by Kristy Marie
Or maybe she’s just good at disguising her facial expressions.
The jury is still out, but either way, I let her look. I let her touch. I let her see me. The real me. No asshole. No Major Jameson. Just … Cade.
I turn and meet her eyes. She’s watching me. Waiting for my reaction to her touch. For pushing at my boundaries. The fight wanes and I don’t have the heart to stop her. I don’t want to stop her.
So I give her a sad smile.
She doesn’t smile back or say anything. Instead, she drags her fingers from my forehead, over my eyes. They drift closed out of instinct, but I keep them closed, looping my hand under her thigh, holding her close. We stay under the sun, listening to the birds chirp and the fish surface from the pond for what seems like hours, the pain in my head waning with each caress of her fingers as she traces random shapes and letters along my back. And I swear she spells out mine.
“Major Jameson.” Breck pops her head in my office a week later, being a total tease by calling me Major Jameson. The sound of her addressing me as major does things to my dick. Things my dick should not be doing right now. Like getting hard under my desk.
“There’s a man out here. He says he has an appointment with you.” She relays the message, the scent of roses wafting in from the lotion I know she uses every single day.
“He says his name is Kane. That’s a cool name …” She trails off, staring at one of the books on my bookcase. I track her eyes and see she’s staring at my newly acquired comic book of Thor. I don’t know what possessed me to buy it. I don’t read comic books, and frankly, I don’t know if I agree that Thor is the best superhero like she does, but I was curious and had already paid for it by the time I stopped and processed what I was doing.
Breck smiles, turning back. “He’s kind of hot, too.”
You have got to be kidding me. Why must all the women in this house be so damn aggravating?
“The potential recruit?” I confirm that the hot man we are talking about is the one out in the foyer.
She nods, flashing me a secret smirk before slipping her finger between her teeth.
In another life I would demand she come over here and fix the situation she’s teasing in my pants. A slow, aggressive blow job underneath my desk would definitely be better than thinking thoughts of my grandma in a bikini to solve the tenting going on right now.
“He seems pissed.”
Wait, what?
“Who seems pissed?”
She tips her head, indicating the person in the hallway. “Kane.”
Right. Kane Kurtzman. A new recruit Anniston scouted in New York during a Mavericks baseball game. Recently wounded and honorably discharged from the United States Marine Corps three months ago. Anniston said he was having a hard time adjusting to civilian life and thought we could help him.
Her text asked me to feel him out and see if I thought he would be a good fit for the family. Apparently, he intrigued her enough for her to hand him a bus ticket to the plantation. Normally, we like to take guys from our own community. God knows we have enough homeless veterans in this small town to last us a lifetime, but we have to be selective since we aren’t able to take veterans with too many psychological needs. Anniston sends all of us to a psychologist occasionally but we don’t have one here on staff.
Theo’s text went a little differently. His said, “What an asswipe. I hope you hate him as much as I do.”
Although Kane’s file is impeccable—he’s a highly decorated soldier and had just become a Gunnery Sergeant before he was injured—there are several memorandums by his superiors, most of which are for not following orders and being aggressive with his teammates. I like to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, like Anniston, but after Theo’s text and reviewing this guy’s file, I’m not sure he’s right for us.
“Tell him I’ll be with him in a minute,” I tell Breck, trying not to look at the cheerleader shorts she has on today.
“Okay, I’ll let him know.” She closes the door behind her and I hear her relaying my message.
I flip through his file one more time before raking my hands through my hair and willing myself to focus. I’m trying not to think about Breck dancing in the kitchen this morning, humming out some rap song she didn’t even know the words to. She kept inserting the word watermelon when she didn’t know the exact phrasing. I don’t know why I find it so endearing but I do. I stood there like a total stalker, watching her sway her hips before dropping into a squat and popping her butt in and out in those goddamned gym shorts that make me think inappropriate thoughts.
I wanted to stand behind her. I wanted her to grind on me and stop the ache in my jeans. I wanted her to build friction until I came inside my pants. But I did none of those things. I watched her until the song ended and she took a bow to the stove, stirring the grits she was making, then I bolted to my bedroom and jerked my dick twice to the image of me sliding in between those delicious cheeks that hung out of those tiny pink shorts of hers.
I’m going to hell.
And now my dick is hard again, a constant reminder that Breck is still here and not at the orchard where she belongs.
Giggling pulls me from my self-loathing and I stand, heading for the door. This motherfucker better keep his hands to himself. We have a strict policy on women in this house. It’s not upheld most of the time, but we still have one, damn it. Kane hasn’t even been accepted, and he’s already on my shit list. Maybe Theo is right this time. I think I already hate him for making Breck laugh.
Get a grip, Cade. He made her laugh, he didn’t fuck her against the coat rack.
I wrench open the door anyway, already annoyed. “Gunnery Sergeant Kurtzman, you can come in now.”
My first impression of Kane as he pulls his head back from Breck is: No.
No, he will not mesh well with us.
No, he will not be around Anniston and Breck, or just Anniston when Breck goes home for good.
He’s trouble, the cigarette behind his ear and the angry glare he sends my way all but spelling it out for me. Never mind that his entire body, save for his face, is decorated in tattoos. He looks like special forces but I don’t recall seeing that in his file.
“It was nice meeting you, B,” he says, winking playfully at her like they share a bond or something in the five minutes they spent together. Breck fucking giggles when he takes her hand and kisses it.
Oh, hell no.
“That will be all, Brecklyn.” I dismiss her like I’m the master and she’s my submissive.
Stop thinking sexy shit, Jameson!
The sharp intake of breath and the hurt in her eyes makes me instantly feel like a jackass. Why did I say that? She’s not my secretary or my servant. She’s become my friend, and I let jealousy really fuck up the progress we’ve made.
Breck gives Kane a sweet smile before curtsying and spewing sarcasm back at me. “Yes, sir. As you wish.”
Why does it feel like I’ve been shot?
I open my mouth to apologize, but she turns away and sprints off without another word. Kane, on the other hand, looks as though he could punch me in the face and not feel bad about it at all.
“You Major Jameson?” he spits, sizing me up with a cold look.
“I am,” I say, not sparing him another look but instead opening my office door wider, inviting him in. His steps are slow, and his face contorts in pain as he takes a few measured strides before stopping and taking a labored breath.
“Do you need assistance?”
Not that I really want to help him. I feel like the tension is high, and after the scene with B, I can already tell he doesn’t like me. But I’ve been in his shoes before, and the days following discharge when you have no schedule, no orders, can be hard to manage. You’re angry at everyone and everything. That’s why what we have here at the McCallister Jameson Foundation can be a lifesaver for veterans.
“No,” he grits out between breaths. “I don’t need your fucking help.”
I shru
g like I don’t give a shit either way and have a seat at my desk, waiting for him to take the last remaining steps into my office before taking the seat across from me in one of the wingback chairs.
“What’s the extent of your injuries?” I ask, not looking at his file but rather the pain etched on his face.
He belts out a laugh that borders on evil. “My injury, Major Dick, is that I only have one leg.”
“Do you suffer from phantom pain?” It says in his file he was caught in gunfire and could not get to the extraction point for two days. The muscles in his leg deteriorated from the lack of blood flow and the doctors had no other option but to remove it. His story—and the fact he called me a dick—has me staring at his right leg as he massages his knee where I assume a prosthetic is attached.
Fucking Anniston. No wonder she was enchanted. Not only does she have a thing for assholes but rehabilitation is her specialty.
“No,” he lies, meeting me in a defiant glare.
I think we can add denial to his file.
“I see,” I mutter, chewing on the end of the pencil I was using for notes.
Kane makes an exaggerated sigh that makes me want to toss the baseball paperweight at him, aiming straight for the sneer on his face. “Let’s get one thing straight, Sergeant Kurtzman. You will address me as Major Jameson. Not Cade. Not dick.”
Kane’s eyes draw up slowly as he evens me with another look of contempt, but I keep going. If there is one thing I know how to do, it’s earn respect. No one, and I mean no one, will talk down to me.
“Even if I no longer serve in the Corps,” I drawl, glaring at the ass in front of me, “I am still a Marine and I will be respected.” Kane narrows his eyes and I continue, “We have a hierarchy here. Those who fail to respect it will be terminated from our program.”
Kane scoffs and mumbles, “Whatever,” under his breath.
I stand up, looming over my desk, restraining myself from jumping over it and taking this asshole by the throat. In a voice calmer than I feel, I ask professionally, “Did Anniston tell you about the program here?”
The mention of Anniston’s name softens him a bit. “She said” —he chuckles a little—“that she could help me as long as I submit.” He smiles at the memory, and I groan. Of course she phrased it that way. No wonder Theo already hates him.
I straighten and smooth down my shirt. “What she meant by submission is by following the rules of our program and submitting to her training regime. If you can’t do that, then you will not be admitted to the program. So far,” I droll on, watching as he kneads his thigh. I’m not even sure he’s aware he’s doing it. “You don’t seem to be very receptive to following rules.”
His glare reminds me of that damn X-Men movie Breck was watching last night where the guy shot red beams from his eyes. Fuck. Her superhero shit is wearing off on me.
“Listen, douche.” He stands awkwardly in front of the chair. “If dealing with assholes like you on a daily basis is part of the plan, I think I’ll pass. I was doing your commander a favor by indulging her. She was quite insistent that I come speak with you, but clearly she thinks more of you than she should.”
I clench the desk before I do something crazy like beat the fuck out of him and bloody my nice chair. Kane laughs, perceptive that he’s managed to get under my skin.
“I’ll show myself out. Thank your fine-ass commander for me.” The growl that comes from my own chest fills the small office with a promise of a fight if he keeps running his fucking mouth. He only chuckles and opens the door. “Tell her thanks but no thanks. I’m nobody’s bitch.”
By the grace of God, I let him walk out of the house in one piece and immediately text Theo.
You’re right. He is an asshole.
I quickly get a response back. Told you. Do I need to send acid to dispose of his remains or did you do the right thing again?
His ridiculous text makes me laugh. I let him leave voluntarily. Please keep Anniston busy so she doesn’t send more of his type down here.
Will do, Major Pain-in-the Ass. Have you gotten your dick wet yet?
Immediately, I’m brought back to the reality of being mean to Breck moments ago. Goodbye, Theo.
You can say you miss me. I won’t screenshot it and post it on Twitter.
Sure he wouldn’t. Not that I ever would admit to such a crazy thing.
You can thank me on your knees when you get home. Your position as reigning asshole king is still intact. You’re welcome.
I knew you loved me.
I don’t respond after that. I have apologies to dole out and I’m starting with the pissed off brunette who is tossing dishes extra hard into the sink.
I ease behind Breck, careful to stand to the side so that my balls are out of the way in case she feels the need to take me down a notch. I’ll admit, addressing her like hired help was an asshole move. I’ve only ever been jealous once in my life and that was over Anniston. The old Cade had no problem sampling women like an appetizer tray. There was never a need to order the entrée when you could get full on the appetizers alone. Being jealous is a fairly new concept to me.
And I don’t care for it.
“I’m sorry,” I drawl out slowly, allowing the southern twang to coat my words. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way.”
Breck slaps the faucet handle with her palm and whips around to face me. “No, you shouldn’t have. You acted like a major dick.”
My temple throbs with the start of a headache. Dealing with Kane and now Breck is taking its toll. I wish she would sit down so I could close my eyes and nap for a bit. Sleeping next to her has been heaven and hell. I still dream, but I feel her soothing presence fighting alongside me. She is a warrior. A hero like she obsesses over. But I’ll never tell her that because I’m a coward.
“You’re right. It was a dick move,” I tell her, carefully placing my hands on her shoulders. “Let me make it up to you,” I plead, rubbing up and down her upper arms. I don’t want her to be mad at me. “I’ll do anything you want to do.”
Breck pulls back to look up at me. “Anything?”
My word vomit is coming around to bite me in the ass. My eyes narrow, my lips pursing as I rack my brain for a way out of this without hurting her feelings again. “Let me amend my offer,” I say with a smile, hoping to soften the blow. “I’ll do anything within reason.”
There. Maybe she will take the implied no sex or any nakedness, even though my dick wants to.
“I want to play a game.” She’s excited and bouncing under my palms, her smoke colored eyes alight with eagerness. I groan because I hate playing fucking games. Unless it’s a sport. The guys and I routinely have football and baseball games when we’re all here. Sports are one thing we all can agree on.
But Breck is a free spirit and I’m guessing she doesn’t want to play a game of touch football. “What kind of game do you have in mind?”
Her top lip curls into a cocky smirk and I know I’m going to regret this moment forever. “Madden. On the Xbox. Mano y mano.” She taps her chest like some kind of barbarian and I can’t help but laugh at her ridiculous proposition.
“You want to play against me on the Xbox?” I chuckle ever so lightly, “Football?”
Breck grins, her head bobbing with each question. “Are you scared, Major?”
This girl.
A grin tugs at the corner of my lips and I quickly raise my hand to cover it, biting my knuckles to keep from laughing out loud. “You’re on,” I agree under my hand. “Care to up the ante and make it interesting?”
Her head tilts to the side as she studies me. “Okay.”
Okay? That was easy. I eye her and roll my wrist, encouraging her to speak her terms.
“If I win, you stop asking to take me home every night,” she proposes softly.
Really? Out of everything she could ask for she wants me to stop being a prick and offering her a ride home?
Amateur.
“And if you win—”
<
br /> I cut her off. “No, sweetheart, that’s not how betting works. You don’t get to pick what I get if I win.”
Breck rolls her eyes. “Can I finish?”
I wave her on and she clears her throat, looking oddly nervous. “If you win, I’ll take you up on that ride home.”
It feels like I’ve been shot.
My lungs freeze and I can’t breathe.
I stand in the kitchen, frozen and speechless when she puts me on the spot. “Do we have a deal, Major Jameson?”
My brain is fist pumping me and screaming out, “Fuck yeah.” But my gut … my gut and maybe my chest feels like I’m about to puke. I know I ask her every day if I can offer her a ride home, but at this point, it’s more like a running joke. I’ve grown used to her dancing and annoying little quips. Honestly, I look forward to annoying her every morning when I come down for breakfast.
“Do we have a deal, Major?”
Her stare is challenging and I know this is monumental. This bet is her subtle way of seeing if we’ve called a truce and are friends. And really, I think we have. But there’s still that pesky hope in her eyes and I can’t afford to have a clinger.
So I take one for team Jameson.
It’s going to hurt, but it’s for our own good. I don’t need a woman in my life, ever again.
“You have a deal.”
I extend my hand for Breck to shake and I have the awful privilege of watching her face fall with my acceptance. She wanted me to counter.
I failed her, and if that doesn’t make me feel like the biggest piece of shit on the planet then I don’t know what else will.
With a deep breath and a forced smile, Breck takes my hand and shakes it. “We have a deal, then.”
We sure do. And it fucking sucks.
“Suck on that, Major!” she yells, bouncing up and down next to me.
“Touchdown!”
Breck is a beast on the Xbox. A far cry from what I had expected from a girl. Anniston plays with us sometimes but she never wins. But Breck is kicking my fucking ass six ways from Sunday without even trying hard. Someone hustled me.
