by Liza Street
He closed his computer and left the motel, walking straight out into the woods. His family’s property was about five miles back, bordering Paris Lake. He hadn’t dared set foot on the property yet, but today, he would. It was the first step to reclaiming it, and if he could talk Will and Hayley back, this was where they’d rebuild their lives.
Once he was out of sight of the motel, he stripped out of his clothes and let the lion take over. He arms thickened and elongated, and a tail grew from his spine. The world became sharper, clearer, and the scents surrounding him even more pronounced. He could hear even better in his lion form, and what he could hear now were the sounds of his childhood. The territory he grew up in. It smelled the same, it sounded the same. Even the air tasted the same, with the sharp scent of pines, and the flowering grasses that grew in the meadows.
In the darkness, he could even better imagine how it once was—Will and Hayley running at his side, their lions young and carefree, their parents calling them in to dinner at the end of the day.
He reached the edge of his family’s property, marked only by a series of collapsed fence posts, rotting into the landscape. An aluminum sign, almost completely obscured by rust, read, No Trespassing. Hunters: Keep Out.
If only it had kept out their real enemies—the Clausens.
Jackson lifted his front paw to step over the fence. This was it. The homecoming he’d dreamed of for four years. Reclaiming their territory, rebuilding their home, their lives.
A jay called from the tree above, and Jackson froze in place. The jay didn’t scare him, but what was he thinking, coming here like this? He had no more claims to the area. Sure, the property was still in the Jaynes’ names, with the property taxes paid through a trust in perpetuity. But he couldn’t live here, not alone.
Furious with himself, he spun back around and stalked back in the direction of the motel. He shifted back into his human form and yanked his clothes back on. Breathing heavily, he dragged his phone out of his pocket and sent a message to Summer.
Sorry for scaring you off. Just want to let you know that I’ll be leaving town tomorrow, to catch up with my brother and sister going into Canada. I hope we can still be friends on SocialBook.
He was shocked when the three little dots showed up at the bottom of the message box. She was writing back.
SMG: We can meet. I’m at The A-Hole tonight.
Chapter Six
Summer wound her way through the crowded tables at The A-Hole, the only bar in Huntwood. She had a margarita in each hand and she had to concentrate on her steps because she’d already thrown back one margarita on an empty stomach, and Ross, the bartender and owner of The A-Hole, made them strong.
Halfway back to the table she’d claimed with Becca, she froze. Something was off. Becca still sat primly in her pencil skirt and silk blouse. Her blond hair was still flat-ironed to fall in layered sheets around her face and shoulders, and her sea-green eyes were glued to a phone as she tapped away at the screen, a thoughtful expression on her face. Not an unusual image. So why was Summer suddenly uneasy?
That was it. The phone Becca was messing with—it was Summer’s.
“Dammit, Becks,” she muttered. Becca was notorious for changing Summer’s settings to images of half-naked men and ring tones featuring the kind of hip-hop lyrics that made Summer blush. She speed-walked the rest of the way, nearly tripping over a chair that she swore appeared out of nowhere, before depositing the drinks on their table. She snatched her phone back before Becca could do more damage.
Summer pointed her phone at Becca. “I step away for two seconds to order us another round, and you’re already messing with my phone?”
Becca smirked. “Your fault you haven’t set a passcode.”
“Well, I forgot that my evil best friend likes to steal it and change my settings.” Summer opened the phone and looked at it. The background image was the same, and everything was in place. She had to admit a little disappointment—she didn’t entirely hate coming back to her phone and seeing a half-naked dude, all abs and pecs, smoldering up at her.
Wait a second…her SocialBook app was open in the background. Summer looked down at Becca. “What did you do?”
Becca blinked innocently at her and took a sip of her margarita. “Hmm?”
Summer sat down and clicked open the messages tab. “Shit. You wrote to him? You told him to come here?”
“Oh, did I do that?” Becca asked.
“I could strangle you.”
“You’ll thank me for this.”
“Doubtful. If you have to un-bury me from yet another mess that this guy puts me in, that’s on you, sister, and I’m not paying any of your lawyering bills.”
Becca laughed. “You don’t pay me anyway.”
“That’s the only reason I’m not strangling you right now. Cheap attorney fees.”
“So what does he look like?” Becca asked. “I want to see who he is when he comes in.”
“He sent a photo of a hottie, actually,” Summer said. “But I don’t know if he was just joking around. We’ve been sending photos of animals back and forth.”
“Aww, that’s so cute. I guess we just have to sit back and wait.”
Summer frowned. She could send him another message. Tell him not to come.
Text appeared on her phone screen.
JRJ: I’m on my way. I’m wearing a Licorice Fiddles shirt. If you change your mind, you don’t have to say hi. But I hope you say hi.
Summer felt her heart melt a little bit. He was still giving her the opportunity to back out. Did he recognize how skittish she was? He must. She wasn’t trying to be high-maintenance or difficult to get along with. It was just so difficult to trust someone again.
She looked over at Becca. “So, when this all falls apart and my heart is in a thousand pieces…”
Becca took her hand. “I’ve been hearing about this guy for weeks, Summer. He sounds like a good guy, and he sounds smitten with you.”
“Smitten?” Summer took a large gulp of her margarita. “Who even says that anymore?”
“How about besotted?” Becca asked. “Infatuated?”
“I don’t know.” Summer closed her eyes once, wishing this were happening in a different way, that she had agreed to meet Jackson for lunch at some quiet, awkward restaurant where she could take a good hard look at him, decide she wasn’t attracted to him, and send him on his way. Then their messages would trickle off to nothing and eventually they would close this weird, obsessed chapter of their lives.
She glanced down at her clothes. She hadn’t given them much thought. Getting drinks at The A-Hole was hardly a dress-up event, and Summer certainly hadn’t come here hoping to find a man. Her dark jeans had one of those “stylish” tears in the knee, and her flower-patterned tank top was flowy and forgiving. She guessed she could be wearing something worse to meet Jackson in.
“A man walked into the bar,” Becca said.
Summer laughed too loudly, and covered her mouth. “Is that the beginning of a joke?”
Becca pointed. “Is that him? I don’t recognize him as a local.”
“Don’t point,” Summer hissed.
This guy couldn’t be Jackson. Summer had expected Jackson to look a little soft around the edges, like the kind of guy who spent way too much time on the computer and not any time at all exercising or watching his diet. She’d thought the photo he sent was either not him at all, or an exaggeration. Or maybe a photo of him a few years ago, when he’d been in his prime.
But the guy who’d just walked in was over six feet tall and built like an athlete. He obviously cared for his body. Maybe that wasn’t a good thing. Summer didn’t want to be around a dude who was too busy finessing his six-pack to pay attention to his girlfriend.
He turned to look around the crowded room. His dark blond hair was a little too long, coming just beneath his ears, and messy, like he’d rushed out of the house. He surveyed the room with blue eyes, bright and intelligent.
&nbs
p; “Tell me that’s not him,” Becca said. “Because if it’s not, I so have dibs.”
Summer forced her gaze away from his face and down to his black t-shirt. The distinctive red logo of the Licorice Fiddles was stark against the black cotton.
She set down her margarita before she dropped it. Still not looking away from him, she said to Becca, “It’s him.”
At her words, those gorgeous, baby blue eyes turned her way and locked with hers.
Chapter Seven
Despite the noise of the bar, Jackson heard a female voice say, “It’s him.” He knew, without a doubt, that it was Summer speaking, and he turned to face her.
When he’d returned to Huntwood, he’d expected to feel complete, like he’d been a missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle and once he was back in his old territory, he’d feel like he belonged again. But that hadn’t happened. Instead, he’d felt stifled, unable to step over their property line. He’d felt like an impostor, and that feeling of homecoming hadn’t happened.
Until now.
The woman at the table was probably in her mid-twenties. She sat with another woman who looked close to her age. Her dark hair was braided around her head in a crown. She had a pointy nose and chin, dark skin, and dark eyes.
He’d never seen a more beautiful woman in his entire life.
He started forward, his steps hurried, until he remembered the message he’d sent her. It was up to Summer whether she said hello or not. Stifling his frustration and the urges of the lion inside of him, he turned and made his way to the bar. She’d seen him, and she’d come say hello.
She had to.
Jackson had stopped praying when his parents were killed. He still believed in a higher power, but he hadn’t had any desire to talk to that power. But in this moment, the bar filled with raucous laughter, classic rock blaring from speakers set near a tiny stage at the back, the thudding of billiard balls falling into pockets at one of the pool tables to his left…in this moment, his life could change forever. It could go from something tolerable and generally okay to something mind-blowingly amazing. And it all depended on whether Summer wanted to meet him.
He found an empty seat at the bar and sat down. After catching the bartender’s eye, he said, “A pint of whatever session IPA you’ve got.”
“Sure thing.”
He watched the bartender pull down the tap and fill a glass. It was hard to pretend that he was focused on that, and not on whatever Summer might or might not be doing across the room, behind his back.
The bartender pushed the glass across the bar. “That’s five.”
Jackson handed him a ten. “Keep the change.”
A huge tip, but he’d take whatever karma he could get at this point.
He smelled her before she spoke. A smoky mint scent that pulled at his awareness. As long as he lived, he’d never be able to forget it. Should he turn around now, or wait for her to say something? His heart thudded loudly in his chest. It could have sounded like he was afraid, but it wasn’t fear—it was anticipation. He forced himself to hold still.
“Um, Jackson?”
He turned around, already smiling. “Summer?”
“Yeah, it’s me.” She wore a dark blue tank top with tiny flowers embroidered into the fabric, and those skinny jeans that showed off women’s legs. Her dark brown eyes were wide and unsure. She gripped her margarita like a talisman. Jackson breathed in and smelled the sharp undertones of fear beneath her minty, smoky scent. She was afraid, and it immediately sobered his excitement.
“I’m really glad to meet you,” he said, holding out his hand.
She reached forward and shook, her grip strong despite her obvious anxiety. “I’m sitting back over there with my friend,” she said, gesturing with her chin.
Jackson was struck with the thought that probably every single thing she did was adorable. Every gesture from jerking her chin to the side, to scrunching her nose up when she was unsure, to raising her eyebrows in question.
“Great,” he said. “Do you mind if I join you both, or…do you want me to get lost?”
“Oh. Um, come on over.”
He followed close behind her, not willing to give up the sight or the scent of her. From his peripheral vision, he could see that her friend was giving him a once-over. What had happened to Summer? Her friend seemed more protective than he would normally expect, and Summer herself was obviously a bit jumpy and slow to trust. He waited for Summer to sit down, and then he pulled over a free chair and sat—not too close to her, but close enough to show he was interested.
This was going to be a difficult balancing act, but Summer was worth the effort, no question.
“Hi,” he said, reaching across the table toward the blonde. “I’m Jackson Jaynes.”
“Becca Van Housen,” she said.
“She’s my best friend,” Summer said.
“And the buyer of our next round,” Becca interjected. She looked at Jackson. “Can I get you another beer?”
“Nah, I’m good, but thanks,” he said.
Becca walked away, and now it was Jackson and Summer, staring at each other.
“Sorry,” Summer said. “This is weird, isn’t it?”
Jackson shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never met someone like this before. You know, who I’d already been talking to online.”
“It’s definitely…strange,” Summer said. “You know, I pictured you as this pasty, doughy guy who spends too much time in a dark basement working at a computer.”
Jackson pretended to be affronted. “What? Computer nerds can get just as much sun and exercise as the next person.”
“You look like you spend all your time working out and doing…manly outdoorsy things.”
“So…you’re saying I’m manly? Does that mean attractive?” he asked in a playful voice, watching her face for her reaction.
A faint tinge of pink graced her cheeks, and he mentally high-fived himself. She was eyeing him like there was nothing she’d like more than to touch him. He felt the same way. Her skin looked soft and smooth, her lips wet and lush. When she took a sip of her margarita and licked a bit of salt from the rim of the glass, he nearly groaned.
“You can’t do stuff like that,” he said. “Every guy in here is going to try to take you home.”
She smiled at him, seeming a lot less inhibited than before. “There’s only one guy I’d want to ask.”
Her timidity had all but disappeared. What had happened? He looked at her glass. The margarita was gone. “Just curious,” he said. “How many drinks have you had?”
She tilted her head to the side and looked at the glass as if searching for clues. “Two? Three? No, this is just my second. Becca’s getting the next one.”
Two drinks wasn’t a lot, but it might be if she didn’t usually drink, or if she hadn’t eaten much beforehand. At least she seemed happy, and she wasn’t slurring her words. He’d have to watch her with the third margarita.
When she reached for his hand, he threaded his fingers with hers, delighting in the contact. So this was what home felt like. The comfort, the warmth, the belonging.
“You know, you don’t look anything like your pictures,” he said.
Summer laughed and blew her cheeks out. “The pufferfish is my second cousin. People have told me they see a resemblance.”
He laughed, and she scooted closer to him.
“Can I tell you a secret?” she said, her breath warm against his ear.
“Yeah.”
He turned his face to the side, but she didn’t move back fast enough, and her lips grazed his cheek. They looked at each other, their eye contact steady, her dark brown eyes staring right back into his.
He cleared his throat. “So, um, what’s the secret?”
“I forget.” She touched her lips. “I have a new one now, though. I want to do that again. Kiss you.”
“Anytime,” he said.
Just then, a margarita and a glass of clear, fizzy liquid clonked onto their table. “M
argarita for Summer who obviously doesn’t need anything else to drink, and my lonely, sad Sprite,” Becca announced. She looked at Jackson. “I’m driving tonight.”
Summer leaned against Jackson, her hand brushing his thigh. He had to focus to get his instant boner under control, so he almost missed the scathing look Becca gave him. “What?” he mouthed.
She just shook her head and sipped her drink.
Should he go? He’d been invited at the last minute, and maybe that invitation had only been given because of alcohol. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, suddenly uncomfortable. “Shit, I just realized I’m interrupting your night out. I should go, anyway. I need to get up early tomorrow.”
Summer latched onto his arm. “Don’t go yet,” she said. “We’ve barely had a chance to talk.”
“It’s fine,” Becca said. “You can stick around.”
“Are you sure?” Jackson asked.
“Yeah. You just have to answer a few questions.” Becca raised her eyebrows at him and gave him a cool look. “You up for that?”
“Oh, seriously?” Summer said. “Don’t interrogate him, Becks.”
Jackson watched, impressed, as Becca turned that cool gaze onto Summer. “You want my help or not?” she asked.
Summer had the most adorable pout. Jackson couldn’t stop staring at her, but Becca cleared her throat. “Ahem.”
“Right,” Jackson said. “What do you want to know?”
“Where’d you grow up?” Becca asked.
“Right here in Huntwood.”
“Graduated from high school?”
“2009.”
“College?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Hey,” Summer said, “don’t call her ma’am. She hates that.”
“Sorry,” Jackson muttered. It was just that Becca reminded him of his mom at that moment, all arching eyebrows and stern voice.
“Do you earn an honest living?” Becca continued, deadpan.
“Yes. I’m the social media manager for the Licorice Fiddles and a couple other up-and-coming bands on the West Coast.”
“So you, what, use SocialBook for a living?” she asked.
