by J. L. Berg
“Hmm…not bad,” he mumbled between bites.
“Are they as good as my grandmother’s?” I asked her, taking one to try for myself.
“No, definitely not. She had a way with cookies, if you remember me telling you.”
Oh, yes, I did.
We spent the next hour watching numerous drills and plays being practiced over and over across the field. The coaches worked the men hard, and by the time the whistle called for break, the team was dripping with sweat and gasping for air.
Some chose to make their way into the locker rooms while many others walked across the field to the fence where their eager fans awaited for a moment or two of attention.
Noah watched and nearly vibrated with excitement as several of his favorite players stepped up to the fence. Children and adults alike swarmed them, asking for s and pictures. They were gracious and signed everything and anything shoved in front of them, from pictures to notebooks, and even in their exhausted state, they still posed for pictures.
Liv and I stood with Noah and waited our turn, finally making it up to the front.
I looked over at Noah, who appeared to have temporarily lost the ability to speak.
“Hi, this is my son, Noah. He’s a big fan.”
His head bobbed up and down, but still, no words came.
The guy in the middle smiled, turning his head from me to Noah and then finally stopping on Liv. “Beautiful family you’ve got.”
“Oh, thank you, but I’m just a friend. Noah and Jackson are new to the area, so I’m showing them around. Couldn’t do a tour of Richmond in the summer without stopping here.”
His eyes roamed down her body, and I felt my knuckles tighten.
“No, definitely not. We’re always glad to have fans.” His attention finally focused back on my son. “How about an autograph and a picture with my boy, Noah?” he asked, as Noah’s eyes went wide.
“Okay,” Noah managed to say before stepping in front of the towering giant.
Both Liv and I pulled out our phones and snapped a few pics. Noah didn’t have anything for him to sign, but he had some fancy app that allowed him to sign his phone. He could save it like a picture.
I just shook my head, wondering how long it would be before he knew more than I did.
He probably already did, and I was just in denial.
I turned to thank the guy for being so generous, and I found him leaning over the fence, talking to Liv.
“Since you seem to know the area so well, would you mind showing me around sometime? I don’t get out much and would love some…one-on-one time with a local.”
The way he said it left no room for the imagination, and I rolled my eyes at his very obvious tactics for picking up a date.
Reaching my arm out to aid Liv, I fell short when I heard her utter the one word I’d assumed she never would.
“Sure,” she replied.
“Great. Give me your phone,” he instructed.
She willingly handed her phone to the no-name football player, and I watched as he punched in a series of numbers.
“I just programmed my number into your phone and called myself, so now, I have your number. I’ll be in touch.”
I didn’t talk much to Liv for the remainder of the day. I would say only just enough to get by. She’d obviously picked up on my annoyance. Whether or not she knew the source of it was a mystery.
By the time we packed up and made it back to the car, I was about to explode.
“What will Don Juan think of your date with the football star?” I seethed.
She pulled out of the parking spot. “I guess I will never know since I don’t plan on telling him. We aren’t exclusive, Jackson,” she answered, her voice clipped and short.
My head fell back on the seat, and I closed my eyes in frustration.
Exclusivity—is that what I want with Liv? Can I see myself building something solid and long-lasting with her? Or do I just want to take her away from everyone else?
~Jackson~
My sour mood didn’t abate as the weekend dragged on.
On Monday, thoughts of Liv once again dominated my mind as I rode the elevator at work, but this time, they were anything but pleasant. I imagined her beautiful body wrapped around that hotshot football player after he’d wined and dined her all over the city. I was pining for a woman who was the opposite of everything I needed.
This had to end—now.
The elevator door slid open, and I stepped out on the fifteenth floor. Breezing past the front desk in the direction of my office, I already knew what I was going to do—the one thing I’d sworn I wouldn’t.
But desperate times called for desperate measures.
And I was desperate. I needed to move on from this…infatuation with Liv—and fast.
“Good morning, Mr. Reid,” Kate greeted as I rounded the corner and stopped in front of her desk.
“Again with the formalities, Kate. What am I going to do with you?” I grinned.
“Oh, um…I just thought—”
“Call me Jackson, please. Why don’t we go out to lunch today? That way, we can get to know each other, and you won’t feel so awkward about it.”
She nodded with enthusiasm.
God, I even hate myself right now.
“Great. It’s a date,” I said.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come in, Jackson?” Kate asked, seductively leaning back against the doorframe.
It was Friday night, and after an evening with a woman who looked good enough to eat, I should have been jumping at the chance to walk through that door and find out exactly how good she tasted.
Instead, I was trying to think of any excuse to do the opposite.
“I’d better get back home. It’s my first night out since the move, and it’s a new babysitter. I’m getting a little antsy, wondering how they’re doing,” I tried to explain, throwing out words faster than my brain could process.
“Of course.” She nodded, rubbing her hand over my shoulder in a comforting manner.
I looked down at it, forcing myself not to back away from her touch.
“Tonight was amazing, Jackson,” she started.
She’d gotten over formalities fairly quickly after our initial lunch date, and she now used my first name in such abundance that I was even beginning to hate it.
“Glad you had a good time,” I responded lamely.
“Call me tomorrow?” she asked with expectant wide eyes.
Dear Lord, what have I done?
“I have a busy weekend with Noah lined up, but I’ll be sure to catch up with you on Monday, okay?” I suggested, seeing her face fall as the words tumbled out of my mouth.
“Sure. Monday then.” She gave me a small peck on the cheek and turned, stepping into her apartment.
I watched the door shut behind her perfect little body.
God, I am a grade-A asshole.
But it didn’t stop me from fleeing to my truck like a man running for his life the moment the lock had clicked into place.
What have I been thinking?
Kate was indeed everything I had hoped to find when I began this new adventure in Richmond. She was smart, beautiful, and came from a similar background as me.
She was also the most boring woman on the entire planet.
Her life could be summarized in a few paragraphs. She was a carbon copy of probably a dozen other women I’d dated in the past. There was nothing special about her, nothing that made her stand out in a crowd. I was left to wonder if there was anything that made her unique at all.
I’d learned one thing while sitting through my torturous hours with Kate. It didn’t matter who I dated—whether she was smart, funny, interesting, or downright gorgeous. None of them would ever be what I wanted.
Because no one could hold a candle to Liv.
Driving home that night, I knew I wanted Liv for more than just reasons of some silly territorial game. Somewhere along the way, between our fighting and battles, I’d begu
n to fall for my crazy neighbor.
I just had no idea what I was going to do about it.
After paying the babysitter and sending her out the door one hundred bucks richer, I found myself standing by the window, staring at Liv’s house.
There was a single light on.
Was she alone?
Did she have company?
Was it the Latin guy or the clueless football player?
Or someone new entirely?
I was going to go clinically insane while living next to this woman.
“Dad,” Noah said from the couch.
“Yeah?” I mumbled, not breaking contact with Liv’s window.
“Can we go school shopping sometime this weekend?”
“Uh…sure. Does this mean you’re excited about school?” I questioned.
The news that Noah was to attend a private school had not been well received. It had, of course, resulted in a fight, in which he’d asked why I was sending him to a “stuck-up preppy school” now.
I had to worsen the news by adding the tidbit that he was required to wear uniforms as well. Our little argument had gone nuclear and he refused to talk to me for the rest of the evening.
I wanted him to receive the best education possible, and I had the means to do so. The school I’d picked out was one of the top in the area, but it required uniforms. His last school had no such rule. He had been struggling with it since I broke the news weeks ago.
“Maybe,” he said.
Liv was right. He was playing it cool, and I guessed I should just bide my time until he decided he wanted to open up.
Several minutes later, footsteps sounded across the wooden floor, and Noah joined me at the window. “What are you looking at?”
“Nothing,” I lied.
“You know, Dad, it’s okay if you want to go out with Liv. I don’t mind her. She’s actually pretty nice.”
I looked down at him as he stared out the window.
“What do you like about her?” I asked, curious to see what stuck out in his mind.
“She’s different. I thought it was weird at first, the way she dressed and how she acted, but I like it. She’s always the same with everyone. And she treats me like a person rather than a kid.”
“I like that, too,” I admitted.
“Dad?” he asked.
“Yeah, buddy?”
“How do you know when a girl likes you?”
Oh, here we go. Time to put my parenting hat on.
“Well, I guess it depends on the girl. Some girls will follow you around and try to talk to you. Others are shy and quiet, so they might not be as aggressive. Some might even act a little crazy.”
One of those must have reached home because he smiled.
God, I hope it’s the shy, quiet type.
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Anytime, kid.”
~Liv~
My phone pinged again, signaling another text message.
I didn’t bother checking it. I already knew who it was from—the same person who had been blowing up my phone all night.
It was Travis, the football player.
Why had I agreed to go out with him? Why had I handed over my phone like some airheaded groupie?
I didn’t want to date him. Hell, I didn’t even want to share a meal with that meathead of a man. I didn’t even like football!
His proposition had honestly taken my by surprise. Getting hit on at a bar was one thing. Getting hit on at a football field with a bunch of ankle-biters jumping up and down was another. I had been shocked by his blatant boldness and cocky attitude.
As I had been formulating the nicest way possible to let the giant of a man down gently, I’d felt Jackson’s hand brush the small of my back. I hadn’t known whether he felt sorry for me and was trying to come to my rescue or if it was some macho, territorial thing. Either way, the gesture had pissed me off.
I was not a woman who needed to be rescued by a man. I was independent and completely in charge of my own destiny. So, I’d taken matters into my own hands.
My cell phone buzzed again, rattling around on my coffee table. I sighed as my head fell back against the sofa. I’d beautifully handled the situation without Jackson’s help.
Obviously.
One week and several different avoidance tactics later, I was still dealing with my horrible decision. I watched my cell phone light up, notifying me I had three unread text messages.
Didn’t this guy have anyone else to bother?
I grabbed my phone, typed my password in, and pulled up the messages.
Hangin’ at a bar downtown. Wish you were here.
I set the phone back down and shook my head.
No, thanks.
I could only imagine what constituted as a good time for a twenty-three-year-old professional football player—shots lined up down the bar, girls dancing everywhere, and music loud enough to make my ears bleed.
That image alone made me feel as old as the beams holding up my historic house.
The further I stepped away from my college days, the less I found myself needing that type of entertainment. A girls’ night out was different, and I still enjoyed getting tipsy with my friends, but I found myself loving fuzzy socks and paperbacks far more than high heels and body shots these days.
Picking up the phone once again, I sent a quick text, hoping it would sever all communication with Travis, the football player.
Sorry, Travis. Stuck at home with my daughter. She’s only thirteen months old, and she has a cold. Snot is everywhere. Maybe next time?
I snickered as I pressed Send.
That should do it.
Dropping the phone on the coffee table, I decided a bit of fresh air was in order, and I headed out the back door to my patio, immediately feeling the humid warm breeze hit my face. I took a deep breath, wrapping my arms around my chest, my eyes darted from one corner of the yard to the next, chasing fireflies.
“Nice night, isn’t it?”
I looked over to see Jackson standing in a similar position on his patio. His gaze was locked on me.
“It is,” I answered.
“Mind if I join you?”
I began to shake my head, but I realized he probably couldn’t see much of me.
“No, I don’t mind.”
I watched the moonlit silhouette of him move closer to me. He opened the gate that separated our two yards and stepped through. A few moments later, he was at my side.
“Hi,” he said, his smile shining through the darkness.
“Hi. Busy week I guess?” I asked, searching for something to say.
He nodded, rocking back on his heels. “How is the football star?”
No pussyfooting around tonight.
Jackson’s eyes sparked with anger, making his motivation on that field days earlier very apparent.
“Why does he bother you so much?” I asked, stepping closer as my own anger began to rise.
“For the same reasons Don Juan, or whatever his name is, bothers me. Neither of them are good enough for you. And they aren’t me.”
His confession caught me completely off guard, and my anger seeped away.
“And you are good enough?” I asked softly.
His intense gaze met mine, sincerity pouring out of his memorizing stare.
“I’d damn well try to be.”
Like a flash, he was on me—his lips, his hands, and his entire presence. My breath hitched in surprise as my body melted into his, molding around him as if I’d been made to do so.
My mouth opened, and his tongue found mine, caressing and moving together like we were long-lost lovers. His fingers twisted into my hair, pulling me closer. I felt every hard inch of his body pressed against mine.
Holy shit, I am kissing Jackson Reid.
I was making out with my asshole neighbor.
My body went rigid with panic. Feeling the shift in my demeanor, Jackson slowed, pressing sweet kisses to my lips and cheek.
“You’re
pulling away,” he stated.
“Don’t you think we should talk about this?”
His eyebrows rose, but his position didn’t change. His arms remained firmly wrapped around me. “Sure, but don’t pull away from me, Liv.”
“I just need to know, what are we doing, Jackson?” I looked up at him and watched his expression turn mischievous.
“As in right now? Or a couple of minutes ago?”
I playfully slapped his arm, causing him to laugh.
“I mean, in general. This. What is this?” I made a motion that encapsulated the two of us.
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly.
I sighed, slightly stepping back. His playful attitude faltered as his fingers moved up my arms.
“It’s just that I don’t do this well.”
“And what is this?” he asked.
I threw my hands up in frustration. “I don’t know. I thought you would know.”
He laughed. “Then, how do you know you do it so poorly?”
“Because I do. Intimacy and relationships,” I said, nearly shuddering over the words, “I suck at them. I’ve never managed to stay in one longer than a few months.”
“Maybe you’re just dating the wrong guys?”
I looked up at him and smiled. “Maybe.”
“Besides, Liv, so far we’ve only just made out a little on your patio. Lay off the doom and gloom. Aren’t you the therapist? Shouldn’t you be spouting off this ridiculous crap?”
A smirk tugged at the corner of my lips. “You know how they say, Never marry a chef if you love to eat?”
“Uh…no. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone say that.”
“Well, they do,” I said. “And the reason is, chefs rarely cook for themselves. It’s like a housecleaner with the dirtiest house on the block. Didn’t you know counselors are the most screwed-up people of them all?”
He shook his head. “Well, that’s reassuring.”
“I’m kidding—mostly. But you’re right. I’m jumping way ahead of myself. You might not even want to date me,” I said.
“Hold up,” he replied. Stepping forward, he slid his hand around my waist and pulled me tight against him. “I want to date you,” he whispered.
He kissed the nape of my neck, which sent shivers up and down my spine.
“Only you, Liv. Okay?”
