by Tiffany Snow
“Thanks. It’s new.” I got the belt and worked my way down to the zipper.
“Thought so. Why don’t I just buy you a shareholder’s seat for Victoria’s Secret? At least then you’d get a discount.”
I paused in tugging at his slacks. “You can do that?” He just smiled. I rolled my eyes. “Tease.”
“Look who’s talking,” he said, motioning to where I had his pants half on and half off.
Oh yeah.
A naked Jackson was a sight to behold and I took a minute to appreciate the extraordinary view of his body. He was not just in shape, but muscled and firm. He didn’t manscape, but didn’t need to. His chest had a smattering of hair across his pecs, then a thin trail from his navel down, which, in my opinion, was perfect. His back was completely devoid of hair and smooth to the touch.
Folding his arms behind his head, he smirked at me. “Enjoying the view?”
I particularly enjoyed when he did that because it made his biceps bulge. I gave a happy sigh. “You know I do.” My gaze drifted slowly from his eyes down his neck to his shoulders and arms, then down his chest to his stomach, then further . . .
Mr. Happy—my designation for what the Harlequins often referred to as his “member”—was standing at attention and twitched as I watched. I glanced back at Jackson’s face. His smirk was gone and his eyes were so dark they were nearly black as he watched me look at him.
“I love it when you get that look in your eye,” he said.
“What look?” I asked, settling between his thighs and placing a kiss on the tip of Mr. Happy.
“That look that says you want me.”
“I do want you.” I took him in my mouth and his jaw set. I kept my eyes on his as I took him deeper. It didn’t take long before he’d given up the silence and was gasping my name, in between holy fuck and God yes.
The thing about being small and having a large boyfriend was that he could pretty much switch positions and put me where he wanted me quicker than I could fathom if he tried to tell me. The first time he’d wanted to put his tongue between my legs while I was sucking him, it had taken almost ninety seconds of explanation and hand motions before he’d just said, “Fuck it,” and flipped me around himself.
Tonight was no exception because before I knew it, he’d pulled me up and flipped me around, settling me on top of Mr. Happy. My eyes clamped shut as he slid home.
“I believe . . . this is called . . . the Reverse Cowgirl,” I said, my voice breathless.
“Are you checking off a list?” he asked.
I had the feeling he might think it was odd if I said Yes. “Of course not. That would be weird.”
“You are, aren’t you.”
Pause pause.
“Maybe.”
His chuckle was lost in the midst of my moaning. His hands gripped my hips, lifting me off him for a brief moment. He liked to say that his only speed was Warp Three, but I certainly wasn’t complaining. Some women reportedly had a problem achieving orgasm with penetration alone. I wasn’t one of them. And I was loud.
“Oh God, oh yes . . . don’t stop . . . yeah, right there . . . oh Jackson . . . yeah yeah yeah . . .” etc. etc. It wasn’t as though I recorded myself, just was viscerally aware of words pouring from my mouth as my orgasm crashed over me. Jackson waited until I was through, then continued, bringing me to orgasm again before allowing himself to “explode in ecstasy,” as Harlequin would say.
I collapsed next to him in the bed, both of us sweating and breathing hard.
“That was make-up sex,” he said.
“I’m a fan.”
His hand found mine between us, lacing our fingers and pressing our palms together. It was sweet and I turned my head to look up at him. He smiled and squeezed my hand.
“I’m a fan of you.”
The last little bit of unease inside melted away, replaced by a warm glow that made me feel like I’d finally found that perfect bra.
3
I was towel-drying my hair when I walked into the kitchen in the morning. Jackson was already there, drinking a cup of coffee and reading the paper.
See? I thought, remembering how Clark had given me a hard time about being inflexible in my routine. Not only had I let Jackson brew the coffee (after I’d taught him properly, of course), but didn’t even freak out when he read the paper first and disordered the sections.
“So where did you run off to last night?” Jackson asked as I poured a steaming mug of coffee. “I got here pretty quick but you took a while.”
“Oh, a work thing,” I said, noncommittal. Part of my employment agreement was that when working for a super-secret government agency, you couldn’t exactly put it on your resume.
“The new job you won’t tell me about?”
While my job wasn’t exactly a sore spot between us, Jackson wasn’t pleased that I’d quit working at Cysnet for what I’d explained was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that I really couldn’t tell him about due to nondisclosure reasons. It had helped that dating the boss would’ve made working at Cysnet very awkward, so the new job had come along at a good time.
“That’s a rhetorical question,” I replied, adding cream to my coffee.
I heard the paper rustle as Jackson turned pages and I hoped he’d let it drop. Sitting down opposite him at the table, I smiled to see he’d put my favorite section—Life & Entertainment—at my place.
Jackson Cooper didn’t do the Walk of Shame, so he kept a few changes of clothes at my place. It wouldn’t do to leave my house wearing his tuxedo from last night. Today he was in jeans that fit very well in all the right places and a long-sleeved polo in a deep gray that complemented his eyes. I sighed a little into my coffee. The view was very nice indeed.
“So what did your ex-business partner want?” I asked, flipping through the newspaper.
“To warn me.”
I abruptly put the paper down. “Warn you about what?”
“That the government wants Cysnet.”
“The government? But . . . that’s ridiculous. Why?”
“I’m guessing it’s because they saw the problems that could happen by using an outside contractor like Wyndemere. It’s not solely under their control. If they own Cysnet, then they own all its proprietary technology. Not only could they get their projects done cheaper, they could make money off any patents they register.”
“But it’s not as though you’re going to sell the business.” The very idea was absurd. Cysnet was Jackson’s baby.
“I don’t think they’re looking to buy,” he said dryly. “The government has other means at their disposal to get what they want.”
Which reminded me. “That must be what they were talking about.”
Jackson frowned. “Who?”
“I don’t know who, but I overheard two men talking about you,” I said, relating to him the conversation. “But what could the government possibly do to take away your company?”
“Cysnet is publicly traded. Though I’m CEO and on the Board of Directors, all it would take would be a vote of no confidence by the Board to oust me.”
“But Cysnet is you,” I argued. “It would be like Apple without Steve Jobs.”
“Apple survived,” he said grimly.
“But it’s not as good. Everyone knows that.” I took a breath. “So . . . what are you going to do?”
“There’s nothing I can do,” he said. “I have to wait and see what their next move is.”
I suddenly realized what I was staring at and I snatched up the paper again. “Oh my God! It’s me! I mean, it’s us!”
There, on page six, were two photos of Jackson and me dancing at the party last night. We were gazing at each other and smiling. Another photo had been taken when we’d first arrived. His arm was around my waist as we walked side by side.
I’d never seen photos of us together before. I looked young—really young—standing next to him. And apparently the columnist thought so, too, because the headline read TECH MOGUL ROBS T
HE CRADLE.
I read the story aloud. “Jackson Cooper was spotted at his ex-partner’s Halloween bash last night, this time sporting a new companion. China Mack, dressed in a stylish and flattering LBD, added Geek Chic touches that we love—glasses, ponytail, and sneakers. We think Cooper may just have met his match in this girl techie who can keep him on his toes on the dance floor, and behind the computer monitor. Our eyes and ears are open for more word on this new binary couple.” Huh.
“Binary couple?” Jackson echoed.
I shrugged. “I do look kinda young. It must be the ponytail.”
Jackson snorted. “Please. You look like you’re about seventeen. I’m surprised someone didn’t try to arrest me for statutory rape.”
I stuck my tongue out at him. “I can’t help it I’m aging more gracefully than you,” I said archly.
“I’ve got a few years before you roll out the walker,” he retorted.
The front door suddenly flew open and Mia came bounding in. “Aunt Chi! OMG, you’re not going to believe this!” She glanced at Jackson in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
That was weird. Mia knew we were dating. “He stayed over,” I said. We’d had to have a conversation about Jackson spending the night because I was worried about setting a bad example, but when I’d mentioned that to Mia, she’d just rolled her eyes and told me she’d grown up watching Gossip Girl.
“But . . . I thought you broke up.”
Now it was my turn to be surprised. “How did you know that?”
“Because you’re trending on Twitter.”
I choked on my coffee. By the time I’d stopped coughing and mopped up the spilled coffee, Jackson already had his phone out.
“#YouGoGirl,” Mia said.
“YouGoGirl?” I sputtered.
“#ChinaMack, too. And #CooperDumped. TMZ started that last one.”
“What’s on TMZ?”
“Someone videoed you telling Jackson off and storming out. I even have a gif of it. See?” She flipped her phone around and I watched myself silently berating Jackson, then turning on my heel with a flip of my ponytail.
“So are they hating on me?” I winced, not wanting to imagine being the target of the online social community’s wrath.
“Nooooo,” Jackson answered instead of Mia. “Not exactly.”
“What do you mean ‘not exactly?’” Mia snorted. “They love her. She’s a new hero. She’s even a verb.”
“Excuse me?” I interrupted.
“Yeah. When girls tweet about dumping their crappy boyfriends, they say they ‘China Macked’ them.”
I couldn’t process what was going on and pulled up Twitter on my own phone. “Oh wow . . . I’ve got over a million new followers!” Quite the improvement over the six hundred I’d had before. “My tweets during Supernatural are going to be epic . . .”
“I’m going to go print off some screenshots,” Mia said. “This is so cool.” She took off, her steps thumping rapidly up the stairs.
“You can’t just tweet whatever you want,” Jackson said. “Not anymore.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said, scanning through the trending topic of me. So weird. “The first thing I need to correct is the assertion that we’re no longer dating.” Jackson snatched the phone out of my hand. “Hey!”
“You can’t just do and say whatever you want,” Jackson repeated more forcefully. “You never know what can backfire.”
“So I’m not supposed to use social media anymore?” I was crestfallen. “Not even to correct the erroneous assumption that we’re no longer in a romantic relationship?”
“I’ll put out a statement or something,” he said.
“That doesn’t sound good. Are you angry?” It hadn’t been my fault that someone had videoed our conversation. If anything, it was Jackson’s fault for being famous.
“Of course not,” he said. “But maybe you should have some help with any . . . online communication.”
I gave him a look. “I’ve been tweeting and posting and Instagramming for quite a while without adult supervision.”
“But it’s different now. One wrong tweet, one bad joke, and it can destroy your life. And let’s face it, China, it’s not as though nuances of communication are one of your strengths.”
That was an observation I couldn’t deny, as much as I disliked my shortcomings being pointed out to me, especially by my boyfriend.
“Come on now, don’t pout,” Jackson cajoled, a smile playing about his lips.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t pout.” I purposefully rearranged my face into what I hoped was a pleasant expression.
My phone rang. It was my best friend, Bonnie. “Gee, I wonder what she wants,” I joked. “Hello?”
“Oh my God! You’re on TMZ!”
I laughed, glancing at Jackson as he stood and mouthed that he was going. I nodded. He gave me a quick kiss and whispered, “I’ll call you.”
Bonnie was still rattling off about my newfound fame as Jackson left. “So tell me everything!” she said, finally taking a breath.
So I did, including what the news didn’t know, that Jackson and I had made up.
“Wait a minute,” she said. “He told you he wants a serious relationship? As in commitment? And you told him you weren’t ready?”
When she said it like that, it sounded kind of bad. “Um, yeah. I guess. I mean, I’ve never been in a relationship before, so we should take it slow, right?”
“Taking it slow is fine. I’m just stunned that you found that rare and elusive creature: the non-commitment-phobic man.”
“I didn’t know they’re rare.”
“Honey, if I had a dollar for every relationship I had that ended because the man couldn’t commit . . . well, I wouldn’t be rich, but I could have a helluva night out.”
That got a laugh out of me.
“So when are you seeing him again?” she asked.
“Not sure. He left earlier, said he’d call later.”
She snorted. “Typical man. Doesn’t plan ahead, just assumes you’ll be at home waiting for him on a Saturday night.”
“Maybe,” I agreed. “But it’s not a big deal to me. I mean, it’s not as though I have an overwhelmingly active social life.” My schedule was etched in stone, as Clark had so gently reminded me.
“You have other plans tonight, remember?”
Searching my brain, I came up empty. “I do?”
Bonnie made a noise of frustration. “Yes, you do. You promised me you’d be my plus-one at Mike’s graduation party, remember?”
That jogged my memory. Mike was a classmate of Bonnie’s at the culinary school. By all rights, she should have graduated by now, too. Unfortunately, Bonnie was constantly having to repeat classes. Though her dream was to be a chef, she had difficulty pulling off even some of the most basic tasks. Like not burning things. Luckily for her, she came from a wealthy family and indulgent parents. Unluckily for me, I was her favorite guinea pig for practicing her culinary skills.
“Yeah, yeah, I remember now. Do I really have to go? All those strangers . . .”
“Don’t you dare ditch me, China,” she warned. “You know Mike and I hooked up a couple of times. I do not want to show up alone and looking all pathetic.”
“So showing up with a girl isn’t pathetic?”
“It’s better than alone,” she retorted. “Besides, you promised.”
“I was under duress,” I said. “You were going to make me eat kale again.” I hated kale. As far as I was concerned, that food fad needed to go the way of the grapefruit diet.
“Kale is a very versatile and healthy vegetable—” she began.
“Fine, fine, I’ll go,” I interrupted, before she could really get going on all the wondrous benefits of the bitter, leafy weed.
“Awesome! Okay. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“But I do laundry at seven,” I said, but she’d already ended the call. I had the feeling Bonnie knew I did laundry from seven until te
n p.m. and just hadn’t wanted to argue with me about it. Now I’d have to do laundry this afternoon, which meant I needed to leave soon if I wanted to stop by Retread.
Having to change my schedule made me uncomfortable, like having an itch you couldn’t scratch. And I was cranky until I got to Retread. It was my favorite store. It had vintage everything, from old records—the real, vinyl ones—to ancient Harlequins, Chia Pets, Star Wars action figures, comic books, posters of Farrah Fawcett and Rick Springfield back in their heyday, you name it.
“Hey, Buddy,” I called out as I entered. The familiar musty smell of old things and dust assailed me. “It’s me.” I didn’t need to explain further. Although Retread was my favorite retail shopping experience, it wasn’t even a blip on most people’s radar. I’d rarely seen any other customers and had no idea how he stayed in business.
A curly-haired, bespectacled head popped up from behind the counter which was overflowing with a hodgepodge of . . . stuff.
“You’re early,” Buddy said, standing up and brushing dust off his T-shirt and jeans. He was also well aware of my Set In Stone Schedule that wasn’t so Set In Stone anymore, sadly.
“I know. Have plans tonight, but wanted to stop by and see if there’s anything new.” I was already rummaging through a stack that hadn’t been here last week.
“Well actually,” Buddy said, reaching underneath the counter. “I do have a little something special for you.” He brandished an album.
“5150!” I squealed, snatching the vintage record from him. “That’s so awesome! How’d you find it?”
“Just got dropped off today. I held it for you. I know you’ve been looking for it a while now.”
“Aww, thank you!” I had the unusual impulse to hug him, but I knew he wouldn’t appreciate it, so I didn’t. “Any new Harlequins?”
“Always.”
Buddy knew I was always on the lookout for old Harlequins for my grandma. I almost always sent them to her in Florida . . . just as soon as I finished reading them. I was currently in the middle of A Highlander’s Wicked Ways.
