by Lee Kilraine
She squinted at him, trying to decide if this was a valid point or he was being nosy. “I don’t think . . .”
“You know about my ex.”
“Chloe? Only because I know her from high school.”
He shot her a glance tinged with disbelief. “You didn’t ask any questions about your boyfriend’s ex?”
Gee, she and her last boyfriend had broken up two years ago, right around the time Paxton had returned to Climax. She couldn’t recall if she’d asked about his ex. “I honestly can’t remember, but I guess maybe I would have asked why they’d broken up.”
“Why did you?” Paxton kept his eyes forward on the road, almost studiously so. Probably some trick for questioning new clients.
“I don’t know. We grew apart, wanted different things; he just wasn’t the one. Take your pick. I don’t remember it being full of fireworks. Just one day we went out for dinner and realized we made better friends than lovers, I guess.”
Paxton finally glanced at her, his eyes shifting over and around her face, before he shrugged. “So one of those rare mutual break-ups. Do you still call each other, as friends?”
“No, but we do exchange holiday cards.”
“Birthday cards?”
“No.” She brushed a piece of nonexistent lint from the hem of her khaki shorts and asked, “What about you and Chloe?”
“No. No phone calls and no cards.”
“And . . . ?”
“And what?” He threw on his signal and slowed down to make a turn.
“Why did you and Chloe break up?” Jo stared at the coffee cup in her hands, afraid of what emotion she’d see on his face. She couldn’t believe how hard her heart fluttered waiting for his answer. Actually she could, because she wanted to make this fake relationship real between them. She finally looked over at him when he stayed silent.
“We’re here.” He smiled at her as he grabbed his wallet from the center console to pay for parking.
“You didn’t answer.”
Paxton released a huff of air as he shifted the gear into Park. “It’s fair to say it wasn’t like yours.”
Oh. So not mutual. And it felt a little bit like when the sun goes behind a cloud.
“You ready to mix it up with a bunch of stuffy, loquacious lawyers?”
“Well, I’m a very good listener, so yes.”
He leaned forward to kiss her, bumping his head on her ball cap. “Want to lose the hat so I can kiss you?”
Absolutely. Wait. The hat? “Oh, so, about my hat . . .”
Paxton quirked one eyebrow at her, still leaning in close, waiting for his clear path to move in for the kiss.
She took off her hat and waited for his reaction.
He sat back in surprise but wisely didn’t say anything right away except, “Huh.”
“The hair dye was supposed to rinse out in seven to twelve shampoos. I only made it through nine before my fingers got too pruney.” She raised a self-conscious hand to her hair, patting it. She’d wound her long curls into a tight bun on the back of her head, hoping no stray wisps would escape during the day-long tailgating event.
Reaching out a large hand, he cupped one side of her jaw and gently turned her head to the side to get a better look. “Huh.”
“I know. It’s so awful you’re speechless. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
Paxton leaned forward and kissed her. A warm, soft kiss that she’d have happily crawled inside of and stayed the whole day if he hadn’t ended it. He gazed directly into her eyes. “I’m speechless because even with hair the same color as the contents of little Mackenzie’s diaper I changed last week, you’re damn beautiful.”
“That might be the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“If that’s true, you need to go out with better men.” He kissed her one more time before sitting back. His gaze flicked up to her hair one last time before he looked at her and winked. “But good call on the hat.”
The tailgate party was a good time, even not knowing anyone else there except Paxton and Maggie’s dad. For the most part, she stuck like glue to Paxton and avoided Mr. Pope. It was a solid, successful plan for the first two hours, but eventually they bumped into each other.
Not literally, thank goodness, but you know, face-to-face, so they had to talk. Jo was pretty sure Mr. Pope was as excited about it as she was. Which was not at all.
“Ms. Joyner.” He nodded a bit stiffly.
“Mr. Pope.” Neither one offered the use of their first name, but that might have had more to do with their parent/teacher relationship. It was true Jo had some parents call her by her first name outside of school, but after the last meeting with Pope, she would rather keep the full formality in place. She had a feeling they’d be meeting with the principal before the start of the next school year.
“I’m glad to see you here today.” He took a sip of his drink. It looked like a double shot of some high-priced whiskey. “I wanted to thank you again for finding Margaret’s puppy.”
She smiled lightly at him, purposefully holding herself back from searching his eyes for a clue as to whether he knew that she knew the true facts. “Glad I could help. How’s he doing? I saw your daughter in town yesterday and forgot to ask.”
The man’s bushy eyebrows sank low over his eyes. “Chewing everything that isn’t nailed down.”
“That’s a puppy for you.” And because it looked like she was already annoying him, she decided to prod him just a little bit. “I believe I met Maggie’s boyfriend yesterday.”
Mr. Pope growled in the back of his throat, and for once Jo and Pope were in total agreement.
She did feel for him as a father, having seen her own parents have to deal with Darlene’s string of degenerate boyfriends. At least he knew about the boyfriend. As a teacher, Jo’s experience was that as some parents lost control of their children, many disengaged; they’d rather not know what their child was up to.
Maybe a change in topic was called for. “So, does Mag—Margaret have a camp or job lined up for the summer?”
“Margaret has decided to attend a month-long college prep course next month.”
On the other hand, if you push someone too hard into a life they don’t want—sometimes you get a rebellion. Because if the idea was to put some space between Maggie and the boyfriend, the young pianist’s program Maggie had been excited about a few months ago would do that as well as the prep course.
“I’ve heard there are some very good college prep courses out there. Will she be able to fit in the pianists’ program also?” Getting pushy, Jo. No. Part of her job was to support her students. She’d push a little. “I only ask because she seemed genuinely excited about the program a few months ago.”
He eyed her over the edge of his drink as he took another slow sip. When he lowered the glass, he shrugged. “Teenagers can be so mercurial. I’m impressed that you care so much about Margaret.”
“I’m an advocate for all my students, Mr. Pope.”
“Like I said, admirable, but also confusing. Because it leaves me at a loss as to why you wouldn’t put my daughter in the AP English class for her senior year.” His face had taken on the look of an angry bulldog. He’d worn that exact expression in Principal Meyer’s office.
Paxton must have seen the trouble brewing from where he was talking over by the grill. He cut through the crowd quickly until he was at her side with his arm casually around her shoulders. “You two aren’t talking smack about each other’s college teams, are you?”
“Hell no. Around here that would be worse than talking politics.” Mr. Pope gave a hearty laugh that didn’t come close to reaching his eyes. “No, we were talking about getting into college actually, and which high school classes are necessary. How many AP classes did you take in high school, Paxton?”
Oh brother. Jo wanted to roll her eyes because, please, how did dragging Paxton into this do anything for the man’s case? If he thought she’d be embarrassed about her unwillingness to bend t
he rules in front of Paxton, Pope was in for a big disappointment. Surely he didn’t think Paxton would put pressure on her?
Paxton tugged on his ear as he thought back. “I don’t know. Maybe five or six. Hell, my brother Kaz took every AP offered.”
Paxton wasn’t helping, but to be fair, he’d walked into the middle of this conversation and had no clue it was actually an argument.
“And I bet you and Kaz were both accepted at more than a few excellent universities.” Pope clinked the ice cubes in his glass and stared at her, still in bulldog mode. “The reality is, Ms. Joyner, AP classes do matter. The more students have on their transcripts, the more competitive they are.”
If she recalled the progression of Pope’s ire correctly, it went from angry bulldog to rabid bulldog to Tasmanian devil. Probably not something Paxton was going to be happy about. Her two choices were either to be rude and walk away from the conversation or politely but firmly stand her ground.
“While I’m sure with some schools, likely the Ivies, that may be the case, I assure you, for the majority, it isn’t a competition to let in the students with the most AP classes.” Paxton squeezed her shoulder, and she had no idea if it was a hey-cool-it squeeze or an I’ve-got-your-back squeeze. “Universities are looking for well-rounded students who have challenged themselves.”
Paxton cleared his throat. “Wow, it turned out to be a great day for the tailgate. Don’t you think so, Helmut?”
It was like he hadn’t even heard him. “Ms. Joyner, I think you’re a little out of touch with how competitive it is out there these days. I’ve asked Principal Meyer to let Margaret take the qualifying test for the AP courses again next week.”
Damn it. Now Jo was about to go Tasmanian devil. Didn’t he care how horrible it must be to take a test and fail—not once but twice—because your father insists? Didn’t he care that in the process to build up her résumé he might be tearing down her confidence? Didn’t he care that she might think who she was wasn’t good enough if he kept pressuring her to be more than she was? Which was pretty damn great.
It took every effort to stifle and stuff all those thoughts deep inside when she really wanted to list them off, emphasizing each one with a sharp poke of her finger to Pope’s chest. Her whole body tensed and she clamped her jaw painfully tight in her endeavor to avoid causing a scene.
“How about those Bulls?” Paxton squeezed her shoulders again, and that one she knew was a for-the-love-of-God-Jo-please-stop squeeze.
“You already know I don’t think that’s best for Maggie.” Now shut up, Jo. She kept her mouth shut and suffered through an immature stare-off with Mr. Pope while Paxton talked about the weather, the Panthers’ chances this season, and a discussion of college mascots until he finally got tired of being the grown-up in the trio.
“Paxton, did I mention Chloe’s back in Climax?” Mr. Pope had locked eyes with Paxton. “With the right enticement . . . she might just stay.”
Smiling, Paxton said, “You must be happy about that. Please tell her I said hello.”
“If you were still single”—Pope’s gaze landed on Jo for a hard second before returning to Paxton—“I’d use you as a carrot.”
“Well, I’m off the market. Totally committed to this woman right here.” He pulled her tighter into his side.
“It’s true.” Jo patted her hand possessively on his rock-hard abs. “If the man were any more committed he’d need one of those white coats that ties in the back.” Ha! Well, Jo had thought it was funny, but the two serious male gazes told her neither was amused.
“Hey, who’s up for a game of ladder golf or cornhole? Helmut? No? Jo, how about another round of Twister?”
That had her choking on her lemonade and looking up at him wide-eyed. “Twister? Sure.”
“Great. Excuse us, Helmut.” They walked away from the party just far enough that they were out of range and Paxton stopped and turned to her. “I only caught the tail end, but what the heck was that?”
“What was what?” Could she play dumb? Because she could already tell by the expression on Paxton’s face that he wasn’t going to like the answer. “Oh, you mean with Pope? Nothing really. Some parents are passionate about their children, that’s all.”
“Whoa, hold up. You teach Maggie? She was in your class this year? Why wouldn’t you have mentioned that to me?”
“Didn’t I?” She looked around the vast sea of tailgaters and up at the beautiful Carolina blue sky. Anywhere but at Paxton’s sharp green eyes. “I didn’t figure it was a big deal. Plus, I figured you knew because of the whole dog incident.”
Paxton inhaled deeply and nodded. “You’re right. Not a big deal. I think I’ve talked up everyone, so we can head out.”
“Are you sure? I don’t mind staying longer.” She really didn’t. The people she’d met today had been more than welcoming. Both interesting and interested. Lots of fun and good stories had been passed around over cold beer and an incredible spread of tailgate food. Jo had eaten her share of ribs, BBQ, and bratwurst but would happily go back for more if Paxton wanted to keep mingling. “Unless you were serious about the Twister. Pfft. Sure you were kidding; I mean, were you kidding?”
“As serious as picking jurors for trial.” The intensity in his eyes more than backed him up.
Chapter Nineteen
The ride home from the tailgate was excruciating. Before even starting up the car, Paxton had taken her face in his hands and kissed her. It was a slow-motion kiss, drawn out so every touch of their lips and soft brush of his tongue felt intense with anticipation. He tasted sweet, like the brown sugar and molasses from the barbeque. When he pulled away, she was already craving more.
“Thank you for attending the tailgate with me.” His voice, hot and rough, trampled right over her, leaving her undone. “Now, remember our deal?”
Jo had to blink a few times to climb out of the sexual daze he’d kissed her into. “What deal was that?”
“If we make love again, we’re going to do it right.” His hot green gaze burned her up, and when she didn’t say anything, he asked, “Your place or mine?”
“Mine.”
His lips slid into a smile, his single dimple peeking out, and he nodded. “Buckle up.”
During the ride home he kept his left hand on the steering wheel while his right hand kept her breathless. He touched her hand, tracing the soft dips between her fingers, brushing his thumb along her sensitive palm, and then down to the pulse point on her inner wrist.
All the while he told her stories of his childhood and college days, making her laugh. He really did have the gift of gab. The ability to put people at ease. A talent for telling stories, totally unafraid of letting others laugh at his expense.
His rich, deep voice rolled over her like a thick, decadent drizzle of sun-warmed honey. It was the hottest foreplay she’d ever experienced. And it was foreplay. Because between his smooth voice, his stories, his hand with his slow-gliding strokes, and his light green eyes so wickedly hot when they had her in his sights, she was beyond ready. Her entire body was like an exposed nerve.
They pulled onto her driveway as the sun was dropping lower toward the horizon, although there were still a few warm hours of daylight left. In a daze, Jo fumbled her keys, dropping them twice, until Paxton calmly took them from her hand and let them into the house. He handed the keys back and she dropped them again trying to set them on the small foyer table. His smile distracted her so much, she missed the table by at least a foot, and they fell with a jangle to the floor.
Jo didn’t even stop to pick them up. She turned around to face him as she started backing down the hall toward her bedroom. “I . . . uh . . . I’m sticky with sunscreen. I’m just going to wash up.”
He smiled at her. “Okay.”
“There are drinks in the fridge. And there’s a second bath in”—she waved into a darkened doorway as she passed—“there, if you want to—wash up.”
“Okay.” This time, as he smiled he reach
ed behind his neck and grabbed the back of his polo shirt, pulling it up and off. The sight of all his sun-kissed skin wrapping his muscled shoulders and chest had her forgetting where she was until her back hit against her bedroom door. “Ow.” She gave Paxton a half wave before shutting herself in.
Smooth, Jojo, real smooth. She leaned up against the door for a precious second, attempting to get her heart rate down from a gallop to a canter. Her heart was having none of it.
Closing her eyes, she let the vision of Paxton in his blue jeans and nothing else marinate. She sort of got lost picturing the two of them together, but the hum of the guest shower running got her butt moving. Rushing into her bathroom, she glanced at her reflection on her way to the shower and stopped in her tracks. She backed herself up to the mirror and stared at her hat. Crap. She’d forgotten about her hair. Slipping the cap off, she sighed as she got another look at her baby-poop-colored hair.
If she stopped rubbernecking in the mirror, she might have time to shampoo her hair three times and hope the twelfth time was the charm. She jumped in the shower, scrubbed off all the sunscreen, shaved, triple-washed and then conditioned her hair. Once out, she patted herself dry and smoothed on lotion but avoided the mirror. No point in looking at her hair now.
While she rummaged through her clothes, deciding what to put on, she ran a quick comb through her hair and blew it to damp dry before her need to be done put an end to her primping. Being the practical woman she was, she went with her dark gray silk robe—and nothing else.
“Jo?” Paxton knocked on her door. “You decent yet? And I hope the answer is no.”
“Come in.”
He entered wearing his blue jeans and a sexy smile. His hair was damp and finger combed and smelled like the Ivory Soap she kept in the guest bath.
The man’s body was a chiseled work of art. Which meant he must take his fitness seriously, because to her recollection he hadn’t played sports in high school. He’d filled his high-school hours with studying for his advanced classes, debate team, and school government.
Walking over to stand in front of her, his gaze traveled hotly up and down her body. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this because I’ve kept it a secret for all these years, but I think you’re beautiful. I always have.”
