by J. L. White
“Hey Ashley, babe,” I say, buttoning the top button and zipping the zipper.
She blinks at me as I pick up my shirt and pull it on. Sam comes out of the closet wearing her black, silk robe and looking flustered. It’s cute as hell.
“I have a meeting,” I say, approaching Ashley, who’s still blinking at me, speechless. “I gotta run.” I give her a kiss on the cheek.
“Uh, bye,” she says, glancing at Sam.
I turn to Sam, who’s gathered some composure and is trying to play it cool. “As for you.” I grab her around the waist, snake my other hand into the back of her hair, and plant a kiss full on the mouth.
She makes a little sound of protest and her fist goes to my chest, like she’s going to push me away. Half a heartbeat later, she softens in my arms and lets me hold her close. God, I love making this woman melt, even though I know it’s against her will.
Oh hell, who am I kidding? Especially because it’s against her will.
I pull back and she sways a bit. I hold her by her upper arms so she can catch her balance. Score one for the Jack-meister.
When I cast around for my shoes, I notice Ashley gaping at us, her mouth a big “O.” My shoes are by the closet—I don’t even remember taking them off—so I hop over and pick them up. This gives me a chance to pass Sam on my way out. I give her a grin and a firm slap on the ass. She jumps and scowls at me. “See you later, sexy. Bye, Ashley.”
Ashley’s grinning widely now. “Bye, Jack.”
Just before I leave the room, I see Ashley spin toward Sam, wearing a gleeful expression.
I bound out the front door to discover it’s the most beautiful day Central California has ever seen.
Chapter 19
Sam
Ashley’s grinning at me like the Cheshire cat just ate the fucking white rabbit. “I knew it,” she says.
I groan and drop my head in my hands. After the night I just had, I’m spinning and need a soft place to land. I don’t know if I can handle all this glee.
She laughs—laughs—then says, “I know this wasn’t part of your life plan, but try not to freak out too badly.”
“I’m not freaking out.”
“Uh-huh.”
“But I do need to get ready for work,” I say, scowling. “Don’t you have someplace to be?”
“Yeah,” she says, but she doesn’t move and she’s still smiling at me.
“For god’s sake, what?”
“Don’t I get any details?”
“You want details? Are you crazy?”
“Well, I don’t need you to tell me if he’s hung or anything.”
“Ashley!”
“Because we already know he is.”
“Wait. Say what?” What the hell? “Have you been checking out Jack’s package?”
“Uh, it’s kinda hard to miss, and it’s not like you’ve never noticed either.”
I’m shaking my head firmly. I hardly know what to think about having this kind of conversation with Ashley. Isabella, maybe. Chloe, sure. But Ashley?
“I thought we’d all talked about it,” she says thoughtfully, in the same tone of voice someone might say, “Hmm, I wonder what the weather’s going to be like tomorrow?”
“You people are talking about it?”
“I thought for sure you were there for that conversation.” She gives me an incredulous look. “Wait,” she says seriously. “You’ve really never looked at Jack’s package?” She’s giving me that weird look again. Like she understands something about me I don’t. “You look at everyone’s package. If I had a package, you’d be checking it out.”
“You’ve got a nice rack,” I say, hoping to deflect the conversation because I don’t think I like where it’s going.
She crosses her arms and puts one finger to her mouth, thinking. “That’s so weird. It’s almost like... something in you knew Jack was the one for you, so you just wouldn’t go there in your mind at all.”
I blink. Is that what it was?
Wait, whoa, whoa, whoa. Who said anything about The One?
“Wow,” she says. “Jack’s busted through a pretty big barrier, hasn’t he?”
Never mind. She understands something about me I understand just fine. “Ya think?”
“Are you okay?”
“No, I’m freaking the fuck out.”
She’s back to laughing again, though it’s more gently this time. “It’s okay, Sam. You’ll be fine. It’s still just Jack.”
“There’s nothing just Jack about it,” I say. “I just... I don’t know what to think. I have no idea what we’re doing.”
In fact, now that I’m out of his presence and not under his spell, I have so many questions. How long has he felt... however he feels? Just what does he feel for me? There’s no denying I’ve fallen in love with that big freaking dork, like it or not, but is he in love with me or what is this? He says he wants to be happy with me, but what in the hell does that mean?
“Well, what does Jack say?” she asks me.
“About what?”
“About what you two are doing.”
“I don’t know. I haven’t asked him. I can’t talk to him about stuff like this.”
“Sam,” Ashley says, exasperated, “you talk to Jack about everything. Why should this be different?”
Because, because, because. I shrug, being the pain in the ass that I am.
“Okay, look,” she says. “You need to just... relax. Enjoy it, Sam. This is the good stuff.”
Is it?
She checks the time on her phone and jolts. “Crap. I actually do have to go. Call me later, okay?”
I nod, but I don’t know what to think. If it’s not Jack spinning me in circles, it’s Ashley.
She comes over and gives me a hug that smells a little too much like glee. Then she gives me a look that’s a pretty talented combination of sternness and amusement. “Talk to him,” she says. “He’s still your best friend, you know.”
I’m half way through my work day, but I still can’t seem to get my head out of my ass. Thank god, I was ahead on my projects, because this day has been about as productive as napping. My mind is all over the place.
Well, okay, mostly it’s just in one place. I keep having the most heat-inducing flashbacks to being with Jack. It’s more than a little distracting. Then, I can’t help freaking out about the fact that I don’t know thing one about any of this. I don’t do love. I don’t do relationships.
I mean, are Jack and I in a relationship now? Are we supposed to go out for romantic evenings, sit at candle-lit tables, and gaze sloppily into each other’s eyes? Even the simplest things are throwing me off when I think about them. For example, I try to imagine him dropping by my house like he always does and I don’t even know how I’m supposed to greet him. I’m thinking the whole fist-bump thing might not be appropriate anymore.
As if reading my mind, I get a text from Jack: Pick you up at 6?
My heart lifts just seeing a text from him, but my nerves shoot up too. I take a deep breath. I try to remember what Ashley said. He’s still my best friend.
Me: Where are we going?
Jack: It’s a surprise.
A surprise? Cue the girly squealing.
Just kidding.
Me: What am I supposed to wear to this surprise? Skirt, jeans, bathing suit?
Jack: Why isn’t naked an option?
Okay, this is a little better.
Me: Who says it’s not?
Jack: Nice casual. You in or what?
There are those goddamned nerves again. At least he’s not having me dress up.
Me: Is this a date?
Jack: I sure as hell hope so.
Me: Okay.
Jack: Try not to sound too excited.
Me: Well I had big plans to clip my nails tonight.
Jack: I’ll try to get you and your nails back early then.
I smile.
Jack: But no promises.
All I can say is, when Jack picks me up for our “dat
e” I’m glad there are no witnesses around to see it. I’m so nervous about how I’m supposed to act that I watch for his truck through the living room window and am halfway down the sidewalk before he even comes to a stop. I figure if I can just hop in before he even gets out, I eliminate the whole hug versus fist-bump problem.
“Hey,” I say, climbing in and buckling up. My heart is going a little too fast for my comfort. God, this is weird.
He’s giving me an amused look. “Hey, yourself,” he says.
“So where are we going?” I’m just going to try to act normal. He’s still my best friend. He’s still my best friend.
I glance at him as he pulls out, still with that grin on his face. My really hot best friend. Damn, this guy is good-looking. My heart flips over in my chest, which is totally not helping my fucking nerves. He’s wearing a nice blue shirt with short-sleeves—so I can see the muscles flexing in his arms as he turns the wheel—and casual slacks, which are sporting a sizeable bulge. Okay, yeah, I can see why the girls have talked about it. It’s still a mystery how I managed to not look before, but whatever. This whole situation is confusing the hell out of me, so what’s one more thing?
“Do you remember that I set up the new website for Terrace Creek Olive Mill a few months back?” he says, apparently beginning to answer my question.
I nod. “They’re the ones on the way to Swan Pointe right? Or was that the brewery?”
“That’s them. The brewery’s over on South Street.”
Oh, that’s right. I’m starting to relax a tiny bit. We’re just talking. I can do that.
“Well, Sean, he’s the owner, he said he’d give us a private tour.”
“Oh, that’s cool.”
“Yeah. I’ve been wanting to check it out.”
Okay, I can do that. I don’t ask if we’re going to dinner afterwards because, you know, the whole romantic love-gazing thing. But a tour’s cool. How sappy can a person be on a date when there’s a tour guide along? I like the idea of a buffer.
Speaking of buffers, I realize where I’m sitting. Jack’s truck has a bench seat, so I could’ve sat in the middle, right next to him. It’s not where I normally sit, obviously, but it’s what I would’ve done with any other guy. In fact, I could unbuckle and scoot over right now. But I don’t.
Instead, as we head out of town and make the twenty minute drive through the foothills and to our destination, I’m just trying to do my part to carry on a conversation. I’m still feeling off-balance though, so Jack’s doing most of the heavy lifting. He takes to talking about a job he’s working on and I’m glad. I just want to listen.
Eventually we pull into a gravel parking lot next to a charming, mission-style building with red roof tiles. An ornate wooden sign reads: “Terrace Creek Olive Mill. Olive Oil. Goods. Eatery.” At first glance, it looks like the building is a store-front with a restaurant attached. The other building is set back a bit and much larger. I assume that’s the actual mill.
I’m intrigued and grateful for the distraction of something new, because as Jack kills the engine I get nervous all over again. Here we go, I think. For the first time in a very long time, I wish I were more like other girls so I wouldn’t be acting and feeling so weird.
“Stay put,” he says, pointing a finger at me and giving me a grin. My heart flips over, again, and he gets out of the truck. In another two seconds, I realize he’s going to open the door for me. This kind of surprises me, because Jack and I have talked about this particular chivalrous tradition. I’d really rather open my own damned door, to be honest, instead of sitting here like an invalid.
When he opens the door, he says, “I figured I needed a head start so you couldn’t run right in there without me.”
I scowl at him. “Har har.”
He grins and extends his hand. My heartbeat speeds up again and I hesitate for just a moment, but then I take it. This morning, I damn near got myself off sucking this guy’s cock, but ask me to hold his hand and I get all shy about things.
Yeah, it doesn’t make sense to me either.
“You look nice,” he says, as we head toward the building.
That’s definitely a date kind of thing to say. I’m wearing slim black pants (I couldn’t deal with strutting my stuff in a skirt while on a date with Jack, sorry) and a loose, off-the shoulder top.
“Thanks,” I say, but I don’t look at him. “You, too.”
He kind of chuckles. I want to ask him what’s so fucking funny, but I have a feeling I know so I don’t say anything.
I take a deep breath. Okay, I need to try to get it together. Like Ashley said, he’s still my best friend. The fact that my hand is actually tingling from holding his, well... that’s okay, I guess. It’s probably good, or something.
Right?
I take another deep breath.
After about four more steps of walking hand in hand, Jack lifts our hands slightly so he can hip-bump me.
“Hey!” I say, grinning at him. Still holding his hand, I bump him back. “Brat.”
He lets go of my hand long enough to zing my side. Still grinning, I swat at his hand with both of mine. “Cut it out.”
He laughs and takes my hand again. This time, it’s nice. He squeezes me and I squeeze him back. “We’re going around this way,” he says, pointing.
He leads us past the main entrance—I glance through the open doors to see there is, in fact, a little store in there—and around to the side of the building. The restaurant’s patio comes into view. There’s a couple dozen wrought-iron tables on a herringbone, brick patio, which is shaded by a wooden lattice thick with flowering vines. The whole area has a sweeping view of the olive grove. There are diners dressed kind of nice, like we are, but also some in jeans and capris, so the atmosphere is charming while being casual.
“Smells good,” I say, eyeing someone’s table as we go by. The table’s occupants are sharing their appetizers: a caprese salad with a beautiful drizzle of olive oil, and some crostini with olive tapenade. Chloe would love this.
“Want to eat here?” he asks.
“Did you have something else planned?”
“No, I thought this would be fun. The food’s supposed to be really good.”
“Okay,” I say, thinking it’s a great idea. There’s not even any candles on the tables. I’m warming up to this date more and more all the time.
In fact, things get easier as we go along. After walking right through the employee entrance to find the owner, I’m spared wondering if Jack’s going to introduce me as his friend or girlfriend, when Sean extends his hand to me and gives me a friendly, “You must be Sam.” He’s a surprisingly young guy, around our age, and pretty fun to talk with. We’re given a tour of the facility, including areas they don’t typically open for their public tours. We get to see the big vats while Sean explains how they make all their different oils. I almost forget we’re even on a date. By the time we’ve thanked Sean and are on our own in the store sampling every flavor of olive oil they have—my favorite is the roasted garlic—we’re joking and goofing around.
Surprisingly, the store has way more than just their oils for sale. In addition to getting a few bottles of different kinds of oil, we end up getting a jar of stuffed olives, a loaf of fresh sourdough bread, and some macadamia nut turtles they make on site. We haul it all out to Jack’s truck so we don’t have to fool with it at the restaurant.
“I’m worried that chocolate will melt though,” Jack says, as we load in our bags.
“You’re full of crap,” I say, because I know what he really wants. I open the package and hold it out so he can take one of the turtles.
He grins and takes one and so do I. We bite in at the same time, and at the same time we close our eyes and make yummy noises.
“Oh my god,” I say. This thing is heaven. Why did we only get four?
Jack nods, but he’s too busy eating to talk.
We finish our first ones and go for the remaining two. “We need to get more of
these before we leave,” I say.
“Hm-hmm,” Jack agrees, licking his fingers.
Yes, watching him lick those fingers makes my heart skip a beat. So does the look he’s starting to give me. Oh, yeah, I definitely remember we’re on a date now. Before I know what’s happened, he’s cupped my face in his hands and is planting a firm kiss on my lips. He smells of Jack and chocolate. Yet again, I’m hanging onto his sides to keep from falling over.
He pulls away with a sultry grin, but I want more. I tug him back to me so we can do it again. This time, we sink into it. Our mouths open to each other and I get the faint taste of chocolate. He wraps one arm around my waist, and I bring a hand to his firm jaw, then up to the back of his neck. As I run my fingers into his soft hair, he squeezes me tighter. Holy hell.
He brings it to an end just in time, because apparently there’s just so much Jack I can handle without getting overwhelmed. We walk back towards the building, fingers laced together, and my legs just the tiniest bit unsteady. But I’m trying to hang on.
I peek up at Jack. Larger than life Jack. He winks at me and says, “Best. Chocolate. Ever.”
Jack holds back on any public displays of affection during dinner, and I’m grateful. This is all still too new and nerve-wracking for me to want to be in everyone’s face about it. We enjoy an amazing dinner, pick up a fresh stash of turtles, and head to his truck not having done more than hold hands.
He lets me in on the passenger side and when he shuts the door, something inside me lets out a big breath. My eyes are locked on Jack though. My heart is picking up its pace as I watch that man walk around to the driver’s side. Right before he opens the door, I impulsively scoot to the middle. He gets in and grins at me, looking pleasantly surprised. He puts his arm around me. “Well, hey there, Shorty.”
But I don’t say anything back. All of a sudden, I’m a girl on a mission. I put my hand on his face and give him an eager kiss.
I need him. I need him right now.
And I kiss him like it. In a matter of seconds, he’s kissing me the same way. His other hand comes to my face and his arm pulls me in closer. Our tongues dive in and circle each other, tasting and going deep and needing more and more. Hanging on to him and not breaking our kiss, I come up on my knees and lean over him. Our holds on each other tighten. We come up for air, panting, and he kisses and sucks on my jaw, my neck, my collarbone. I need to wrap my legs around him. I need to feel him coming inside me.
