by Lola StVil
I used to love living alone. But recently, the silence has been getting to me. It allows me to hear my thoughts, and right now, that’s not something I want to do. I find myself visiting my brother Wyatt and his wife, Winter, a lot more often. They have three boys and a little girl. They never have a moment’s peace or silence of any kind before 8 PM. There is always lots of horseplay and laughter at their place.
So, just do like your brothers have done; find a woman who is gorgeous, kind, smart, and warm. Have kids with her and then settle in for the perfect family fairy tale. Yeah, right.
I’m the only one in my family who hasn’t tied the knot. I’m mostly okay with that. The fact is, my job doesn’t make it easy to have a personal life. My brothers got lucky—very lucky. They found women who were willing to deal with the life that comes with being in law enforcement. There aren’t a lot of women out there like that.
Don’t get me wrong; I can’t complain about my social life. I can get laid easily enough. And I don’t need to string a woman along and tell her that we are together when we aren’t. I tell them right off the bat I’m not looking for anything serious. A few nights of fun and then we both move on. So far, there has been no issue at all. In fact, I manage to stay friends with the women from my past. The guys at the office always ask how I’m able to do that.
It’s because my dad instilled in us that we were to treat women the same way we would want someone to treat our baby sister, Rose. That just hit home with us, and while we aren’t perfect, my brothers and I try not to be total dicks. We succeed—most of the time. And other times, well, let’s just say we try.
I didn’t really decide to go over to Wyatt’s house; I just found myself there. His wife, Winter, comes to the door with her blonde hair pulled back into a carefree ponytail and her robe on. She quickly opens the door and ushers me inside.
“Jackson, is everything okay?” she asks as her sparkling gray eyes fill with worry.
“Yes, ‘Mom,’ everything is fine. I was just out taking a walk,” I tease.
“Hi, Uncle Jack!” my nephew Ben shouts from the second-floor banister.
“Benjamin Lewis Hunter, if you ever want to see your PlayStation again, you better be under the covers in three…two…”
“Okay! Okay!” he says as he runs back into his room.
“Wyatt is on a stakeout. It might be all night. Anything I can do?” she offers.
“No, I just wanted to stop by and say hi.”
“Nightmares?”
“Yeah, how did you know?”
She smiles warmly and says, “Easy. I married a cop.”
She guides me towards the kitchen and begins to assemble a plate of food from the meal that Wyatt cooked earlier. My brother is an amazing cook. Before my sister, Rose, passed away, they used to cook together. He still keeps that tradition alive although she’s gone. He didn’t always. At one point, he refused to make as much as a boiled egg. But after meeting Winter, he found a new source of inspiration.
“You sound like you had a hard day; talk to me. How bad was it?” she asks.
“It kind of sucked…” I admit.
Although, there was this one woman who had these eyes, these spectacular eyes.
My shift ended over an hour ago, but instead of going home, I opted for the bar across the street from the office. It’s just after six in the evening, and I’m not all that eager to drink. But I’m also not that eager to go home. I sit at the bar and nurse what will most likely be my only beer. I honestly don’t know how it is I started to play with the video game on my phone. In fact, I didn’t even know I had a game on my cell. But somehow or another, it’s on here, and it starts to take all of my attention.
It’s a good thing I’m not here to meet women because playing on your cell is not a turn-on for any woman I know. But as I said before, I’m just here to avoid going home, not to pick anyone up. There’s a redhead that’s been running through my mind, and for now, I’m good with her taking up some of my mental space.
“Damn it!” I shout before I can stop myself.
The game I’m playing is called Dragon Master. It isn’t all that hard, yet I can’t seem to get the little hero past the big giant dragon and through the door to the room that holds the damn ruby. I know it’s a silly kid’s game, but when I fail to do it a third time, I start to take that shit personally.
“You have to get a head start, run towards it, and jump on its tail three times. That’s the only way to kill it!” someone says as they sit down at the bar next to me.
The redhead.
Shit.
“Doc, what are you doing here?” I ask like a teenager caught doing something very wrong and very embarrassing.
“I come here once in a while; they have really good wings,” she replies.
“I was just—”
“Playing Dragon Master. I know,” she says, clearly enjoying my embarrassment.
“One of my nephews must have gotten hold of my cell when I wasn’t looking and uploaded it on there. I went to delete it, but I started playing and now…I have to beat this damn thing; it’s a matter of pride,” I admit.
She laughs and says, “I totally get it.”
Her laugh is unlike any melody I’ve ever heard before. What the hell is going on here?
I try again, confident that I will fail because now I’m way too busy with the woman seated next to me to worry about a stupid dragon. Her fragrance is soft and subtle. It reminds me of a crisp fall morning. And in case you didn’t pick up on it, I am losing my fucking mind.
Crisp fall morning?
“Argh!” I shout yet again as the dragon does an animated dance over my corpse.
“Here, let me,” she says as she takes my cell from me.
“Are you sure you can handle this?” I ask.
“Don’t worry, Agent Hunter; I will rescue you,” she says with a smile.
My heart skips.
It takes her only a few moves to best the dragon and get the ruby behind the door. She hands my cell back to me and winks. Or I should say, gloats.
“Okay, okay. You’re a real badass. Happy, Doc?” I tease. “Now, how do you know so much about this game?”
“My son, Aaron, loves it.”
“You have a son?”
“Yes; he’s seven, and I can’t count the number of times I’ve had to threaten world war three in order to get him to put the game down. One day, I was bored at home, and I tried it; don’t let the color theme and cute animation fool you. Those fiery dragon bastards are ruthless. It’s kill or be killed,” she jokes.
“Yes! They pull you in with the friendly graphics and before you know it…”
“Before you know it, it’s seven in the morning, and you have not done anything you were supposed to do. And you are forced to send your kid to school with half a frozen Pop-Tart in his mouth and in his Batman pj’s.”
“Did you really do that?”
“Yeah, that’s me—mom of the year.” She laughs. I can’t help but join her.
“Okay, you have to show me a picture of the kid who’s brave enough to be your son.”
She happily shows me a picture of Aaron on her cell. He is the spitting image of her. He’s fucking adorable. He seriously could not be any cuter if he tried.
I tell her that and she thanks me. She admits he’s a handful and says that some days she has no idea if she’s doing a good job or not.
“You, Doc? You seem like the kind of woman who has everything under control,” I reply.
“Nope, I can only slay dragons; after that, I’m useless,” she says. I smile at her wit and easygoing nature. I didn’t expect that. I call the bartender over, and she orders wings and beers for both of us.
“Listen, Doc, the last time we met, I was a dick to you, and I shouldn’t have been. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Therapy isn’t always easy,” she says. “But it can help. I’ve seen it work.”
“I thought about going once a while back when my sister,
Rose, passed away. Leukemia.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“It’s okay. And thanks.”
“So…did you end up going?” she asks gently.
“No…but I did take time off work.”
“Did it help?”
“Yeah, I think it did. During my time off, I went camping. Growing up, our parents had a cabin upstate, and we’d go there in the summer. Rose and I would stargaze all night. So I went camping nearby. It helped me feel close to her.” I have never admitted that to anyone outside my family before. She is very easy to talk to. Guess that makes her great at her job.
“I get it. My dad was a baseball fan to his core. I can’t remember a time when there wasn’t a baseball game on in the house. So after he passed away, I found myself watching baseball games. Even if I had no idea what was going on. Sometimes, I would just keep it on in the background.”
The bartender comes over and tells us that they are out of the regular wings but that they have the extra, extra hot ones.
“Would you two like to try it?” he says.
“You wanna give it a shot?” she dares.
“I will if you will,” I counter.
Moments later, he brings over a basket of “fire” wings and two ice-cold beers. We each pick up a drumstick and take a bite. The bartender was not kidding; that shit is crazy spicy. The heat sneaks up, and soon it’s like flames going down my throat. She must be feeling the same way because, like me, she rushes to down her beer.
“Oh my God, what sick, demented person invented wings this hot?” she pleads.
“These wings could be used as a torture device.”
“Well, if I had any secrets I’d sure as hell give them up,” she says, still panting as she drains her mug of beer.
“Same here. I’m not looking to be a hero,” I admit.
When we finally get the feeling back in our mouths and lips, we can’t help but laugh at how stupid we must look.
“How do you feel about something sweet right now?” I ask.
“Yes, please,” she says.
“Hey, can we see your dessert menu?” I ask. The bartender hands us a small menu, and she studies it over my shoulder. My body is extremely aware of just how close she is to me. I inhale her scent. Fall is now my favorite season.
“How do you feel about molten lava cake?” she asks.
“Never had it,” I admit.
“Well, once again, I’m here to help,” she says as she places our order. Moments later, the bartender hands us one dessert with two spoons.
“So, this lava cake is pretty special, huh?” I ask.
“Um, yeah. There’s chocolate oozing from the center. This cake isn’t just special; it’s sacred,” she says as she’s about to sink her fork into the center. I stop her.
“Well, if this cake is holy, then I should at least know the first name of the woman I’m sharing it with, don’t you think?”
She smirks as we lock eyes. She blushes and tilts her head slightly to the side. She’s thinking. She’s so damn cute when she does that. My heart can’t take it. Shit. I think I’m in trouble.
“Okay. My name is Mia.”
Mia.
“Hi, Mia,” I whisper as I gaze into her eyes. She swallows hard. Her lips part slightly as she tries to catch her breath.
“Hello, Jackson.”
***
It’s been a full week since I had the black rose delivered to my office. I’m relieved that we have had nothing else happen to suggest that Gorman is out there. It feels like we can get back to normal. That means hanging out with Argo and Aaron on this chilly Saturday afternoon. Right now, Argo is in my living room flipping through various books on conduct and professionalism.
“I’m sorry; I don’t see anything in here that says you can’t have wings with a hot guy,” Argo announces.
“It’s not about the wings. You should have seen us. It looked more like a date than anything.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So? Argo, Jackson is my client,” I remind him.
“Doesn’t he have to attend a session to be your client?”
“He did. Remember?”
“Yeah, he came for ten minutes and then left. There’s a grace period. You are free and clear. Get some, girl. Get some.”
I laugh. “Argo, that’s not really how this works.”
“So drop him as a client.”
“No, I want to help him.”
“Well, if you drop him, you can help him in other ways…” he says suggestively.
“You have a dirty mind.”
“Yes, and you know it!”
“Yeah, I do.” I grin.
He closes the books and comes to sit next to me on the sofa. “Okay, Mimi. Talk to me.”
“What do you want to know? I already told you everything.”
“No, you told me what happened: you bumped into him, you two had wings and a drink. But that is not all the tea, and you know it. How did you feel when you two were talking? Did he feel like a client? Or something more?”
Something more, so much more.
I’m relieved when Aaron interrupts us. He stands in the doorway, fresh from his nap, Mr. Henry in hand.
“Hi, Argo,” he says.
“Come here, cutie!” Agro replies. Aaron walks over to Argo and embraces him.
“Can we put sparkles on Mr. Henry today?” Aaron asks.
“Heck yes! We’ll make him up, and he will be the shiniest thing in the reptile world,” Argo vows.
“Okay, I’ll get the glitter,” Aaron says as he runs up to his room. When my son is out of earshot, Argo asks if he’s said anything else about his father.
“No, he hasn’t mentioned Tom. Thank goodness,” I reply.
“Maybe if you gave Tom a heads-up, he’d actually show up,” Argo suggests.
“Maybe. But you never know with that man,” I mumble in frustration.
That’s another reason why this Jackson thing can’t actually be a thing. Even if he weren’t my client, I don’t trust my judgment when it comes to guys. I was so wrong about Tom, and while he’s not evil, he is definitely not what I would have wanted for Aaron or myself. In recent years, I’ve started to believe that there just aren’t any good men. But even if there are, who says that I would be good at choosing one? After all, I failed once already.
Meeting with my ex always puts me on edge. But Aaron asked me about show-and-tell yet again yesterday, so I thought I should give it a shot. Tom is supposed to meet me here at 1 PM for lunch, so naturally, he doesn’t walk in until 1:45. He enters the restaurant wearing his usual boyish grin and laid-back expression.
“You’re late,” I point out as he moves in to embrace me. I hug him back. It’s not a firm, loving hug. It’s more like a quick exchange. I never want to think of Tom as an enemy of mine. No matter what has happened, he is Aaron’s dad, and I try to remember that and show him some respect. But sometimes he makes it hard. He looks me over and grins suggestively.
“How’s my favorite redhead?” he asks as he takes a seat across the table.
“Fine. You know you’re late, right? I’ve been waiting for almost an hour.”
“Sorry, babe. Lost track of time.” He shrugs.
“It’s called a watch—and don’t call me babe.”
“You know, every day you get more and more prudish.”
“You mean ‘grown-up’?” I quip.
“Same thing,” he says with a smile. “Hey, how’s my kid?” he asks.
“That’s why I asked you to meet with me.”
He leans in and asks a concerned, “What’s wrong?”
That’s the thing about Tom that stops me from writing him off completely. He loves Aaron. He’s just not good at the other parts of fatherhood.
“He’s okay. He’s got friends at school, he just had a checkup, and Dr. Soul says he’s in perfect health.”
“Great. I’m gonna come around sometime next week and see him. I miss him.”
&nb
sp; “Well, I’m glad you said that. There’s a show-and-tell at school next week, and he wants you to be there. Can you come?”
“Oh yeah, I’m there,” he says, then puts the water glass to his lips and drinks.
“Tom,” I warn as I lean in close, “don’t say you are coming if you’re not.”
“Hey, have I ever let you down—don’t answer that.”
“I’m serious. This is important to him. I won’t tell him you’re coming. He can prepare to present something else, and if you actually come through, on that day, I will let him know then.”
“I’m hurt. You act as if I don’t talk to my son. I talk to Aaron all the time.”
“Texting me to ask how he is isn’t the same thing as talking to him.”
“Yeah, I know. But when we hang out, we have a lot of fun together. You can’t deny that.”
“No, he loves hanging out with you; you two are the same age,” I quip. “What he doesn’t love is you making him wait and then not showing up. And I’m telling you if you don’t show up for this thing next week, I will hunt you down and rip your damn balls off. You got that?”
He leans forward and smirks, “Aw, admit it, Mia, you miss me and what we had.”
“Tom, I miss you like I miss my last yeast infection.”
“Ouch.”
“Well, I was planning to be nicer to you, but I’ve been waiting here for almost an hour,” I remind him.
“I know, sorry.”
“What kept you?”
“Actually, it’s kind of amazing. I have a buddy in London who is opening an art gallery. He thinks that my work might do very well there. He wants me to come out and stay for a while. Maybe get some work done.” Tom is actually a good artist. But he lacks the discipline to finish most of his pieces.
“I know how important having a gallery opening is to you, so good luck,” I reply sincerely.
“Yes, it could change everything. The art scene in London is fresh. It’s not stale and dull like it is here in the US.”
“And the women in London, I’m sure they are fresh too,” I add.
