Love Me Not

by Reese Ryan

  “You’re the only mother I’ve ever had. Jo was a surrogate. Too bad I had to live with her for thirteen years.”

  “What’s going on, sweetie? You haven’t talked about your mom in years. Is everything alright?”

  Jamie heaved a sigh and bit her lip, her left leg swaying. “Jo showed up here yesterday when I was leaving for work.”

  “And you didn’t tell me?” She placed a hand on Jamie’s knee, stilling it.

  “I didn’t have time to tell you.”

  They sat together in silence in the dim, musty basement for a few moments.

  Waiting Ellie out wasn’t an option. The woman was a master at the silent wait-out. She’d perfected it over more than thirty years of raising three daughters. Three. Because Ellie Gordon was her mother, as much as she was Mel and Mimi’s. It didn’t matter that Jamie’s skin was a different color or that she was a natural redhead. Ellie was her mom and she didn’t want to relegate that space to anyone else, not even the woman whose name was on her birth certificate.

  “I know you think it’ll hurt my feelings if you reconcile with Josephine, but she was your mother long before I came along. Don’t you worry about me. No matter what happens between you two, you’ll always be my baby. Understand?”

  The corners of Jamie’s mouth lifted. Her heart overflowed with love for a woman who never ceased to amaze her while breaking with the knowledge that she’d never, ever feel that way about her natural mother. She nodded, her jaw clenching as she fought back tears.

  Ellie draped an arm around her, pretending not to notice her trembling jaw. “Did you two get a chance to talk?”

  Jamie rubbed the corners of her eyes with the back of her fists as she shook her head slightly.

  “Did you make arrangements to talk with her later?”

  “Not really.”

  “Why not? Isn’t this what you wanted? To finally hash things out with your parents?”

  “I thought so, but when she was right there in front of me...” Jamie sighed. “I have a mother. So why do I need her?”

  “Because no matter how many mamas you have or how much you try to deny it, there will always be a connection between you. You’re a part of her and she’s a part of you. Nothing will ever change that. She’s made a lot of mistakes, but it must’ve been difficult for her to come here and face you.” Ellie pulled her closer. “So give her a chance.”

  “I know you think I should forgive her, but I can’t. Not yet. So please, let’s drop it, at least for now,” she pleaded.

  “Okay. We won’t talk about it anymore. For now.”

  Jamie released the breath she’d been holding, thankful for the reprieve. It wasn’t often Ellie gave in so willingly. She rose to her feet. “So, the sketch pads, which box do you think they’re in?”

  * * *

  Jamie sat cross-legged on the floor of what was supposed to be her spare bedroom. She’d been through four out of more than a dozen sketch pads Ellie was still holding on to. Ellie made her promise she’d return them in the same condition when she was done. Jamie wanted to be annoyed, but Ellie’s attachment to her childhood drawings warmed her deep inside. It was one of the many reasons Ellie was the only mother she needed. There was no room for Jo in her life, and she wasn’t going to feel bad about that.

  Jamie tossed the pad she’d finished flipping through into the already searched stack, then picked up another. Halfway through she froze, staring at a picture of a man standing against a fence, smoking a cigarette. Her father.

  Jamie cringed. She hadn’t thought about Matthew Charles in years. She wasn’t even sure when she’d begun to consider him as “Dad” again. For a decade she’d resorted to referring to him as “the donor.”

  But then something in her shifted, and not long after Lou had died she’d realized that—even if it was only in her head—she was referring to Mattie Charles as Dad again. The realization disturbed her at first. Lou was barely cold in the ground and she’d given Mattie his title back? It felt like she was betraying the man who’d done so much for her.

  He’d bought her first professional sketch pad and drawing pencils. She’d gotten detention for drawing on her desk in elementary school. When Lou and Ellie had heard about it they gave her a good talking-to, but afterward Lou reached behind that tan leather couch in his den and handed her the sketch pad and a box of colored pencils. He said she was a budding artist, and all artists needed the right tools.

  She’d disappear for hours down to the park or on the eaves of the roof, drawing everything she saw. Even at ten her drawings were fairly decent.

  The paper had yellowed around the edges, but the colors of the sketch were still vivid. She traced the man’s vibrant blue eyes with her fingertips. She’d even been able to capture the glint, the way they’d danced in the retreating sunlight there in the backyard that day. He’d decided to barbecue in the middle of winter. Standing over the grill, he’d pulled his collar tight around his neck as he gripped the cigarette between his fingers, stained brown from tobacco. That day—the day she drew the picture of her father—was the last time she’d seen or heard from him.

  A sharp pain seized her chest. Hands trembling and her head swimming, she dropped the sketch pad to the floor, rushed to the kitchen and filled a glass at the tap. Drinking it too quickly, she nearly choked. Her hands were shaking as tears stung her eyes.

  Just relax. Everything is fine.

  Only it wasn’t. Tears weren’t just stinging her eyes, they were rolling down her cheeks, forming damp spots on her sweatshirt.

  She flung the glass at the wall and it shattered into countless pieces, shards hurtling toward her, embedding themselves in her forearm and cheek. Glass littered the floor, surrounding her bare feet.

  You’re a fucking genius.

  Jamie pulled tiny shards from her arm and cheek and tossed them in the trash. She sighed, lifting her foot as she surveyed the floor for a void where she could place it. She carefully made her way to the front door, shoved her feet into her boots then grabbed a broom out of the front hall, returning to the kitchen to sweep up the broken glass.

  Once she’d cleaned up the mess and gone for a walk to get her head together, Jamie set up her easel and pulled out her charcoal pencils. She’d focused on painting the last several years and hadn’t done much drawing as a finished product. But last night she’d had the strangest dream. She was sketching those dancing blue eyes and that goofy smile bearing far too many teeth. The guy from last night...Miles.

  She hated herself a little for even remembering his name. He was just a visitor from out of town. She probably wouldn’t see him again. Even if she did, he was a customer. Tahlia had one hard, fast rule. No dallying with the customers.

  Fine by her. Not that she’d never taken a tall, dark, handsome customer home before. But the clientele at Tahlia’s weren’t her type.

  She preferred her men rough around the edges.

  Sometimes it irked her what a cliché she’d become. The damaged girl who sought solace in the arms of one bad boy after another, never settling down with any of them or even wanting to. Still, it was what felt comfortable.

  She didn’t want anything more from them than a good time. Whether it lasted for a night or a few weeks, they both agreed upon the transient nature of the relationship. She was fine with that. That was why she’d never get involved with a guy like Miles Copeland.

  Damn. She remembered his last name, too.

  The muscles of Jamie’s forehead constricted and the corner of her mouth tugged downward. She wasn’t drawing Miles Copeland’s eyes because she liked him. Despite his being deliciously fuckable with lips that made her go a little weak at the knees, imagining the feel of them on her skin. The man had a photogenic face. She was interested in his mug purely as an artist. He meant no more to her than the shrubs or the homeless woman she’d sketched last week.

  Jamie cringed, immediately thinking of Jo. Was her mother the homeless woman in someone else’s sketch?

  Sh
e grimaced, pinching the bridge of her nose with her forefinger and thumb. It wasn’t her job to worry about Josephine Charles. After all, Jo hadn’t worried about her, had she?

  Eyes closed, she tried to picture those dancing blue eyes punctuated by slight crinkling around the edges.

  She sucked in a deep breath and shut her eyes so tightly it almost hurt. The rest of Miles’s face came slowly into view. She could almost pinpoint the exact moment he’d made that particular face. It was while they’d been talking about the old man with the Incredible Hulk car. He’d wondered aloud if the sequined skirt the man’s companion was wearing was part of a superhero costume.

  His face had broken into a wide smile that had warmed her insides. For a moment, when their eyes had met, it’d felt like he wasn’t just looking at her, but deep inside her. A place she never allowed any man to go. Something in his eyes—and that triumphant smirk that curled the corner of his mouth skyward—told her he’d recognized it, too.

  She sighed and touched her cheek. Smeared blood was on her fingertips. She wiped her hands on a nearby cloth.

  The look in his eyes had unnerved her, yet she couldn’t get it out of her head. Now here she was, prepared to memorialize it. Geez. Maybe she was the glutton for punishment.

  Jamie rifled through her box of drawing pencils until she found one that was a nearly transparent aqua blue. She stippled the top corner of the pad, then stepped back. After adjusting the blinds to let in more light, she stood in front of the easel again and surveyed the color. She closed her eyes for a moment.

  Yes, that’s it. Perfect.

  She picked up several other pencils and started to draw the dancing blue eyes that haunted her in her sleep last night. Perhaps once she got them onto paper she’d finally get them out of her head.

  Chapter Four

  “Well, today seems to be going much better for you.”

  Jamie froze slightly before turning toward the voice. Her focus was immediately drawn to his eyes, dancing with amusement. She forced a friendly smile and headed toward him. “Mr. Copeland. I see you decided to join us again. I take it you enjoyed your steak.”

  His smile was far too wide, yet somehow...endearing. “It was so good, I thought I should make my way through the menu.”

  “Emmitt certainly impressed you. What can I get you to drink? Would you like your usual, or a water with lemon to start?” There was an unexpected lilt in her voice. She cleared her throat and tried to dial it back. “Or would you prefer something else?”

  “You say you’re good at reading people. Why don’t you suggest something for me?”

  “Dinner?”

  “And a drink. You up for it?”

  Biting her lower lip, Jamie tilted her head, and surveyed the man. “You’re not even going to give me a hint of what you’re in the mood for tonight?”

  One eyebrow and the corner of his mouth both snaked upward with devilish delight.

  Guess not. Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, she silently reviewed the menu in her head. She recommended menu selections to customers dozens of times each week. So why did she feel like the stakes had just been raised in a game of poker she didn’t even know she was playing? This guy was smoother than she’d given him credit for. Her head told her it was a game she didn’t want to play, but something else in her was being tugged along willingly.

  “Bourbon pork chops, roasted potatoes, Caesar salad and a Lou Gordon.” She delivered her decision without a hint of a smile.

  “Not bad. As it happens, I’m quite a fan of pork chops. I think they’re a seriously underrated meat.” He winked. “Only I’ve never heard of a Lou Gordon before.”

  “That’s because it’s my specialty. It’s basically an old fashioned with a few special ingredients.”

  “An old fashioned, huh?” He cringed slightly and a mix of pain and anger briefly darkened his brilliant blue eyes. “That was my old man’s favorite. Guess that’s why I never wanted one.”

  “So there’s some baggage attached to the old fashioned. I hope that won’t keep you from trying it,” she said, taking him in. “That’d be a shame, because it’s a damn good drink.”

  “Is that right?” Miles raised his eyebrow, that mischievous smile spreading across his incredibly handsome face. “Well, I certainly can’t walk away from an opportunity like that.”

  “Good.” She tried her best to rein in a self-satisfied smirk as she filled a glass of water and topped it with a lime instead of his usual lemon. “I’ll put your order in.”

  Miles ate his meal nearly as slowly as he had a few nights before. Mostly because the bar was slow on a Tuesday night and he’d spent as much of his time as possible chatting her up.

  Without the distraction of other customers, it was harder for her to ignore him. Every time she looked in those eyes, she thought of the drawing on her easel at home. Shimmering pools of mischief framed by eyelashes that were perfectly curled and far too long to belong to any man. And that mouth. Wide and sensuous. Always in motion. Laughing. Talking. Eating.

  There was something about Miles Copeland that made her pulse race and her breath quicken. But who could blame her? The man was insanely gorgeous.

  Long, lean muscles rippled underneath his fitted shirt. She wondered if he’d purposely chosen that shirt to distract her from the fact that she was supposed to be ignoring him. His eyes practically glowed like they were lit from within. And that smile. A million watts of pure resolve-melting charm.

  “So, how’d I do?” She nodded toward his plate, more than half-finished.

  “The meal was magnificent. And this drink is excellent. What did you call it?”

  “A Lou Gordon. I normally just call it a Lou.”

  “I didn’t see that on the menu.”

  “Like I said, it’s my specialty. I’ve been making it for years. Long before I got here.”

  “A Lou Gordon, huh?” He said, shaking his raised glass from side to side. “There must be a story behind this.”

  “There is,” she said, the finality in her tone as heavy as a stop sign.

  He took another sip from his glass. “Well, it should be on the menu. How’s anyone gonna order it if you don’t advertise it?”

  “I only make it for special customers.” She regretted the words as soon as they came from her mouth. “I mean, you know, when someone specifically asks for something different.”

  He smiled. “I didn’t ask for anything different. I asked you to pick something you thought I’d like.” The light gleamed in his eyes. “And you delivered. Thank you.”

  She rubbed the back of her neck. “That’s what I’m here for, right?”

  “I thought you were here for me to tell my troubles to.”

  “That’s not exactly what I said.”

  “But it’s pretty close, right? So what if I don’t have any troubles? What do we talk about then?”

  “It’s Cleveland,” she said flatly. “What do we always talk about? Sports and the weather. Take your pick.”

  “The weather’s just fine, and I’m more of a Knicks fan.” He crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair. “How about we talk about you instead?”

  Jamie filled his glass with ice and water and gave him a new lime. “I’m not that interesting. Trust me.”

  “Why don’t you allow me to be the judge of that?” He gave her a conspiratorial wink. “Let’s start with your last name.”

  Glaring at him, she blew hot air through tightly pressed lips. He was driving her crazy tonight. She wished they were back at the biker bar in the Flats, where she had free rein to say anything she wanted to the customers. Chuck’s policy was if the customer was being a complete dick, the servers had the right to treat him like one. Only Miles wasn’t a dick, he was just too damn interested in her. Her usually icy resolve was melting beneath his intense gaze. She needed a glass of water of her own, or maybe a cold shower.

  “Charles,” she responded finally. “Now, can I get anything else for you? Coffee or a
dessert perhaps?”

  “No, I don’t think so, Jamie Charles. As you can see, I was barely able to finish those pork chops. Unless, of course, you’d be willing to share a dessert with me.” His mouth stretched wide at the prospect.

  “No, thank you,” she said. “Since you’re good for now, I’m going to step into the kitchen. Call...I mean, let me know if you need anything.” She rushed to the other end of the bar and through the doors without waiting for a response.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Lisa, one of the servers whom she’d befriended, asked. “You look a little flushed.”

  “I’m fine. It’s just...warm out there. I needed some water.” She grabbed a glass.

  “I’d be hot under the collar, too, if I had him checking me out all night.” Lisa cracked the swinging door and peered out at Miles. “He was here yesterday looking for you, you know?”

  Jamie pulled the glass of water she’d been gulping away from her lips. “He didn’t mention that he was here yesterday.”

  “And he must’ve really loved Emmitt’s pork chops because he had the same thing yesterday.”

  Jamie bit back a smile then sipped her water again. Why hadn’t he told her he’d just had the pork chops the night before?

  “I’ll tell you what, that is one fine specimen. If he was trying to pick me up, I’d have to seriously rethink the no-dating-customers rule, you know what I mean?”

  “No, you wouldn’t,” Jamie said. “Guys try to pick you up all the time and you’ve never given any of them a second thought.”

  “They were jerks.”

  “Not all of them,” she countered.

  “True, but the ones who weren’t...let’s just say none of ’em looked like that guy.”

  Jamie couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Are you telling me you’re not in the least flattered by his attention?” Lisa crossed her arms and eyed Jamie.

  “Maybe a little, but so what?” Jamie shrugged. “For one, he’s a customer. Two, he’s not my type.”