching the lazy Sunday stragglers go by on the sidewalk. The music over the loudspeakers is from my parents’ generation – a disco song called “Get Down on It.” I’d love to get down on it, if Avery ever shows up.
The door chimes ring, but it's just an overweight old man with a laptop. Sixteen minutes of waiting is long enough. Best to take the little hit to my ego and not keep sitting here like an idiot. I scoot back the stool, wincing as it scrapes across the stone tile floor.
The door opens again with a whoosh of humid air and a five-foot-one inch Avery Price, who carries a big tote bag with her store name, Bride Pride, embroidered on the side. She wrestles off her blue-tinted sunglasses, sticks the earpiece in her mouth, and scans the room before her gaze lands on me. Her eyes widen for a moment, then her face lights up with a rosy-cheeked smile. She brushes away the windblown blonde hair from her face. I have to say, she’s pretty damn cute.
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she says breathlessly as she approaches. The tote bag slides off her shoulder and pulls her red tank top strap down with it. She has freckled shoulders, likely marked from a childhood spent outdoors in the sun.
I love me some freckles.
“Let me help you with that.” I commandeer the tote straps and gently guide the heavy bag from her arm, then set it on the front window ledge by our table.
“Thanks so much. I didn’t realize how heavy it was and should have left it in my car.” She tries to hop up onto her stool, but doesn’t quite make it and laughs. “Short people problems.”
The gentleman in me steadies it for her as she uses the bottom rung to hoist herself up. Note to self: Get a booth for dates with short women.
When she's settled, I return to my stool. “You’re not short, just fun-sized.” How fun she'll really be is yet to be seen.
Avery's laugh has a musical ring to it, thankfully, not the loud seal-bark or girlish giggle that some women put on to make me think I've wooed them with my witty sense of humor.
The barista, a tall Hispanic woman named Lourdes, calls out, “Hey, Miss Price, the usual?”
“Yes, please! With extra ice. It’s hot as a stolen pistol out there.”
“You got it.”
“Frozen coffee?” I ask.
“Oh, yeah. You don’t like it?”
“Nope. Coffee should be hot, always.” Speaking of, I push aside my lukewarm espresso.
We sit in silence for a moment, though I can tell Avery’s a little uncomfortable. Her legs are crossed, and she’s swinging one back and forth like a wild pendulum.
“That speed-dating thing was a little nuts,” she blurts out, as though she can’t handle the quiet anymore. “I’m honestly surprised you were there. I mean, speed-dating doesn’t seem to be your jam.”
I chuckle. “Was it your jam?”
She shrugs. “Not really. But I haven’t really played the field as much as…well…”
“As much as I have?”
“I don’t know. I just haven’t taken the time to see who’s out there, and I didn’t expect much there, but then, you showed up.”
“And the rest is history.”
“We’ll see, I guess.” Avery smiles.
Is that a hint of a blush I see, or is she still flushed from the summer heat?
“Miss Price!” the barista calls. “One frozen coffee, extra ice, no whip.”
Avery starts off her stool.
“No, let me,” I offer, mostly to save us the embarrassment of her battle with the tall stool again.
“Aw, that’s so nice of you. Thanks.” She tentatively settles back onto her seat as though I might change my mind.
Lourdes slides the frozen coffee to me when I reach the counter and whispers, “You never called back.”
“Did you expect me to?” I mumble while pulling a twenty from my wallet.
“No, but…I guess a girl can hope.” She glances over my shoulder at Avery.
“I guess so.” I plop down the twenty and take the coffee. “Keep the change.”
Dating that chick was a mistake I won't make again. She started wondering aloud what our children would look like the second night we were together. That's an automatic nope for me.
I deliver the coffee back to the table and hand it to Avery. Her fingers brush mine as she takes it from me, sending a shiver up my arm. Damn that cold coffee. Although the thought of ice cubes melting on the smooth skin of Avery’s…
“I was picking up f
abric samples from Freda’s Fabric Shack,” Avery says, effectively cutting my fantasy short. She sips some frozen coffee through her straw, briefly closes her eyes, and sighs. “Mmm, this is good. Anyway, Freda's usually never in on Sundays, but I spied her going in as I parked here. I knew she had just gotten in a shipment of Gautier silk, and she sold out of it last time before I could stake a claim to it.”
She leans to one side and picks up the tote bag, then drops it on the table. The napkin holder rattles, drawing the curious stares of the other customers and Lourdes, who now wears a plastered-on smile under her sad eyes. She'll get over it.
“Sorry,” Avery says while pulling out several swatches of silk in various shades of blue, pink, white, and gray. “Aren’t these gorgeous? I’ve already ordered a few bolts of the storm-cloud gray and the blush rose. They make such beautiful bridesmaid gowns.”
I shift in my seat and clear my throat. Sounds like she really enjoys her job of planning expensive wastes of time, but I strongly suspect she'd be fun in bed. Should I risk it?
Avery looks up with a nervous laugh. “Sorry. I get carried away with this stuff.” She dumps the fabric samples back into the tote.
“It’s okay.”
“So..." She looks around as though trying to find something to talk about, then smiles brightly. "You're a veterinarian, but you got rich with oil wells in your backyard. Which came first?"
"The veterinarian part."
"Why did you become a vet?"
"The canned answer is that I like animals. But you have to, if you're going to be elbow deep in a cow's rectum and ankle deep in manure."
"Ew." She grimaces, then laughs. "Good point."
"But honestly, I enjoy helping my clients figure out what's going on with their animals. I kind of fill the gap between them. Animals can't tell you what's wrong. They're vulnerable, you know? Like kids." Pushing away invasive, shitty memories, I force a smile. "That, and there's always a need for veterinarians. Like a mortician. Job security."
She tilts her head to one side, her eyes searching mine for a moment, her lips curving into a gentle smile. Great. I've said too much too soon. Exposing my soft underbelly is a rookie move. The less she knows about me, the better.
"I can understand that," Avery says with a nod. "I love what I do – helping people make their once-in-a-lifetime day as beautiful and memorable as it can be. So...what’s the deal with the oil wells? How the heck do you find those in Kentucky?”
“Luck, mostly. And a little research. I had saved up money to buy some land to build a house, and when Mitchell Gadbury put his hundred acres up for sale, I reached a deal with him before it went to auction.”
Avery nods and purses her lips. “By reached a deal, I suppose you mean made a quick turnaround so he could leave the state and not lose his medical license.”
I laugh. “Good guess, but no, this was before he screwed Penny...the sheriff's wife, I mean. I think he had a lot of debt and had creditors breathing down his neck.”
Penny works at my clinic as a receptionist. And everyone assumes I've slept with her. Hell no. She's loose as a clown's pocket and too batshit crazy for my taste.
“Gadbury was a total loser," Avery says with a shudder. "I’m so glad Leigh doesn’t work for him anymore.”
“Yeah, me too.” I don't know Avery’s best friend, Leigh, that well yet. She and my brother Jesse are a sickeningly sweet couple now. He'll probably put a ring on it soon.
“Sorry, so you were saying about the oil wells?”
“Gadbury didn’t know what he had. There were a couple of old wells in an adjacent parcel of land. That could mean the oil is tapped out, or there could still be oil deposits in the area. I also checked public records for recent drilling activity, and once I was fairly certain where to drill, I hired a drilling service, and I pay them to pump it and store it until the oil delivery trucks pick it up.”
“What if they hadn’t found anything? I imagine they weren’t cheap.”
“No, they weren’t. It was a gamble, but luckily, it paid off.” I glance down at my blue Gucci tie.
“I can see that.” Avery laughs and reaches across the table. She picks up my tie and fingers the fabric, quietly whistling her appreciation. “That’s some nice silk. Almost as nice as the Gautier. I’m taking a chance on that, too, maybe not as risky as oil well drilling, but there’s a chance it won’t sell. Some of my clients want the cheapest stuff possible.”
“Can’t blame them. Most marriages don’t last. Why invest so much in a wedding?”
Avery’s angelic face turns red. Devilish anger flashes in her eyes. “Why not? It’s supposed to be a once-in-a-lifetime event. You can pass a quality wedding gown on to the next generation. I mean, why skimp? It’s like you’re expecting to fail.”
At least she's cute when she's mad. Devilish is more fun than angelic anyway.
I shrug. “Didn’t mean to offend you.”
“You didn’t,” she says unconvincingly and slurps a long drink of frozen coffee from her straw.
Great – she loves weddings. Should I tell her it's all a façade, this thought of a perfect marriage and happy ever after? The sheer mention of the word echoes a past I’d rather soon forget. My mother screaming, “You had it coming, you bastard!” Gunshots ringing in my ears. My father sliding down the wall of our ratty trailer, leaving a trail of blood on the wood paneling. As far as I'm concerned, marriage means misery sooner or later, whether it ends in divorce court or a graveyard.
Avery's already recovered from being irked at me, rattling on about the virtues and vices of fresh versus silk flowers. But, damn it, I hate wasting my time, and I enjoy a challenge. Before the mood is totally flushed down the drain, I figure it's worth a chance to prove myself wrong.
"So, at the speed-dating event, I told you I was a no-strings-attached kind of guy. Does that bother you?"
She shakes her head with a hint of a smile. “I know...and I’m okay with that.”
I search her face, though her gaze has drifted to a couple that have just entered, holding hands. I have to be careful with this conversation. It could easily go all kinds of wrong if there are any misunderstandings. “You're okay with what exactly?”
Avery shrugs, then picks up a napkin and starts twisting the corner of it. “With the kind of relationship you want. I’ve always wondered what that would be like myself – no expectations. Just the physical. I mean, maybe marriages would last longer if people…I don't know, tried each other out first.”
"Maybe. But I'm not the marrying kind, Avery. I need you to know that before you agree to anything." Anticipation sends tingles to my groin, but I can't get ahead of myself. Assuming anything at this point could send her packing. “Wondering about a no-strings-attached situation is one thing. Is that something you want to try?”
“It’s just sex, right? I mean, I know for women it can be a whole emotional trip, but if you know it’s just a physical thing from the start, I don’t see why not. Besides, it's not like we'd be ruining a friendship or anything. If we don't mesh, we can part ways and get on with life.”
“That’s true. So, you want to make this happen? No strings attached?”
“None.”
I pull my keys from my pocket. “Unless you have other plans this afternoon, how about we take things for a test run?”
She holds my gaze for a moment, then gives a resolute nod. "Okay, let's do this." She slides off the stool, and heads for the door. I stand frozen by the table, mesmerized by the rhythm of her ass as she walks.
Avery stops and looks back at me over her shoulder. “It takes two to do this. You in or not?” Then she takes that fine ass right out the door.
I start to follow, but first I swoop up the heavy tote bag she forgot, then hurry after her. Shit, this is gonna be fun.
Chapter Two
Avery
I do my best to keep quiet on the drive to Jack’s place. He doesn't seem to be a chit-chatty sort of guy. He wasn't in high school, either, n
ow that I recall. If anyone was the brooding, quiet type, that was him. It didn't keep the girls from flocking to him. That hasn't changed.
But the only thing I can think to talk about is my business. Officially, I'm a bridal shop owner, but unofficially, I'm also the town's wedding planner, prom and formal outfitter, and a part-time photographer. It's my job to make people look pretty for some of the most important events of their lives.
Perhaps we could discuss what we're going to do once we get to his place. Is he thinking mostly heavy petting or full-on swinging-from-the-chandeliers sex? Should we be making a list or something? The one thing I know for sure is that I want this man and have for longer than he knows.
Taking a glance at the speedometer – he's still well within the speed limit – I flip through the radio channels, but the only clear stations are gospel, country, or talk radio. I leave it on talk radio, where two droopy male voices are having a discussion about tax laws. Something nice and boring to numb my nerves as I focus on the countryside passing by, the tall grasses dancing in the wind, cows grazing, their tails swishing the flies away.
Jack's cologne teases my nose, mingled with new car scent. The leather seat feels like it could have been made from some extinct cow. I've never ridden in a two-seater before, unless you count a go-cart. I've never even heard of the model before – a Lotus Elan. Bright blue. It matches his eyes.
“You okay?” Jack asks, startling me.
“Yeah, why?” I answer too quickly, crossing my hands in my lap. He may not want me touching his car radio.
He grins. “You just seem nervous, that’s all. I don’t bite, unless you want me too.”
My nervous laughter shatters the quiet atmosphere and irritates my own eardrums.
“Though I can’t guarantee my roommates won’t bite,” Jack adds, his shadowed eyes glinting with a hint of humor.
“Roommates?”
“You’ll see.”
A pulsing headache starts in my temple. Maybe this is a bad idea after all. What if he's into some really kinky stuff and has a bunch of swingers over there waiting for us? I'm not a virgin, but I'm certainly not ready for whips and chains and God knows what else. How well do I really know this guy? For all I know, Jack could be a freaking serial killer. He lives in a big house off the main highway just a few miles out of town and has several hundred acres on which to bury bodies. I stare at my phone, wondering whether I should text Leigh in case I go missing.
