Nailed It

by Cindi Madsen

  He made a sour face, probably because that’d never described what we were to each other. But lately I felt like we were possibly dancing around something close to that, and there wasn’t a better word for what I was trying to convey, so I stuck with it.

  “It just can’t go into possessive, jealous territory.”

  “Fine,” Jackson said, and I let out a relieved breath. “As long as no other guy touches you.”

  I ignored the way he’d half-growled it, as well as the way it made heat pool low in my stomach, and tilted my head. My disbelief in monogamy was a hot-button topic, one I’d pushed when I’d been desperate to drive him away. It’d also led to the blowout of all blowouts and I didn’t want to go down that path, even though giving in scared me as well.

  “You don’t get to make all the rules, Ivy,” he said, his voice firm. Then he yanked me to him, gave me a hard, demanding kiss that made the room spin, and added, “By the way, I’m putting the light fixture that I picked out in the dining room. I know you don’t think it’ll look good, but it will, so you can thank me later.”

  With that, he readjusted his pants and gave a nod. “Ivy. Black Widow.” He turned and strode down the hallway, leaving me grasping for control and then wondering if I really needed it all that much right now anyway.

  …

  The microwave beeped, and I pulled out the bag of popcorn, inhaling the buttery, salty scent. It was as close to cooking as I’d come in the pristine kitchen, and it was a pathetic dinner. But it was the only food I had here, and I didn’t want to drive over to my condo or even to a restaurant where I could grab something to go.

  Technically, where I really wanted to be was in a bed upstairs with Jackson, relieving stress with sex before unwinding for the day. He’d gotten me all worked up with that growly, possessive talk and proprietary kiss, and then he’d informed me he had to leave early. When I’d very delicately pried for information (told him it felt like he was punishing me for our fight last night) he’d grinned and promised me he’d punish me properly later.

  Jackass. Hot, frustrating, good-with-his-hands jackass.

  Since the TV wasn’t hooked up, I set up on the floral couch that no longer matched the living room and opened my laptop. After tethering it to my phone, I clicked on the latest crime drama I was addicted to. Hard-boiled detectives, grisly case details—none of that romance cures all bullshit.

  Normally the show held my attention, but I found myself shifting and glancing at my phone every couple of minutes.

  I composed a text to Jackson about the light fixture in the dining room that I absolutely didn’t like. No, I didn’t like it; I freaking loved it. On his tiny phone screen, the industrial water pipe chandelier had looked like whatever came before vintage. I was sure the bulbs and black and bronzed pipe would look out of place, neither Victorian nor modern. Instead, it married the styles perfectly, catching accents from both and pulling the whole room together.

  I backspaced, rewrote my sentence, then backspaced again and started over. I reread what I’d typed, my finger hovering over the send button.

  I can’t send this. He’s going to see this text as what it actually is. A desperate cry for attention, because I miss having him here with me. Since it now seemed too needy and too telling, I deleted it. The cursor blinked at me, like it was daring me to type something. I just need to stick to the sexual side of our arrangement.

  I considered telling him that since he was too busy, I was going to have to punish myself solo. I typed three variations, each one super heavy on the emojis. “Oh my gosh, what am I doing?”

  I tossed my phone away from me, deciding any attempts to contact him, strictly sexual or not, might be misconstrued and were dangerously close to breaking Ways Three, Four, Seven, and Eight. Possibly One and Five, too. In other words, abort, abort, abort.

  I glanced at the show playing out onscreen. I didn’t even know what the hell was going on or why the detectives had arrested some burly guy I’d never seen before.

  Still bored after five or so minutes of trying to catch up, my phone found its way back into my hand. I pulled up Savannah’s name. Last night she said we needed some girl time, and she wasn’t wrong.

  Me: What are you up to tonight? I don’t suppose you want to ditch my cousin and come hang out? I’m thinking jammies, junk food, and whatever other J words sound like fun.

  Munching on another handful of popcorn drowned out the show playing in the background, not that I had any chance of catching up at this point.

  Savannah: Sorry. Out to dinner with the fam to celebrate Dad’s retirement, but it’s like this odd, huge group date thing since the Porters are here, too.

  Savannah, a few seconds later: Now that I’m engaged, it’s rather fun watching my mama and Aunt Velma meddle in Jackson’s love life instead. They’re so busy trying to point out how well his and Caroline’s hobbies match up that they keep interrupting the conversation they’re having to add commentary. I should probably throw Jackson and Caroline a bone and divert the attention so they have a shot at talking to just each other. This is a perfect example of why I recommend waiting until the relationship is more solidified before throwing family into the mix. LOL

  I frowned at the message. Earlier Jackson declared no other guy could touch me, and now he was out to dinner, making nice with the perky brunette he’d been on at least a few dates with? Talk about hypocritical.

  Irrational irritation pricked at my skin—after all, he could go out with who he wanted, and yeah, his family was there, and blah, blah, blah.

  I turned the volume on my computer up as loud as it would go, hoping someone onscreen would get murdered soon and that it’d help take the edge off the bloodlust I suddenly felt.

  Black Widow strolled over to the couch and meowed at me.

  “Sorry, but I doubt popcorn is good for cats, so I’m not risking it. Did you already eat the food I left in your bowl?”

  She meowed again, so I picked her up with a grunt—she was heavier than she looked—and set her on my lap. For a few minutes, she remained standing, dancing around in front of the screen so I missed even more of my show, but then she finally settled in. I stroked her fur, and she started to purr.

  “It’s just you and me.” I’d accepted the fact that she was mine now, and I hoped she would as well, even though it’d mean a move once this house was finished. We’d relocate to my condo, and Jackson would go his separate way, and we’d probably both miss him but be too proud to ever admit it. “Great. Now I’m getting all sappy and worrying about the future. If I start driveling on and on about soul mates and true love, do me a favor and put me out of my misery.”

  The way Black Widow tucked her nose into the crook of my knee as she continued to purr made me question if she understood the direness of my situation. I didn’t get jealous over guys, yet here I was, experiencing more jealousy than I’d ever felt in my life. Add in missing him, and it made for a crappy combination that my common sense was useless to fight, no matter how many good points it tried to make.

  Since analyzing that mess would hardly be relaxing, I followed my adopted cat’s lead and stretched out on the couch.

  The next thing I knew, I was waking up to a cat who was panting like she’d run a marathon. Her entire body was convulsing, and she made a weird, grunting noise.

  “Oh, shit. You’re not…?” I scrambled upright, patting the cushions for my phone. How hadn’t I seen the signs earlier today? Then again, it’s not like I had a lot of experience with animals in labor, or even humans in labor for that matter.

  I finally found my phone, and I glanced from the screen to the in-labor cat, back to the screen. I had rules about relying on guys too much, and this was a little too close to the night I’d called Jackson, crying over my mom being in the hospital and asking him what I was supposed to do.

  Black Widow grunted again. Screw it. This isn’t for me; it’s for her. I don’t know how to take care of a cat in labor.

  The last thing anyo
ne would ever call me was nurturing, and Jackson said his cat had delivered a litter of kittens, which made him way more qualified than I was. So even though it was just past four in the morning, I dialed his number. It rang and rang…

  And went to voicemail.

  It’s probably on do-not-disturb mode so he can sleep. I dialed it one more time, praying he’d pick up.

  “Ivy?” His voice was all husky and deep, and for a moment, I almost forgot this was an emergency situation.

  “My cat’s in labor. Or, not my cat, but you know what I mean. Black Widow is having her kittens, and I don’t know what to do, and…” I glanced at the panting, convulsing cat, who let out this sad little whimper. “I’m freaking out. What do I do?”

  I could hear the squeak of the bedsprings, or maybe that was just my imagination. For one brief, psychotic-girlfriend-type moment, I wondered if he’d taken Caroline home with him—if she was in bed next to him, asking why some crazy girl was calling him so early in the morning—but I shoved that away to be dealt with later, because I didn’t have time for my complicated emotions right now.

  “Get her a box,” Jackson said. “There are several in the corner of the living room by the bookshelf. Lay down a towel and get some water.”

  “But you’re coming over, right?” I held my breath. Maybe I should’ve just said thanks for the box advice and left it at that. The female species had been having babies for centuries, and Black Widow and I could get through this together. Probably.

  “Of course I’m coming over,” he said, making it okay that I needed him to.

  Even though I knew that it was dangerous to need him at all.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jackson put his arm around my shoulders as I gaped at the teeny-tiny blind kittens. They squeaked as they wobbled their way to their mom, who took turns licking each one off. “Congratulations,” he said. “You’re a…um, godmother to a bunch of cats.”

  I curled into his embrace, which was a bit trickier with both of us on our knees, but the way he tightened his hold made it all worth it. “Does that make you their godfather?”

  Jackson put on a very serious expression and did his best Marlon Brando. “You’re making me an offer I can’t refuse.”

  I laughed. “I think lack of sleep’s made you a little delirious.”

  “It’s possible.”

  I covered a yawn with my hand and leaned my head on his shoulder. We’d been kneeling in front of the box for so long I wasn’t even sure my legs would work if I tried to unfold them and move. Jackson tipped his head so it rested on mine, and I didn’t want to move anyway. “Thanks for coming over,” I said.

  Luckily, we didn’t really need to do anything—Black Widow was a pro, and it made me wonder if this wasn’t her first kitten rodeo. I supposed in Cat Land, it didn’t make you a bad mom to let your kids fight it out on their own after a year or two, but as someone who’d basically had to do that, I couldn’t help but feel for the little furballs.

  “There’s no one else I’d rather stay up all night with.” Jackson ran his fingers down my spine and then slipped his hand in my back pocket. “Now I’m just wondering if my boss at my day job will accept being-up-all-night-delivering-kittens as an excuse for being late.”

  “Guess it depends on if she’s a cold-hearted bitch or not.”

  “She sometimes pretends to be, but she’s not.”

  I lifted my head off his shoulder, my mouth dropping open, and he laughed.

  “Oh. Did you think I was talking about you?” He lowered his lips to mine, dragging his thumb across my jaw as he deepened the kiss.

  When he pulled away, I nearly fell on top of him. It had to be because I was still tired from getting up so early, not because he stole my breath and made my insides go all melty on me. Yeah. I was going with that.

  He pushed to his feet and then extended a hand to help me up. My legs didn’t want to work, but since I made them, they rewarded me with the worst case of pins and needles I’d ever had.

  Jackson dragged a hand over his face. “I’ve got to go grab a shower, and then I’ll pick up some supplies from the store on my way over. Let’s say ten-ish.”

  I almost told him he could grab a shower here and then I’d go shopping with him. But that struck me as borderline clingy, especially after spending most of the night with him. Then again, maybe if I wanted to kill him in the middle of the home improvement store, I’d stop thinking about how much I wanted to be around him every waking second of the day. “Okay.”

  I walked with him as he made his way to the front door. Memories of yesterday were starting to trickle back into my consciousness, about how he’d left early, and how his mom and aunt were going above and beyond with their matchmaker duties. “Were you alone when I called?”

  He blinked at me, obviously surprised. I was too. I hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that, but apparently in my tired state, I was incapable of holding it back.

  “Sorry.” I shook my head, then raised my gaze to his. “Actually, I’m not sorry. You basically threatened any guy who dared to put his hands on me, then you went on a date with someone else. How is that fair?”

  “It’s not,” Jackson said, and the anger working its way through me fired hotter. “But as you might remember, you didn’t agree to exclusivity.”

  My breaths came faster and faster, and I clenched my fists.

  “Now”—he tapped my nose, a completely antagonizing move that came dangerously close to signing his death warrant—“before you go unleashing that rage building up inside of you, I didn’t go on a date, and I was very much alone when you called. In fact, as I was drifting to sleep in my bed, I was wishing that you were next to me.”

  My mood did a disorienting 180, and I opened my mouth a couple of times before I managed to make it form words. “I texted Savannah, and she said you were having dinner with Caroline, and I know that your parents and hers were there, too, but—”

  “Ma and Aunt Velma have been trying to play Cupid for the past month or so, which I’m sure is why they invited the Porters to my dad’s retirement dinner. And yes, I’ve been on a few dates with Caroline, but we’ve also been friends for a while.”

  I ran my finger along the collar of my shirt. “The way you and I are friends?”

  Jackson stepped closer and twisted a strand of my hair around his finger. “No one else is friends like you and I are friends.” He added an eyebrow waggle for emphasis. “I do like knowing that you’re capable of jealousy, though. I was starting to think I was alone in that.”

  “I’m not jealous,” I lied. “I just…wanted to be clear.”

  “Okay, let’s be clear.” He crowded my space, his hands going to my waist, and my heart picked up speed. “While you and I are doing this…whatever you’re allowing it to be called, I’m not sleeping with anyone else, and I don’t want you to, either. Can we at least agree on that?”

  It was a little more official than I preferred, but since the other option was having him sleep with other women, I couldn’t agree to it fast enough. It wasn’t like I was interested in other guys, anyway—Jackson had practically ruined me for that, and I didn’t want to think about what it meant for my future. “Sounds reasonable.”

  His mouth kicked up on one side. “And you and I are going to go on an official date.”

  My stomach bottomed out. “I don’t date.”

  Way #9: No official dates. Hang outs are fine, and sure, eat a meal or watch a movie together, but as soon as someone throws the dirty D word around, it’s time to shut it down.

  Jackson backed me up a few more steps until my back met the wall. “If you want my body, you’re gonna have to spend an evening out with me.” Amusement danced along the slant of his lips. “I don’t want you thinking I’m easy.”

  I let my head drop back against the wall. “Seriously, Jackson? You’re being ridiculous.”

  “All I’m asking for is one little date. If you won’t go out with me just because you have a crazy set of
rules about what you do and don’t do, I’d say you’re the one being ridiculous. Or are you scared that my charm will be too much for you?”

  “Oh, I can handle your charm if I happen to come across any of it.” I jabbed a finger at his chest. “And don’t act like I’m offending your delicate sensibilities by using you for your body. Easy is what this arrangement is founded upon.”

  He straightened, and I wished that I didn’t notice the absence of his body and warmth so acutely. “Well, I’ll be playing hard to get until we go on a date.”

  I crossed my arms. “You’re not saying that we’re not having sex until after we go out, are you?”

  He mimicked my posture. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  “You’ll never last.”

  “You of all people know how long I can last.”

  A flush of heat traveled through my body, because it did remember, and it wanted another demonstration. But saying I’d go on a date with him felt like giving away my control, and I couldn’t just hand it over on a silver platter like that. “You’re asking too much.”

  “I’m asking you to have dinner with me, Ivy. It’s a little thing, and you’ve been in control of most everything else.” He uncrossed his arms, placed a palm on the wall right by my head, and leaned in, careful to not let his body bump mine, and I felt each torturous inch between us. “Show me you can give a little.”

  Oh, I’d show him, but not by giving in. “I’ll consider it,” I said. By which I meant, I’ll get you to change your mind, no matter what it takes. He’d just declared a sex war, and I’d go to most any lengths to win.

  His returning smile told me he thought he had this in the bag, but the poor guy had no idea what he was in for.

  Chapter Twenty

  Five days.

  Five freaking long, frustrating days since I’d had sex. Three of which (since that was when Jackson made his ridiculous official-date decree) I’d done everything in my power to get him to break. I’d worn my skimpiest outfits to work in, like the daisy dukes I’d unearthed in my high school dresser and was slightly embarrassed to be currently rocking. Which meant I had paint everywhere, and thanks to yesterday’s halter top, I also had a scratch on my back from an old nail. If I didn’t die from sex depravation, tetanus would get me for sure.