Slam. That poor tailgate. I mean, it’s seen better days, but I don’t think it deserved that hard of a slam.
“Okay. Are you mad at me? Really, I am sorry about the overcompensating comment. I didn’t mean to be snarky. I really do appreciate you bringing me out here.”
“I’m not mad at all, don’t worry. Hop in. I’m going to just lock up the cabin and we can go.”
I settle into the cab of the truck and feel like as much as he says he’s not angry, he is. I just can’t win. I answered his stupid question and obviously said something wrong. This guy is more high maintenance than any other friend I’ve had. No wonder he’s single.
Ashton has kept up her end of the agreement we made at the lake. She’s making a conscious effort to end the name calling. This is evident each time she says, “Mannn … Jameson.” I’ve tried not to make it obvious when I hear her correct herself, but I’m not always successful. It probably has helped that I’ve been more of a monk than anyone closely resembling a whore of any kind. Come to think of it, I probably shouldn’t use that term either.
This morning I’m working from home in an effort to make some headway with all the paperwork I’ve put off. At the top of my list is an advertisement for an assistant. My admission of defeat came around the time I realized I hadn’t paid myself in two months.
Two months.
Who does that? Stubborn jackasses, that’s who. Now, if only I knew how to write this up. My sister was no help. Her answer was to place the ad for an office assistant slash manager on a dating website. Julia is a smartass.
Julia is also observant. She clued in quickly that I haven’t been dating much. The excuse of not having time didn’t go over well with my sister and I’ve had to deal with her threatening to tell my mother I’m never going to give her grandchildren if I don’t start putting myself out there. I think her words were “Stop being a pussy and man up.” Julia doesn’t normally walk around calling people a pussy, so I’m sure that’s the pregnancy talking. Regardless, I’m not looking forward to her telling my mother anything remotely resembling my dating life or her future grandchildren.
I’ve gone out, I’ve met some lovely ladies, and I’ve even exchanged numbers. That’s as far as I’ve gotten. Truthfully, it was a lot easier to date and bring women home when Ashton wasn’t in my space. When her smell wasn’t the first thing to hit my senses when I walk in my home. And when she wasn’t starring in my dreams most nights. Very adult-themed dreams I might add.
Fuck, I need to get laid. Maybe I need to just pull the Band-Aid off. There’s no reason for me not to. Ashton and I are just getting to a friendship level and that’s where we should keep it.
Three cups of coffee and a bagel later, all I’ve managed are a dozen attempts at writing out an ad for an office person. The last one, “Someone to save me from running my business into the ground,” doesn’t exactly shout “stability” but it’s the best so far. This is ridiculous. I need a break and I need to regroup. There’s no reason I can’t get a workout in while I toss around ideas in my head for this job position. I need the release. I need to push myself in a different way. Physical exertion is exactly what I need. And, since I have a gym in my garage, it’s not like I’ll be taking too long of a break. Justification sold.
Filling a water bottle, I grab my phone and a towel from the linen closet. The minute the lights flicker to life and the fan begins its low hum, I know this was a good call. Exercise, a good solid workout, always helps me focus. Often, I’ll go for a run, but today I need to push myself harder. Scrolling for the playlist that is guaranteed to motivate me, I smile a little to myself when I find it.
As the first beat filters through the speakers I have set up in every corner, I feel the tension release from my neck, shoulders, and back. A few minutes of stretching and I’m already sweating. I grab the remote for the fan to increase the speed. The intensity of the music gradually increases, my warm-up matching the beat. Grabbing my jump rope, I have no problem picking up the pace as the song fades into the next. This is what I’ve needed, to unleash the pent-up energy. When sex isn’t an option, all-out grit will have to do.
Completely in the zone and without any thought to what is happening around me, I let go. Pushing myself to my own limits, I almost can’t stop. I know where I am in the playlist and what comes next.
Pausing for a drink of water, I grab the towel I brought with me and wipe the sweat from my face and hands. My shirt was tossed to the side by the time my warm-up was complete. Grabbing the chalk bucket, I make sure my hands are covered before standing below the pull-up bar. This is where I push myself the hardest. No stopping. The music transitions quickly; I take in a deep breath and exhale slowly as I jump for the bar. Without a thought, my body takes over. Toes to bar. No stopping. Breathing is my focus. Two minutes and fourteen seconds. That is how long this song is and how long I push myself. No stopping. No break. Constant. I can feel the burn, the effects of not having this level of physical exertion in weeks.
The final seconds of the song come through the speakers and the minute it ends, I drop to the ground. Hands on the ground, my breath is labored. Labored in a good way. It’s between breaths that I hear her. Turning my head, I see Ashton standing in the doorway. Hand on her mouth, eyes wide, hair in a messy bun, wearing too short of fucking shorts, and a tank top that leads me to believe she slept in it and failed to put a bra on before coming out here.
“Sweet mother of God.”
Laughing, I stand and grab my water bottle as I tap my phone to shut off the music. Finishing my water in one drink, I take three steps so I’m now standing in front of Ashton. Ashton, who hasn’t moved her hand and, thanks to the confirmation by the still-running fan, is not wearing a bra.
“Not God, but thanks.”
“Huh?”
Her eyes are blinking double time and I’m certain she’s never looked sexier. By the way my own pulse has quickened instead of slowing after a workout, I’m not certain this workout solved any of my pent-up energy problems.
“You just called me God.”
“Whaaa … I, uh. What? No I didn’t!”
“Ahh but the lady doth protest too much, methinks.”
“Really, Jameson? Shakespeare? Whatever. I did not call you God.”
“I’m kidding, relax. Maybe you need to go back to bed and get up on the other side.”
A snort and eye roll are my response to that.
“Here, asshole. I was sleeping just fine until the doorbell started ringing. I assumed it was the pizza I was dreaming about, so I answered. It was a delivery for you. I saw you were working from home so I thought maybe you needed it. Here.”
Before I can offer a retort of any kind, the envelope in question smacks me in the chest. She’s feisty as hell and if I’m not mistaken, and I know I’m not, she’s a little turned on. This could be fun.
Looking at the envelope, I confirm the sender is my accountant before tossing it on the workbench. Then I pick up my towel, wiping the sweat from my face before pulling it around my neck, holding each end. I may have also taken a step so my legs are farther apart – a power stance if you will. I also know that the sweat is running down my chest because it itches like a motherfucker, but I’m going to play it off. From what I know, the ladies like this kind of shit.
“Thanks. You could’ve just left it inside, ya know. Did you want to take a turn with the equipment?” The innuendo is not lost on Ashton as I see the vein in her neck pulse as she visibly swallows.
“Uh, no thanks.”
“Ya cold, Sunshine?”
“Huh? What? It’s like a hundred degrees in here, and stinky by the way. Why would you ask if I’m cold?”
Letting my eyes fall to her chest, it takes only but a second before the realization of what I’m looking at hits her. Ashton’s gaze drops to her own chest and her arms fly up to cross over her chest, just as she raises her gaze to mine. The smirk I so confidently had in place is immediately gone when I see the fire in h
er eyes.
“Shit! Dammit, Jameson, don’t be a pervert! Ugh!”
My laughter follows her as she stomps away. Damn that was fun. Immature, maybe, but fun. The sound of the kitchen door slamming causes me to jump. Whoops. Picking up the envelope, I turn the lights and fan off before closing the garage door and walking through the same door I’m surprised to find standing after the way Ashton just flung it.
The house is eerily quiet as I contemplate my next step. I should probably apologize. I should probably stop being such a dick. But the hell if her attitude and obvious attraction to me doesn’t make it so much fun.
Two quick raps at her door and I don’t hear anything.
“Come on, Ash, you know I was just teasing. Don’t be pissed.”
“Go away!”
“You just make it so easy sometimes. I’m sorry. Scout’s hon…”
Before I can complete my sentence, Ashton’s bedroom door flies open. Those beautiful emerald eyes that are normally dancing with mischief are fueled with something different. Some may call it rage. I call it passion. Yep, a little spitfire passion.
“Don’t you dare say honor. You were not honorable, Jameson Strauss.”
Full name. No bueno.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I was acting like a teenage boy. Friends?”
Extending my hand, I wait. Nothing. Shit.
“Come on, Ash. I’m sorry. Look, you can even call me Manwhore. Go ahead, I know you want to.”
Twitch to the left, twitch to the right. Her lips twitch with unsuccessful attempts to not smile at my apology.
“Well, it’s not as much fun when you give me permission. But, I will take that as a free pass the next time I want to. Now, go away. I need to sleep more.”
“Are you working tonight?” Shaking her head, Ashton begins closing the door, but I put my hand up. It’s like my brain has stopped communicating to my mouth. “Want to get some dinner and hang out?”
“Oh, uh, I can’t. I have plans. Maybe another day?”
“Plans? Where are you going? Maybe I can come along. It’ll be fun.”
“Just plans. Another time, okay?”
“Sure. Well, I’m going to shower and I guess get some work done. I’ll see ya later.”
Turning to leave, her response is a simple “okay” as the door closes. Then I hear it open and, I won’t lie, I kind of hope she asks me to hang out.
“Hey, J?” This time it’s me who raises a brow in response. “Sorry I slammed the door. I kind of thought for a minute a window might break.”
Not an invitation. “No worries. See ya.”
After a long shower accompanied by some self-handling courtesy of images of Ashton in that fucking tank top, I am now sitting at the dining table ready to tackle this help wanted ad. I’ve determined this unnecessarily difficult task of creating a job listing is going to drive me to an early grave. As I resolve to just keep doing what I’m doing, I hear the chair next to me slide out.
“Gimme,” Ashton says, holding her hand out.
“What?”
“This is ridiculous. You’ve made zero progress with this mess and at the rate you’re tuggin’ at your hair, you’ll be bald by the time you’re thirty-one. Gimme.”
Sliding my handwritten notes in her direction, Ashton offers me her signature eye roll and a huff. Instead of grabbing the papers I’m pushing her way, she reaches across me, smelling like I’m going to have to take another fucking shower, and takes my laptop.
“Yeah so there’s this fun little thing these days, it’s called the internet. Perhaps you’ve heard of it,” she mocks while systematically tapping on the keys like a maniac. A few taps of the little mouse and a smile breaks out. The smile is short-lived as I watch Ashton’s gaze intensify and her lower lip tug between her teeth. With each click of the keys, her eyes dance across the screen, and it’s like watching a machine. I’ve never seen someone so focused.
Sitting back, I watch in awe as her expression varies from serious to happy, and finally smug. When she turns the laptop toward me, I lean forward to see that Ashton has three screens up.
“I have no idea what I’m looking at.”
“Ads, you dip. Nobody handwrites ads and quite frankly your list of qualifications was ridiculous. I have revamped and posted the ad for an Office Manager and bookkeeper to three different online sites. You will receive emails when people are interested in the position. I’ve marked that they must upload not only their resume but a detailed cover letter and list of references before you’ll consider them for the position. That should help weed out the underqualified.”
“Wow. You did all of that in like five minutes.”
“Yeah well, it’s a basic job, Jameson, not rocket science. Plus, copy and paste is your friend.”
“Thanks, Ashton. I appreciate it. How did you even know how to do this?”
“You’re welcome and don’t sound so surprised. I’m not an idiot, Jameson.”
Holding my hands up in defense, I stop her before a rant begins. “Whoa, I didn’t say you were. I’ve never for once thought you were an idiot. Obviously, I’m the idiot. You managed to do in fifteen minutes what I haven’t been able to accomplish in an entire day.”
“It’s not that big of a deal, relax.”
“No, it kind of is. You’re really good at this, Ash. Why do you waste yourself away in that bar? You should be doing whatever it is you just did for me.”
Standing, Ashton patronizingly pats my shoulder. “You don’t need to kiss my ass, Jameson, I already helped you.” Before I’m able to respond she continues, “I’m outta here. I’m going to kidnap my sister-to-be. She’s driving my brother crazy and I need some Piper time. I’ll see ya around.”
Ashton spent her afternoon with Piper while I spent mine giving myself a headache. Only stopping for food once, I’ve managed to make minimal progress with this mountain of paperwork. I’m exhausted and tense.
I need a release.
Maybe I should go out tonight, relieve some of this tension one way or another. Or, I could skip the whole song and dance of the bar scene and simply call one of the ladies I have on speed dial. The ladies who are on the same page as me. The “no strings” page.
Unfortunately, my preferred “friend” is Beth, and she’s Ashton’s co-worker. That just seems like a horrible idea. I could be an ass and not care if it would bother Ashton, but I’m not that guy.
Not true. I am that guy. Just not when it comes to Ashton.
Pushing the papers aside, I stand and stretch my arms over my head, almost grazing the ceiling as I do. A few seconds in that position and I feel the tension lessening. Feeling anxious and bored is new to me. I never have down time, but the thought of going out and being “on” sounds about as much fun as, well, more of this damn paperwork.
Contemplating a call to my sister for some uncle time with Hope, I check my phone for the time. Too late for that. Hope may be a night owl when she’s with me, but I know my sister and Hope are already in bed.
Restless and bored. This is new. A beer. I’ll have a beer and then see what the guys are up to. Reaching into the back of the refrigerator, I hear Ashton’s footsteps as I rise and close the door. Twisting the cap off the bottle, I take a long drink as I turn toward Ashton. Holy fuck.
What I need is a shower. Of the cold variety.
Bent over, adjusting something on her knee-high boot, Ashton is giving me a me a show that, I think if she realized was happening, would embarrass the hell out of her. From this viewpoint, I’m privy to the lacy and very sexy red bra she’s wearing. I pull the beer bottle from my lips, uncertain if I’m swiping a drop of beer that’s fallen on my lips or just plain old drool from the sneak peek of the woman before me. Just as that thought crosses my mind, Ashton stands and I get the full picture.
Tucked in those knee-high boots is a pair of skin-tight jeans. Over that lacy bra is a loose-fitting tank top with a graphic on the front that looks like the label of my preferred whiskey. A stack of
bracelets adorns her arm and jingles as she begins to scoop up her long hair into a ponytail. Normally I like a woman’s hair long and flowing, but the vision of Ashton with her hair pulled back – ready for tugging – ignites something it shouldn’t.
“Dang that beer looks good. Mind if I have a sip? Just one, I have to drive.”
Not waiting for my response, Ashton reaches and takes the bottle from my hand. Watching her take a drink should not be this erotic. I’ve seen Ashton drink plenty of beers. Hell, I’ve seen Ashton take shots with her hands behind her back and her lips wrapped around a shot glass. Probably not the best memory at this moment by the way my shorts are tightening.
Think of kittens. Puppies. Raccoons. Anything but Ashton’s lips around anything. Not working. Open the fridge. That’s the only answer. Ah, yeah. Cool air. That helps.
“Here, that tastes really good but I have to drive. Can you hand me the to-go container I have in there? I’m going to eat that before I leave.”
Still not speaking a word since Ashton walked in the kitchen, I simply hand her the container from the refrigerator and grab myself another beer. I already know this is going to be a long night. Then a thought passes and I put the second beer back.
“Jameson, hello. Earth to Jameson. What’s up with you?”
“What?”
“I asked what you were doing tonight. You are acting so weird.”
Watching Ashton eat is putting an entirely new definition to the term “food porn.” The wrap she’s eating is probably not nearly as delicious as she’s making it seem. A small amount of sauce drips on her bottom lip, her tongue slips out to scoop it up, and I am almost positive that sigh was out loud by the weird expression on her face.
“Your food looks good. I just realized I haven’t eaten anything since lunch.”
“Umm, okay. Well I only have half, sorry.”
“No worries, I’ll make myself something to eat. I think there’s leftover taco meat in here. A few burritos and I’ll be golden. So, where ya off to this evening?”
“Evening? Seriously, what is up with you?”
Tequila & Tailgates (A Country Road Novel - Book 2) Page 11
