by Penny Reid
“Friends of yours, Jackson?” Rae moved like she was going to drop my hand.
I squeezed her fingers tighter, some base instinct within me not letting her withdraw. My eyes slid to hers. “From a long, long, long time ago.”
“How long?”
“Before we met.”
“That long?” She stepped closer, her voice dropping, “Anyone since me?”
“Not that I can recall at this moment,” I whispered, my brain telling me to shut up as my heart egged me on. “But that might be because, when I’m with you, all I see and can think about is you.”
She stared at me, unsmiling. “You say pretty things.”
“I say true things.” My thumb moved over the back of her hand but, despite wanting to, I didn’t bring her knuckles to my lips for a kiss.
Dave’s “Hellooo, ladies. Having a nice day?” met my ears, and I released a silent sigh, remembering that four of my ex-flings were at this very moment parading a path through the prairie to say hi.
Rae unleashed a dazzling smile as they approached. “I can’t wait to meet them.”
“You won’t have to,” I grumbled, turning to face my past. “They’re here.”
“Haaaay y’all.” Darlene lifted her hand to wave in that weird way some people do, opening and closing their fingers like they’re trying to catch a mosquito. “Whoa. I’m out of breath. Dear me.”
Still holding on to Rae, I gestured to the three women, each in turn by lifting up my notebook in their direction. “Raquel, this is Angela Jones, Darlene Simmons, Jessica Molina Ramirez, and Patricia Robillard.” An odd combination of apprehension, ingrained good manners, and a sense of duty making it so I wasn’t quite certain where to look. “Ladies, this is Raquel Ezra.”
“It’s so nice to meet you!” Darlene enthused. “I am such a fan. You are amazing.”
“I’m also a fan,” Angela said, reaching out her hand for a shake, necessitating that Rae drop my fingers.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Rae said, and she sounded like she meant it.
Angela, expression hazy, added, “I’ve seen Starlight Express twelve times. I might have a problem.”
Rae chuckled, and Jessica stepped forward, wearing a huge grin. She started speaking in Spanish, her tone equally gushing and effusive.
Rae’s grin wavered, her forehead knitting together, and she covered Jessica’s hand with hers. “I’m sorry, I don’t—” she looked at me anxiously, her tan cheeks rosy with a pink blush “—I don’t speak Spanish. I’m so sorry.”
“Oh! No, I’m so sorry!” Jessica shook her head quickly, looking mortified. “I’m sorry. I just assumed. And you know, I don’t even realize I’m speaking it sometimes, especially when I’m nervous. Sorry.”
“No, don’t apologize. I never learned. My mother—who is from Italy—didn’t even want me to learn Italian. I picked up a little bit though, despite her best efforts, especially when she cussed.”
This made everyone laugh, and I could see Jessica relax, the matter forgotten.
Darlene launched into a monologue about how brave she thought Rae’s acting choices were. This lasted for several minutes, and I began to feel light-headed. I still hadn’t eaten. Even though we stood beneath one of the big oak trees and in the shade, the heat of the late afternoon began to wear me down.
Eventually, Darlene paused to take a breath, and Angela—who had been Darlene’s roommate in college, which was how we’d met—grabbed her friend’s hand and spoke before the redhead could, “Anyway! Thanks for letting us interrupt your date. We just wanted to say hi.”
“Oh, this isn’t a date.” Rae waved a hand through the air as though dismissing the idea. “Jackson and I are just friends.”
A shard of something cold and painful slithered from the base of my skull downward at the way she’d said “just friends.”
“We’re waiting for Charlotte Mitchell and her kids.” Rae laughed, all smiles. “Jackson and I ran into each other by accident. This isn’t a date.”
My stomach soured, and suddenly I was no longer hungry. But I grit my teeth. No one to blame but yourself, Jackson. If you hadn’t been such a fuckboy in your early twenties, none of this would be happening now.
“O-okay,” Angela said, her eyes flickering to mine and then back to Rae. “Sounds good. We’ll just, you know, get going. Good to meet you.”
“Bye Jackson.” Patricia sent me a cheeky grin. “Let me know when you’re in Knoxville. We’ll have lunch.”
I nodded politely, saying nothing, because I suspected no matter what I said, it would be the wrong thing.
Soon the women were on their way, taking a moment to speak with Dave as they went. As soon as they were out of earshot, Rae turned abruptly and marched over to the blanket and sat. I followed slower, studying her as I approached, and taking note of her erratic movements.
She withdrew her phone. She glared at the screen. “Charlotte is going to be another half hour,” she grumbled. “She said she fell asleep on the couch.”
That sounded like Charlotte, she was always taking catnaps.
“She probably wanted some alone time,” Rae said wryly. “I think she’s getting sick of my company.”
My eyes flickered to Miguel and Dave twenty paces back, the suits and dark sunglasses a jarring sight against the tranquil backdrop of the national park.
“Are you hungry?” Rae asked, her eyes flickering to me just briefly.
I debated how to answer. I wasn’t hungry, not anymore, but I needed to eat. “I could eat.”
“After meeting your fan club, I’m not sure I have much of an appetite. But I have this picnic basket full of food. Do you . . .?” She motioned to a spot on the blanket across from her.
“Thank you.” I crossed to the place she’d indicated and lowered to my knees, setting my notebook and pen to one side as I watched her struggle to open a bag of chips. “Hey. You might want to—Rae. You’re upset. Stop a minute.” I reached over and covered her hand.
She closed her eyes, shaking me off. “I’m not upset.”
Oh. Yeah. She’s upset. I wasn’t going to tell her to calm down. Telling a woman to calm down was like throwing gasoline on a tire fire.
I glanced around us. We were surrounded by a tall, thick wall of prairie grasses and reeds. How we were sitting, not even Dave or Miguel could perceive what we were doing. Unless there were paparazzi in the sky, no one could see us.
She huffed, opening her eyes and glaring at me. “I should be able to speak Spanish.”
Uncertain where she was going with this, I asked, “Why is that?”
“I’m half Cuban. Did you know that? I’m fifty percent Italian, fifty percent Cuban, and one hundred percent midwestern.” I would’ve taken her statement as a joke—a play on words—except she sounded brittle. “But my problem is, I’m really ten percent Italian, ten percent midwestern, and eighty percent I-have-no-idea-who-I-am.” She sighed, the sound so melancholy, I had to fight with myself not to reach out and pull her into a hug.
“I wish I knew how to speak Spanish.” She stared at the tablecloth, sounding thoughtful and distracted. “I think—I think I’m going to learn. I’m going to learn. And then I’m going to Miami. And Cuba.”
“You should,” I said softly.
Her eyes cut to me, then narrowed, glittering angrily. “Oh? You think so? You don’t think that might be pushy of me?”
I held still, watching her. At some point, if I was patient enough, she’d tell me what I’d done to upset her. I just needed to wait.
“No response to that? I guess saying because isn’t an option right now, is it?” she hissed, dropping the bag of chips and folding her arms, her features tight. “‘In anger we should refrain both from speech and action.’”
She sounded like she was quoting someone, but I had no idea who.
She must’ve seen my confusion because she grumbled, “Pythagoras. Some Greek dude who lived thousands of years ago and my mom—whatever! Forget it. I want to ask
you a question.”
“Sure. You can ask me anyth—”
“Did you have sex with all of them?”
Maybe I should’ve been shocked or offended. I wasn’t. I absorbed her question and the anger behind it, doing my best to reach inside her mind and attempt to read her thoughts.
She’s . . . jealous?
“Yes. I’m jealous!” she announced, like I’d asked the question aloud. Rae waved her hands wildly in the air. “But, you know, it’s not even about them. They were delightful. Absolutely delightful. Fine. Have sex with hundreds of women. Fine. But am I an idiot? Just tell me.” She jutted her chin out, eyes flashing.
“No. Of course not—”
“When I’m with you, all I see and can think about is you, Rae,” she cut me off, mimicking my words from earlier and punching the chips next to her. “I don’t believe a single thing you say.”
“I have never lied to you.” The words came out rough, my throat full of gravel and my chest full of lead.
She ignored me, ranting like I hadn’t spoken. “I promised myself I wasn’t going to do this. I promised myself that if I saw you, I would be friendly but cool, since we are just friends. Obviously, if you wanted to be more than just friends, if our little car trip had meant anything at all to you, you would’ve called me.”
I didn’t try to offer the excuse of not having her number. I didn’t have her number, but I could’ve asked Sienna for it a hundred times now that her cell was in my recent calls history. But I did say, “You know you mean something to me.”
She scoffed. “Whatever. I don’t care. I should just get over it.” Rae flicked her hands in the air like she was flicking the idea of me away. “I really should. But then your harem shows up, and I don’t know, I guess I’m jealous that you wanted all those women more than you wanted me.”
A surge of anger had me gritting out, “And what would be the point of wanting you, Rae? Are you planning to stay in Green Valley? Are you moving here?”
“No. Because I have no reason to stay, do I? No one wants me here.” She laughed, sweeping her arm out. “Listen, there is one more thing I want to know. I understand that you’ve changed”—she said the word changed like it was the dumbest word in the English language— “and you want a long-term relationship with a nice, dedicated, hard-working, struggling, unfun woman. But this is what I don’t get, why didn’t we have sex that night when we first met? According to everyone ,you were Mr. Funtimes back then. Why didn’t you want me?”
Her accusation landed right in the center of my chest, unleashing my temper. Acting on instinct, I encircled her wrists with my fingers, hauling her up such that we were both kneeling, just inches between us. “You think I didn’t want you that night?”
“No. I don’t.” She pushed against me but didn’t try to break free. “You could’ve taken my bishop at any point!” The end of her sentence was whispered harshly, like maybe she wanted to yell but knew she couldn’t.
I followed suit and lowered my voice to a harsh whisper. “You told me, when we were at the overlook that night, the minute we had sex, I’d be—and I quote—‘dead to you.’ I thought—” I shook my head at the memory, at the burst of panic I’d felt when she’d said those words, and the stupidity of my hasty, desperate logic at the time. Swallowing thickly, I forced myself to even my tone, loosening my grip on her wrists. “I thought, if we didn’t sleep together—if we didn’t have sex that night— then maybe you’d be open to seeing me again. Maybe it wouldn’t count as a one-night stand.”
Her lips parted in surprise and most of the anger drained right out of her.
“But to your original question, the answer is no, Rae. I haven’t had sex with all those women. Just two of them. But I did mess around with the other two. They all went to college together, and I happily took whatever they offered. Because I didn’t care if I saw them again, and they didn’t care if they saw me. I messed around a lot when I was younger, and it was all fun and it was all easy. And none of it lasted or mattered. I didn’t expect it to. I didn’t spend nights aching for any of them, wondering what they were doing, wondering if they’d be open to seeing me again, wondering if they still remembered me or ever thought about me.”
Her beautiful brown eyes were unguarded, searching, and she seemed to be holding her breath, waiting for me to finish.
“I could’ve asked Sienna for your number, you’re right. I thought about it a thousand times. But I didn’t because I am blind when I’m with you. I’m not sure I can be a good man when I’m with you. I’m not sure I can trust myself not to push you for more than you want to give me. And that’s on me. That’s my failure. So, yes. I could’ve called. But I’m crazy about you, and being crazy about someone isn’t good for me. Or them.”
“Oh, Jackson.”
“And just like everything I’ve ever said to you since the moment we met, that’s the God’s honest truth.” I said through gritted teeth, letting her go and moving to stand.
“No. Wait. Wait a minute.” Now she reached for me, dragging me down and keeping me on my knees—figuratively and literally. “I wish you had said something to me back then.”
“Why? Would you have stayed?” I spat, angrier than I had a right to be.
“Yes. I would have!” She nodded earnestly, closing the distance between us to tenderly cup my jaw between her hands. “I wanted to stay that night. I wanted to get to know you. I wanted you to take me fishing. And if you’d asked, I would have stayed.”
What? I shook my head, ingrained instinct telling me to reject her words.
Rae leaned forward to kiss me, a short, urgent press of lips before wrapping her arms around my shoulders and placing her cheek next to mine. “I don’t know what to do,” she said, squeezing me tightly. “I’ve never felt like this before. I don’t understand it myself, and I know it doesn’t make sense, because we barely know each other, but I want a shot at being your nice, dedicated, hard-working, struggling, unfun woman.”
What is happening?
My brain couldn’t keep up. But my body, my hands in particular, seemed to know exactly what I wanted. I twined several locks of her long, thick hair around my fingers and pulled gently, forcing her chin back. I looked down at her, at the uncertainty, the hopeful vulnerability written all over her features.
Something too big to contain or measure swelled within me, a feeling, a sense, an emotion I couldn’t name, but it was fierce, and it turned my heart into a wild drum such that I heard nothing else. My mouth was on hers then, claiming the sweet sound of her surprise as I laid her back on the blanket and tasted her tongue, settling myself firmly between her open thighs and rocking forward.
She moaned. Her fingers clawed at my shirt to lift it, to reach inside and touch my skin, branding the expanse of my back.
Her nails dragged around my side, scratching my stomach as I feasted on her neck and pushed up her white T-shirt. I wasn’t thinking about anything—not where we were, not who stood nearby, or who might happen upon us. Making Rae feel good, making Rae come, making Rae beg—whoa, not sure where that one came from—occupied the entirety of my thoughts. Kissing and tasting every square inch of her body, listening to her sounds of ecstasy, feeling her muscles lock up, the intensity surprising her, just like I’d had the honor of doing twice upon a time.
But this time, I wanted inside her, my name on her lips when she came, and after she came, and then the next day. I wanted one night after another, waking her up to satiate my need and waking her up to satiate hers. I wanted mornings and afternoons too.
“Hey, Raquel!”
Someone’s voice penetrated my single-minded concentration, but just barely. Not enough to stop me from pulling down the cup of her bra and swirling my tongue around the stiff center of her breast.
She panted, watching my tongue circle her. Her hips shifted, rubbing impatiently against the erection barely contained behind the fly of my jeans. I shuddered, drawing her nipple into my mouth.
“Raaaaqueeeel?
” the voice tried again.
“No, no, no,” Rae whimpered, grabbing fistfuls of my shirt as I began lifting myself up. “Ignore him.”
“Charlotte is here. And she brought the kids,” the voice said, an unmistakable hint of urgency behind the words.
I stiffened, reality crashing around me as the blanket and the picnic and the crushed bag of chips came sharply into focus.
I looked at Rae. She looked at me.
“So whatever you two are doing,” a second voice added, “you might want to put it away.”
Chapter 19
*Raquel*
“Everything you see I owe to spaghetti.”
Sophia Loren (attributed, but later denied)
“Jackson James! Well, what a surprise.” Charlotte said this around the world’s largest, most self-satisfied smirk in the history of smirking. “What are the chances?”
“Charlotte,” he responded evenly in his delicious voice, but his eyes told a different story. His hands were stuffed deep in his front pockets and his shirt was untucked.
I knew—if he felt anything like I did—he was in a fair amount of pain. The pain of a frustrated, unmanifested-yet-definitely-imminently-possible reconciliation.
As soon as Dave mentioned the kids were present, Jackson and I had jumped away from each other, frantically working to straighten our clothes and hide all signs of hanky-panky. I experienced trouble switching over from Jackson-reconciliation-hopes to Charlotte-and-the-kids-fun-times. I knew I looked at him hungrily, because I was currently calculating how long we need to be sociable before we could leave.
And then what, Rae? This was the question.
We still had a lot to talk about. I’d told him how I felt. I’d told him I wanted to try being together for real. He hadn’t responded with words. Getting busy on the picnic blanket hadn’t been my intention. But it seemed like every time we were alone, we made out instead of making up.
“Has it been a bad day or a good day, Jackson?” Charlotte asked lightly, looking like she couldn’t be more pleased no matter how he answered.
