A Slippery Slope

by Tanya Gallagher

  I can’t help the tinge of skepticism that shades my voice. “So you want…to date me?”

  “Yes. But not in the traditional way.”

  Of course not. Jackson doesn’t do anything by the book. I shouldn’t feel so offended since I just asked him to do the same thing, but I can’t help pulling away.

  He cups my chin and tilts my head so I’m looking right at him. “I mean I don’t want to date you in a way that’s going to end.”

  Oh.

  It feels too intimate to have this conversation now, still half-asleep and naked. Emotions fly across my face and I tamp down the part of me that wants to shout Yes! Some things really can be too good to be true, and Jackson’s confession feels like one of them.

  “We might be at an impasse here, Jackson.”

  He quirks up an eyebrow. “Casual is what you want?”

  “Yes. Casual.”

  He lets go of my fingers, then skims the backs of his knuckles across my skin, making me shiver and flush at the same time.

  “Is this casual enough for you?” He leans forward to nibble my earlobe, then kisses a line down my neck.

  “I don’t know,” I whisper.

  He trails his fingers down my hip and across my belly. All my blood rushes to my core and I’m on fire again, coming alive for him. “How about now?”

  “Not casual enough yet.” I’m embarrassed that it’s almost a whimper, that my need for him is ignited so fast. I have got to get my hormones under control. But Jackson’s touch is a spreading fire and I want to burn.

  “Now?” he asks and I lift my hips to meet his hand.

  “Better,” I say. “Much better.”

  I close my eyes and tell myself that I can do this. That I can have casual sex. But I realize, after, when my body’s still shaking and my heart’s flying in my chest, maybe I can’t do casual after all. There’s nothing casual when it comes to me and Jackson Wirth.

  “We should get up,” I finally tell him. The light from my window casts new shadows on the wall, marking time. “Some of us have to sell lube for a living, you know.”

  Jackson rolls away from me with a groan. “Such a slave driver.”

  “Truly,” I agree.

  He lifts up onto his elbow and the sight of his shifting muscles makes my mind short out. “Mind if I catch a shower? We can go over some business plans when I’m done.”

  Something about the request makes me indescribably happy. I press my face into my shoulder to hide my smile.

  “Mmhmm.” I nod.

  Jackson takes his sexy, sculpted body into the bathroom, and as I watch him walk away I can’t help but feel happier than I have in a while. Maybe I’ve been more sex deprived than I’d thought. Still, I like the idea of Jackson wanting to spend time here. It’s nice that he’s not hurrying out and that he’s not bailing on the business either. Maybe we can make this thing work out after all.

  While Jackson showers I set up the computer in the kitchen. I can hear him in the bathroom: the spray of water, shampoo bottles being opened and set down. He hums some sort of wordless tune that feels bright and hopeful and I picture him in there, running bodywash over those firm muscles of his. Yeah, admiring his body last night was definitely a high point. Not to mention, admiring what he could do with it.

  Argh. Focus.

  I open up my email and type out a quick status request to send to the CEO at our lube supplier. I’m anxious to get some bottles in my hands and to make this dream a reality.

  A second later, an error message pops up on my screen: This message failed because the email address provided is no longer valid.

  My stomach lurches. What? That can’t be right. I double-check that my spelling is correct and resend the message.

  The same error appears.

  Something in my chest tightens.

  I open a web browser and type in the company’s domain name, hoping to find another email address, or a contact form, or something. But the domain shows up as unregistered.

  What the fuck?

  My body starts to sweat and by the time I dial the phone number I’ve written in my notebook, panic shrieks along my nerves. Something’s not right here. Sure enough, the phone rings and rings before disconnecting.

  This is really, really bad.

  Somewhere far away, the shower shuts off and the bathroom door opens.

  “Jackson,” I whisper, and the words choke in my throat. “I think we have a problem.”

  Chapter 29

  What do you mean, you can’t get the money back?” Jackson paces across my bedroom, a phone jammed against his ear. Behind him the bedsheets are still twisted from this morning. “That’s ridiculous.”

  A headache snowballs behind my eyes. I don’t want to leave Jackson alone but watching the muscles of his back twitch into tight knots starts a fresh wave of panic clawing at my throat.

  Coffee. I need coffee. I slink to the kitchen to start a fresh batch brewing, my chest so tight I need to hold onto the counter and take a deep breath before I can finally reach for the beans.

  The fucking lube CEO with the rocket scientist dad pulled a fast one on us. On me. The company that had promised to make lube for me, the company that was so quick to take my money, my dad’s money, has just as quickly disappeared from the face of the earth. From everything I can see, I got totally, completely scammed. I’m here and I’m so fucking stuck in this town that I want to scream. Instead, Jackson’s doing it for me, yelling into the phone with the Better Business Bureau.

  I’ve never seen him this angry—not even when Conor took Jackson’s car out before he had his learner’s permit and put an eight-inch gash on the driver’s side door. Every muscle in Jackson’s body is wired for a fight and a scowl replaces the easy, lazy smile he wore this morning.

  I fill the Penis and Vagina mugs with scalding coffee and carry them into the bedroom. I set Jackson’s on the windowsill by the bed, waiting for a sign. He catches my eye, giving a small shake of his head.

  No luck.

  I grimace and take a sip of coffee so hot I can’t taste it. My body feels numb.

  “You’ll be hearing from us soon,” Jackson says, hanging up the phone. He sits down carefully on the edge of the bed, like I’m either going to break down in tears or burn down the house. Either option is equally likely. Jackson takes the coffee mug from my hands and sets it by his cup. “There’s nothing they can do for a little while.” He pulls me down onto the bed next to him and wraps an arm around me. “Since the wire transfer has already gone through, there’s no way to get reimbursement on the money just yet. We’ve got some actions to take, but nothing’s going to happen overnight.”

  I clench my hands so hard my fingernails carve tiny half-moons into my palms. “Do they think I should take the company to small claims court?”

  “It’s worth a try.”

  I think about the money needed just to get to court and tears burn in my throat. I’ll start the claim because no one screws me over, but for now I’m stuck. My days stretch out indefinitely, an endless string of shifts at Holy Grounds, the seasons spiraling through while I stay here in Swan’s Hollow. Boston feels farther and farther away.

  “Back to the drawing board,” I say. “Or more like, back to Holy Grounds.”

  “No.” Jackson squeezes my knee. “You’re not giving up. That’s not what Natalie Bloom does.”

  I look up at him with a small, sad smile. “The new Natalie Bloom is a little older and a lot more tired, Jackson. I can ask Mr. Spence for extra shifts, but I won’t be making back that money for a long time. Which means no Penchant.”

  Jackson presses a kiss to my forehead. “The new Natalie has me.” It’s such a line, dammit. I want to believe him but I can’t. Despite whatever he said this morning, I don’t have Jackson. Not really.

  “What exactly are you proposing?”

  Jackson’s eyes burn with determination. “Let’s try again. The lube idea is still solid. We’re going to have a logo and a package desi
gn done soon. Why waste all that work?”

  “You might have missed the part where I don’t have any money left to buy inventory.” I barely have enough to cover the deposit for a new apartment. How am I going to pay back my dad when I can’t even pay my rent? When I think about it, my stomach roils in desperation.

  “I have money.”

  For a minute I just blink at Jackson. If he’s saying what I think he’s saying, he’s crazy. “Nope. You have money for Wirth & Sons. I’m not touching that. Your business is just as important as mine.”

  “The whole point of me working with you in the first place is that Penchant is a faster way to earn money than investing in the stock market, or anything else I can think of. The returns are so much higher. So if we can keep the momentum going and get some payout for our hard work, we can both win.”

  I shake my head. “No, Jackson. I can’t.”

  Jackson maneuvers off the bed, kneeling down at my feet so he can look me in the eye. He’s close and he’s solid and he’s not backing down. “This isn’t the same as one of your stories that you never sent out into the world. You’re not quitting this, Natalie.”

  My body stiffens as I absorb his words. He doesn’t mean them as a dig, but that’s still how they feel.

  “That’s what I do, though, Jackson. I quit things. I couldn’t even make it through college.” I hate second-guessing myself but today it all feels like part of this enormous fucking pattern. All this unspoken shame rises up and for a minute I see myself as everyone else must have—my dad, Gayle, Mrs. Keaton. I’m a dropout who couldn’t even support myself once I left my boyfriend. My stomach clenches, painful and tight.

  “Who cares about school?” Jackson looks so earnest, like for all the world it really doesn’t matter. “You’re too smart for that anyway.” It’s easy for him to say, though. He actually has his degree.

  “I’m not sure how true that is,” I scoff.

  Jackson rests his chin on my knees, the heat of him seeping through my jeans. He peers up at me with those sharp green eyes. “If you don’t want to do this because of you, that’s one thing. But if you don’t want to do this just because I’m helping, that’s another.” He sighs, dragging his hands up my thighs. “Do you trust me, Nat?”

  No. I don’t. My face gets suddenly hot and a lump forms in my throat. Why do I feel like I’m going to cry?

  “It’s not you,” I say.

  “But?”

  “I told you I got burned before.”

  “So it’s because of your shitty ex-boyfriend?”

  And also because of you. I shrug. It’s easier to let Jackson think it’s just about Matthew. Admitting the truth would be like sliding splinters under my fingernails. The corners of my lips pull down.

  Jackson must see that he’s struck a nerve, but he squeezes my thighs and continues. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’ll restructure our agreement for everyone’s peace of mind. Then we’ll get back to it with new funding. Better research, better vetting of suppliers. We’ll try to get credit terms so our money goes a little further. And we’ll make this even better than before.”

  I want so badly for it to be that easy. It feels too comfortable, too safe, to rely on him. I’m already trusting him with this secret that I’ve only told Abigail about. I want to drink my coffee and lick my wounds and feel sorry for myself, but he won’t let me.

  Jackson keeps his chin on my knees, and the feeling of his body on mine roots me to the here and now. The longer we sit like this, the longer I have to think about his ridiculous proposal. If I take away the idea that it’s Jackson providing the money, and if I squint hard enough, I can see the plan coming together. I can see it working. Still.

  I’m going to need to start splitting my Holy Grounds paycheck three ways: part for my dad, part for Jackson, part for me. And the part for me won’t be enough to pay for the deposit and two months’ rent on my own place. Literally the only way I’m going to be able to pay my bills is if Penchant works right out of the gate. Should I take the gamble?

  If I say yes to this, it means there’s no going back. With my plans for world domination. With Jackson.

  What would Delilah Overbrook do?

  I sigh, because Delilah Overbrook, who is also part of Natalie Bloom, is fearless and bold and takes no prisoners. When Delilah Overbrook believes in something, she goes all in.

  “Okay,” I tell Jackson.

  His face breaks into a smile. “Really?” His hands are warm on my body and I think about all the reasons I want my business to succeed.

  “Yes.” I run a hand through his messy, glorious hair. “Let’s make this work.”

  Chapter 30

  My eyes widen, scanning the email, and I burst into a smile.

  Yes! Ms. Jezebel Reviews, sex-toy blogger and social media influencer with over fifty thousand followers, just promised to review Penchant’s lube. As soon as it’s ready, of course.

  I push back my chair and do a little happy dance in the kitchen. Jackson and I are going to launch this product with a bang, pun intended, and getting buzz from bloggers and Instagram stars is step one of our official plan. Step two—get them to schedule blog posts and giveaways all leading up to a main launch date. We haven’t exactly worked out what’s going to happen on that launch date, but it’s a start.

  Mostly I’m relieved that we’re beginning to get traction, because the last week of starting over has royally sucked. Not as bad as losing ten thousand dollars in one fell swoop, but still. This week I dug into my to-do list with fire, even more determined than before to make Penchant a success. Two of my top contenders for lube suppliers gave me updated quotes and professional references, so I can tell they’re legit. I am so not getting burned again.

  And on the social media side of things? I’ve fallen completely down the rabbit hole. Never before did I know that there was a whole world of bloggers out there talking about sex and their vaginas and whether or not their clits are left-handed or right-handed. Yes, it’s a thing. But I’m part of that world now, in some small degree. And Ms. Jezebel Reviews just welcomed me in with open arms.

  Heck yeah! I swing my arms in the air, glad no one can see my goofy smile. The first yes always feels the best.

  A sharp knock at my door interrupts me mid-celebration. I expect it to be Jackson, dropping by unannounced since that’s a thing he does now. Instead Gayle stands on my steps.

  “Hi Gayle.” She’s been so good about not saying anything if she sees Jackson walking down the path, not judging or asking questions, but tonight when she sees me, her eyes bug out of her head.

  “I just brought you leftover cake that I baked,” she says with a stutter. She shoves a foil-wrapped plate at me. Heat seeps into my hands and I can smell caramelized sugar and vanilla. My mouth waters.

  I know I should get on her good side, but for the past few weeks I haven’t done much more than act like a sulky teenager, hiding out in the guesthouse. If she’s trying, I need to try, too.

  “Want to come in and split it with me?” I offer.

  Gayle glances over my shoulder and shakes her head. “Gotta get back to, uh, you know.” She gestures vaguely back at the main house and then bolts.

  Huh. What gives?

  I turn around, already lifting the foil off the cake and deciding the best way to devour it when I see my laptop open on the kitchen tale. There is a giant vagina on the screen. Holy shit.

  I run to the computer and slam the screen shut even though by now my stepmom is long since gone. Ice pours into my veins. Gayle just saw the vagina. Hell, you could probably see it from space.

  Oh my god. I’m going to have to tell her the truth.

  I set the cake on the table with regret, then hurry after her to the main house.

  “Gayle, hey,” I say when she opens the front door. Her pale skin confirms my suspicions—she totally saw the vagina. “I need to explain what I think you just saw. Can I come in?”

  We sit on the edge of my dad’s couch, s
tiff and uncomfortable, and I get flashbacks to when my dad and mom sat me down in fifth grade to teach me about sex.

  “Do you remember how your teacher’s dog just had puppies? Well, do you know how that happens?” my parents asked.

  I had rolled my eyes. “Don’t worry,” I told them in my very professional fifth-grade voice. “I know all about how animals mate.”

  “And humans?” my dad asked tentatively.

  “I read about it in the encyclopedia.” Give me a big book and I’ll read it cover to cover. I’d found the “S” volume particularly enlightening.

  Why couldn’t it have been my dad who saw the vagina? After all, the photo series that helped my dad land his professorship was actually a series of nudes. His models were everyday people doing everyday things—shopping for groceries, standing in line at the bank—but they were naked while everyone else was clothed. It was some sort of social commentary, and he even got a spread in National Geographic with his photos all glossy and real.

  “Bodies are just bodies,” he said anytime I got weird about it, but he basked in the glory of that moment for long enough that I had to beg him not to display the photos when my friends came over. There are certain lines you don’t want to cross.

  All in all, talking about naked human bodies shouldn’t feel like such a big deal right now. But it’s Gayle. And it does.

  I clear my throat. “So, you may have seen something on my computer.”

  She purses her lips, knitting her hands together in her lap. Behind her head, a row of pictures hangs on the wall. Photographs of her and my dad around the world fill the shiny frames: in New Zealand for their honeymoon, in Africa for a safari. They’re smiling in every picture and I think of all the places I have left to go. I need to get out of Swan’s Hollow to start living my own life; I need to start collecting my own row of photographs.

  I twist my toes into the Persian rug Gayle’s designer picked out. “I was doing research for a new business I’m working on. It’s a little, um, out there, so I didn’t say anything yet.”