I find a (sort of) clean table by the window and set our trays in the center. True to her word she unwraps each of her tacos and takes a bite, rating them as she goes. I eat my burrito, amused by her system.
“This is weird.” She dunks a chip into a side of guacamole.
“I’m sure guac from Taco Bell is another world from fresh California-made.”
“Not the guac. This.” She gestures between us. “We used to come here in high school. Only it looks different.”
We pause to look around at the brighter colors and splashy advertisements clinging to the windows.
“We went to a lot of places together,” I say. We went to damn near every restaurant and hangout in Columbus during the years we dated. She liked to go out and so did I, so unless we were in each other’s arms minus clothing, we were out.
“In high school this was considered a proper date. This isn’t a date,” she reminds me as the vision of us from before dissipates. She dunks a chip in bright yellow “cheese.”
“No,” I agree. “If this was a date I’d take you somewhere fancy.”
“Really?” One eyebrow curves in interest. “Like where?”
“Like Cooper’s. That’s where I took my last date.”
The chip hovers an inch from her open mouth, surprise coloring her features. Like maybe she’d hoped I stayed single the entire time she was dating Xavier McCormack. She pastes on a blasé expression and dredges the chip into the cheese container again. “A date at Cooper’s. How’d that go?”
I debate for two seconds lying and telling her Kim and I had a torrid affair. But for some reason I shrug and tell her the truth. “Eh. She was okay.”
“You don’t have to spare my feelings. How was she?”
“You mean in bed?”
“Gross.” She reaches for her cup and slurps a blue soft drink from the straw. Talk about gross.
“I didn’t go home with her,” I share, unsure why I’m sharing. Why the hell would I care if Allie believes I slept with Kim?
“You wouldn’t have to tell me if you did.” But her shoulders drop like she’s relieved to hear I didn’t.
“I know. I wouldn’t want to hear about you and”—I wave a hand, unable to say his name aloud—“whoever.”
An uncomfortable silence stretches between us before I pick up her potato taco, which she declared “mediocre,” and take a huge bite. Mid-chew I realize she was wrong.
“Mediocre is too high praise for this,” I say.
I earn a giggle and look over to find her taking a slow perusal of my face and then down to my chest. I pull a hand over my beard, hoping there’s no lettuce hanging from it.
“What’s wrong? Do I have food on my face?”
“No, you just…” An awkward shrug. “Look different than you used to.”
“Oh yeah? How so?” I’m fishing. That last glance held enough heat that I’m not letting it go without having her admit at least part of what she’s thinking.
“Your shoulders are broader.” Her voice is a sultry. “Your chest is wider.”
I grin. Told you it was heated.
“You don’t look thirty-one, but you act it.”
I frown.
“You’re more confident than you used to be. You’re in charge of your own life and it shows.” She breaks the spell by giggling. “I don’t know…is mature the wrong word?”
“Only if you pronounce it muh-tour like my mom does. Then, yeah, it’s the wrong word. Level with me.” I lean in, arms folded on the table. She mirrors my move. “If I asked you on a date, would you say yes?”
Her eyes flare with what might be excitement before shuttering a moment later. Fidgety, she digs through the pile of cast-off tacos in search of a perfect last bite. “Why? Are you wondering how you’re perceived on Tinder?”
“I’m wondering how I’m perceived by you.” It’s an honest statement—as honest as either of us has been so far.
Her tongue wets her bottom lip. She’s stalling.
“I work with ridiculously good-looking guys all the time. I hug them and kiss them. I strip down to my bra and underwear and climb into bed and pretend to have sex with them.”
I recoil. Not what I was going for when I fished for a compliment.
“You’re hotter than any of them.”
She doesn’t look away and I can’t. I’m transfixed by her. Towed in by the honesty she pounded me over the head with. She’s an actress, but I know when Allie is being genuine. She was always genuine when we were together. It’s an easy thing to spot.
“You’re realer and more grounded than any of them, Jax. You know who you are and you don’t give a shit about what anyone thinks of you. It’s very sexy.”
She ends that speech with a cheeky wink that feels a touch disingenuous. Like maybe she spilled the truth beans and wished she could scoop them back into the can.
Hell if my libido knows the difference. I sit a little taller for the rest of the meal.
Chapter 7
After a very long, very dull meeting with my accountant across town—she’s great, but let’s face it, crunching numbers doesn’t do it for me—my phone buzzes from the pocket of my leather bag. Again. I’ve been ignoring it for the last hour during my duller-than-dull meeting. I lift the phone to my ear as I step into the chokingly hot summer air.
“Yes, dear sister. What can I do for you?”
“You’re dating her now?” Julieann asks, droll.
“My…accountant? Candace is fifty-eight and married.”
“No, dummy. Allison! Like, twelve people tagged me in an online post with photos of you and her dining at Taco Bell.”
I’m standing next to my truck, fingers resting on the door’s handle while I absorb what Jules just told me.
“Jackson?”
“No. I mean, yes. We went to lunch after we picked out paint at Lowe’s, but—”
“You’re picking out paint together?”
“Picked up paint,” I correct. “Not picked out paint. She wanted to leave the house. Her mom’s house. It’s paint for her bedroom. Her mom’s bedroom.”
Flustered, I throw my bag onto the passenger seat and climb inside. How do twelve of Julieann’s friends know I was at Taco Bell with Allie?
“Hmm. Well, no harm no foul, I guess. It’s not like the post was anti-Jackson Burke or anything.”
“Okay.” I’m not sure I understand what she’s talking about, but it sounds like good news. In my truck, I put down both windows. “Thank God no one hates me.”
She laughs, knowing I don’t give a shit about what anyone says about me.
“Allie, on the other hand. What a bunch of woman-hating vultures.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, shoot. I have to go. I’m at the dentist and they called my name. Talk later!”
“Jules—” Too late. She’s gone. I wasn’t planning to go to the Murphy house today, but when I pull away from the curb downtown, that’s exactly the direction I point.
* * *
—
At the front door, I knock, then wait. My guys aren’t here. They’ve been working on a bathroom remodel since they finished painting here yesterday. I haven’t seen Allie since our (apparently) notorious lunch.
When I don’t receive an answer, I use the key. Upstairs I find a box fan still blowing on low in the master bedroom. The Soft Ocean Breeze blue paint is dry to the touch, so I shut off the fan and jog downstairs.
Indecisive for a few seconds, I debate looking for Allie or turning around to go. Unable to resist checking on her, I stroll into the kitchen. She’s sitting at the edge of the pool, wet hair trailing down her back, red bikini tied in a bow at her back and on each hip.
My heart does this weird lurch thing, and it’s that as much as my curiosity that propels me outside. A
t the sound of the opening door, she peers over her shoulder, big sunglasses hiding her eyes. Her full lips are unsmiling, her hands gripping the edge of the cement pool while her legs swish back and forth under the water.
“Good day for a swim.”
“The water’s perfect.”
I swipe my forehead, the swamping heat paired with the sight of her in a red bikini making me sweat.
“Get in if you want.” She tilts her head and smiles softly.
“Tempting, but…” I gesture to my jeans and tee. “No suit.”
“Well. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” She bites her lip and slides her sunglasses off her nose. Her lashes lower, taking me in before she winks.
“Don’t tempt me, Mini,” I warn, my voice deep. We share a moment of heat that rivals the temperature out here. I lower my ass onto a nearby patio chair and kick out my legs, squinting at the blaring sun. Damn. That pool would feel great about now.
“Are you here because of the article?” she asks.
“I’m here because my sister told me about an article.” No sense in lying. “I don’t know the details.”
“Allow me to enlighten you.” She pushes off the edge of the pool and lands in water that laps at her breasts.
I’m successful at not staring. Barely. The swell of her breasts and the narrow valley of cleavage between them are burned onto my retinas when I shut my eyes.
“You’re the hot hometown boy I’m rumored to be rebounding with while avoiding Hollywood and my rehabilitation,” she informs me. “Although, now they’re claiming I was ‘binge-eating’ an entire tray of tacos and should ‘probably go to rehab for an eating disorder instead.’ ”
“Jesus.”
“He was mentioned, too, but it wasn’t in that same article. It was a post from a local church extending an invitation to their private rehabilitation facility.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. How does anyone think they have the right to watch what she does and offer their opinion on it?
“That’s fucking ridiculous. You know that, right?”
“The church folk said they wouldn’t charge me. They’ll treat me for free in exchange for a testimonial. Isn’t that sweet?” She doesn’t wait for me to comment before diving beneath the water. She swims one lap and then another. I’m guessing she’s decided I’m dismissed, but I’m not going to allow her to dismiss me. Not again. That’s not what people who are “friendly” do.
Trunks or no, I guess I’m getting in the pool.
I kick off my sneakers and socks, peel off my T-shirt, and by the time I reach for the stud on my jeans, Allison pops out of the water.
“What are you doing?” She smooths her hands over her hair, blinking in what might be alarm.
“You invited me in. It sounded sincere.” I shove my jeans down my legs and her eyes travel over my bare chest and jerk to my black—thank God—boxer briefs before snapping back to my face.
“Jackson.” It’s supposed to be a reprimand, but I can tell she’s not angry. She’s smiling cautiously, and maybe hopefully. Since I possess a healthy amount of male pride, I puff my chest as I walk to the deep end and, forgoing any caution, cannonball in next to her.
When I surface, she’s sputtering and swiping the water off her face and then she splashes me, her smile huge and infectious. I swim to her and grab her wrist to keep her from splashing me again. Kicking underwater, we hover in the deep end, unable or unwilling to pull apart.
“You’re right. This feels good.” My voice is low, my throat tight, since her thin bikini top isn’t leaving much to the imagination.
“The water?” She touches me, but only to swipe the wet hair away from my forehead.
“Sure. The water.” Alarm bells ring in my head at being this close to her while she’s looking at me that way and while we’re both barely clothed. I let go and dive under again, swimming a lap, then two. While I’m down there, I catch a flash of smooth, tanned legs and that itty-bitty bikini bottom. I also notice that my boxers, which are not made for swimming, are failing to hide my reaction to my ex-girlfriend. It’s purely physical and can’t be helped. I’ve needed to have sex for a few months now. Damn me for not taking Kim up on her offer.
I can’t climb out in my current state, so I stand in the shallows, water to my waist. Allie’s underwater, slicing smoothly beneath the surface. She comes up next to me a second later and, arms up, eyes closed, pushes thick, shiny hair from her face.
Groan.
Water trickles off her chin to her chest, and nothing that’s happening right now is helping my problem due south.
“Jax.” She’s laughing. “Seriously?”
Shit. She noticed. Her pretty face blushes, but that grin is going nowhere.
“It’s not my fault. He has a mind of his own and it’s been a while.” I sound slightly defensive, so I do what all men do when they feel uncomfortable. Turn the tables on her. “It’s not fair, either. If you’re feeling a similar…excitement, I have no way of knowing.”
But when a blush works from her neck to her face and she suddenly can’t look at me, I realize I’m wrong. I wade into deeper water to grant myself a much-needed breather.
“What’s a while?” she asks.
“Oh, hell no. This isn’t what friends discuss.”
“We’re friends now?”
“Friendly. Sue me. Stop smiling at me like the Joker. I’m not apologizing for my reaction to your smoking-hot body.” Yep. Playing this aloof. It’s the only way out.
She hums but isn’t done with me yet. “Nope. I still want to know. What’s a while?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug, uncomfortable. “Couple months.” But I do know. Ten weeks, five days. Give or take a few hours.
“Wow. You were telling the truth. You didn’t sleep with your Cooper’s date.”
Discomfort sparks a touch of bitterness and before I mean to, I say something I shouldn’t.
“What about you? Did Xavier give you one last roll in the hay before he turned on you and made you national news?”
Her playful smile vanishes. Regret hits me like a truck.
“Nice.”
“Allie, wait.”
She cuts through the water toward the ladder, but I’m faster. I intercept her, loop my arms around her waist and tow her out to deeper water. Here, she’s forced to hold on to me or tread water to keep herself afloat. She doesn’t move away from me, resting her hands on my shoulders. I skim my fingers along her baby-soft skin. There’s enough space separating us that we could avoid kissing if we wanted to, but with her taking up most of my vision I can’t think of a single reason not to put my lips on hers.
I lean in as she softens and comes closer. A breath away from touching my mouth to hers, she whispers my name.
“Jackson.” Followed by not the best news I’ve heard today. “We can’t.”
“We can,” I insist. I earn a smile for that. She wraps her arms around my neck. Water drips off my beard and runs down my neck as I hover there with Allison Murphy hugging me tight. It’s beyond testing boundaries at this point. It’s an out-and-out dare. “We should.”
“Should!” she repeats on a nervous laugh. “We have some seriously bad history suggesting we shouldn’t.”
“We’re not who we used to be, Mini. Who says we can’t kiss and go back to being friendly tomorrow?”
“Um. Everyone on the planet? Didn’t you watch Friends with Benefits?”
“No. Did you?”
“Mm-hmm. I was at the premiere. Sat two rows behind Justin Timberlake.”
“Bragging is uncool.”
She drags a finger along my beard as her gold-flecked eyes search mine…I have no idea what she sees, but she must’ve found what she was looking for. She shocks me with a gentle kiss on the center of my mouth. I haul her against
me with one arm, her breasts smashing against my chest underwater, her legs twining around my waist. I tread faster in a clumsy attempt to keep us afloat.
“I’m going to drown us if I’m not careful,” she purrs.
“Careful’s overrated.”
“So am I.” In a blink, warm, cozy Allie leaves the building. Now I’m left with calm, cool, collected, famous Allie. Not my favorite version. “Sorry for blurring the lines, Burke.”
I frown when she uses my last name. She’s never done that. That’s reserved for guys like Barrett or my employees. Distant people. Allie may have been distant when she first returned, but she changed that thirty seconds ago.
She escapes this time, climbing out of the pool to grab a towel. Rather than watch in envy at the water rivulets trickling down her legs and body, I turn and do a lap. Then another. I keep going until I’m out of breath. When I finally haul myself to the side to rest and catch my breath, Allie’s gone and her towel is drip-drying on the fence.
Chapter 8
The good news: the lumber arrived. The bad news: the dipshit who delivered it dropped it off at the side of the driveway. Now I have to haul it—yes, all of it—from the front yard to the side yard. The deck is being extended from the small one on the second floor to the ground floor. That way, Cheryl can walk out of her bedroom via the patio door and then down the stairs to the pool.
I don’t bother going inside when I arrive at the Murphy house. It’s been three days since the swimming-pool kiss, and thanks to the delay of this delivery there was no reason for me to come over any sooner than today.
Boards over my shoulder, I make umpteen trips from driveway to side yard until the stacks have been transported. Could’ve used Tommy’s help, but he’s working on a project at a senior center. If this schedule keeps up—with jobs booking on top of jobs—I’m going to have to hire more guys. As it is, I make do with myself, Daryl, and Tommy, and no assistant.
My phone rings. It’s a client I called yesterday to ask why he didn’t pay me for a job I completed over a month ago. I have no office help—hell, no office—so I make my own collections calls also. I punch the speaker button as I wander back around to the front.
America's Sweetheart Page 5
