“Oh my gosh, Cali.” I don’t want to ask if they told her any more, but I get the sense that there is more.
“Is there anything else?” Jags asks.
Cali lifts her head from my shoulder and sniffles in. “I guess his white blood cell count is up, but that’s all they know right now.”
“Cal,” Jags says strongly. “That could be because he’s in surgery, fighting infection, or it could be because he’s under stress, or because he had a cold. You cannot jump to conclusions; you understand me?”
I don’t think I’ve heard this side of Jags before. He’s so serious and confident. Regardless of his reassuring words, Cali begins to cry harder, as if she were letting out all of her pent up tears that she’s been holding in for years.
“When can you see him?” I ask her.
“They’re moving him into a recovery room right now so they said it would be about thirty minutes or so,” she says through a loud exhale. “You guys don’t have to wait here with me. I’ll be okay. I’m sure it’s okay for me to bring Tyler in.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I tell her.
“Yeah, we’re your family, Cal,” Jags says. “A demented one, but it is what it is.” His words cause Cali to release a soft laugh. I’m not sure if it is to appease Jags’s attempt at cheering her up or if she truly feels a little better, but his words are most definitely a true statement.
“Thank you both for being here,” she says. “It’s nice to know I have you to depend on.”
As we all settle back down, Tyler stirs and pokes her head up with a lazy look in her eyes. “Where are we?” she asks softly.
“Your silly daddy broke his leg, baby. We’re just waiting for him to get a cast so we can go in and see him,” Cali says to her.
I don’t know how she does it. I’m not sure I could ever live up to being a mom like her, continuously hiding the pain and turmoil of real life while pretending it’s one big cupcake made of rainbows. I also spent most of my life believing that’s how life is supposed to be, even as an adult. After these last couple of weeks, though, I don’t know what to believe. The illusion of my safe, comfortable life was pulled out from under me like a carpet, revealing the reality, like an ugly floor underneath.
Tyler hops down from Jags’s leg, runs over to Cali, and snuggles her head into her chest while wrapping her arms around her. “Daddy gets hurt all of the time,” she giggles against Cali. “Last week he put a staple through his thumb.”
“He did what?” Cali asks.
“Oops,” she says, covering her mouth. “He told me not to tell you.”
“What was he doing?” Cali asks her.
“Stapling my homework together.”
“That’s my man right there,” Jags says loudly. “The dude can take out an ambush all on his own but can’t staple paper together. Or keep himself from falling off a second story platform.”
“Tango is definitely a klutz sometimes,” Cali laughs.
“Doesn’t sound that way when you two are in bed together,” I mutter.
Cali straightens her posture with a confidence she didn’t walk into the hospital with. “Oh, that man has no problems in bed, I will tell you that much,” she says with pride. “Though, I guess if you want to stick around our house now, you probably won’t be hearing any noises for the next month or so.”
“Whoa, whoa. Don’t put a stake in my man’s heart like that, girl. If there’s a will, there’s a way,” Jags adds in. Jags seems as though he’s exactly like the two of them—Cali and Tango—and I’m just the odd ball who turns a shade of maroon when someone talks about life between the sheets. Maybe it’s because I was raised that way, Mom being so conservative and Dad being assertive, and yet passive at the same time. There wasn’t a whole lot of talking in my house, and there certainly wasn’t any affection to be seen. I don’t even know what it’s truly supposed to be like. All Landon did was mess that up even more.
“You have a valid point,” Cali says. “It’ll take a lot of nursing to get that man back on his feet.” Oh my gosh, here we go again.
“A lot-t-t-t of nursing,” Jags adds in, “but if anybody can get Tango up, you can.” How are they so comfortable having this conversation with each other? They literally just met for the first time a little over a week ago.
“Mrs. Wright, you can go on in and see your husband now. Just one at a time for the moment, though. Room five-eighteen,” I nurse calls over.
Cali doesn’t say much to us as she stands up. “We’ve got Tyler. You go on in,” I tell her. She rushes for the door that leads to the patient rooms and doesn’t look back at us. I would hate to be in her position right now, just wondering how this is all going to turn out and when her world is going to blow up again.
“You think Tango’s okay?” Jags asks me.
“I don’t know. Cali doesn’t usually overreact unless she has a real reason to.”
“I’ve heard,” he says. “I think he’s okay, though. He has to be okay. No one goes through that shit twice in a lifetime.”
“Yeah, people do,” I mutter softly.
“I know. I was just trying to make it sound better,” he says with a lazy grin.
“Do you always have a smile on your face?” I ask.
“Whenever I’m trying to hide something, I sure do.”
That’s what I thought. I lean forward and glance over at Tyler, who’s rummaging through a stack of kids’ books in the corner. “What are you hiding, Mr. Jags?”
Jags leans forward, meeting me halfway between the row. “You show me yours and I’ll show you mine,” he winks.
“Do you always have a dirty mind?” I follow.
“Yes, Ma’am. Guilty of that.”
“Why?” I press.
“Because you’re hot and out of my league and every man wants what they can’t have.”
I want to respond with something as slick as what he just said, but my mind is spinning in circles around the words, “You’re hot.” He thinks I’m hot? No one has ever referred to me in such a way. I get beautiful, pretty, and cute, but not usually hot. I don’t expose more than I should, unless I’m bending over looking for electrical outlets evidently, and I don’t flaunt what I have since I don’t see a reason for it. It usually only ends up causing unwanted attention and that clearly hasn’t gotten me anywhere in life. “I’m not sure I’d refer to myself in such a way, but I appreciate the compliment.”
“Are you fucking serious?” he asks, appearing taken aback. “You’re probably the hottest chick who has ever spoken to me.”
Again, shocked, I respond with, “That is not what I’ve heard about you.”
Looking only slightly appalled with my accusation, he recoils with, “Don’t believe everything you hear, doll-face.”
“Tango was saying you were with some girl at the bar just last night,” I tell him.
“He said that to you?” Jags asks.
“Well, not exactly. I can hear everything through the bedroom walls, though. He was telling Cali you told him about some girl named Bambi?
Jags laughs a little but also looks strangely angered by my comment. “Bambi isn’t who you think.”
“I don’t think anything, Mr. Jags. It’s none of my business what, or who you do with your time.”
“You’re obviously thinking something, or you wouldn’t have brought it up.”
“I’m thinking that any girl named Bambi must be one special lady,” I say.
“Oh, she’s special all right,” he laughs. “Look, Bambi and I go way back, but it isn’t what you’re thinking.” What should I be thinking? How did we go from being Cali and Tango’s closest friends to drilling each other as if we’re planning some sort of awkward future date in his bed?
“So, if I agreed to this whole roommate/bodyguard funny business, would you be bringing Bambi into my house for sleepovers?” I do have a right to know that, but I’m not sure when I made the conscious decision to a
pproach this whole Jags sleeping on my couch thing. That is so not something I would normally agree to. But now, with Tango being in the situation he’s in, I don’t think they need a house guest in their way at home. Things are going to be hard enough as is for a while. After finding that my locks were tampered with, there’s no way I can stay in that house alone.
“I doubt it,” he says. This man really enjoys toying with me and getting under my skin. “But if it does, I won’t leave you out or anything. Is that fair?”
Is he for real? “Mr. Jags, you mustn’t be serious if you’re insinuating that I might engage in an activity that involves more than two people.”
“Girl, you never know if you might like it until you try it. I’ll bet you haven’t seen a dick-pic before, either. Do we need to resolve that issue too?” Again, with the heat rushing through my cheeks. The thought of receiving a text message like that makes everything in the lower part of my body tense up.
“No one has ever sent me a picture of their privates if that’s what you’re asking me.”
“That’s exactly what I was asking you,” he says with a cocky grin. “Here let me see your phone.”
“Absolutely not, you pig!”
“I was going to put a spam block on your texts in case you ever receive a dick-pic. I wouldn’t want to scar you with something like that.”
These games are becoming a little too much for me. “Mr. Jags, if I haven’t received one before, I’m guessing I might have chosen the right people to surround myself with—people who don’t shove phones in front of their man-parts and take self-absorbed pictures of their miniature hot dogs.”
“Well you’ve now surrounded yourself with me, and I’d only take a picture of mine because we’re not talking about some wiener dog, we’re talking about a Boston sausage thing going on down here,” he says, pointing to his man-part.
I hate that he keeps directing my attention to parts of his body I’ve been strongly trying to avoid thoughts about. I hate that he knows this somehow too. “Clearly, I need to change my phone number.”
“Oh, I get it,” he says. “You just want to see it in person first. It is pretty impressive. I mean, my mom spent years telling me I was going to make some girl very lucky someday, and now I know why.” He jiggles his eyebrows at me before a rumble of laughter consumes the waiting area.
“You are so darn cocky,” I tell him.
“I’m all cock, what can I say? And I’m pretty impressed that you said cock. Just putting that out there.”
I place my hand over my face, needing to just stop looking at Jags for a few minutes. How did I end up in this conversation? I can’t believe I’m truly sitting here in a hospital waiting room discussing the girth of his…his…cock. There, I’ve said it, to myself. Cock. It’s not that horrible of a word, I suppose. It’s easier than spewing out manhood. Oh my gosh, did I just think that through? Spewing manhood? I laugh a little to myself. This guy is already rubbing off on me. Rubbing off…Rubbing it off. Okay, this needs to stop. Can he hear what I’m thinking? Why is he laughing so hard at me? I finally stand up and ask, “Could you please watch Tyler while I use the ladies room?”
“Of course,” he says proudly. “Text me if you need help with anything.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
JAGS
IF THAT CHICK actually comes back to this waiting area after the restroom, I might be surprised. There’s a slight chance I came off too strong, but what can I say? That’s how I roll.
“Mr. Jags!” Tyler addresses me. “Come have a tea party!”
I chuckle once, wondering if this kid is serious but the longer I look at her, the more serious the expression on her face becomes. I haven’t known Cali long, but damn, this kid is all her. “You want me to have a tea party with you, kid?”
She looks down at the empty cup in front of her, lifts it up and brings it to her lips. “Yes,” she says before taking her first pretend sip. With her free hand, she pulls out the tiny little chair beside her. She does realize half of one of my ass cheeks wouldn’t fit on that thing, right? Actually, my ass crack might just swallow it. Wouldn’t that be embarrassing? “It’s rude for you to ignore an invitation.” Definitely Cali. I groan a little as I stand up, feeling the one hour of work I did on that site this morning tearing at my damn back. “You sound like my grandpa.” Tyler snickers at her own fantastic joke. What a little brat. That’s all Tango.
I slowly make my way over to the tiny table with the tiny chair to sit with the tiny little girl with a big attitude. She pulls the chair out a little farther and taps her hand against the plastic, motioning me to sit.
“Okay, okay. I’m going,” I tell her.
I gently place an eighth of my weight down on the seat and rest my knee on the other side of it. Tyler shoves a small teacup in my face, and I take it from her hand. “Drink up,” she demands.
I press the thing up to my lips and make a fake slurping sound. “Wow, is this your own recipe?” I ask her.
She looks at me with a raised brow. “You don’t make tea. It’s in a bag. Dummy.”
“Hey now, no name calling,” I say to her with an awkward laugh. Should I be disciplining Tango’s kid? Where is Sasha? I’m not a kid person, clearly. I’d probably be swearing up a storm to my kid if I had one. His or her first word would most definitely be “shit” or “fuck”. The thought makes me laugh a little. Yeah, not happening.
“You call Daddy names,” she says, closing her eyes and taking another sip.
I roll my eyes toward the ceiling and nod my head, totally at a loss for words. Can’t say she’s wrong.
“How’s the tea, kids?” Sasha asks, turning back around the corner. “Tyler, is that your special English Tea?”
“Of course it is,” she says, crooning to Sasha.
“Where are your famous cookies then?” Sasha continues.
“Well,” she cups her hand around her mouth. “There’s no oven here, so we just have to stick with the tea today.”
“You babysit often?” I ask Miss Perfect.
“Sasha is my best friend,” Tyler interrupts. “So if you’re trying to take her from me, go find another friend.”
Oh my God, this kid is something else.
“She does have a point. I shouldn’t be going around having more than one friend. It’s not right,” Sasha says with a wink.
“Okay, tea is over, you can go back over there now,” Tyler says, snatching the cup from my hand. She doesn’t have to ask me twice. Or…maybe she does. Shit, I can’t get up. I press my hands to my knee and push myself up to my feet. Another sharp pain in my back reminds me that I shouldn’t have gotten down onto that chair or helped Tango with that house build today. The workouts I do at the gym have nothing on putting up siding.
“Oh my gosh, are you okay?” Sasha asks.
“Yeah, yeah,” I laugh. “I think I pulled something today. I might need someone to rub it.”
Ignoring my comment, she curls her hand around my arm, helping me straighten up. “Do you need to see a doctor?”
“I’m close enough to a doctor,” I laugh. “I’m fine, really.”
“A doctor can’t treat himself,” she argues.
“Oh no?”
“You should really go see someone,” she tells me with her hand still looped around my arm. Her hands are so small in comparison to any of my limbs. I kind of like it.
“You’re right, I should,” I agree to appease her. Taking the few steps back over to the chair I was sitting in, I get a little enjoyment from the fact that she doesn’t remove her hand until I’m settled back into the seat.
She takes the seat next to mine and twists to face me. “Who are you really, Jags?”
Her question surprises me a bit, for more than one reason. “What happened to the mister part of my name?”
“I’m over it,” she says.
“And what do you want to know?”
“What’s your real name?” she f
ollows.
“Oh, I don’t give that information out to just anyone. It could get out and then people would know what my parents call me. We don’t need that.”
“So, Jags isn’t your real name, then?”
I smirk. I suppose it could be, but what kind of name is Jags? I just wish my last name started with a ‘w’ so I could have been nicknamed “Jaws.” That would have been better. “No, it’s not my birth name, but it ended up becoming my call-sign, and now it’s what everyone calls me.”
“I don’t like it,” she says. What the hell? Who says that to another person about their name? I wouldn’t expect Sasha of all people, Miss Prim and Proper, to ever say something so rude to someone.
“How would you like it if I told you I didn’t like your name?”
“It’s my birth name, so that would just be rude,” she quips.
Her gaze is blazing into my eyes as if she’s trying to summon out all of my dark secrets by controlling me with her mind. “Well, what if Jags is better than my birth name? You’d feel pretty bad if I told you my name was Julep, wouldn’t you?”
“That’s not your name,” she says confidently.
“No, it’s Jackass,” Tyler says, covering her mouth as she giggles.
“Tyler!” Sasha scolds. “No way. We don’t use that language.” I guess I wasn’t completely out of line telling her not to call me names if Sasha is nearly shouting at her.
“Jags said it first,” she says, pursing her lips and looking back down at her tea cup.
Sasha’s angry mom-like squinting eyes look back at me. “I don’t remember saying that in front of her,” I say, holding my hands up in defense.
“You’ve got a dirty mouth,” she says to me under her breath.
“Don’t talk about my mouth that way,” I snap back in the same quiet volume.
Now she’s looking at my mouth. Is she wondering why my mouth is so dirty, or is she thinking about what it would be like to kiss it? I bet it’s the latter. She’s wondering if I’m a good kisser. Mirroring her action, I look at her lips too, and she immediately becomes uncomfortable as she adjusts her position within her seat. I love making girls squirm, and I especially enjoy making her squirm.
Spiked Lemonade: A Bad Boy Sailor and a Good Girl Romantic Comedy Standalone Page 8
