CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Raina
It was Saturday. The last weekend before the children all headed back to school, and our regularly scheduled program could commence.
Not that I didn’t love having Marco home, but the kid did a lot of lounging, a lot of video game playing, and a lot of eating.
He was in that weird stage of his life where he needed me, but also didn’t need me as much.
He also idolized his older cousins. So he wanted to spend as much time with Damon and Austin as he could, since when the kids were in school, they hung out primarily with their age group and classmates.
I finished my work for the day and checked my phone. It was only two o’clock. I hadn’t heard or seen Jagger since he showed up on my doorsteps a few days ago, and for some reason, that bugged me.
Why wasn’t he pushing for us to go out? Surely, he wasn’t going to take my no as an answer and back off.
Didn’t men like the chase? Or was I totally out of the loop when it came to dating?
Was I supposed to chase him now? How did dating even go?
Did we “hang out” for months until we declared it on social media that it was more than just casual or hanging out?
Did people even declare things on social media anymore?
My dating experience was nonexistent. I had no reference. My cousins didn’t even date, as far as I knew. So I couldn’t use them as shining examples either.
All I knew was that when I jumped into Gabrielle’s SUV with the intention of heading to the Town Center Grocery Store, I found myself pulling onto the laneway for the San Camanez Brewery and Sound Bites Pub instead.
After the chaos the McEvoys experienced earlier this year, they smartly installed a security gate, separating the commercial property from their private residence.
I didn’t like that I had to announce myself, but I understood the reasoning.
I was about to roll down my window and hit the intercom when a vehicle pulled up behind me.
The driver’s side door opened and Brooke Barker, smiling like the beautiful blonde Hollywood starlet that she was, came to my window. “Hey, Raina. You here to see Jagger?”
Heat burned my cheeks and my arms grew tingly. “Uh, yeah.”
“Hang on, I’ll punch in the code for you.” She stepped in front of me and hit a series of numbers, then the big, metal gate swung open a second later. I quickly drove through, but I didn’t know which of the five identical houses—all painted different colors—was Jagger’s.
Brooke parked Clint’s truck in front of the first house—a well-maintained two-story with blue siding and white trim—then she, Vica, Chloe, and Justine all jumped out, big grins on all of their faces.
Crap.
“Jagger’s house is the one on the end,” Vica said, pointing to the same style two-story with gray siding and white trim. His truck was parked in front as well.
I swallowed. “Uh, thanks.”
“For the record,” Brooke said, her yoga mat tucked under her arm, “we think you and Jagger would make a really cute couple.”
My head hung forward and I’m sure flames flickered visibly off my cheeks at this point. The other three women simply chuckled as they made their way to their respective front doors, their yoga mats under their arms.
I parked in front of Jagger’s house, pulled up my big girl panties and climbed out of Gabrielle’s SUV. Why the fuck was I even here? What was my plan?
Short answer? I didn’t have a plan.
Long answer? I missed Jagger and hated that he stopped coming around, and that he took my no as a final answer.
With my heart hammering against my ribcage until I thought I might puke, I approached his front door only to be greeted with the sound of “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” by Marvin Gay and Tammi Terrell playing loudly inside. Was he blasting that on his own?
A sinking feeling formed in my stomach. Maybe he wasn’t alone. Maybe he’d already moved on and was entertaining someone who had a penchant for the oldies.
This was an absolutely terrible idea. I turned to go, but found Chloe standing on Dom’s front porch, a soft smile on her lips. “Knock,” she said. “Just knock.” Then she ducked into her house, but only after giving me an encouraging little tip of her head.
Pulling in a deep breath, I hiked my jeans up onto my hips and tugged down my puffy cream-colored vest. Since the weather was nice, I decided to risk it and wear a long-sleeve, waffle-knit, black shirt and a vest, rather than bust out the full jacket. So far, nothing important had frozen off.
My knuckles made contact with the solid wood of his front door, and I held my breath.
It took a moment for there to be any noise—besides the music—on the other side of the door, but eventually, it swung open, the music still playing.
I wasn’t expecting a tiny pixie of a human with curly, blonde hair and soft, brown eyes to greet me.
“Hello,” she said. “You’re Marco’s mom, aren’t you? ”
“I … I am. You’re Aya, right?”
She nodded. “Are you here to see Uncle Jagger? Because he’s busy in the spa.”
“Aya, who’s there?” came Jagger’s voice before the man I came here to see appeared in the doorway wearing a black mud mask, a terrycloth headband, and foam spacers between his toes.
He had hot-pink nail polish with sparkles on both his fingernails and toenails.
His eyes went wide when he saw me, then he glanced into the house.
“Emme, can you turn the music down, sweetheart?”
A second later, Marvin and Tammi were no more than a whisper.
I’m pretty sure I ovulated right then and there.
The goopy mud mask was thick on his face, so I couldn’t see if his complexion changed color, but apprehension filled his eyes. “We, uh … we do ‘spa’ once in a while. Clint and Bennett had to work for a bit, so I said I’d watch the girls.”
Aya reached for her uncle’s hand and pressed her fingertip to a few of his nails. “They’re dry now.”
“Thanks. Maybe you could start cleaning up, hmm?”
Aya pouted. “Oh fine.” She disappeared into the house, leaving the man with the charcoal mud mask and nail polish standing in front of me.
“I, um …” I started, not sure what to say.
I glanced down at the ground, but was drawn to his big, sexy, bare feet.
Even with the Barbie nail polish, they still turned me on.
Maybe I needed therapy to get to the root of my sudden foot fetish.
“You didn’t ask me out again,” I said, slowly lifting my gaze to his. “Why?”
Tugging on one ear, he cocked his head to the side.
“You told me no. ‘No.’ is a complete sentence. The last thing I wanted to do was make you feel pressured into saying yes when you didn’t want to.
Or making you think I didn’t respect your voice.
If you’re not interested in me that way, that’s okay.
It’s not like it’s going to affect our truce.
I’m a jerk, but I’m not a complete prick.
” His mouth tipped up into a roguish smile with that last sentence.
I tugged my bottom lip into my mouth with my top teeth for a minute, letting his words sink in. “‘No.’ is a complete sentence .”
“No,” meant jack-diddly-squat to Josiah when I said it.
“I got scared. I haven’t dated … ever. And we’ve been—”
“Enemies?”
“Yeah. We’ve been enemies for so long. I just … I panicked.”
He nodded. “I get that.”
I drew in a deep breath of courage, causing my ribs to strain against my vest. “Ask me again?” I said softly.
It was tough to tell if his brows lifted or not. I think they did. They were caked in the mud mask, and the mask had started to dry, creating cracks all over his face. “Pardon me?”
I let out an exasperated exhale. “Ask me again.”
“Ask you what?”
“Are you really going to make me do this?” I crossed my arms in front of my chest.
“I think you should ask me this time.” His eyes twinkled like two blue diamonds in an inky sky, mocking me.
“Seriously?”
One big shoulder shrugged.
I huffed out a sigh through my nose. “Jagger, would you like to go out for dinner with me?”
His lips twisted, prolonging the agony in my gut. That’s when I noticed just how much of the mud mask ended up in his beard and mustache. I guess when your estheticians were no older than nine, you can’t expect perfection, let alone tidiness. “Thank you for the offer, but no,” he said.
My temperature spiked like I’d just opened up the oven. “Oh … okay.”
Then his mouth split into the biggest, most panty-melting smile I’ve ever seen. “Just kidding. I’ll pick you up tomorrow night at six?”
My fists bunched, and I stomped my foot like a toddler before I could stop myself. That just propelled him into a laugh.
“Laugh, Elsa. It was funny.”
My eyes formed thin slits as I fought the smile my face wanted to make. I turned to go. “Fine. Six o’clock.”
“Hey, girls,” he called into the house, “I got a date tomorrow night. You need to help me pick out what to wear.”
Girly cheers wafted out toward me.
“See you tomorrow for our date, Rosebush,” he said, still hitting me with that ridiculously sexy smile.
I nodded, way too giddy for my own liking, and already getting anxious over what to wear. “See you at six.”
Then I floated back to the car at the same time he closed the door. A second later, the music volume cranked, Marvin and Tammi’s tune starting all over again.
And no matter how much I tried to fight it for the rest of the day, I caught myself singing or humming that song.
I had a date with Jagger “The Jerk” McEvoy, and I wasn’t nearly as terrified about it as I thought I’d be.
Maybe he wasn’t the enemy after all.
Maybe … he was the fresh start I was finally coming to realize I deserved.
“I thought we hated Jagger McEvoy,” Marco protested, sitting on my bed Sunday night as I applied my makeup. “Why are you going on a date with him?”
I glanced at my child in the mirror. “Remember how in the first grade, you and Oliver Sundry didn’t get along?”