by Ann, Jewel E
“Do you concur?”
“I do.”
“What are you doing this weekend?”
Luke shrugged. “That depends on how much cleaning you get done around my place tomorrow.”
“So you don’t have any real plans. Great. I want you to meet my family. I’m having tea with my mom at Samovar on Saturday morning, but maybe we could all have dinner or Sunday brunch.”
“I’d love to meet your family. How will you introduce me?”
“With my voice. ‘Mom and Dad, this is Jones. Jones these are my parents, Grant and Sunny.”
“Your mom’s name is Sunny Day? Not possible.” Luke laughed.
“It’s true. Says the firstborn of Tom Jones. Anyway, we kid my dad that she married him just for his name. She lives up to her name too. I think I’ve heard her swear once, and even then it was when she was quoting someone else. Hands down, I have the most optimistic, laid-back mom in the world. She’s walking zen.”
“So you didn’t get her zen genes?”
Jessica laughed. “Astute observation, Dr. Jones. No, I have my father’s personality—a total firecracker. He doesn’t do anything in the middle. When he’s mad it’s a raging inferno and when he’s happy it’s like glitter exploded everywhere. When we work on cars and motorcycles in his garage he’s either singing his favorite song like the next American Idol contestant, or if something’s not going right he’s slinging wrenches and cussing up a storm. You’ll like him, just don’t mention that you drink imported beer. He exclusively drinks locally brewed beer.”
They gave the waiter their orders, including another glass of wine and another imported Heineken.
“My roommate in college committed suicide.” Luke stared at his beer as he rolled the empty green bottle back and forth in his hands. “He was born in Amsterdam and he exclusively drank Heineken, which I’m sure he considered a local beer.” Luke’s smile looked pained. “Anyway, after he died I started drinking Heineken. It makes me think of him when I drink it, like a silent toast to him wherever he is.”
That had to be what Luke’s dad started to tell Jessica. She knew it was a small piece and there had to be more to the story. A painful more.
“Well then I toasted your roommate over and over last night before you showed up and tied me to my bed. Of course I navigated to the Heineken because of you.”
Luke nodded, taking an extra few seconds to resurface from his past before locking eyes with her again. “So tell me about Jude. Is he a firecracker too?”
Jessica laughed so fast she snorted. “Jetta boy? No. He’s a very unique breed. He’s a hair trigger when it comes to self-defense type situations, and he’s kinda paranoid—the conspiracy theory type—but he’s definitely Sunny’s boy too.
She sipped her wine. A smile tugged at her lips. “When he’s in his element, aka in front of a computer or preying on every woman in the Bay area, he’s Cool Joe, laid back, ‘I don’t need pot to be this chillin’.’ And the women fall at his feet like he’s a god. The truth is he’s such a man whore, but the weird part is he doesn’t have a following of disgruntled women. It’s as if they know they’re only going to get one night with him, but they still line up to willingly drop their panties and spread their legs. Pathetic.”
“Thank God my sisters don’t live around here.”
“They’d be safe. Jude likes older women—smart, older women. He said it’s hard to fuck a woman’s brain out if she doesn’t actually have a brain.”
Luke smirked.
Jessica quirked a brow. “His words not mine.”
They enjoyed a sunset dinner by the bay, revealing bits of each other one tragic or funny story at a time. Hand-in-hand they strolled toward the GTO parked in a lot with a backdrop of sailboat masts and the sunlight on the water’s surface, reflecting diamond-studded whitecaps. Contentment settled upon them like they’d done it for years.
“I want to take you to my place. I have a surprise for you.” Luke leaned over and kissed her as they waited at a stop light.
“What is it?”
“Do I need to define the word surprise?”
“Ugh … fine, but give me a hint. I like this game.”
Luke laughed. “Contumacious.”
“I’m not being stubbornly disobedient. Okay, maybe a little stubborn, but not disobedient. Thank you once again for the dog reference.”
“Well there you have it.”
Jessica looked at him, eyes narrowed. “Have what?”
“You’ll see.”
“It’s an apron isn’t it? I bet you’re going to have me dress up in a kinky little French maid’s outfit to clean your place tomorrow, aren’t you?”
Luke adjusted in his seat a bit. “Um … no that’s not the surprise, but I’m not going to lie, I like your idea.”
“I love that, Jones. The hard-ass, no humor doctor role you play has appeared in many of my fantasies, argyle socks and all. But you in this car, getting turned on by the thought of me in a French maid’s outfit—reminding me that you are all guy—it’s the absolute-nothing-else-compares best.” She leaned her head back on the head rest, closed her eyes, and smiled in total contentment.
“So now wouldn’t be the best time to wake you from your dream state and confess that I’m gay?”
She laughed. “It happens, Jones. I think it’s almost impossible to live in San Francisco and not question your sexual orientation. Yet another thing I love about this city. It opens its arms to everyone. We’re all just … human.”
He pulled into his garage space, killed the engine, and stared at her like he was somehow seeing her for the first time.
“What?” She wrinkled her nose, sliding her tongue along her teeth in case she had a piece of spinach stuck to one.
He rested his arm on the back of her seat and threaded his fingers through her hair, cupping the back of her head. “When we first met, my biggest fear was you would never feel ‘normal’ again.”
“And now?”
“And now I fear you will, and for some reason that feels tragic to me.”
She leaned into his touch. “I think we both know that’s not possible. Now … about this big surprise—”
“It’s not a big surprise … not yet anyway.” He climbed out and rushed around to open her door.
“Why thank you, sir.” She placed her hand in his and he led her up to his condo.
“Wait out here.”
“Sweeping the joint for your Tumblr followers?”
“Funny. But seriously, don’t come in until I tell you.” He shut the door, leaving her in the hallway.
Her smile grew with each passing second, not from the surprise. The man of her dreams and his adoration for her owned that smile, but … she did love surprises.
“Okay, open the door,” he called from the other side.
Her whole body shivered with giddiness. She opened the door. Luke squatted down next to a pudgy little Great Dane puppy—white with irregular black spots.
“Oh my gosh!” She hunched down as the puppy waddled over to her. Jessica picked him up and hugged him to her. “I love it … her … him?”
“Him.” Luke stood with a smile that showed his pleasure with her reaction and probably himself as well.
“You got me a puppy? No one has ever done something like this for me before,” she spoke with the classic high-pitched puppy/baby voice. Holding the puppy out in front of her, she continued to baby talk it a few inches from its face. “What am I going to name you, huh?”
“He already has a name.”
“Oh really?”
Luke moved closer to her and took the puppy, holding it with one hand and petting it with his other. “Yes, I already named him.”
“Please tell me it’s not Spot.” She leaned in and kissed its head.
“No … it’s Jones.”
Chapter Four
Knight
With the arrival of Tuesday came an agglomeration of nerves sparked by a lethal mix of hormones and the anti
cipation of seeing Father Jackson Knight. Ryn’s dormant sex life didn’t help matters, neither did Jillian saying he would like her. Why would he like her? Perhaps there was a shortage of young perfect-bodied women in Omaha.
She knocked on the door, hoping Jillian would answer. Ryn deemed it best to ease into Jackson’s intensity. No such luck. His Holiness appeared before her, inviting her into the gates of Heaven. Granted, she was there to tidy up the grounds of eternity, but hey, it was Heaven and that’s all that mattered.
“Ryn Middleton.” He made her name sound dirty with a wicked smile on his face while his eyes moved along her body.
It evoked all kinds of feelings: good, bad, and maybe even sinful. What was the punishment for tempting a man of God? The makeup she decided to apply at the last minute may have been a bad idea. She sucked at subtle. Everything about her said lonely, sex-deprived, and easy.
Her shorts felt extra short under his gaze as she flexed the muscles in her legs, hoping it would tighten the appearance of her skin that had lost some of its elasticity. Forty would suck.
“Jackson … or … is it okay if I call you that?” Ryn wasn’t Catholic. Did he expect her to address him as Father Knight?
He gave her a funny look, his smile still beaming with intensity. “Jackson is fine.” He stepped aside and let her in.
“No lesson today?” She headed straight to the first bathroom. Nothing good could come from standing around looking at him.
“No. I rescheduled my Tuesday afternoon students.” He followed her.
“Oh, I hope not on my account. I clean quietly with the exception of vacuuming.”
“It was no big deal. Now you don’t have to worry about being quiet. It’s just the two of us.”
She pulled on her gloves. “Oh … okay.”
Just the two of them and she didn’t have to be quiet. Why was her mind in the gutter?
“Do you want me to turn on some music for you?”
She scrubbed the toilet bowl. “Uh … sure.”
“What type of music do you like?”
She glanced back at him. He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. Her gaze stuck to his tattoos. “Whatever. Classical, gospel, piano … or even organ music if you prefer.”
“So, no alternative, rock and roll, or rap?”
She wiped her brow with her arm and continued scrubbing. He brought the room temperature up a good ten degrees with the mix of his presence and the third-degree questioning.
“No, I try to avoid anything that’s not … up lifting. Most songs on the radio these days are all about sex and other, um … sinful stuff.” Her favorite song in high school was George Michael’s “I Want Your Sex.” If he didn’t hurry up and leave, she’d pass out from the heat or confess her sins and beg for forgiveness. Ideally, she just wanted to keep her dignity, clean their house, and get the hell or heck out of there.
“So you’re religious?”
No. She stopped going to church when she got pregnant out of wedlock. “I’m a believer.” It was true, even if she no longer possessed a certainty of those beliefs. Everyone believed in something.
“I have a shitload of scripture in my head that’s been drilled into me over the years. Sorry, I meant a lot … not a shitload. Hope I didn’t offend you.”
She tipped her chin down to bite back a smile. “No offense taken. I’m sure you’re more than covered in the area of forgiveness for that minor sin.”
“Are you and your husband originally from Nebraska?”
Her body stiffened. Even then, years later, the word husband made her flinch.
“I’m … not married.” Divorce elicited scowls of disapproval in the religious world, she’d save that topic for later or preferably never. “And I’m originally from Atlanta.”
“I see, well … I’ll let you do your thing. Maybe I’ll just play the piano. Any requests?”
She shrugged. “Surprise me.”
*
The woman who could be a game changer wasn’t married. That was good, but her anti-sex, gospel-music-playing personality presented a bit more of a challenge than he anticipated. Jackson had committed to not being a man whore, but that didn’t mean he’d submitted his application for sainthood.
He played one classical piece after another, tracking her every move as she floated around scrubbing, dusting, mopping, and sweeping. She finished in the main room as if to not disturb him until she had no other choice. They smiled politely at each other as she dusted Black Beauty. God, he loved her eyes and the way she incessantly wet her lips if he stared too long.
She squatted down, disappearing beneath the piano. “I’m just dusting the legs and pedals … I uh, don’t want to you think I’m trying to do anything inappropriate here.”
He grinned. “I wouldn’t stop you if you were.”
“Ouch!” she seethed after a loud thump.
He leaned down to look at her. “Are you okay?”
Balancing on her knees and one hand while her other hand rubbed her head, she squinted her eyes a bit. He tried to focus on her head but the view down her shirt to her pink sports bra and just a tease of cleavage, which also had a smattering of freckles, enticed him in a sex-deprived way. By the time he tore his eyes away from her breasts, she stared at him in shock. Clearly, he’d offended her.
“Do you need an icepack?” He sat up with a guilty grimace. Jillian would kill him if their cleaning lady quit on the first day, claiming sexual harassment.
Ryn crawled out and stood, one hand still on her head, the other pressing the neck of her shirt firm to her chest. “I’ll be fine.” She focused on the floor, the ceiling, anywhere but him. “I’m going to run the vacuum and then I’ll be done.”
He relocated to the kitchen while she vacuumed. Time evaporated faster than his mind could conjure a plan. He had to think of something to say before she left and most likely would never come back.
Tick-tock, he grimaced with defeat as she shut off the vacuum and wound up the hose and cord.
“Mother fucking idiots!” Jillian grumbled, opening the front door.
Ryn’s eyes popped out of her head. Jackson closed his. He no longer needed to worry about being the responsible party for Ryn quitting. Jillian swooped in just in time to take that honor with her sailor’s tongue.
“Oh, hey, Ryn.” Jillian stepped inside, holding the screen door open with the backside of her body while she smacked the soles of her shoes together. “I hate it when they spread those stupid fertilizer pellets then takeoff without using a broom or blower on the driveway and sidewalk. Now they’re stuck like shit to the bottom of my shoes and if it rains they’ll discolor the cement.”
“Jill … not the best word choice.” He gave Ryn an apologetic look. She returned one that looked just as pained.
“Sorry, I always say that wrong. They’ll discolor the concrete … I know, cement is the powdered form. It’s like the whole itch versus scratch thing.” She shut the door and looked up. “So how’d it go today?”
Ryn forced a smile. “Fine. Look around after I leave and let me know if there’s something I missed or that you’d like me to do different next time.”
Jackson sighed with relief from the promise of next time.
“Thanks, Ryn.” Jillian held the door open. “Jesus, Jackson, don’t just stand there. Help her take her stuff out.”
“Oh yeah.” He jumped out of his daze and grabbed the other bucket and vacuum.
“Sorry about your head.” He handed her the rest of the supplies as she loaded everything into the back of her white RAV4.
“It was my fault.” She closed the back door and leaned against it with her arms trapped behind her. “You caught me off guard when you said…” she glanced up with a sheepish look “…what you did.”
Wearing a guilty half-smile, he shoved his hands into his pockets and shook his head. “Yeah, I was completely out of line.”
“It’s fine. I applaud you for your commitment. A vow of celibacy at you
r age must be difficult sometimes.”
Jackson bent down, cocking his head to bring his ear closer to her face. “What did you just say?”
“I said it must be difficult,” she answered with breathy words, eyes on his mouth.
“No, before that.” He squinted.
She mirrored his expression. “The part about me commending you for your commitment to God?”
“What commitment to God?”
Her eyes darted to one side and then the other before meeting his again. “Uh … the vow of celibacy.”
“Who told you about that?”
Ryn’s body sank until the bumper halted her descent. “Jillian,” she replied in a small voice.
“She told you I took a vow of celibacy?”
Ryn nodded as her nose scrunched.
“So you thought what? That I’m a priest or something?”
Another uncomfortable nod.
Jackson stepped back, giving her space. The dots connected themselves. “Tell me … did you go to church last weekend?”
Ryn shook her head, eyes wide.
“The weekend before that?”
Another shake.
Jackson chuckled. “Give me your keys.” He held out his hand.
“Why?”
“Just give them to me.”
She set them in his hand. Fear painted her face in crimson as he slid in the front seat and turned the key. The radio blared with Adam Levine complaining about the summer hurting like a motherfucker.
Ryn covered her face with her hands. Jackson stepped out and peeled them away. She kept her eyes set firm to the driveway.
“Doesn’t sound like gospel to me.”
She shook her head. “I’m so embarrassed.”
He bent down and whispered in her ear. “See you next week, my child.”
*
After a cold shower to relieve the flush of embarrassment and to temper her riled up libido, Ryn grabbed an iced tea, a good book, and planted her ass on her front porch swing with Gunner at her feet. The day would go down in history as: Ryn is An Idiot Day. Somewhere between graduating high school, getting pregnant, and marrying Satan, she lost her normalcy gene. Preston physically beat it out of her, leaving a wreckage of insecurity, fear, and social awkwardness like an abused animal whose tail never wagged.
