22. Jensen
22
JENSEN
T hings with Nessa have been off since my double shift that left me passed out on the couch with Remi. Thankfully, my daughter had bounced back to normal fairly quickly, and after a just in case call to the pediatrician, I felt a little more confident that I might be figuring out this parenting thing.
Things with Ness, on the other hand, had only gotten worse. At first I thought the teasing had gone too far. The sexual tension between us has been simmering since the moment I first saw her until it had damn near bubbled over in the kitchen.
And then I’d pushed her—I hadn’t meant to but I was tired and frustrated and hated that she’d reduced that moment between us to nothing.
Now like the flip of a coin, she’s turned on the celebrity with her fake smile and rehearsed lines. She’s not herself here except when she’s with Remi—definitely not with me.
I hate it.
And I shouldn’t because I’ve already asked too much of her, and she’s been explicit in telling me that she has no plans—no desire—to leave her life in Nashville.
This is temporary.
“Hey.” Her voice is quiet, tentative, as she comes into the kitchen, lingering on the other side of the island.
Away from me.
“Hey, there’s a plate for you in the microwave if you want it.”
“Oh, you didn’t have to.”
You shouldn’t have.
My shoulders slump as I read between the lines and run my hand through my hair. I need a haircut, but I can’t bring myself to care.
“I’ll—” My eyelids fall shut and it takes more effort than I’d like to admit to force them open again. She didn’t ask for this and I’m making it fucking awkward.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Her small hand grips my forearm belying the strength within her.
“Nothing.”
“Jensen.” Her fingers run through the strands of my hair. “When was the last time you had this cut?”
“I don’t know.” I admit my eyes close as she continues her ministrations. Just having her touch me seems to settle some of the chaos in my mind.
“I could do it for you.”
My eyes open slowly to meet her azure ones. They’re bright but tired, and I can only imagine what she sees in return.
“Are you any good?” I ask, my lips quirking up a little on one side, to let her know I’m joking—mostly—as I arch an eyebrow and wait.
She shrugs, her palm sliding over my jaw, down the side of my neck and over my shoulder, sending sparks of awareness through me.
I expect to see regret when I look at her—regret for touching me, for offering—but all I see is sincerity.
“I worked in a salon growing up that my friend’s mom owned. It was mostly cleaning and reception-type stuff, but I learned a couple of things too. Then in college I was dating one of the guys on the soccer team, and he needed a haircut for something and didn’t have time to go out, so I just did it.” She chuckles. “By the time I graduated, I was cutting the hair of half the guys across all the teams.”
“I’m sure they were genuinely interested in your haircutting.”
She laughs softly. “Initially, you’d be right. But by the time I graduated, most of them were pretty devastated they had to find someone else to do it.”
“All right then.”
“My credentials passed the test?” she says playfully, and I take a step back, shoving my hands in the front pockets of my jeans.
“Probably would have let you if you said you’ve never done it before.” I have no idea why I say it, even if it’s true. And I don’t dare meet her gaze for fear of ruining the momentary truce we’ve come to. “I’ll just grab the scissors and whatever?—”
Motioning over my shoulder toward the cabinet, I take one step to the side and she mirrors my movement, blocking my path.
“Oh, sorry, I’ll just,” she murmurs as we both step to the other side, my body buzzing at her proximity. The smell of her honeysuckle bodywash mixed with the light perfume she wears has me unable to draw a full breath.
“Ness…” Her eyes, previously glued to my chest, snap up to meet mine, her perfect bow lips falling open at my plea. I want to slam my mouth to hers and strip her bare right here in the kitchen, and I want to feast on the heaven I imagine is hidden beneath those damn athletic shorts she wears that barely cover the globes of her ass.
I want to.
I want to so damn bad.
But I can’t be another mistake she regrets.
Dragging my palms over my face, I take a step back. The space brings absolutely zero clarity, and her sharp intake of breath means she knows how hard I am—how desperate and aching I am for her and how I can’t hide it.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” I whisper.
“I’m flattered.” Her words are light even if they are a little breathy, and I chuckle even though it’s pained. “Go get the stuff and I’ll heat up the plate and meet you on the porch, okay?”
“Sure,” I agree as she finally makes it past me, ending our impromptu dance and letting me escape down the hall.
I count to ten and then back down from ten to one as I wait on the porch for Nessa. Being so close to her, inhaling her, made me a certain sort of crazy. It’s not her fault I’m damn near out of my mind for her.
But I need to get my shit under control.
She doesn’t want to muddy the waters, and I need to respect that.
It shouldn’t be a problem, and the fact that it is just fucks with me. I didn’t get to be the sheriff by chasing girls around with my friends. I didn’t get into fights or start trouble. I kept my head down, got promoted, and then eventually stepped into the role as the county sheriff when Pete Brannon had to retire after his hip surgery.
“Are you all right?” she asks, her voice smooth as honey as she steps out behind me and closes the sliding door.
“Just a long day is all.”
She hums, her fingers threading through my hair as a moan rumbles in my throat. She sucks in a sharp breath but doesn’t stop touching me, dragging her nails along my scalp.
“I’ll take some off the top, clean up the sides, okay?”
“Uh-huh,” I say with my eyes closed. She could shave my head and I probably wouldn’t notice until it’s too late.
Nessa taps her phone before setting it down again. “Bulletproof” by Nate Smith echoes off the porch rafters as I relax into the chair.
“Tell me about growing up with Scarlett,” I ask quietly as she works.
“We lived near each other growing up. My father wanted to give my sister and me a normal childhood even though he’d retired from playing football and could afford to move us somewhere more extravagant.” Little wisps of hair fall around us as she continues, “It was a kind of balance, I guess. Dad had the right connections to help make our dreams a reality. I think I told you my sister plays professional tennis.”
“It’s impressive—having a family with three professional athletes.”
She shrugs. “It’s really all we’ve ever known, and like I said, my father knew the right people to talk to.”
“But you still need a hell of a lot of talent,” I say seriously. “You don’t make it as far as you have without the hard work and the talent.”
“Sounds like you looked me up, Sheriff.”
I lift a shoulder and let it drop. “I might have checked out a couple of clips online.”
She’d impressed the hell out of me with her agility and speed and how natural she looked on the field.
“Anyway,” she starts again, “when we weren’t in soccer and tennis camp, we’d go up to the lake house and spend as much time as we could on the water. We always took Scarlett with us. Her dad was never around, and her mom tried hard to give them a good life but it was hard.”
“Where’s your aunt now?”
“She passed away before Scarlett would have met you. My cousin had wanted so badly to live the good life that she traded her independence and youth for a man that only wanted to control her and keep her away from us. It’s easy to see it for what it was now, but back then we thought she was happy. When my aunt got sick, it was a wakeup call for Scarlett—she finally was able to leave her abusive ex and spend the last few days with her mom.”
“Your aunt was sick?”
“Congestive heart failure,” Nessa says somberly.
“Did Scarlett ever tell you she was pregnant?”
“No, we only talked every once in a while. I think she was embarrassed about cutting everyone off—being in that situation—but she was working hard, you know? She texted me a couple of weeks before Remi was born and asked if we could get together once my season was over.” Her breath catches as she adds, “She said she had something she wanted to show me.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“And yours,” she murmurs as she walks in front of me and tilts my head from one side to the other.
I close my eyes, the urge to stare at her breasts too much, especially with how they’re practically in my face. And now really isn’t the time.
Instead, I let myself enjoy the way her nails rake against my scalp and inhale the addictive scent of her perfume.
“What would you have done?” Nessa asks, setting the clippers down and taking the seat next to me. She tucks one leg under her, turning her body toward me as she waits for me to answer.
“I…don’t know. I would have been there for Scarlett, would have wanted to share custody, but I don’t know what that would have looked like.”
“You wouldn’t have dated and fallen in love?”
“It’s hard to completely rule it out, but I don’t think so. We had a good time, but our interaction wasn’t very deep.”
“Well, that’s unfortunate,” she deadpans and I drop my head back and laugh, studying the wooden slats on the ceiling before sitting up again.
“Hilarious.”
“I do think I’m pretty funny.”
“Uh-huh, but clearly my performance wasn’t an issue,” I quip, motioning at the monitor on the side table. Nessa snickers and I have to fight an eye roll because if I give in to this playfulness, I’m going to end up hauling her into my lap, and I sure as hell won’t want to stop there.
“Just because you finished doesn’t mean she did,” she says with a glint in her eye.
“Listen, Trouble, you might know how to play the field but I can assure you, I am nothing if not a gentleman, especially when it concerns a woman’s pleasure.”
She tries to hide it, but I see the little shiver that races through her.
“You talk an awfully big game, Sheriff,” Nessa says as she stands, and I don’t hate the way she’s lookin’ down on me.
“You started it, Miss Hart.”
“And I’ll be sure to finish it all on my own.”
I groan and she chuckles all the way inside.