by Abby Brooks
“See?” I ask as I stand. “You’re not that wicked.” I smile, proud to prove to him that I’m not a fifteen-year-old virgin anymore.
Jackson threads his fingers into my hair and rubs his thumb along my cheek. “I told you, silly. Tonight was about you. We haven’t even begun to get into my wicked side.”
I think he means to warn me off, but I can’t ignore the sexy clench of lust in my gut. “Yet,” I say. “We haven’t gotten to your wicked side, yet.”
Jackson gathers our clothes up in one big swipe and hands me the bits and pieces that are mine. “We’ll see about that.”
“What? You think you can just love me and leave me?” I pull on my panties and stand there with my hands on my hips. “I’m worth way more than that.”
“There’s no way I could walk away from you, Ashley. Not again.” Jackson lets his gaze wander my body and it feels like I’m coming home even though he’s the one that left. “I’m just saying we’ll take the wicked stuff slow.”
My imagination trips merrily away, bringing along all the different reasons he would consider himself wicked. Images of handcuffs and silken ropes and blindfolds parade through my mind, chased by darker images, whips and chains and other such curiosities.
“That’s a great name for the event, by the way.” I slide on my bra and chuckle at the disappointed, pouty expression Jackson gives me.
“Huh?” He shakes his head like he’s trying to clear his mind. “I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over those perfect tits of yours. They’re begging me to stop you from putting them away.”
“Well, here. Let me help you.” I pull on my shirt and gather my hair over my shoulder. “Any better?”
“Oh, Sunshine. There’s no way you could get any better.” Jackson pulls me into his arms and kisses me on the lips. I haven’t felt this right in a long time. “Now, what’s a good name for what?” he asks when he pulls away.
“The event. Your Halloween party. We should call it Purely Wicked.” I wait for his reaction, at once certain that it’s one hell of a clever idea and afraid he’ll find it an invasion of privacy.
“Fantastic Sam’s Purely Wicked Halloween Party.” Jackson bobs his head and makes an appraising face. “I think I like it.”
“And every time someone says it, not only will I think of you fucking me on this desk, but I’ll also think of all the things I think you might want to do to me in the future. You’ve got my imagination running wild.”
Humor glitters in his eyes. “And now I like it even more.”
***
Over the next few days, Jackson and I fall into old habits made new again. At Jackson’s core, he’s the same hot-headed teenager I fell in love with when I was fifteen. His sense of humor still challenges me, although it’s deepened with age and experience. His protective streak still wraps around me, lifting me up when things get hard, although he’s helping me find a measure of my own strength to rely on. Who we are, the way we are together, it’s only improved with age.
We spend almost every waking hour together, either at the bar or at his house. If we’re not working or planning the party, we’re having sex. So. Much. Sex. Sex in the shower. Sex in the hall. Sex in the garage. So far, it’s all been pretty vanilla, but I swear, I’m going to get him to open up to me and show me his dark side.
All things in good time, I guess.
At first, we tried to keep things professional at the bar, but that lasted all of one and a half nights before Aria found us making out in the breakroom, my body pinned to the wall by his. Now, we just try to keep our hands to ourselves in front of the customers. Since Cole Bennett is singing tonight and we’ve got more customers than tables, it’s going to be even harder to find a quiet moment. But you better believe I’m going to try. The space between us feels like a new limb, something I’m ever aware of. The further apart we get, the more stretched that new limb, the more difficult it becomes to think of anything else.
Cole Bennett is new to Bliss. He grew up in the next town over, but moved here when he married Jackson’s cousin, Lilah. But if you had to go off the way people treat him, you would never know he was a transplant. He’s become just as iconic as the bar itself because Sam invites him to perform once or twice a month.
Cole sits down with his guitar on the little stage in the corner and holds every person in the place in the palm of his hand from the very first set of chords. The music takes over. You can see it in the way people tap their feet and mouth the words. Or close their eyes and sway as he croons through a love song. His voice is raw and honest and it tugs on the parts of us that don’t have names. The parts that every person understands on some level, even if there aren’t any words that truly do them justice.
The word sadness does not always satisfy an aching soul and hollow heart, the long days spent silent and hurting. How can the word love even begin to encompass the feeling of completion and vitality? The yearning for connection and the deep sighs and warm glow that come to life from deep within us.
The front door swings open, interrupting my thoughts. A sea-drenched breeze tumbles into the space, cooling the sweat gathering at my hairline and two people stagger through. A man and a woman, his arm wrapped around her waist and her skirt so short, I get to see she isn’t wearing any underwear when she stumbles on her leopard print heels. Great. It’s never a good sign when people show up here already drunk. For some reason, they always end up getting rowdy and needing to be kicked out. The guy drops his hand to his girlfriend’s ass and gives it a slap. She squeals as he brings his gaze to mine.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
It’s Cain.
He leers at me as my stomach drops to my feet. There’s only one reason he’s here and it’s not because of Cole Bennet. He’s here to make a scene. He didn’t get the attention he needed when he destroyed all my stuff, so he’s here to get some attention by ruining my peace of mind. Cain ogles me as Cole croons away. It’s a beautiful song, jarring against the torrent of ugliness battling through my head and heart. Jackson’s words from last week come back to me.
Be strong. Don’t let him see you get upset.
I square my shoulders and lift my chin, ready to spend the rest of the night ignoring whatever it is Cain tries to pull. It will make him look bad. Not me. Watching him as he pushes up to the bar and orders a drink, spewing hateful words first at Aria, then at the girl he brought with him tonight makes me realize just how better off I am without him. I mean, I knew I was right to leave him, but knowing and understanding are two very different things.
I drop off a tray of drinks to a waiting table and start to head over to check on the rest of my customers when someone grabs my arm. Expecting Cain, I whirl, surprised to find Jackson.
“It’s okay, Sunshine. It’s only me.” He takes the empty tray out of my hands and gives it to Aria to take back to the bar. “Dance with me. A song like this is too beautiful to waste.”
“Here? Now?” I look around at all the customers. “But everyone will see.”
“Exactly.” Jackson takes my hand. “You’re too special to keep secret.”
Jackson leads me to the dance floor and pulls me in close, wrapping his arms around me and cradling me like I’m both precious and fragile. I lean into him, a surge of emotion too big to be named winds its way through my body. I melt into him at the same time I catch fire. I flow around him, water moving over rocks, and yet my spine is straight and strong. I am centered and I am indefinite, rooted in this time and place, the space between our heartbeats infinite and fleeting.
If I could fit all of that into one word, if I could cram all the boundless and immeasurable feeling blossoming inside me into one definite box, I’d probably call it love. Logic tries to stage a protest, a pitiful thing, reminding me that Jackson is my boss and that nothing good can come from falling for my boss. Reminding me that relationships sour. That love balances on hate and that I’m better off keeping my heart to myself.
But as we float around the dancefloor, his
heartbeat sounding in my ear, I come upon another moment of understanding. I fell for Jackson Moore eight years ago and never really managed to get back up.
I love him.
I always have.
A crash interrupts my thoughts. The clatter of a chair falling to the floor. There’s yelling and glass shattering and the music stops. The bar goes silent, all focus turning towards the madman standing over a woman, red-faced and wide-eyed.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” It’s Cain, towering over his date as she cowers down into her seat.
Jackson steps out of my arms, towards Cain, positioning himself between us as my ex-boyfriend continues to yell, his words mostly too slurred to make sense. The girl sobs, folding in on herself, hitching her feet up onto the chair so she can wrap her arms around her knees. Her skirt rides up, exposing her indecency to the rest of the bar.
The moment of stillness and silence is small, just enough time for people to process the situation and gather their thoughts before the bar erupts in a cacophony of sound and action. Men close in on Cain, a surge of protection and duty drawing them in to him while women move to the girl. Jackson has Cain by the shoulders while I help his date pull down her skirt.
Cain struggles, spouts another set of curse words as men lead him outside. Before they get him through the door, our eyes meet. He lifts his lips from his teeth, snarling like a dog, his eyes feral and wide before he disappears from sight.
Chapter Eight
The moon rises slowly, drawing itself up from the horizon as if it’s pulling itself out of the ocean. It hangs low and swollen, separating itself from its reflection as day fades into night. Ashley and I sit on the deck outside the house we’ve been sharing. The house that feels more and more like a home, despite the still empty walls and the echo that clings to the corners. If I focus on the comfort I feel here with her, anxiety starts gnawing at my stomach, rats chewing on wires, termites in the foundation.
This house isn’t my home just like Ashley isn’t my wife. She’s not Georgia’s mom and I have no right to feels as possessive of her as I do. Cain still texts her obsessively, even though he’s made it a habit to show up at Fantastic Sam’s each night with a new woman on his arm. He’s trying to get under Ashley’s skin and sometimes it’s all I can do not to grab him by the shirt and drag him out of the bar. The only thing that holds me back is the realization that what I do reflects on Georgia now. If we’re going to stay here in Bliss, she doesn’t need to start her life with the stigma of being the daughter of a man who can’t keep control of himself.
Besides, the fight with Cain isn’t my fight. Ashley needs to stand up to him for herself. She needs to prove, to both of them, that she’s stronger than she used to be. As hard as it is to keep myself in check, I know it’s the right thing for her. And it’s paying off. She’s better and better with each passing day. More and more like the girl I remember from those sun-drenched memories of the summer after I graduated. She’s quick to laugh and even quicker to smile. So vibrant and willing to be silly that she lights up every room she walks in. I remember now why I started calling her Sunshine.
“You think we’re ready to start promoting Purely Wicked?” she asks as she leans back in her deck chair and crosses one ankle over the other.
I study her profile, her slightly upturned nose. The curve of her eyelashes fanning out from the soft swell of her cheeks. She turns to me and smiles and it’s like a ray of sunshine warming me from the inside out. A beacon of happiness with a line straight to my dick.
I grab my beer off the little table between us and take a drink. “I think so.” Her enthusiasm is so contagious; I’m starting to think this silly idea of mine might turn into an actual event.
“I got the posters back from the printers and they look pretty amazing. I’ll hang them up when we get to the bar tomorrow. All the inserts are ready for the menus. We look like a way bigger deal than we actually are.” She captures her bottom lip between her teeth, staring at me with no small amount of trepidation.
“What?” I ask, cocking my head to the side.
“You’ll think it’s stupid.”
“Maybe. But you won’t know until you say something.”
She pauses, opens her mouth and then closes it again. Purses her lips together and takes a long, hard look at me. She’s gone so long having someone criticize her each and every thought, it’s been a challenge making her comfortable enough to share her ideas with me. I try to be as encouraging as I can without being overly positive and fake. The only way she’ll overcome the crippling self-doubt is by finding her own strength, not borrowing mine. If I sit still long enough, she battles through whatever self-consciousness has silenced her and says what’s on her mind. I consider each word that escapes her lips a victory.
She closes her eyes and inhales. “I thought I might reach out to WDTN and see if they want to run a story on us. On you.” She blinks and furrows her brow, holding her breath as she waits for my response.
“I love how you’re taking the bull by the horns and running with it,” I say, truly impressed by her drive. “There’s no harm in asking. Just don’t get your hopes up. I’m not sure the news will be interested in a story as bland as Fantastic Sam’s hosting a Halloween party.”
“But see, that’s where you need to have vision, my friend.” Ashley twists in her chair so she can lean both elbows on the armrest. Her face lights up and now that she’s found her voice, her fear isn’t big enough to contain her enthusiasm. “You’re right. There’s nothing interesting about a bar having a Halloween party. But there’s plenty interesting about a big time New York stock broker coming home to take over Bliss’ most iconic bar and throwing a big ass party to celebrate.”
Coming home.
And there’s that gnawing feeling again, those damn rats moving in and wreaking havoc on my stomach. I spent one year here when I was a teenager. One year out of twenty-eight. Bliss really isn’t home. Home is a dirty suburb just outside Chicago in a little house with bars on the windows and anger filling up every single one of its grimy little rooms. Home is the apartment in New York City, where I donned power suits and expensive watches and worked harder than anyone else to build a name for myself. Home is hard words and tense jaws. Home is harsh and dark.
Bliss isn’t home. Not for me. I don’t belong here.
Ashley sits forward, swings her legs off the deckchair, and reaches out to touch my hand. “What is it, Jackson? You get weird every time I talk about you being back.”
I swallow and shake my head. There’s no way I can explain how foreign this place feels to me. How out of place I feel here. “It’s nothing.” I smile and take a drink. “So, when are you going to call the news? Tomorrow?”
“Probably.” Ash stands and places her hands on the arms of my chair, swings a leg over my lap and settles herself down, straddling me. My cock instantly springs to life, very interested in whatever it is she has on her mind.
“Now,” she says, grinding her hips against my growing erection. “You’ve done such a good job taking care of me, let me take care of you a little.”
She lowers her lips to mine and kisses me long and hard, taking my bottom lip between her teeth and gently biting down. I cup her cheeks with my hands and thread my fingers into her hair. “Just what do you have in mind?” Ashley has never once taken control like this. I think I like it.
She pulls back, rolling her hips again. “I want you to tell me why you get so weird when I talk about you being here.” She brings her hands to my chest, the warmth of her skin seeping through the thin fabric of my shirt.
“That’s not really what I have in mind.”
Ashley runs her fingers down my arms, grazing my skin with her fingernails. She leans forward, kissing along my jaw. “I have a feeling you’ll get used to the idea.”
I know she’s trying to be playful, but she has no idea how not hot the answers to her questions are. I can’t talk about this stuff and feel sexy. Not at all. But, then again, I can
’t ignore how hard my dick is, either. She has a power over my body that I don’t yet understand, something that transcends logic.
“I want to know you,” she purrs.
“You won’t like what you find.” I murmur the words into her hair, kissing and licking down her throat, turned on despite the tumultuous emotions boiling inside.
“I like everything about you.” She reaches down between us and squeezes my dick. “I like this.” She kisses my mouth. “I like this.” She taps one finger to my temple. “I like all the stuff I see in here.” “You’re pretty amazing, Jackson Moore.”
“You say that now.” I run my hand up her back and into her hair. “But you won’t feel the same once you know what’s inside.”
Ashley sits back, frustrated. “Why won’t you let me in? Why do you keep this distance between us?”
I sigh. She wants to know me? Fine. I’ll give her a little taste and see if she chokes on the bitterness. “You call this place my home. It’s not. I don’t belong here, where things are nice and simple. I belong where people are hard and life is harder.”
“That’s not true,” she begins, but I interrupt her.
“My childhood was an exercise in cruelty. The year I spent here after my parents died was this little blip of happiness in an otherwise cold existence. It made so little sense to me that it might as well have been a fever dream. The last eight years have been dedicated to earning my way back to what I found here.”
Ashley crinkles up her forehead. “What does that even mean? You’re here. You don’t have to earn anything.”
How do I explain to her that Diane and Frank Moore gave me a taste of something so powerful and addictive and unknown to me that it totally changed the trajectory of my life? How do I explain the stark difference between my uncle’s family and my dad’s family? How can I show her the ugliness that existed between me and Meredith?
