A Slippery Slope

by Tanya Gallagher

  My dad shuffles into the room and Gayle and I freeze as he presses a kiss on my temple. “Hi, Natalie. To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”

  Gayle clears her throat, her eyes narrowing. “Natalie was just telling me about her new business.”

  “Oh yeah?” My dad sits next to Gayle on the couch, tugging the knees of his pants into position. The more the merrier for my confession, I guess. “Tell me about it.”

  “I’m going to launch a line of personal care products.”

  Gayle does not buy my bullshit. Her eyebrows raise in challenge. “What kind?”

  She’s going to make me say it. Damn.

  I straighten my shoulders. “Personal lubricants.” I’m not going to back down just because she can’t handle a vagina here and there.

  “For sex?” my dad asks. “Sex lubes?”

  Oh my god. I want to crawl into a hole and pretend this isn’t happening. But he’s waiting for a reply.

  “Yes,” I say. “For sex. Actually, lubes are considered a medical device by the FDA. So really, I’m helping people solve a problem. And hopefully making a living doing it.”

  My dad’s face breaks into relief. “Ha!” he laughs. “Good for you.” He leans in. “For a second there I wasn’t sure what to think.”

  “Nothing too bad, I hope.”

  A warm smile crinkles his eyes. “I’m proud of you for starting your own business. That’s some real drive, Natalie.”

  “Thanks.” Now I just need this business to live up to expectations. And to actually, you know, place an order.

  “Wait a second.” My dad and I turn to Gayle. Her body practically vibrates with fury. “What’s the timeline of this business?”

  “I’ll be placing an order this week and then I’ll hopefully launch it next month.”

  “And you’re expecting to have these products in my house?”

  Where’s she going with this? Her frown tells me it’s not good.

  “Well, I’m ordering retail boxes from a different company, so the lube would come here first so I could box it. Then I’d send everything to stores or to Amazon for storage and order fulfillment.”

  “We can’t have that. What would happen if Sylvie found out?”

  Sylvie. Shit. I’d totally forgotten about Gayle’s granddaughter from her first marriage. She’s the same age as Nico and the only time I actually met her was at the wedding.

  “I’ll keep the products in a safe place, and even if Sylvie did find them she wouldn’t know the difference between lube and lotion. She’s five. She can’t read.”

  “That’s not the point, Natalie.”

  I sigh and try again. “I understand. Just keep in mind this will be a temporary thing.”

  Gayle’s face hardens. “Temporary, but you’d still be running this business from our house?”

  “Until I get my own place.”

  “I think you’d better start looking for your own place, then.”

  Gayle’s words run over me like ice water. She’s got to be kidding me. I may be living in the guesthouse rent-free, but it’s not like I’m back there throwing parties and causing problems.

  “Are you serious? I’m not some sexual deviant having wild orgies here.” I look between my dad and Gayle, my heart beating so fast I’m halfway to another panic attack. I can’t afford to pay back my dad and Jackson and also get a place until I start seeing income from Penchant. “I need to find an apartment in Boston and I still need to get this product launched.”

  “This product that’s not ordered?” I want to scour the self-satisfied smile from her face. If I hadn’t gotten scammed I’d already have my products ordered.

  I glare at my stepmom. “I mean, it will be. This week.” I’m not quitting just because I hit a rough patch.

  Gayle sighs like I’m a stupid kid who’s not catching on. “I don’t want lube or vibrators or dildos or whatever else you buy delivered here. I’m not willing to risk Sylvie or her mother finding them by accident. This needs to be a safe place for my family. And as soon as the product launches, I think it’s time for you to move out.”

  “I can’t do that,” I whisper. My hands curl into fists, my cheeks hot.

  “And why not?”

  “I can’t afford it.”

  “Your new business should be able to cover it,” Gayle sneers. The air around her practically hums with disapproval.

  My dad looks back and forth between the two main women in his life, searching for a way to placate both of us. He unfolds Gayle’s fingers and wraps his hands around hers. “Don’t worry about it,” he tells his wife. “Natalie is going back to school soon, anyway.”

  I cringe. I deserve to be homeless after all. I am the absolute worst.

  “Um,” I say. I want to run away from this conversation but there’s nowhere to go. “Well, actually.” I open my mouth and begin to talk.

  Chapter 31

  I clench the steering wheel, my fingers wrapped so tight around the leather that my knuckles turn white. Before me the road winds between a copse of trees, curving into the distance. Night air rushes through my open windows, tousling my hair as I drive aimlessly. The sky stretches wild and purple overhead.

  If I hadn’t come clean about how I’m kinda, sorta, actually not really going back to school, my dad might have backed me up. But I couldn’t lie to him anymore, and—surprise, surprise—he picked Team Gayle.

  The truth lodges in my throat, bitter and hard. In four weeks or so I’ll be officially homeless. I guess four weeks is better than nothing, but it doesn’t feel that way. The countdown is on.

  I hit the edge of town, slowing my car to crawl through the commercial district, all the tiny stores closing for the night. I don’t realize where I’m going until I’m already in front of Jackson’s apartment, and then ringing his doorbell seems like the natural thing to do.

  Jackson opens the door, sweaty and shirtless.

  Shit. I’m clearly interrupting something. “Sorry.” My face flushes. “I can go.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek, a sharp sting anchoring me. It was stupid to show up uninvited. Just like everything in my life when it comes to Jackson, I haven’t thought this through.

  “No,” he says. He opens his door wider and waves me inside. “Come in.”

  His apartment looks like it did the other night, but with the lights on and music pumping, it seems brighter and filled with life. Closer to the Jackson I know.

  Wait a second. “Is that Britney Spears?” I turn my face toward his. The music throbs behind us, the beat racing and the unmistakable lyrics of a certain pop princess commanding attention.

  “You gotta work, bitch,” Jackson confirms with a good-natured smile. He’s so matter-of-fact about it that I can’t help but laugh. The knots in my shoulders loosen. This, this is why I’m here. This and those delicious, sweaty muscles that are distracting me, making me almost forget why I came. Almost.

  Jackson shuts off the music and the room feels quiet and big. “It’s a good thing you caught me. I just got in from a run.”

  “I still can’t believe that’s a thing you do.”

  Jackson shrugs. “After my dad died and I knew I was going to be in Swan’s Hollow for a while, I picked it up. Made the town feel less small, somehow. Like if I was outside, running, I could be running anywhere.”

  Why have I never considered that, in a way, Jackson’s stuck here, too? Out of all the places on the map, Swan’s Hollow might not have been his first choice.

  Jackson ambles to the couch. “You didn’t come here to talk about my running.” He sits down and stretches an arm over the back of the couch. “Did you?”

  I shake my head and all my anger comes rushing back to me. The story spills out as I pace the carpet of his living room. “I’m getting kicked out of my dad’s guesthouse.”

  Jackson eyebrows pull together. “What? Why?”

  “Gayle is morally opposed to me having lube in their house. Or guesthouse. Or whatever. Because o
bviously if I have lube in my house I’m a wanton slut, even if I’ve only ever slept with two people. God forbid I embrace my sexual agency and want to make things better for other people out there. God forbid I take charge of my own pleasure and want to run a fucking business.”

  I’m so furious I don’t even see the satisfaction on Jackson’s face until he speaks. “You’ve only slept with two people?”

  Oh shit. I really did just say that. My face burns so hot I’m sure it’s scarlet. It’s true that I’ve only ever slept with him and Matthew, and if I’m being honest, there’s no comparison there. But I don’t want Jackson to think it means more than it does. Which he will.

  I shake away his question. “Let’s focus on the bigger problem.” When in doubt, redirect. “I’m not going to have a place to store the lube. Not that I’ve even ordered it yet. So I’m basically being forced to choose between having this business and having a place to stay.”

  “Store the lube here,” Jackson says, like that’s a long-term solution.

  I shake my head again. I don’t want to give up control of these products. It’s already too much to have Jackson pay for part of the order. But to have him hold the bottles, too? I know the products will be safe, and that it will only be a short-term thing until our bottles get shipped to stores and to Amazon, but it just feels like this business is becoming less and less my own.

  “I don’t want to do that to you, Jackson.”

  Jackson catches my hand, pulling me close to him, and I get real quiet, real fast. “We’re partners, right?”

  I remember his skin coasting over mine, his fingers coaxing me in the dark. It’s not at all what he’s talking about, but it’s there anyway, hovering just beneath the surface of the conversation.

  I bite my lip. “Yeah.”

  “Then it’s a business decision.”

  I want it to be that easy. I want to believe him. And at the very least, our contract will protect me.

  I sigh. “Okay,” I say. “Okay.”

  All of a sudden a wave of exhaustion crashes over me and a strangled sob escapes my throat. I’m going to be homeless. I mean, maybe I can move to Florida with my mom, but that’s so, so far from what I want. Is my business even worth it?

  Jackson’s eyebrows knit together with worry. “Hey, it’s okay,” he soothes.

  Another sob wracks my shoulders and I press my hands against my eyes to hold back tears. It doesn’t help. I need to stay angry. It’s easier than being sad, but I’m so damn tired of fighting this.

  “Easy, Nat.” Jackson grabs my wrist and tugs me to him. I land on the couch next to him and he hauls me against his naked chest. I struggle to breathe. Please do not let me cry all over him.

  Jackson rubs comforting circles on my back. He smells sweaty and good and like home. I want to kiss a trail down his body. I want to sink into him and forget everything. He believes in me. And while I believe in myself, I have to. Nothing’s obligating him to care, and he does anyway.

  When I manage to get control of my body again, Jackson kisses my temple and smiles at me. He climbs to his feet. “I know something that will make you feel better.”

  Sex. He means sex. And I’m a mess. “I don’t know, Jackson.”

  He surprises me by holding out his hand. “Give me your car keys.”

  “I—what?”

  He gestures again. “You’re a flight risk, Natalie Bloom. It’ll be pretty hard to help you if you run away. And I need to shower.”

  I start to protest but he’s right. I dig my keys from my pocket and hand them over.

  “Good girl,” he says, and slides his sweatpants to his feet.

  My eyes widen and a blush sweeps over my body. It doesn’t matter that I’ve seen it before. Jackson Wirth in just his boxers is like sex on a stick.

  Jackson winks and turns down the hall. He pauses in the doorway of the bathroom. “If I leave you alone, are you going to keep freaking out?”

  I weigh the possibility. “Maybe,” I admit.

  “Then come with me.” He catches my eye, and reluctantly shakes his head. “I’d invite you in here and make you really forget about things, but we have to go.”

  I sink down onto the hallway floor to wait while he showers, and Jackson talks to me through the cracked bathroom door. “Teach me how to make a latte,” he says, and I walk him through the steps, only afterward realizing that he’s doing it to calm me down, make me forget my anger.

  At last Jackson strolls out of the bathroom, clean and damp and wearing a crisp white button-down. He’s all the delicious things in the world combined. My mouth falls open. He may not have meant sex, but now I can’t stop thinking about it.

  Jackson leads me to his car, the heat outdoors damp and oppressive, but I don’t complain. Right now I need this. Wherever he takes me, it will be better than going back to that guesthouse and facing the fact that my dad bailed on me. That I deserved it.

  Jackson unlocks the passenger door to let me in, scooping a bouquet of tulips off the front seat. Their heady, sweet scent makes my stomach turn. Jackson wasn’t expecting to see me tonight. Those flowers are meant for someone else.

  My whole body stiffens and my heart hammers in my chest. It was so stupid to think Jackson would only sleep with one person at a time. It was stupid to think that anything about this situation would work out for me.

  “In or out?” Jackson asks. I cross my arms over my chest, like keeping him physically away will keep him out of my heart. “Don’t be mad, Natalie. Get in the car.”

  I set my jaw. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Jackson.”

  “I am full of good ideas.” I snort and Jackson tilts his head. “Is it the flowers?” I narrow my eyes at him. “Ahh,” he says with understanding. “Don’t worry about them.” He reaches for my hand. “Just trust me, okay?”

  I’m trying, I’m trying, I need to try.

  I sigh and fold myself into the seat. “Okay, Skippy. This better be good.”

  Chapter 32

  Gravel crunches under the wheel of Jackson’s car as he eases the car into park. I look out the front window and my breath catches in my throat.

  “Is this okay?” Jackson covers my fingers with his warm, large hand. Out of the corner of my eye I can feel him search my face.

  I haven’t seen Jackson’s home in years, and the world tilts ever so slightly as I take it in: the tree house where he crawled into my life, the neat, even row of his mother’s zinnias, the house I grew up in just next door.

  “Taking me home to meet Mom?” I raise an eyebrow at Jackson. “If I didn’t know her already I might accuse you of being more serious than we discussed.” I grin so he knows I’m teasing, but part of me wonders if it isn’t true.

  “So it’s a good surprise?”

  I decide to trust the part of me that wants exactly this. A smile spreads across my face. “The best surprise.” This is precisely what I needed tonight. A rush of gratitude warms my chest and before I can think twice I launch myself over the emergency brake. I want him. Hell, I need him.

  I land halfway in Jackson’s lap, his body hard under mine, and his heartbeat picks up under my palms. I breathe in the smell of him, shampoo and spice. Tonight he’s my Jackson, delectable and warm.

  “Hi,” I whisper.

  “Note to self: more visits home?”

  “Mhmm.”

  Jackson’s eyes wink under the streetlights. “Are you going to just look at me or are you going to kiss me?”

  I blush, biting my bottom lip.

  “It drives me crazy when you do that.”

  I giggle. “When I bite my lip?” He nods. “Good crazy or bad crazy?”

  “Good crazy.” He reaches for the back of my head and pulls me to him. His lips brush mine, gently at first, and heat zings straight between my legs. God, he’s good at this.

  Jackson tugs my lip into his mouth, sucking until I moan in pleasure. “Very good crazy,” he amends. He deepens the kiss, tangling his tongue with mine. Shive
rs run up my arms and I gasp against his mouth.

  Yes, please. More, thank you.

  Pressure builds inside me and I rock against Jackson, hoping for relief. He grips me tighter, dragging me more solidly onto his lap. The fabric of his pants does little to hide the ridge of his desire.

  That’s for me. I moan against his neck.

  Suddenly the porch light flashes on, highlighting all the interesting angles of Jackson’s face. Dammit. I pull back and rest my forehead against his. Jackson’s breath sounds ragged in my ears.

  I smooth my hands over the tangle of my clothes. Somehow my shirt’s twisted into my bra. “If we don’t go in we’re going to have an audience.”

  Jackson groans. “Or we could stay here.”

  “You brought me to see your mom, right?” A shrug. “Then we should go.”

  He clears his throat and shifts me off his lap. “Can’t concentrate with you sitting right there.”

  I giggle again.

  Jackson reaches across the seat to tuck a strand of hair behind my ears. “You should do that more often.”

  “Make out with you?”

  “Well, that. And laugh. I like the sound of your laughter.”

  I do, too, Jackson. I do, too.

  After another beat Jackson pulls a single stem from the bouquet and hands it to me. Then he grabs the rest of the flowers and we climb out of the car.

  When she opens the front door, Jackson’s mom presses a hand to her mouth. “Natalie!” She pulls me into her arms as if I’m her own daughter. It’s only when the fabric of her Ann Taylor blouse sticks damp against my cheek that I realize I’m crying.

  “Welcome home, chickie.” She smiles and rubs away my tears with the edge of her sleeve.

  Mrs. Wirth is absolutely my second mother—the one who snapped prom pictures of me and who always saved me the corner pieces from a tray of brownies because she knew I liked them best. Leaving Swan’s Hollow and leaving Jackson meant leaving her, too, and I never knew how much that meant until she tucks me in at her table to eat her famous spaghetti and meatballs. I sit, wedged between two Wirths again, and it feels like coming home.