America's Sweetheart

by Jessica Lemmon

  “Jackson Burke,” I answer.

  “Hey, Jackson, this is Cecil Douglas…”

  I drop the tailgate of my truck and hoist my ass onto it, listening as Cecil tells me a story about how his family vacation was more costly than he expected and his twenty-two-year-old daughter is getting married.

  “Congratulations.” I lie back, eyes on the blue sky. It’s gorgeous today. Eighty-four degrees and sunny with an occasional white puffy cloud gliding by on a soft breeze.

  “Thank you.” Cecil clears his throat. “My payment will be delayed, Jackson. I’m sure you understand. I will probably be able to give you a partial payment in a month, but then we’ll see what happens.”

  Don’t you love how he’s trying to make this my problem? What a crock of shit.

  “If you don’t pay me in full, Cecil,” I reply calmly, “I’m going to come to where you work and tear out your new office wall by wall.”

  Silence.

  “You there?”

  “Mr. Burke, listen…” His nice-guy attitude shifts into frustration.

  “You’re a lawyer. How long do you let your clients go without paying you?”

  No response.

  “I understand unexpected bills, but mine is one you expected. You didn’t need your office remodeled. You wanted it to impress your partner and bring on higher-paying clients. Now that I’ve done my part, you owe me for my work. It’s simple. I do the job. You pay me what I’m worth. And in your case, less than what I’m worth, since you talked me down in price a thousand bucks.”

  I drop my arm over my eyes as I listen to him rail at me for my “insolent” attitude. What a dick. Finally, he agrees to send me the money tomorrow—in full, but he doesn’t sound happy about it. I don’t care if he’s happy or not.

  “Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Douglas. If you call me for future jobs, I’m going to ask for payment up front.”

  “Don’t worry. This is the last time you’ll hear from me.” He clicks off and I sigh audibly.

  “Promises, promises,” I say to myself, surprised when I hear a soft feminine voice to my left.

  “Harsh.”

  I move my arm from my eyes to find Allie leaning on the edge of the bed of my truck.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure my parents pay you.”

  “They already did.” I sit up and scoot to the edge of the tailgate. “I gave that guy a chance to pay me. He chose not to. I give customers a fair shot but once they show their true colors, I’m done.”

  “Once bitten and all that?”

  My gaze lingers on her as I consider the weight of that statement where we’re concerned. “Something like that.”

  “Well, you did the work you promised and then he broke the promise to pay you. I assume he liked the office you built him?”

  “No complaints until the bill arrived.” She looks pretty today. No surprise there. She’s looked pretty every day I’ve seen her. Allie maneuvers around the side of the truck and stands closer. She’s watching me carefully, like there’s a question she wants to ask that has nothing to do with what I do for a living.

  “What’s up, Mini?”

  Because we know each other, she understands I’m not asking as a conversational throwaway.

  “I’ve thought about that kiss every day since it happened.”

  Yeah, so have I. I don’t tell her that, though.

  “That so?” I ask.

  She nods. “I shouldn’t have—”

  I hook my finger into one of the belt loops of her shorts and pull her near. She lets out a small squeak and then smiles. Now she’s between my legs, her palms on my thighs, her dark eyes wide with surprise…or anticipation.

  I hope it’s anticipation.

  “It happened,” I remind her. “There’s nothing to regret.”

  Twin imprints of heat sit beneath her hands. Heat that’s working its way from my legs to my lap.

  “Have you…thought about it?”

  “Can’t,” I tell her. “Unless I want to walk around with a twenty-four-hour erection.”

  Her mouth drops open but the expression on her face isn’t offense. Her top lip is curved in amusement. I want to kiss her so badly I can taste it.

  “Want another go?” I ask, ignoring my own good sense. Getting in deep with this girl isn’t only a bad idea, it has a track record that’s proven.

  She lifts an eyebrow. “Have you been drinking?”

  “Not yet. You?”

  “I poured a glass of white wine when you pulled in but only had a sip or two while I watched you work.”

  “You watched me work?” My turn to be amused.

  The air sizzles between us, hotter than the summer sun and suggesting that she wasn’t watching only out of mere curiosity but with a healthy dose of attraction.

  “And you didn’t offer to help.” I shake my head and she laughs. It’s like earning a prize. My hands on her waist, I pull her closer.

  The blaring alarm inside of me is as loud as before, but having her near mutes the sound. It’s like I’m in a room and I can see the flashing red lights and people running frantically for the exit outside of the soundproof glass, but I’m in a bubble. That’s what she always did for me. Calmed the noise.

  I believe in what I can see, hear, smell, taste, and touch. I think that’s why we had such a difficult time maintaining a long-distance relationship. Talking to her on the phone was only part of the sensory experience of Allison Murphy. I needed it all.

  “Mini.” My voice is a croak of defeat.

  Her slight shoulders lift as she sucks in a breath. I wait a beat, not asking for permission but definitely looking for a sign that I’m not completely out in left field alone. When her lips part and her gaze flits to my mouth, I know I’m not.

  One gentle tug is all it takes to bring her mouth to mine. Her hands go to my shoulders, then wrap around my neck. She’s not as close as she was in the pool, which means she’s blissfully unaware of the chubby stirring to life in my pants. This kiss is less surprise attack and more leisurely exploration. The way her tongue finds mine and strokes, testing. Tasting. The way her fingers tickle my scalp. I slant my head to deepen the kiss and she returns it with vigor.

  She starts to pull away but I grunt in disagreement, continuing the kiss as long as she lets me. When she pulls away her pupils are lust-blown black.

  “Some things never change,” she whispers.

  Ah, hell. That got me.

  The alarm isn’t blaring any longer. My sense of self-preservation left the building when she put her lips on mine just now. Don’t get me wrong. I want to give a shit about how we shouldn’t do this again. I just…don’t.

  “I don’t know what to do, Jax.”

  “I have a few really great ideas.” We smile at each other, both liking the sound of that. Both knowing that going back to the way it was is impossible and not caring. Of all the things we did in the past, being naked together was the one area we never had to work on.

  She shakes her head but not like she’s telling me no, more like she knows she’s going to say yes and can’t believe it.

  “This is such a bad time to start something,” she tells me.

  “We’re not starting anything.” It’s true. We’re not. “I’m not going to pretend we have something lasting.”

  Her head jerks at my blunt statement, but I’ve never lied to Allie and I’m not starting now.

  “Then what’s the point?” She cocks her head, genuinely curious.

  Fuck if I know. I’m acting on instinct not reason. I shake my head, unable to give her an answer.

  “Are you offering to be my rebound?”

  At the inference of Xavier McCormack, I stiffen—and not in the fun place. My spine is unyielding steel.

  “You can’t convinc
e me that you dated that guy for any reason other than convenience.”

  “What he and I had was real,” she says, but it sounds like there’s a question mark at the end of that sentence. Like she’s challenging me to challenge her.

  So I do. Happily.

  My lips brushing hers, I say, “Bullshit.”

  “How can you be so sure?” she whispers before she nips my bottom lip and sends a bolt of pure lust through my gut.

  “You don’t have to pretend with me.” Continuing the torture, I slide my lips over hers but don’t give her the kiss we both want. “You don’t have to be anyone else with me, Allison.”

  She must’ve liked hearing that. She smothers the rest of my speech with her plush lips and like that, we’re making out again. In the driveway, my ass on the tailgate of the truck and hers under my seeking palms. I give her butt a brief squeeze before I wrap my arms around her. A nosy neighbor could be photographing this for TMZ, and while I like the idea of us kissing making headlines (Fuck you, McCormack), I won’t give them what they want.

  Me, on the other hand…There are a few things I want. Badly. But this isn’t the time or place.

  Kiss over, Allie licks her bottom lip, her eyes sinking shut with what I can only assume is regret. Hell, I don’t want her to regret anything. I’m not sure this is a good idea for either of us despite what my hard-on thinks.

  “Say the word, Mini.” I sweep her hair behind her ear. “We’ll forget this happened.”

  She tilts her head in a yeah, right fashion.

  I laugh, unable to own my offer. “Fine. I didn’t mean it.”

  She hums, a cute little that’s what I thought sound. She can tell me “I told you so” all damn day. As long as the kissing doesn’t stop.

  “Come out with me tonight.” So much for backtracking.

  “And face the wrath of the press and Millie’s worldwide fan club?” She chokes on a laugh. “No thanks.”

  “In a bar in Little Town?” I shake my head. “No one will care who you are where we’ll go. They’re a bunch of hardworking, blue-collar, unimpressed-by-Hollywood barflies.”

  “How, Jackson Burke, are you the only man alive who can make that sound appealing?” Thoughtful, she adds, “Who can make anything sound appealing?”

  I suspect there’s an answer neither of us wants to explore too deeply. Something about the connection we had when we were younger, or worse—about a future we would’ve had if she’d never left for California.

  I pat her ass and slide off the truck, shutting the tailgate with a slam. Putting distance between us seems the best course of action. From the edge of the driveway I tell her, “You have a few hours to think about it.”

  And then I walk around the side of the house and focus on work.

  Chapter 9

  Allie came with me to Corner Store, which is not a corner store but the bar I invited her to earlier today. As promised, several blue-collar guys hovering over their beers decorate the joint.

  Exposed wooden beams hold up the ceiling and unleveled stone floors make the place feel like England in the 1800s. The sturdy wooden chairs with spindled backs that ring the tables are beaten and worn from use, but in all the right places. Kind of like the patrons.

  I’ve been here roughly two million times. I started coming out with my co-workers when I worked for my dad, shortly after Allie and I went kaput. They gave me unholy hell about “moping” over my ex-girlfriend and I let them goad me into coming. The main draw of this place is that it’s not a hookup scene. When I don’t feel like dealing with the bullshit of charming a chick, this is where I show up.

  Tonight, that ex-girlfriend is at my side. The only woman here besides Allie is the bartender. Beverly is sixty, with brutally short dark hair and stud earrings ringing one ear. She welcomes us with “Hey, Jax!” when I walk through the door. A few of the guys I’ve chatted with over the years give me a subtle nod or an outright wave, but at a glance I don’t see any of the guys from Dad’s company. Just as well. I promised Allie she’d avoid scrutiny here.

  “Who would’ve pictured you as a barfly?” she asks, stepping slightly closer to me. This isn’t her crowd, so she doesn’t need to worry. No one is pulling out a smartphone to snap a photo of us together and sell it to the highest bidder. But that doesn’t mean that most of the guys in this place aren’t checking her out. She’s hard not to stare at, and it has nothing to do with how famous she is. She’s wearing a ball cap, her long dark ponytail sticking out the back and curling at the ends. Her pink shorts reveal tanned legs that end in white sneakers with low socks. Her T-shirt is soft looking and clingy. She’s so fucking cute you can’t resist a second look.

  We choose a table and order wings and mozzarella sticks. Bev delivers two bottles of beer and eyes Allison for a prolonged, silent beat. Recognition sparks in Bev’s eyes and Allie, being a pro, is aware of it and offers a tight smile.

  “Nice of you to come in and see us,” Bev says meaningfully, then with a nod leaves us be.

  “She recognized you,” I tell Allie.

  “I guess? She didn’t react the way I expected.” Beneath the bill of her cap, her eyes are shadowed.

  “She’s cool.”

  “I guess I forgot what Little Town was like.”

  “We are a simple folk.” That earns me a small smile. I take a pull from my beer bottle.

  “Thanks. For inviting me out. I’m sure you have better ways to spend your evening.” She examines the label on her Miller Lite, decides there’s nothing to learn from it, and lifts it to her lips.

  “Lame.”

  “What’s lame?” She frowns at her beer.

  “That comment, Mini. Super lame. Don’t act like you’re not worthy of my time. Or like you’re putting me out. It’s lame.”

  Her face pinches before she admits, “I’ve been needy lately. It won’t happen again.”

  That sizzle is back. It’s simmering in the background but it’s there. I keep reassuring myself that I’m a grown man now, and I won’t be towed in by her like I was when I was sixteen.

  I’m no longer sixteen. I don’t follow my dick around like it’s motorized and speeding away from me in high gear. It’s also no longer attached to my heart. That’s the purpose of early relationships—learning that the dick-to-heart strings never should’ve been tied together in the first place. Once you sever those, dating is easier.

  “What is it that you need, Mini?” I tip my bottle again. “Specifically.”

  She bites the flesh of her bottom lip before answering me. “I thought this wasn’t a date.”

  “It isn’t.”

  “Then why are you flirting with me?”

  “I can’t help it.” Where she’s concerned, I have two modes: arguing with her and making out with her. I prefer the latter. I severed those dick-to-heart strings a long time ago. And yeah, I may have broken my number one rule when I kissed her—and let her kiss me—but I’m capable of kissing her without becoming too involved.

  Compartmentalizing. It’s a guy thing.

  Though, now that I’m thinking about it…maybe she’s thinking the same way.

  “Talk to me,” I invite.

  “About?” She glances around and smiles sweetly when Harry—the old guy in the booth—waves in a non-lecherous way. He’s a nice guy. She’s right to smile back.

  “Why’d you come out with me tonight?”

  “I needed to leave the house…” I hear the ellipses but she clams up.

  “The only reason was cabin fever?”

  “That and because you asked. I haven’t seen much of Columbus since I moved. Whenever I visit here for holidays, I stick close to family.”

  “You didn’t keep any friends from Columbus.”

  She shakes her head. “I didn’t have many girlfriends who lasted past high school, and by the time I was
in college I spent all my time with my weird roommate and…”

  I know the rest before she says it.

  “And you.”

  I nod. We were each other’s worlds back then.

  “When I went to California, everyone kind of dropped off. I became more and more well-known because of the show and then I heard from some old friends. It was obvious they wanted something from me. My attention mostly. A few of them wanted cash.”

  “Seriously?” I can’t imagine a single scenario that would involve me contacting an old buddy of mine who’d made it big and asking for money.

  “It’s exhausting trying to ferret out who’s talking to you because they genuinely like you and who wants something from you. It’s easier to keep everyone at a distance if you’re not sure you can trust them. Being famous is weird. People treat you like this…ethereal being. A real-life genie in a bottle.”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been revered.”

  “Now who’s being lame?”

  “You heard that phone call today. Mostly people say thanks and pay me or say thanks and don’t pay me.” I polish off my beer in record time and Bev nods when I hold up the empty as a request for a refill. “Besides, I don’t think that’s real.”

  “What’s not real?”

  “The fame. It’s an illusion. They might want something from you, but they can’t take what you don’t give them.”

  “I don’t have to give what they ask for, but trust me, the things they ask for have a way of taking a part of me.”

  “What things?”

  “Money. Autographs. Photos.” She shrugs. “I’ve been offered sex. I’ve been asked to prom. I’ve received invitations to weddings and retirement parties and one bar mitzvah.”

  “Sex?” And I thought people asking for money was unbelievable.

  “People I don’t even know. More offers than you want to hear about. Guys are creepy.”

  “No shit.” I’m creeped out hearing about it.

  “Fame is very real. What makes it real is the way everyone else behaves. I can pretend it doesn’t matter and that I’m the same old Allie from Columbus, Ohio, but the fact remains that some people have no boundaries. They approach me like we’re old friends—like they know me because of the character I play on the show. Or worse. They believe I am the character I play on the show. I’ve been called Samantha more than Nina.”