26. Ginger
26
GINGER
I barely have time to enjoy the post-orgasm aftershocks when Jackson pulls out of me. My dress falls back down around my hips to cover me up as someone comes upstairs.
It’s too close. My heart is pounding for all of the wrong reasons.
Jackson is barely dressed, but we both look mussed from the sex. Just because we’ve covered up doesn’t mean we aren’t caught.
Damn it.
I wipe at my face, tempted to turn away, but I am an adult. I can face whoever it is who’s discovered us.
Sucking in a breath, I meet Ashley’s gaze. Would it have been worse if it were someone else?
Fight or flight kicks in, and I squeeze past them both to the bathroom at the end of the hall. Am I hiding? Yes. Do I have the guts to go out there and face the two of them right this second? Absolutely not.
I can’t even face the mirror right now.
Squatting on the toilet, I drop my head into my hands and scream into my hands. I’ve been so stupid to be this casual about things at work. Tempted fate too often. Been behaving like a love-struck teenager. And I had plenty of these experiences when I was an actual teen. Hence, my having a seven-year-old daughter at twenty-four.
I can’t keep making these same mistakes.
Even if all I want are the three of them.
I don’t hear any yelling, fighting, or chest-pounding territorial garbage, so that’s a good sign, right?
After a quick pee—which you should always do after sex—I face the mirror. My eye makeup is smudged a little, my cheeks are flushed, my mouth swollen from kisses, and my hair is mussed from Jackson’s fingers. I’m a mess, but not a disaster.
I use damp fingers to brush my locks back into a sensible bun. Tissue cleans up the uneven liner around my eyes. A fresh coat of mascara will help. So will a brush of powder and lipstick.
Taking a few deep breaths, I pull on as much armor as I have access to and open the door. The hallway is clear, but tension mounts in my chest.
I don’t let my confident facade drop as I march into my office, because what’s waiting for me is what I’d been expecting. Ashley is lounging in one of the chairs, and Jackson is leaning by one of the windows.
Panic sets in. It’s just too many things today. Too many swings back and forth between the extremes, and I feel like I’m going to break.
They must see it on me, because Ashley is sitting straighter, and Jackson pushes off the wall.
I’m behind my desk, gathering my things and stuffing them in my bag.
“Ginger.”
I’m not sure who says it. It’s like a gong is ringing in my head, and I need to escape. Bag in hand, I charge out of there before either of them can trap me in.
I make it down the first few steps before Jackson’s hand is around my arm, forcing me to face him. The concern in his features is another blow.
“I can’t do this right now. It’s too much.” I bite back the trembling of my lip and drop another step. “It’s too much.”
Jackson releases his hold, and after a second’s pause, I’m flying down the stairs and out the door to my car before anyone else can intercept me. Tears stain my cheeks on the way home, but I don’t give in completely.
Parked in my driveway, I take a moment to breathe, wipe the wetness from my cheeks, and ready myself for my family. My mom’s truck is in her usual spot, and Gracie should be working on her art project.
I’m not really ready to face Mom and her all-seeing gaze. She’s too perceptive. Always has been. And she’s always seen through my shenanigans with a ninety-nine percent accuracy. The only time she didn’t know what was going on was with Phil—Gracie’s absent father— who swooped in for a whirlwind romance, only to leave me devastated a mere month later.
Taking a deep breath, I finally exit my car, dragging my bag inside with me. Mom is lounging on the couch with a glass of white wine in her hand. She and Gracie’s favorite show is up on the screen, and Gracie is spread out on the coffee table, working on her flower field scene.
We’ve been looking at Monet and Van Gogh for her imitation assignment.
Mom peers over her shoulder at me with a smile, but it drops the moment she sees me. I barely make it into the kitchen as she bends to whisper to my daughter and stands to meet me at the fridge.
I’ve got a canned cocktail hidden in the back, and once I’ve cracked it open and taken a sip, I feel a bit better.
Until I meet Mom’s gaze again.
Her touch sweeps down my arms. “What’s happened, my baby?”
I shake my head, pushing away the bubbling emotions that I just got under control. Glancing over at Gracie, I keep my voice low. “It’s just been a rough day.”
“I can see that. You haven’t had that look in your eyes for a good many years.” She squeezes my upper arms, a soothing gesture meant to reassure me, but my heart just won’t stop sinking. “Tell me about it, baby. Tell your momma.”
I suck in a shaky breath, afraid to admit what I’ve been doing to my mother. I don’t want her to judge me, look down on my choices, although she never has in the past.
Mom cups my cheek in her cool hand, rougher than it was when I was a child. “First of all, I’m not blind, honey. I was a young woman once, too, you know. And secondly, I don’t plan on telling your father.”
That breaks the dam in me. “Does he have any clue?”
“That you’re having sex with all three of your bosses? No. He doesn’t. They’re his friends. He’d never even entertain the thought. And it’s a good thing. For you.” Her mouth lifts with a smile, and she pats my shoulders again.
“For them,” I counter. It’s not me I’m worried about. I’ve always been a daddy’s girl, and nothing can change that for us.
“Do they know about each other?” Her soft blue eyes hold genuine curiosity.
“I don’t know. I think so. I mean, they have to talk, right?”
The way Mom shakes her head has me second-guessing how I’ve been handling the three of them. I mean, hiding things at work is not the same as hiding what I’m doing from them. They’re friends. They own a business together. They have to talk.
“Let’s put together some dinner.” Mom turns to my fridge, pulling out the chicken I have thawed and the mountain of vegetables she must have brought over from the main house. I let her tackle the chicken, trimming off the fat and covering it in a spice paste before letting it rest in the fridge.
I wash everything. One thing about growing up on a ranch—one that uses a few acres to grow food—is to always, always , wash my food. Even if it says it’s prewashed. Bugs like to get in those nooks and crannies that a general wash doesn’t get out.
Once we both get to chopping, I have to ask the question swimming in my thoughts. “Do you think I’m being stupid?”
Mom pauses, finishes the tomatoes, and turns to look at me. “Listen, honey. I worry about you. It’s my right as a mother, but I hold no judgments. I only want you to be safe and happy. In that order. Be safe first, and then be happy.”
I nod, relief letting me relax into the task. It opens up the room for me to ruminate over the look on Ashley’s face when he caught Jackson and me together. There were hints of surprise, but not outright shock. A heat flashed in his eyes, but was it from anger or lust?
I just don’t know.
After dinner is finished, I settle Gracie at the kitchen table with her plate and pick at mine. My thoughts are too wrapped up in mysex life.
What I need is a nice, long bath, and to go to bed early. Exhaustion teases my shoulders, and I’m ready to drop when a firm knock echoes off my front door.
Anxiety, the instinct to run again, flares in my chest, but my mother is on her feet, opening the door before I can tell her not to. Probably because she’s taught me to never hide from my problems.
I don’t need to look to know who’s standing on my stoop, but I see all three of them towering over my willowy mother.
Jackson. Sawyer. Ashley.
It’s time to face the consequences of my actions.