Claiming Tuesday: The Next Generation

by Edwards, Riley

  “You denying you weren’t on board with everything we did?”

  Her jaw clenched, and I knew I had her. She’d been right there with me.

  “And we’re not friends,” she added.

  “We’re not?”

  “No.”

  “Well, that’s disappointing.”

  “What is?” Her brown eyes narrowed, and I was fully enjoying riling her up.

  “Here I thought my charm was irresistible.”

  “More like annoying,” she huffed.

  “Tell me about work.”

  She slammed her bowl on the coffee table and stood.

  “Are you always this hardheaded? I don’t want to talk to you about work, or anything else. You and me? Never gonna happen.”

  Tuesday crossed her arms over her chest and hurt flashed. Hurt I didn’t put there. But I sure as hell was going to figure out who or what had.

  “Why not?”

  “You want a list?”

  “Sure, if you have one.”

  “Let’s see, Mercy is engaged to your cousin.” She held up her pointer finger then her middle finger. “Next, You’re annoying.” She flicked another finger up adding her ring finger to the two other digits. “You don’t listen. You barge into my life and think you can ask me personal questions. And when I tell you I don’t want to talk about something, you push.”

  I slowly stood trying to gather my thoughts. It was time Tuesday Knowls understood a few things.

  “Yeah, I’m totally barging in, Sweetness.”

  “You just can’t listen, can you?” She threw her arms out in front of her. “You wanted reasons. I gave them to you, and you still ignore me.”

  “Because they were all bullshit and you know it. Mercy and Jason have fuck all to do with us. And you only find me annoying because I won’t let you push me away. Which leads to the question, why the fuck you’re trying so hard to lock me out? You had no issue being my friend before I took you to bed, but now you’re doing everything you can, including acting like a bitch, to make sure I don’t get too close. Why? No more bullshit, Tuesday.”

  She flinched and stepped back.

  “I’m not interested, Jackson. You’re too damn young for me. You’re like a boy—”

  I didn’t let her finish her statement. Two strides and we were nose to nose, my hands moved to the side of her neck, and then up until I shoved them into her hair. “Do not bullshit me. And I think I’ve already proven I am not a fucking boy, but in case you need the reminder, baby, I’m more than happy to oblige.” My lips crashed onto hers, it took a moment before she softened but when she did, I went for it. And thank God I did, because the second she opened her mouth to me and our tongues touched it was explosive. Tuesday deepened the kiss and a sexy growl bubbled up from the back of her throat. I went from semi-hard to pound-fucking-nails hard in a heartbeat.

  As much as I wanted to take her back to her room and devour every inch of her, I was going to make her wait. I slowed the kiss and pulled away. The hazy way she was looking at me had me questioning my sanity. Once she blinked the lust out of her pretty bourbon eyes, I knew it was time for me to leave.

  “I’ll see you around, Tuesday.”

  “What?”

  I didn’t answer her, not with words. I leaned forward and gently pecked her lips. “Have a good night.”

  I straightened and made my way to the front door. She was still standing where I’d left her, only she’d turned to look over her shoulder, watching me go. Yeah, I was making the right decision. When the time came to move the festivities into the bedroom again it will be because she was as desperate for me as I was for her. And not a moment sooner.

  I got into my truck and started to drive away. I wondered how long it would take her to notice I’d left my watch on her kitchen counter.

  8

  Tuesday

  I was going to kick Jackson’s ass. Scratch that, no, I wasn’t, because I was never going to see him again. It had been days since his little stunt in my living room. Though I’m not sure I’d call anything about Jackson little, which was part of the reason, days later, I was still thinking about him.

  Again.

  Or thinking about him more than I had been.

  He was annoying as hell, he didn’t listen when I spoke, he’d scared the holy bejesus out of me and had smirked about it, he then had the audacity to kiss me. That was the part I was still thinking about. I’d had a lot of first kisses over the years. I was the Queen of Second Dates but rarely thirds. It was normally sometime during after dinner cocktails on the second date that a man showed me who he truly was, negating the sweet he’d shown on the first date, therefore, not getting a third. Let alone to the horizontal tango part. If I couldn’t stand sitting through dessert and drinks with a man, he certainly wasn’t putting his penis near my girly parts.

  So, there I was Queen of Second Dates still thinking about all of Jackson’s not so little, very hard parts, and how he’d left me hanging. Jackson Clark’s non-first date kiss had been better than all the others that had come before. He’d kissed me the first night we were together, he’d demanded it actually, but the kiss in my living room was different. It had been slow to start, a tingle that turned into a tremor. He’d built the blaze until I was burning for him. Then he’d pulled back, broke the kiss, and walked away.

  I have never, and I mean, never, had a man work me up just to casually stroll to the door with a wave. Not that he’d even waved. I’d spent hours in my bed thinking about him and his hard-on. He’d made sure it’d been pressed against my stomach well and good. Not that I needed to feel it again to remember what he could do with it. And he’d left his fucking watch—again—which I was taking over to Jason and Mercy’s the first chance I had. No more excuses for him to pop over for another chat.

  There was a twinge of guilt that wouldn’t stop nagging me about the way I’d treated Jackson. He’d been so close to the truth my claws had come out. Unfortunately, for him, they were not kitten claws. They’d been sharpened by experience and regret. I’d been taught by the best what happens when you let down your guard and allow yourself to be played.

  I sucked in a lungful of oxygen and pushed aside the shame that came with being so naïve. I should’ve been more concerned with keeping Jackson away from me than I was about the manner in which I was doing it. He was a complication I didn’t need. A big fat complication with a capital C. He was sweet, sexy, funny, great in bed, had a great smile, and obviously wanted more, even if it was only another roll in the hay. All reasons to stay away. He was not simply first date material, he was a man I could have feelings for. Those types of men were off limits.

  I was putting a stop to this madness once and for all. I had no other choice. I dated. That was it. No boyfriends. No emotional entanglements. No feelings of any sort.

  I had so much baggage I was the poster child for fucked up. The worst part was I knew it. I knew why I dated the wrong men. I knew why I never went on a third date. And I knew why I hadn’t had sex in the last five years since I’d left Travis. I never wanted to feel anything ever again. I was happy for others who’d found it. I was thrilled that Mercy was crazy in love with Jason. But that was not a risk I was ever willing to take again. So, I went out on dates to pass the time. I dated so Mercy and my grandmother would stop harping at me and telling me they were worried about me. But I didn’t ever go out on a date with a man whom I found I was remotely attracted to. I didn’t allow anyone close. And sex was absolutely never on the table.

  Until Jackson.

  In less than an hour sitting at a bar with him he broke my five-year dry spell. He made me feel. He made me wish I wasn’t so fucking broken. He pissed me off and I wanted no part of him. Because, if I thought Travis Manning wrecking my heart with all of his bullshit was horrible, I had a feeling Jackson Clark would kill me. I’d never recover.

  Jackson was not an option.

  He couldn’t be.

  “Hi, Tuesday.” I was greeted as soon
as I entered the Autumn Lakes Nursing Home.

  I turned toward the voice and there was . . . Rudolf . . . Ralph . . . Richard. I couldn’t for the life of me remember the man’s name. It wasn’t too long ago I’d seen him at the bar and he’d offered to buy me a drink. His beard was still scruffy and unkempt. Good to know he still hadn’t started a personal grooming regimen.

  “Hey, darlin’,” I said in place of the man’s name and threw a hand over my shoulder as I walked past him.

  I didn’t want to have a stop and chat or possibly give him another opportunity to ask me out for drinks. I wanted to visit my grandmother and talk to her doctor and see when we could bust her out of this joint. My grandmother was a stubborn woman, I still wasn’t happy she’d refused to allow me to help her while she was recovering from her latest surgery. Now, the crazy old woman said she loved it at the nursing home.

  Who loves a nursing home? Patty Knowls, that’s who.

  The hair at the back of my neck was tingling. I could hear the footsteps behind me as I made my way down the wide, brightly colored corridor that led to my grandmother’s room. I didn’t have to turn around to know Mr. I Need to Trim My Facial Hair was behind me. I could feel his eyes on me and hear his heavy footsteps. It was kind of creeping me out. I didn’t like the way he looked at me at the bar and wouldn’t take no for an answer. And I really didn’t like the way he was following me now.

  Gran’s room came into view and I hurried to get to the door. Thankfully, it was open and I stepped in, closing it behind me before the man could catch up. The first thing that hit me as the door clicked shut was my grandmother’s soft smell of Wind Song. The powdery scent never failed to soothe me. It was the aroma of my childhood. She’d worn the perfume all my life. I could feel the stress melting away.

  “My sweet granddaughter. What are you doing here?” Patty asked from her wheelchair. “I was just going to go play some bingo with Franco and Phil.”

  See? She totally loved the nursing home. My grandmother was a stunning woman, even as she aged, she never lost that beauty.

  “Phil and Franco?” I smiled.

  “My suitors, dear. They are both trying their best to get an invitation to supper.”

  “Gran!”

  “Speaking of suitors, have you seen anymore of the fine young firefighter?”

  That was another reason I wanted to kick Jackson’s ass. My grandmother hadn’t stopped talking about him since the day she’d briefly met him in the parking lot after the fire in the craft room of Autumn Lakes. I’d heard all about how tall he was—tall enough to tuck me under his chin even if I was in heels. She’d told me how good looking she thought he was—he came from good stock. She’d droned on about his smile and how, when it came time, I wanted to settle down with a man with an easy way and quick smile. It would make for a happy life.

  Little did she know I’d stupidly screwed his brains out then shoved him out the door. Not that I’d ever tell my grandmother that. And not for the same reasons that most people wouldn’t talk to their grandmothers about sex. Gran would happily mix herself a martini, pull up a chair, and listen intently if I wanted to share my sex life with her. She was an open book. Often times, she over-shared. It was like living with my own personal Dr. Ruth. Only Gran wasn’t a sex therapist she was just wise to the ways of the world.

  “Jackson, Gran. His name is Jackson. And, yes, I saw him the other day.” Her sweet face lit and it sucked I had to take that look away, but I did. She was a dreamer and a romantic. I’d heard the story about how my grandfather had swept her off her feet thousands of times. “He’s just a friend. He will always be just a friend, and I’m not interested in anything more.”

  “That man is smitten,” she told me.

  “He’s hardly a man, Gran. He’s a baby.”

  Thank God, Jackson wasn’t there to hear me call him a baby. The last time I’d made a comment about his age, he’d thoroughly reminded me he was all man. However, age-wise, he really was too young for me. He hadn’t even begun to live out his twenties. He had a lot of exploring to do before he settled down, and I wasn’t going to be his tour guide into all things relationships and women. That sounded like heartbreak to me.

  “Is that what your problem is? He’s younger than you?” She waved her hand in front of her face. “Did I ever tell you the story about the summer I spent in Wildwood before I met your grandfather?”

  “No. And I don’t think I want to hear it either.”

  My grandmother was raised in a Southern Baptist home. The way she tells it, her parents were very strict, and the minute she turned eighteen she shot out of their house like a bullet. She’d always told me she was too much of a free spirit, to be stifled by hellfire and brimstone. She’d wanted to live her life and experience everything. By the stories she’d told me over the years, she’d lived it up all right. And she had no hang-ups telling me all about it.

  “Picture this, Wildwood, New Jersey, 1966. Hot as blazes, people everywhere. I was working there for the summer as a hostess in the Caribbean Hotel. I was strolling the boardwalk with some of the girls from the hotel. We sat down to people watch on the benches off Hunts Pier. Boy, that place was something. We’d barely stopped walking when a group of young men coming out of the surf caught my eye. Even through the mass of people I noticed him right away, taller, broader, and more handsome than his friends. He was far away, and I watched his every step. When he got closer, I turned my head back to the pier so he wouldn’t think I was looking, but he walked straight to me. Imagine that, through the gaggle of girls, right up to me and looked down at me where I was sitting on the bench. His first words to me were, come on, doll, let’s go get you a cream soda. The audacity of him, coming straight to me and telling me, not asking, he was going to buy me a cream soda.”

  At this point in my grandmother’s story, I noted two things: the first, it didn’t surprise me one bit my grandmother was hit on in such a fashion. She’d been absolutely gorgeous when she was younger. The second, and more importantly, I thought the same thing about Jackson when he’d kissed me.

  I pulled out of my thoughts and continued to listen. “I had a choice to make, Tuesday. I could’ve told him to take a hike for having the nerve to be so forward, or I could’ve stood and taken the hand he was offering.”

  “I’m assuming you took his hand.”

  “You bet your britches I did. He bought me that cream soda and one every day after that for six weeks.”

  It was a great story, but I wasn’t sure why she was telling it.

  “Well? What happened?”

  “What happened was, I had the best summer. We were inseparable. He was funny, smart, and so darn handsome I couldn’t believe he’d picked me to spend the summer with. We danced and swam and went to the amusement park. By the end of the summer, we were very much in love.”

  Nineteen sixty-six? My dad was born a few years later. But this was not the story of how she’d met my grandfather.

  “What happened to him?”

  “At the end of that summer he went off to Vietnam. He’d just graduated high school and had enlisted in the Army. He spent his last six weeks with me, in Wildwood.”

  “Eighteen? Gran, you were like . . .” I tried to do the math in my head while remembering how old she was when she’d had my father.

  “I was twenty-four. He was six years younger than me.”

  My mouth dropped open, and my eyes bulged. My grandmother had a summer fling with a teenager. A teenager who’d just graduated high school. Holy shit. She’d told me a lot of crazy stories over the years but never this one.

  “I’m telling you this, dear, to remind you age is but a number. And I can assure you, just like your Jackson, there was no boy in Thomas. I suppose there are those who are simply born with it, not exactly an old soul, but all man. Tommy was all man, just like Jackson.”

  My Jackson?

  Was she crazy?

  I think someone was slipping something into my grandmother’s meatloaf i
n this place. Jackson Clark was not mine. My mind was still reeling from learning my grandmother had been in love with a man named Thomas. I didn’t have the mental brain power to sort through all of the reasons Jackson was not, and would never be, my man.

  “What happened to him?”

  “He died, dear. When we parted, we agreed it was best for both of us to move on. We’d shared a wonderful summer together. But he was leaving and I had a life to keep living. I met your grandfather that Christmas and we were married shortly after that.”

  “Did Grandpa know about this Thomas man?”

  “Of course, he did. There were no secrets between the two of us. We were already married when I got word of Tommy’s passing. He held me while I cried and carried on. Your grandfather knew that while Tommy held a special place in my heart, he didn’t need to worry. I loved your grandfather beyond reason. He knew that.”

  We sat quietly for a few moments before her eyes got soft, and I braced. “You need to start living again.”

  “What? I am.”

  “No, dear. You work. You’re successful. You date. But you are not living.”

  “Um, Gran, everything you just said means I’m living.”

  “How many of those men you date have you let in?”

  Why was I having this conversation with my grandmother? I was now regretting telling her the misadventures of my dating life. Some of the stories were entertaining and made for a good laugh. Now I wished I’d kept my mouth shut.

  “Why would I let someone in when I can’t see myself going on a third date with them? The last second date I had blew his nose at the table. It was gross. He didn’t just blow it, he had his finger shoved so far in he was mining for gold. I’ll repeat, it was gross. I wasn’t going to let a nose picker into my life.”

  “And the nice physical therapist you went out with last year? What was wrong with him?”