Oh, hi, I’m Delilah Overbrook and I’m the owner of a personal lubricant company. Want to know all about sex and lube and pleasure? I can tell you a few things.
My fingers itch to share the news. I type out a message to Jackson before I realize what I’m doing. I still haven’t done more than exchange text messages with him since we set up times where I could come pack bottles. Jackson would want to know about my first sale. Or, ours, I guess. But the idea of reaching out to him feels like a punch to the heart. I turn on some music and send the note to Abigail instead.
Instead of texting back, she calls. “Nice work, babe. By the way, I’m running about ten minutes behind.” I can hear thumping in the background, shrieks of laughter. “Nico, shoes, now.” Another raucous giggle.
“Ten minutes behind for what?” The second I ask I remember today’s date: the Fourth of July.
“Fireworks. We’re driving.”
I’d made this date with Abigail and Nico a few weeks ago, when July seemed a lifetime away. How had everything sneaked up on me? How had we spiraled into summer and ice-cream cones and bare feet? The idea of going out in public makes me almost break out in hives.
“I might need to take a rain check.”
I can practically hear Abby’s eye-roll. “There’s no such thing as a rain check for the Fourth of July. That would be a whole freaking year.” I make a noncommittal sound and Abigail pulls out the big guns. “Do you want to be the one to tell your godson that you’re not coming?”
I grumble because when it comes to Nico, I don’t want to deny him anything. “I just have a ton of work to do.” Gotta keep that momentum going and get more orders.
“And are you actually going to get any done tonight?”
If sitting by my laptop waiting for orders to come through counts, then maybe. I glance around the room and see the piles of things that have slowly unpacked themselves from my boxes. On top of everything, I need to repack and get ready for my move to Boston. But tonight I can’t stomach the idea of doing any bit of it.
“No,” I admit.
“Okay. Then we’ll be there in ten.” Abigail shifts the phone away from her ear and in the seconds before she hangs up I hear her call one last time, “Nico. Shoes!”
Guess I better be ready to go when she arrives. I throw on a red T-shirt and cutoff shorts and hope it’s patriotic enough to pass muster. Then I grab my plaid blanket and my purse and head out to wait for Abby.
I pause just outside my back door. Normally I wouldn’t have a problem waiting on my dad’s porch for Abby to arrive. It’s easier to spot a car on the road and there are chairs to wait in. But I hear voices coming from inside my dad’s house and the idea of facing him now, with everything falling apart, makes my stomach clench. I’m a selfish asshole who lied about how I planned to use his money and I’m on the outs with my supposed business partner. I’m winning all the contests.
I slip another envelope of cash under my dad’s front door, then hover in the shadows by the guesthouse to update Penchant’s social media sites. Happy Fourth of July from Penchant. Hope you get fireworks in and out of bed. Yack.
The crunch of gravel from the road interrupts me and I climb into the front seat of Abby’s car. “Hi.” I dislodge a toy dragon and hand it back to Nico, then pick up a romance novel and start to toss it in the back seat.
“Actually that’s for you,” Abby says.
I slide my seat belt on before I take a look.
“The Wizard’s Magic Wand.” I wrinkle my nose. “Really? Isn’t it too soon?”
“No, babe. When you read about Damien and his magical—” She breaks off, looking at Nico in the rearview mirror. “His magical wand, you’ll feel better about life.”
My face must give something away because Abby looks at me in horror. “If you say anything about Jackson having a magic wand, I’m going to leave you on the side of the road. I don’t care how good it was, it’s Jackson and I don’t want to hear about it.”
I don’t want to talk about it, either. Except that I miss it. And it’s my own damn fault for cutting things off. Or for starting them in the first place. I sigh loud enough that Abby reaches over and grabs my hand.
“A good book is the best way to get over heartbreak.” She squeezes tight before letting me go. “That and a bottle of wine.” Wine. Dammit. The wine I’d had with Jackson had been my first glass since the infamous incident with Matthew. I think this means I need to go off the stuff for good.
“Ugh,” I mutter. “I’m not heartbroken. Jackson and I were just casual.”
“The heart doesn’t believe in arbitrary labels.” She’s right, I know. But what I feel right now is a little pain now compared to a bigger loss later. This is me, bowing out before I bleed. Because with Jackson, one cut can bleed me dry. My sense of self-preservation is the only thing I have to cling to right now.
“Okay, O Wise One.” I look over my shoulder at Nico and wink. “Now take us to the fireworks, woman.” Nico giggles in the back seat. “Let’s see some things explode.”
Chapter 47
Remind me again why we’re here?” I peer out the front window of Abby’s car and my palms start to sweat. It feels like ninety-five percent of the town has turned out for the fireworks show in the amphitheater tonight. The crowd swirls in variations of red, white, blue, and sunburn.
“We’re here for the fireworks!” Nico declares with confidence.
“Oh yeah. That.” I grit my teeth and climb out of the car, using my plaid blanket as a buffer against the crowd. I step back against the safety of the car as a gaggle of preteens weaves by us, snapping gum and hiding behind sunglasses even though we’re only thirty minutes from darkness. This was probably a bad idea.
Nico wiggles out of his car seat and bends to pick a flower growing up through a crack in the parking-lot asphalt. He offers it to me and I smile and kiss him on the cheek.
“Okay, here are your marching orders,” I say. “You have to find us the best seat in the whole stadium.”
“Obviously.”
Sometimes I think he’s not five but fifteen. I can barely remember the downy smell of his newborn head, but surely he once had that brand-new scent that all babies have. I know for certain I held him in those fuzzy hours after Abigail gave birth, just the three of us in her tiny hospital room before AJ and his family arrived and reality set in. Now Nico’s this grown thing, his lips stained by a blue-raspberry popsicle, and he’s a million years older than that baby.
Abby and I follow Nico through the crowd, letting his fierce dark head guide us through the crush.
“How do you just let him go like that?” I ask Abigail. “Aren’t you worried about him getting stepped on?”
She shrugs and gives that mama-smile of hers, the one that knows everything, the one that makes me feel like she’s ten years older than me instead of ten days. “You have to trust that he’ll do the right thing.” She lifts her curved shoulders. “And if he doesn’t, you have to trust that he’ll learn his lesson for next time.”
Nico comes through for us, snagging a spot at the top row of the bleachers. We spread out my blanket, then lie on our backs to preview our fireworks-viewing position. The sky darkens overhead and it reminds me of nights Abby and I would lie out on the chairs in my backyard, sharing secrets while we waited for meteor showers. One night we counted five apiece, and each time I made the same wish: let Jackson love me.
I miss that, actually. Not the certainty of my feelings for him or the late nights with my best friend without any place to be. I miss wondering about my future. Now that I’m living it, the sparkle and the mystery’s worn off. Tonight the flashlights in the crowd blink on and off like misplaced fireflies but it doesn’t hold the same magic that it used to.
Two minutes after we stake our claim, Nico tugs on the hem of Abigail’s shorts. “Mama, I’m thirsty.”
Abigail sighs. “Of course you are. And I left our water bottles in the car.”
I survey the crowd around u
s and suddenly the throng, the noise, is too much for me. I should have stayed home on my couch. I should have stayed where I knew I could breathe. Everything in this town reminds me of Jackson, but this is worse than before. It’s not just the Jackson from all those years ago grinning at me through the crowd, a stolen firecracker clutched in his hands. It’s the Jackson from now, too. The Jackson with his familiar-new grin, his broad, hard body. The one whose hair I can now confirm looks just fucked whether or not he’s just been fucked. The one who made this town feel better for me, less like a place I had run to and more like a place I could handle.
I hate it.
“I’ll go,” I tell Abby.
“You sure?”
I shoot her a reassuring smile even though I want to cry, then thread back through the crowd.
The air is hot and thick, heavy with the scent of campfires and hotdogs, the toasted-bread scent of the buns. It’s all layered under the smell of sunscreen and lake water. Presumably, the fireworks will go off over the lake behind the amphitheater just like they have every year. With the reflection on the water, we’ll get double the glitz.
I’m sweating by the time I’m back in the parking lot where a group of food trucks has assembled, my shirt damp and uncomfortable against my skin. I make my way toward one of the more promising options—a taco truck that smells good enough to make me highly conscious of the fact that I’ve barely eaten all day—and place my order.
While I wait, an awareness creeps over me, the sensation that I’m being watched. I look around and see a familiar face flashing through the crowd.
Oh god. Jackson’s here.
Before I can slip out of line, Jackson spots me. His face lights up and he glides in my direction.
“Hey, Miss,” I hear. I swing my head back to the food-truck vendor. "Five-sixty." It strikes me that it’s not the first time he’s said it to me.
“Sorry.” I shove cash at the vendor and grab the two bottles of water I ordered. I step out of line and crack open one of the bottles. The water’s warm but I chug it anyway, grateful to have something to do as Jackson approaches.
He reaches me as I’m screwing the cap back on. “Hey, you made it.” He looks good, Jackson Wirth. It’s only been a few days since I last saw him, but I missed the way his body moved, all controlled grace and strong muscles.
Sucking in a deep breath, I meet his eye. I need to be professional about this. I need to act like seeing him isn’t a big deal. He deserves the benefit of the doubt, right? “Me and the rest of the town, yeah.” I swing the bottles back and forth, nervous.
He tilts his head and adopts his mock radio broadcaster voice. “You cannot miss the great Swan’s Hollow fireworks spectacle. There is a tradition of excellence.”
I crack a grin and something in me softens. We’ve been through so much together. “There is a tradition of having the firefighters on standby. For good reason.”
He smiles back. “True.”
I study him for a minute, his green, laughing eyes. Should I tell him about the first sale? We’re playing nice tonight and he probably deserves it.
I open my mouth to speak. “So, about Penchant—”
“Hey, there you are.” A blond woman with a Boston accent interrupts me as she races up to Jackson. She gives him a way too friendly nudge and her boobs threaten to spill out of her American-flag tank top as she bounces on her toes. Never before has a display of patriotism made me so nauseated.
I close my mouth and my shoulders draw up toward my ears. I see what’s happening here and I’m more mad at myself than I am at Jackson. After all, did I really expect that he wouldn’t go back to his player ways? Did I really believe what he’d said about me being special?
I look away, blinking hard. I did. Stupid, stupid Nat.
“We were looking for you,” the woman continues, pointing back to a cluster of people. This time I finally place her voice—she’s one of the bar bimbos.
The plastic bottles in my hand crunch in my tightening grip and I grit my teeth. It’s fine. Jackson can do whatever—or whoever—he damn well pleases.
Jackson looks at me like he senses impending disaster. “Let me catch up with you guys.” He waves her off but it’s already too late.
I turn on my heel to walk away and Jackson catches me by the elbow. “Natalie, wait.”
I pull up short. “For what, Jackson? You clearly have a fan club waiting for you.”
“It’s not like that.”
I arch an eyebrow at him. “No?”
Jackson wrenches a hand through his hair. “I have friends, okay? Friends I’ve barely seen since we started this whole thing.”
The thought of Jackson hanging out with the girls on a regular basis makes my heart sink. Don’t be jealous, Nat. You wanted to stay casual. Still, my voice has a bite when I speak. “Don’t pretend like it’s my fault you haven’t been there.”
Pain pinches his face. “It’s not. But there I was, home alone on a holiday night. And I figured, hey, why not see some people and be patriotic and try to spread the word about the launch this week?”
My eyes widen. Just when I opened up to being professional to him again, he has to say this? “You were telling people about our party?” It comes out in a whisper that scratches my throat.
“I mean, I didn’t come right out and say it was our party. I just made it sound like I heard about an event for a new product and they should check it out.”
I cross my arms over my chest, my mouth sour. “For lube.”
He shrugs. “Well, yeah.”
I shake my head. Does he really not get it? “And you didn’t think that Bimbette over there would assume you meant to use it with her? Or that she’d make the connection that it was your business? You didn’t think she’d figure out that I’m Delilah?”
Uncertainty plays over his face. “I was trying to help, not trying to spill your darkest secrets. Jesus.” He shakes his head at me. “Anyway, what was I supposed to do? You haven’t exactly kept me in on your plans.”
Anger flares in my chest and I can feel myself breathing heavy. “Well, I guess now we know why.” I look up at him, my heart squeezing in my chest. “You know, maybe you shouldn’t even come to the party at all.” I drop my arms and jiggle the water bottles at my side. “It’ll probably be too distracting for both of us.”
“But I should be there, Natalie. I should come.”
I set my jaw and try to keep my voice firm. “Don’t.” I look at him one last time, my heart wrung out. Then I walk away before I change my mind.
Chapter 48
I stare up at the peaked ceiling of the living room in the guesthouse, watching a spiderweb flutter in the breeze. I’m not exactly sure if a spider in the middle of Gayle’s spotless house could have ever caught a fly, but one way or another, the web is abandoned now. At least, no one’s come to claim it in the fifteen minutes I’ve been lying on the couch.
If Abigail could see me now she’d categorize my current condition as “Wallowing, Stage Two. Minus showers.” In the two days since I walked away from Jackson, I’ve reclaimed my spot on the couch, and the idea of being up and active makes me cringe. It’s been hard enough to breathe—why bother asking my body to do anything else?
As I twirl a strand of unwashed hair around my fingers, my phone buzzes with an alert. I reach for it warily, but it’s not a text message on the screen. It’s another lube sale. My grand total so far? Six bottles sold.
Thank you, Penchant. Let’s keep it up.
The feeling of temporary success is enough to launch me off the couch. Six times $19.95. It’s not nearly enough to pay for the whole shipment, but it’s a start and that’s all I need right now. Anyway, I can’t let this panicky feeling win. If I want this independent life for myself, I need to claim it.
This idea for Penchant, it was a good one. No matter how many times I’ve told myself that, no matter how many times I’ve checked my numbers to make sure that, yes, people actually buy a ton of lube, nothing m
akes it quite as real as seeing some orders come in.
There are real people buying my products. Real people who are going to use them. I may not be using my products with Jackson, but at least someone’s benefitting from them. And that validation feels damn good.
I sweep my hair into a bun and grab the key to Jackson’s place. Time to cut the final ties. It needs to be done.
But when I step in front of his apartment door the world tilts and leaves me reeling. There’s a chip on his front door, a tiny scratch just below the 203 that I never noticed before tonight, and when I see it, it gives me pause. Was the damage always there? Did I just miss it every time Jackson and I came in together, too absorbed in the magic of him to pay attention? Or is it new, created in the time since I’ve been gone?
There’s no use wondering about these things, not with so much else happening, but I touch my thumb to the gouge before I push open the door. It’s the tiniest scrape, but I still feel it under my skin.
My footsteps echo as I walk into Jackson’s darkened apartment. I shiver—it feels colder with him gone. Thanks to his last text message, I know he isn’t here, but until my breath rushes out of me in a long stream, I didn’t realize I’d been halfway expecting to see him.
So.
A case of lube waits for me on the coffee table, just as Jackson promised. So far I’ve smuggled a few bottles of lube into the guesthouse so I could send them off to bloggers and other customers, and Jackson shipped the rest of the packaged lot to Amazon’s trusty warehouses. This case, though, was too big to hide from Gayle, and Jackson agreed to keep it for me until today. Tomorrow I’ll drive it to Boston for its official debut at Aphrodite’s Closet.
I heft the case of lube onto my hip and leave a check on the coffee table in its place. The check amount is most of my Holy Grounds earnings, aside from what I’d used to pay the deposit on my new apartment. I can’t stand the idea of owing Jackson anything, not after this, even though he’d told me I could pay him back whenever we recouped our initial investment. This check should be the last business tie I’ll have with him, and that, at least, feels like the independence I’d wanted.
A Slippery Slope Page 22
