But many years later, and now that I’m older and wiser, I’ve come to find out Jaxson doesn’t quite have a type—more of a gender specific orifice—and in that sense, I do meet the bare minimum requirements. Back in the day, and apparently, this translates to the present, Jax wanted to rub his nub against everything with a hole in it, and for the most part he found plenty of girls willing to drop trou. Of course, he never made the offer to me, and last night I feared a proposition as much as I feared anything else.
Sadie and Mack storm in together, all bundled up for the snow apocalypse with scarves to their noses, their winter parkas ready for a day on the slopes.
“Aren’t you Miss Sexy?” Mack gives me a quick kiss to the cheek before disrobing.
Sadie grunts, “She’s hot to trot, and according to reliable sources, set the Grand Hotel on fire last night.” She strips down as well and falls into the seat across from me. “Spill.”
“He kissed me.”
Mack thumps her glittering silver nails over the table. “Was the mommy patrol aware of this mistletoe miracle?”
“Yes.”
“Then it doesn’t count.”
“Mack!” Sadie cries it out for me. “Everything counts.” She turns back to me. “Tongue or no tongue?”
“Tongue. First time, and it was sensational! That boy has a two-foot appendage he’s harboring in that mouth of his. And the precision that tip offered assured me of prehensile things to come.”
“Meaning you.” Sadie has always been a genius when it comes to finishing my slutty sentences.
“Eww.” Mack swats us both with a menu. “You do realize I’m still your sister. This was never about getting you laid. This was about getting even. Jaxson Stade is a player. He’s not the boy for you.”
Sadie gags as she tries to get her words out. “That may be so, but he’s the boy for her right now.”
Mack shakes her head as if this were an impossibility. “She’s heading back to L.A. in a couple of weeks. Poppy doesn’t have the talent of shutting off her emotions like some people.” She sneers at my old friend before redirecting her gaze my way. “Do not give your heart away, and do not sleep with him. This is a direct order from your big sister. Don’t force me to have Conner write up a cease and desist to Jaxson’s dick.”
“Would you stop with the penile legal threats?” I scan the vicinity in the event, God forbid, Jax or Conner crops up and ruins our good time, or at least what would have been if not for this spontaneous Mack attack.
“Speaking of Conner.” Mack leans in with that naughty look in her eye, and you can bet a juicy morsel of gossip is about to drip from her mouth. “Word on the Stade Steel streets is, he’s dating again.”
“Who?” Our brother doesn’t date by definition. He’s more of a mattress wrestler who likes to pin them down and release his captive audience by morning. He’s a manwhore personified right along with Jax.
The waitress comes by, and we put in our orders. Two Chinese chicken salads for Mack and me, and coffee and a scone for Sadie. I wait until the waitress takes off to judge my good friend properly.
“Coffee and a scone?”
“What?” Sadie makes a face. “That’s what I wanted.”
Mack groans, “The fact you’re forced to have coffee at a bar and grill amplifies the sad state of Oak Grove’s slim eatery pickings.”
“I know, right?” Sadie gets that familiar gleam in her eye that usually spells out trouble. “The only other option is Pine Crest Bakery, and it’s disgusting in there. Every time I go in, there’s a fly hanging around those depressing looking confections. The floor is a toasted linoleum from the fifties that actually offends me, and the enamel furniture is chipped and rusting. God forbid you cut yourself while pulling out a chair. You can get lockjaw and never enjoy a real fresh cup of coffee again.”
“Why are we analyzing the sad state of java in Oak Grove and not focusing in on the fact Conner found someone to eat a steak with?” I’m thoroughly confused.
“Because.” Sadie bounces her shoulders to her ears. “The ink just dried on my divorce, and I get my lump sum settlement—50K.”
Sadie is perhaps the one and only person in Oak Grove who’s ever signed a prenup. Peter Hervy, her official first ex-husband, is a land baron she met in Denver. Apparently, the payout of a one-year gig, in which she used him for little more than a personal sit and spin, garnered her a nifty lump sum.
“Fifty thousand?” I clasp my chest. “Geez. Why did I move to L.A. when I should have run to Denver and landed the first Perv I saw horizontal?” I give a little wink. “What are you going to do with the money, honey?”
“Invest.” Sadie does sparkle when she’s getting her green on. “In myself. I’m going to open Oak Grove’s first coffee shop and usher us into the new millennium—roasted espresso style.”
“Sweet.” Mack gives her a high five. “Now that the kids are in school, I’d be happy to be your first barista.”
Sadie and Mack whoop it up like they just won the latte lottery, and in a way they did. Oak Grove really can use a nice cup of fresh brewed heaven.
I tap the back of my fork to the table. “So back to Conner.” My brother has had his fair share of women. He’s a less sexually aggressive version of his BFF Jax, but just as appealing to the ladies because he’s handsome, if I don’t say so myself, and he touts a mean legal degree. “Who is this hussy?” I suck in a breath at my bestie. “Is it you? Are you the hussy that’s dating my brother?” The words practically burst from me with pride. I know that Sadie and me will always be close, but to have her as my official sister-in-law one day would be magic.
The waitress brings our food and Sadie’s less than lackluster mug of coffee, and we all frown knowingly at the desperate state of java in our small town.
“It’s not Sadie.” Mack shakes her head. “Conner’s shiny new toy is Larissa Debeers.”
“Larissa?” All of those feel-good vibes I was sending Sadie’s way hit a brick wall. “But she’s Jaxson’s ho. In fact, she’s probably waiting in the wings for me to fly back to L.A. so she can latch onto his ankle and beg him for another ride on that pogo stick he’s got in his boxers.”
“Jaxson’s ho?” Mack looks disgusted at the thought, as she should. “It’s one thing to share your toys and a whole other to share your bedmates. He can’t sleep with her if she slept with Jax.”
Sadie nearly blows her coffee out of her nose. “That crosses out ninety percent of the eligible girls in Oak Grove.”
Mack gets squirrely at the thought. “Maybe we should ship Conner off to L.A. for a while?”
“Maybe you should stop playing matchmaker.” I stab my fork in her direction before taking a bite of the best Chinese chicken salad this side of Los Angeles. Starry Nights really is a culinary treasure.
Her phone buzzes, and she groans into it. “I gotta run. Ben has a fever, and I need to pick him up from school. Would you box this up for me and drop it by the house?”
“Not a problem.”
She throws on her jacket before leaning in to kiss me goodbye. “Perfect! And no getting M.C. Hammered with Jaxson Stade. I bet his mattress is harboring something far more exotic than bedbugs. And, honey, I’m a damn good matchmaker. And per my matchmaking rules, no sleeping with anyone until he puts a ring on it. It only leads to broken hearts and prenups.”
“Amen to that,” Sadie shouts as we wave my sister off.
I needle my gaze at my longtime friend. “You really believe that?”
“Darn right.” Sadie salutes me with her stale coffee. “But a girl’s got needs.” She sinks in her seat as she cradles that sad looking mug, and suddenly we’re both lost in thought, seemingly equally depressed over said needs.
“Confession.” I blow the hair out of my face. “My vagina hasn’t had a gentleman caller in nearly a year. If I don’t find a willing penis soon, I’ll have to scale down to a silicone model.”
“Trust me, they’re so lifelike you won’t know the diffe
rence.”
“My heart will.”
“If you’re looking to satisfy your heart, then Mack is right—you risk getting it broken.”
Tears come, and I’m quick to blink them away. I shake my head in lieu of words because there’s a painful heart-shaped knot sitting at the base of my throat.
I hate that Jaxson still has the power to take my emotions, my will, my better judgment for a ride without any consideration for my beating heart. That’s always been our downfall. I care too much, and he seems to care too little.
“Hey”—Sadie pulls my entire seat closer to hers—“maybe Mack is right. Maybe sleeping with Jax is a bad idea. Your head is a little too much into this whole thing. It’s still a joke, right?”
I open my mouth, but not a word comes out.
“Oh, hon”—Sadie wraps an arm around me—“It’s not a joke anymore, is it?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think it ever was.”
“Do everyone involved a favor and hold off finding a willing penis. Jaxson might be ready and willing, but if he knew how you felt, he’d never want to hurt you. You’re not some dime a dozen Oak Grove backseat debutante. You used to be his entire world. And when that good time ended, I still had to listen to you drool over him. I get it. He’s always been your world, too.” Her hot pink lips quiver. “But I don’t think Jaxson Stade is the person you built him up to be in your mind, Pops. Have fun with him for the allotted time you have left. But maybe use this as a way to say goodbye to that monstrous image you have of him in your mind. He’s just a person. A human. A man.” She makes the word man sound as disparaging as possible. “Have a little fun but not too much. Draw a line in the sexual sand and stay on your side of the perverted sand.”
“I’ll have fun all right. Then I’ll get back to L.A. and resume my celibate lifestyle. I’m going to be a spinster.”
Sadie belts out a laugh. “That went from hero to zero, real quick. You’re not going to be a spinster. You’re too pretty and smart for that. A battery-operated boyfriend can only take you so far. And by the way, I’ll get on the horn and get one sent out to you asap.”
“Thanks. You’re a real friend, Sadie Richards.” I pull her in, and we take a moment to hold each other like a couple of lost children. Mack is right. I shouldn’t give my heart away, but it’s too late for that. I plucked it out of my chest when I had barely crested kindergarten and handed it to the only boy I would ever truly love.
This isn’t a joke anymore.
It never was to begin with.
An entire day drifts by and no word from Jaxson. Not that I made an effort to stalk him down at his office once again either, but still. He’s the one that probed my mouth with his tongue. He drew first member. It should be him making the effort.
Then just past noon, my phone bounces over the very bed I used to cry rivers for that boy, and it’s a text from Jaxson Stade himself.
Headed out. Snowmobiling, deep country. New toy. Wanna come?
Jax always did text like he had suddenly morphed into a robot.
I text right back. Deep country? Are the fine residents of Oak Grove populating the backwoods these days? If not, whoever shall we entertain? All of the other excursions we’ve partaken in have, in some roundabout fashion, involved our mothers. Even if our mothers weren’t around for the show, there was someone from this one cow town who would surely report back to the devious duo. As fun as trekking through the woods at a hundred miles an hour while my ponytail freezes solid sounds, I’m pretty sure a jaunt through a nice warm bookstore on Main Street would be far more beneficial to the cause.
If we’re lucky, a deer. Unlucky, a bear. You in?
Wait a minute. Jaxson is a smart boy. Surely, he realizes we’ll be knee deep in privacy. Maybe…
He texts back as if reading my mind. Let’s take a break from the Jax and Pop’s Show and get some serious fun in before you head home.
Home, as in L.A. Of course. Jax knows I’m not hanging around. This is all for show. It says so right here in blue and white.
Oh hell. What’s a little fun between friends?
I’m in.
Not shockingly, Jaxson Stade stuns in a bright red ski jacket as much as he does in a custom Italian suit.
I park in his ridiculously grand circular driveway better suited for Beverly Hills than Oak Grove, but I would totally rock the circular driveway in Oak Grove if given half the money the Stade’s have.
Jaxson comes over and offers me a platonic high five. “Let’s do this!” he shouts with all the excitement of a NASCAR driver. Speaking of high speed shenanigans…
“I haven’t driven one of these in years!” I give a little hop when I say it because it just so happens I’m equally as psyched as he is. Jax and I spent our formative years on the backs of a demonic motorized sleigh. And later, after the great divide in our relationship, Conner took my place on those backcountry snow rides. I resented Jax for not inviting me, but I got it. And today, I got an invitation as well.
“Cool.” He walks us over to a large orange contraption. “We’ll take turns.”
I’ve never seen a snowmobile beast of this stature and nature. New toy indeed. It looks as if it could glide straight to the North Pole without any effort.
“Is this what happens when a tractor and a snowmobile have babies?”
“That would be it.” He laughs while helping me with a helmet complete with a face shield.
“Are you kidding? I don’t want to wear this,” I say, plucking it right off. “I won’t look cool. And is this our one and only ride? Were you being literal with the whole ‘we’ll take turns’ thing?” Back in the day, we didn’t wear helmets, and we never shared a vehicle. We were stupid and greedy that way.
“Yes, I’m being literal.” He frowns as he presses the helmet back on my head. “And you know what’s cool? Keeping your brain in your skull. Besides, no one is going to see us, remember?” A devilish grin spreads to those freshly stubbled cheeks. “Unless, of course, it’s me you’re trying to impress. And if so, you’ll have to try harder because you look like a total helmet head right now.”
“Very funny.”
Jax helps me onto the oversized snowmobile and hops in front donning his own horrific helmet. He takes my arms and wraps them around his chest, and I don’t protest the fact. Jax feels stable and rock solid even stuffed inside his toasty down jacket. I’d say a day of holding on to Jax is a day well spent.
He starts up the beast, and we head out slow. Soon, we’re off gliding on the mounds of freshly fallen snow that’s gracing the Stade property. The Stade’s own so much land, I doubt we’ll even venture off the estate.
We bypass the old guesthouse, which now belongs to Jules and Jensen. Just seeing the way Jaxson is around his nephew makes me want to fall to my knees and beg him to plant beautiful Stade babies inside me. He was so sweet and loving, not to mention positive and supportive, and I gleaned all that in the small window Jensen knocked over his ice cream cone the other day after we picked him up from daycare. I can imagine that one day, when the right girl comes around, Jax will be an amazing father.
Soon enough, we’re in the hill country, so far away from Casa Stade that the magnificent menace of a house is merely a speck on the horizon. It’s just Jax and I, having fun, being ourselves. I tap him over the shoulder, and he slows it down.
“Let’s switch!” I shout up over the roar of the motor and fog up my mask.
Without putting up a fight, Jax trades places with me. He gives me a quick tutorial on all things stop and go, and just like that, we’re off. I take it slow, like really slow, like field mice are walking back and laughing slow, but there are a crap ton of trees, and like Jax suggested, my brain looks far better in my uncracked skull.
“Speed it up,” he shouts from behind. Damn backseat driver. “What are you—a chicken?”
I suck in a quick breath. He knows that nobody but nobody is ever allowed to call me a chicken. It’s practically a command for making m
e do the very thing I loathed to try. I’m very Arthur Fonzarelli that way. And for those of you too young to remember the reference, you should totally look up Happy Days and watch it sometime. I promise there’s not a hair pulling skank in sight, and the worst putdown they have to offer is sit on it. It really puts things into perspective when my mother references today’s trash TV.
“I’m no chicken, Stade. But soon, you will be.” I rev the engine for a moment before we take off at a neck-jerking pace. I traverse low and high terrain alike, dodging oversized tree trunks and brambling oaks alike. I spot a clearing up ahead that looks like snowmobile heaven, and I start in that direction, but an entire thicket of evergreens stands in our way of snow speed nirvana. The only option left is a steep incline to our right, and I pull forward a bit to make sure there’s a decline that follows. I’m not about to plunge us to our death by way of trying to jump the shark to get there. See? That’s another Happy Days’ reference you probably didn’t get. Go watch it. Really, you won’t regret it.
“I don’t know about this,” Jaxson grumbles, but I rev the engine once again and spin us in a neat circle before building the speed we need as we crest the—
“Oh shit!” We hit the top of the ridge so fast the back of the snowmobile catches and jackknifes all the way down the embankment because it’s clear the idiot driver has no clue what in the hell she’s doing.
Jaxson and I are ejected, falling within feet of one another in a jumble of limbs.
“Poppy!” A muffled cry comes from my left before Jaxson appears before me, flipping off his helmet only to reveal the rife look of worry on his face. “Are you okay?” He falls to his knees and unbuckles my helmet from under my chin, and I flick it right off.
“I think I’m dead.” I hike up on my elbows in time to see him frown.
“Shit. You could have killed us.”
“Says the moron who let me drive.” I try to execute a smartass grin, but it hurts to navigate my face in that direction.
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