Claiming Tuesday
The Next Generation
Riley Edwards
Claiming Tuesday
The Next Generation
Book 4
Riley Edwards
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Riley Edwards
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. All Rights reserved.
Cover design: Lori Jackson Designs
Written by: Riley Edwards
Published by: Rebels Romance
Edited by: Eve Arroyo
Proofreader: Deaton Author Services
Proofreader: Janice Owen
Claiming Tuesday
First edition – April 2019
Copyright © 2019 Riley Edwards
ISBN: 978-1-7339667-3-3
Contents
Prologue
1. Tuesday
2. Tuesday
3. Jackson
4. Tuesday
5. Jackson
6. Tuesday
7. Jackson
8. Tuesday
9. Jackson
10. Tuesday
11. Jackson
12. Tuesday
13. Jackson
14. Tuesday
15. Jackson
16. Tuesday
17. Jackson
18. Tuesday
19. Jackson
20. Tuesday
21. Jackson
22. Tuesday
23. Jackson
24. Tuesday
25. Jackson
26. Tuesday
27. Jackson
28. Tuesday
29. Jackson
30. Tuesday
31. Tuesday
32. Jackson
33. Tuesday
34. Jackson
35. Tuesday
Riley’s Rebels
Also by Riley Edwards
About the Author
To my family - my team – my tribe.
This is for you.
Prologue
“Tuesday! Put that down,” my mother snapped.
I looked down at the donut in my hand and wondered what Mother would do if I quickly shoved the chocolate frosted goodness into my mouth. I bet she’d run across the room and tackle me before the delectable cream filled pastry passed my lips. The thought made me smile, and I didn’t have much to smile about those days. Nothing would give me more pleasure than a wrestling match with my mother, all in the name of milk-chocolate-covered-fried-dough-confection treats.
Gladys Knowls did not run and she certainly didn’t tackle.
That would be unladylike.
Beneath her.
Classless.
“What will one treat hurt?” my dad asked her.
“She has a fitting this afternoon before we leave. The five extra pounds she has on now is enough.”
My dad’s face got red, though he wouldn’t argue further. He never did. My mother’s word was law. The only person she couldn’t boss around was my grandmother. Gladys was no match for my dad’s mom, Patty. My grandmother had politely put her in her place for years. She was also one of the two people in this world that loved me, her and Pop, that was it.
I put the donut down, knowing there was no use trying to sneak it. My mom had already counted the delicious looking pastries. She counted everything in the house. I had to be weighed first thing in the morning and again before I went to bed. If the scale moved, Gladys would check my food journal and adjust it accordingly. At some point, all I’d be left with was a handful of nuts.
“Tuesday. Finish gathering your belongings. We’re leaving in ten minutes.”
Always barking orders. Giving commands. Would it kill her to say please?
“Are you sure this is necessary, darling? She’s already missed a month of school.”
“What else would you have her do, George? She’s not very smart, average grades are not going to get her into a good university. Where will she go? Embarrass the family name and attend a community college? Unless you want her living off us or your parents’ money for the rest of her life, this is all she has.”
“But—”
“Don’t argue with me, George. Modeling is the only thing she’s good at. Agents take one look at her and fall over themselves to book her. She pulls in top dollar.”
My mother was right. I was an average student and casting directors would pay top dollar.
That was the sum of my worth.
A golden ticket for my mother.
Nothing else.
1
Tuesday
Shiiit!
I gripped my steering wheel and slammed on the brakes. Rubber was burning, and I waited for the sound of crunching metal but, thankfully, I barely kissed the bumper of the canary yellow Porsche 911 in front of me.
Thank God.
Incidentally, the car had braked to avoid hitting a goddamned squirrel. Normally I would have applauded the driver’s efforts, even admire saving the furry, little rodent’s life. But, hello, you didn’t go from sixty to zero in three point five seconds, in traffic, on a busy road.
I’d been too busy rolling my eyes at the Porsche’s “all-mine” vanity plates, which had now disappeared from my sight considering our bumpers were touching. His very expensive one to my not so expensive one, I’d completely missed the car behind until the sound of squealing tires had my eyes going to my rearview mirror and . . . bam! There went my back bumper. Well, fuck me running. Metal crunched, my body jerked, and I was really unhappy I was now paying for more than a scratch on the luxury sports car. The bumpers were no longer kissing, they were making-the-fuck-out.
Dammit.
I hoped the furry, little fucker that had scampered away unscathed had a nest full of baby squirrels because this was not how I pictured my Monday. The banging on my window pulled me from thoughts of nests and really bad Monday mornings, and I found Mr. 911 standing outside of my car with his arms crossed over his suit jacket looking pissed.
Pissed? At me? Um. No.
He yanked my door open, I jerked back in surprise, and he immediately laid into me, “I hope you have insurance.” He pointed to his Porsche. “Do you have any idea how much that’s going to cost?”
Yes, douchebag, I know you drive an expensive car.
“You better have fucking insurance,” he snapped.
Maybe I’d bumped my head really hard and was hallucinating.
“Are you listening to me?”
Was he for real?
He was standing on a busy road yelling at me for scratching—okay, it was more than a scratch—his precious Porsche, as cars were trying to maneuver around the accident that he’d caused. It was morning rush hour and there were a lot of damn cars, not that he cared. All this asshole was worried about was a hunk of yellow metal.
It was then I took the man in. Really looked at him, from top to toe, and I understood his need for a flashy sports car. If a man was ever trying to compensate for a small penis, it was Mr. 911. He was short, had a gut, and was balding. Yeah, he needed the Porsche to get laid. Asshole.
I stepped out of my car and my anger got the best of me. “Listen, you jerkwad. You slammed on your brakes. You caused all of this. You should be asking me if I’m all right. But you’re more concerned about your metal manhood over there than to have a little h
uman decency.” I stabbed my finger in the direction of his car.
Undeterred, he carried on, his face getting redder by the second. “I’m gonna sue you if you don’t have insurance.”
Was it too late for me to close my eyes and throw my hands in the air while I sang, “Jesus Take the Wheel”? I was right in the middle of praying for some patience when I heard sirens wailing, the sound unfortunately, wasn’t loud enough to drown out the man, who was yelling at me again.
“Answer me,” he demanded.
“You caused this three-car pileup, not me. The question is, do you have insurance?”
Deciding it was best to ignore the idiot flailing his arms as the buttons on his suit jacket were being tested to the max as his movements and his gut threatened to pop them off. Maybe one would break free and hit me in the eye, then I could sue him for damages and mental distress.
I surveyed the smashed vehicles and decided I needed a new car. My old VW Jetta had seen better days. Even before it’d been smooshed between the Porsche and Honda Civic. The car was a decade old and it was beyond time to put my old girl out to pasture. I’d been procrastinating. I hated car shopping and I loved my little Jetta. It had been the first thing I’d purchased with my own money. Now, she was a wrinkled mess, and I had no choice.
Damn! Why do Mondays suck?
I glanced at the Honda and saw a teenage boy in the driver’s seat, eyes closed, and head resting back. I walked over and gently tapped on the glass. The boy slowly opened his eyes and looked over at me.
“You all right?” I asked as I opened the kid’s door.
He nodded. Damn, the boy looked like he had tears welling in his baby blues. Poor guy.
“Are you hurt?”
“No. Not yet anyway. But my dad’s gonna kill me.”
The teenager started to unbuckle but I stopped him. “Whoa there, cowboy. You sure you’re not hurt? Maybe you should wait in your car.” As if on cue the first responders swarmed en masse, stopping not far from the accident.
What a clusterfuck. Cars were still trying to swerve around the mangled mess in their pursuit to get to work on time. Unfortunately, we were in the middle of the three-lane highway, making their quest difficult. This totally sucked, but, thankfully, no one had been injured.
“My dad’s gonna kill me,” the boy repeated.
“He should. You weren’t paying attention. This is your fault.”
My head whipped in Mr. 911’s direction and I snapped. “Oh, shut the hell up. First it was my fault, now it’s his?” I pointed to the kid still in his car. “When the truth is, it’s yours. You slammed on your goddamn brakes to let a fuckin’ squirrel cross the road. I’m all for wildlife rescue, friend. But when you’re traveling sixty, you don’t decide now is the time to take up a save the critters crusade, you stupid fuck. You’re more concerned about your damn car than you are the people you could’ve hurt. You do not get to yell at this kid, he did nothing wrong. And when I talk to his dad, I’m gonna make sure he knows why his son is sitting on the side of the road, instead of on his way to school. And that’s because some small-penis prick, with vanity plates on his Porsche, was too much of a pansy ass to run over a goddamn squirrel!”
“Tuesday?” The sexy drawl from behind me had me closing my eyes on a slow blink.
Damn, but I loved the sound of Jackson Clark’s voice. Each time he said my name it never failed to send sparks to all the right places.
But seriously? Why, of all the people in the world, did he have to make an appearance just as I’d lost my shit on Captain Save the Animals? I’d been avoiding Jackson like the plague since the day I met him at his family’s barbeque. He was boy next door hot and had the body of a full-time fitness model. But he wasn’t, he was a firefighter, and damn if that wasn’t hot, too. He was also way too young for me. The afternoon I’d spent with him, he hadn’t tried to hide he was interested. The shit of it was, on top of his good looks, he was also hilariously funny and a genuinely kind person.
“Hey, Jackson,” I muttered but didn’t turn around.
“You all right, babe?” I could hear the humor in his voice and when I looked over my shoulder at him, it was confirmed. He was smiling.
Damn, he had a great smile.
“Just dandy.” I feigned happiness.
I wasn’t going to gawk. I really, really wasn’t going to check him out in his uniform. Who the hell am I kidding? Yes, I am. My eyes roamed from his face to his yellow and black turnout gear, and just as I’d thought the first time I’d seen him at Autumn Lakes, he looked damn sexy in his uniform. Just to note, he looked hot out of it, too. Not that I’d seen him out of it, out of it, only in normal street clothes. And, let’s just say, he’d filled out his tee nicely. The material had stretched tight across his chest, and his biceps had bulged at the cuff of his sleeves. He’d been so ridiculously hot, it had been difficult to turn down his offer to take me to dinner.
“Earth to Tuesday.”
“Huh?”
“She probably hit her head when she slammed into me,” Mr. 911 said.
Jackson was no longer smiling, we both looked over to the loud-mouthed prick.
“Sir. Please go wait by your car,” a new voice instructed.
I looked to my right and Jackson’s cousin, Officer Ethan Lenox, was on the scene, too.
Perfect. Awesome. What a great impression I was making on Mercy’s new family; she was now engaged to Jason, Ethan and Jackson’s other cousin.
A family reunion—roadside. I’d met him, his wife Honor, and his daughter Carson at the same barbeque I’d met Jackson.
“Hey, Ethan. Fancy meeting you here.” I tried to inject humor to cover my embarrassment. With a shake of his head, he smiled at me.
“That woman ran into me,” the man interrupted.
“Sir. I asked you once, please go wait by your car. Someone will be right over to take your statement.”
Thankfully a second officer had joined our huddle and escorted the man back to his Porsche before I did something to really embarrass myself—like take off my heel and beat him over the head with it.
“Let’s go get you checked out,” Jackson suggested.
“I’m fine. Really, nothing hurts. I’m more annoyed than anything. I’ll sign an AMA form if you need me to.” I turned back to the teenager, who looked a little scared and a whole lot shocked and asked, “Want me to call your dad, darlin’?”
“No. I texted him he’s on his way,” he grumbled.
“Good. I’ll be here when you talk to him. You should let the EMTs check you out.”
“I’m fine. The airbag didn’t even deploy.”
“Right. Let me tell you a little secret. And I’m only telling you this, ’cause you did nothing wrong. It’s gonna be hard for your dad to be upset about a dinged-up car while his boy’s sittin’ in the back of an ambulance. Not to mention, you hit me pretty hard. You should get checked. Bet you get a day outta school, too.”
The teenager perked up and smiled. “Yeah, bet you’re right.”
I turned back to Ethan and Jackson, both were smiling and shaking their heads. “What?”
“Nothing,” Ethan muttered. “Remind me to keep you away from Carson when she gets older. I have a feeling you know all sorts of secrets to manipulate would-be angry parents.” I would’ve been offended he’d called me manipulative, but he was still smiling. “Come on, kid, let’s get you to the ambulance before your dad gets here.”
Jackson stepped close, cocky grin firmly in place, and said, “You didn’t call.”
It took all of my willpower not to lean closer and breathe him in. Even over the burnt rubber and exhaust fumes surrounding us, I could still smell his musky cologne. It was the same one he’d worn the day I’d met him. The whole day I’d secretly been trying to get close enough to catch a whiff. It smelled like sex and man. Which was a weird way to describe it, maybe the smell just made me want to have sex with the man who was wearing it. I needed to put more space between us, not les
s. I was weak and he was a yummy temptation of manly goodness. Hence, why I’d been avoiding him.
“Nope. Told ya I wouldn’t.”
And I had, before, during, and after he’d programmed his number into my phone. I thought back to the barbeque and there’d been a moment of weakness when I’d considered taking him up on his offer. He’d flirted, I’d flirted, but when Mercy had strolled over to us, I was reminded of all the reasons a romp with Jackson was not a good idea. My best friend was with his cousin. Jackson would be a mistake. A fun, really great, pleasurable mistake, but one I couldn’t afford.
Now that the Porsche driver wasn’t in my face, annoying the hell out of me, everything hit me. I needed a rental, to contact my insurance company, and I had to get to work. I didn’t have time for Jackson’s shenanigans.
“I should go call my insurance company.”
“Right.”
He smirked. Serious to God, he smiled at me. Just like he did every time I’d blown him off before.
“Jackson!”
“What? I’m not stoppin’ you, Sweetness. Go make your call.”
“I’m not going to call you.”
Was I telling him, or reminding myself?
“Didn’t think you would. I’ll check back with you before we roll out.”
Then he walked away. That was it. Conversation over. With his back to me I took in my fill, he couldn’t see me so there was no harm. Too bad the fire-retardant suit left everything to the imagination. I couldn’t even catch a hint of his ass. He looked over his shoulder with his signature smile on his lips and winked.
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