21. JT
Chapter twenty-one
JT
“Hey, Pipsqueak,” I say as Lila walks into the house a few days later. She and Kelsey have been out golfing the par three with Izzy and Becca this afternoon. Unfortunately for my game, the main course is still too banged up to play on.
I would normally have picked her up from work, but she caught a ride out with her officemates. The extra space in my schedule is making me feel a bit off my game, and for some reason, my mind kept slipping to Lila the whole afternoon, wondering how her day was. I know she’s excited about the proposal she’s working on for Kelsey, though, based on the way her shoulders tighten any time she talks about it, I think she might be struggling with it more than she is letting on.
Lila slips her shoes off with an exhausted sigh before joining me in the kitchen.
“Hey, Pretty Boy. Whatcha working on there?” she asks, pointing to the pile of chicken I’ve been cutting up for fajitas for the last ten minutes.
“Chicken,” I say with pride.
“Are you sure? It looks like a pile of mush.”
“Oh, I’m sure. It’s for fajitas. They always slice it like that.”
I look at said pile quizzically, and—damn it—she has a point. Why is it so mushy?
Her lips are pinched together, clearly trying and failing to hold back a laugh. “You know most people cook the meat and then cut it into strips, don’t you?”
“Only people who are terrible cooks,” I reply. Except I didn’t know that. Makes sense why it was so fricken hard to cut. I’m not much of a cook-my-own-food kind of guy.
“Or anyone who wants their meat to be edible.”
“Trust me, no one has ever complained about having my meat in their mouth. Especially the women.” I give her a quick wink for good measure.
She stares at me for a second, her eyes alight with surprise before she lets out a strangled sound. “Oh God. That was the douchiest thing anyone has ever said to me.” She’s laughing now, so hard she’s bent double. I start to move back to my cutting, but she holds up her hand to stop me.
I wait patiently for her to get it together, but Lila doesn’t seem to be able to stop her laughter. As I turn away, she chokes out, “Do the men tend to complain?” She’s laughing again. “About your meat in their mouths?”
“Let’s just say I’ve never had any complaints and leave it at that.” That shuts her up, and I can feel the curiosity in her gaze burning a hole through my back.
“No way! I’m not leaving it at that! Tell me, tell me, tell me.”
The woman is bouncing up and down on her toes in glee.
“I was joking, Pipsqueak. Unfortunately for the male population, I’m a women-only kind of guy. Though my PA Sam often tells me I should reconsider my options.”
“Boo. I was hoping for a scandalous story.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
Lila starts heading to our bathroom, yelling behind her, “I’m going to take a quick shower.”
I hear the door lock and try not to think about her very naked form behind it, forcing myself to focus on how to cook this chicken instead. Unfortunately, my mind keeps wandering to the naked woman currently in our room.
Lila and I have been sleeping together for almost a week now. We never do more than basic cuddling, no matter how annoyed my dick is at me each morning as I force myself to roll to my back, abandoning the warmth of her ass. But it’s nothing more than...well, I don’t know what. Similar to the book, we’ve both—without ever talking about it—agreed to act like it’s not happening. Even if it’s the best part of my day.
I grab my plate and walk to the table, forcing bites of mushy chicken and peppers into my mouth. As I’m searching for how to tell if chicken is going to give you E. coli, my phone vibrates, and I look down to see a new message from my mom.
Mom
I’ve lined up my friend Bethany’s daughter to be your date for the Ferguson event.
Shit. I’ve met Bethany’s daughter Morgan before. The dinner our moms forced us to attend together was utterly miserable. Morgan spent the whole time talking about purses and shoes or something like that. I was bored out of my mind and mortified by the way she treated the serving staff at the restaurant. When the condensation dripped off our waitress’s water pitcher and onto the lap of Morgan’s dress, Morgan went as far as asking to speak to the poor girl’s manager. I added an extra twenty dollars to her tip. It was the least I could do. I told my mom about it, hoping it would cause her to drop the whole thing. Apparently not.
JT
I already have a date. Sorry!
My phone rings, and without looking, I know it’s my mom. I hate lying to her, but I also cannot go with Morgan.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Who is your date, and why have I not heard about her?”
Cutting right to the chase, I guess. Smart, really. It doesn’t give me any time to come up with a plan.
“I just asked her recently. We’re going as friends, of course.” The latter part is more for me than my mom. My mother feels a wife could be “very beneficial for my overall image and future career success.” Then she likes to use her relationship with my dad as supporting evidence, which is unconvincing at best.
“And her name is…?”
“And her name is…” Just then, I hear the door to the bathroom open, the easy answer coming to mind. “...Lila. Lila Walker.”
“Jameson’s sister? Isn’t she a child? Good God, JT.”
“She’s twenty-four, Mom.”
“That’s practically an infant.”
“I’m not even five full years older than her. And we are going as friends.” I mean, probably. As soon as I convince her.
“I think you should consider backing out and going with Morgan.”
The thought of it makes me shiver a bit in disgust. Nope. I would grovel at Lila’s feet before agreeing to go with Morgan. Plus, I’m offended on behalf of fake Lila. She deserves to be treated so much better than a placeholder until someone better comes along.
“Sorry. Lila really wants to go. I can’t back out on her now.” I can tell I’m not making any headway, so I play the one card I know will work with my mother. “Plus, Jameson is considering coming”—also a lie—“and I wouldn’t want him to be upset if I showed up with a different date.”
“I suppose you don’t want to upset Jameson. It’s wonderful he’s playing well again. I’ve always had a soft spot for that boy. Is he still happy with his wealth management team?”
I roll my eyes, glad my mom can’t see me. She’s back on the Jameson Walker train these days, but there was a rough couple of years recently when she regularly tried to get me to stop spending time with him. Now he’s playing well, and she’s back to trying to use our friendship to her advantage.
“He’s not interested in switching, Mom.”
“Well, if something changes, let me know. About Jameson or your date. I’m sure Morgan can be available if you need her.”
Yeah, right. Pigs will be flying around the golf course before I take Morgan with me. I’m sure I can find some way to convince Lila to go. Maybe she can be bribed with a trip to a bookstore while we’re there.
I say goodbye to my mom and stare down at my food. Completely inedible. I take it and dump it in the trash, then grab a protein bar from the cupboard instead. Yum. Dinner of champions.
“What are you wearing?” I ask when Lila emerges thirty minutes later. She’s wearing jeans and a navy blue T-shirt with the letters WBHS stamped above a picture of a charging horse.
“Did you get your fajitas made?” she asks instead of answering me, suspiciously eyeing the plate in front of me.
“Yep. They were fucking delicious too.”
She looks around. “You didn’t save any for me?”
“No. Did you think I was going to?”
Her cheeks flush a bit pink, and, to be fair, she’s had quite a bit of leftovers the last few days, so we’ve taken to sharing meals. But we’ve both been very clear that it was just because there were leftovers. Definitely not because we enjoyed the verbal sparring while she cooked dinner.
“Okaay,” she says, pulling her phone out of her pocket before typing on it. Whomever she’s texting responds right away, and she types something back before turning her face back up to me.
“No worries. Matthew confirmed there will be food at the game tonight.”
Suddenly, her shirt makes sense. WBHS is Wild Bluffs High School. Their mascot isn’t the Stallions, though I think one of the Harpers mentioned it was something horse-related.
“You’re going out with that guy again?” I ask, my voice harsher than intended.
Lila looks at me for a second, her head tilted to the right, her eyes searching my face as if trying to decide something. She just shrugs. “Just because you find the idea of dating me repulsive doesn’t mean everyone else does.”
“I don’t find the idea of dating you repulsive,” I say, all thoughts of asking her to join me at the Ferguson event slipping from my mind. She scoffs, so I continue, “I find the idea of dating at all inconvenient. I have to focus on my game right now.”
“Well, then. There you go. Since it’s an inconvenient time for you to date, I clearly shouldn’t ever go out again.” She lightly smacks herself in the face. “Oh, wait! I just remembered. I don’t care what you think.”
“Maybe you should. I’m doing pretty darn well for myself.”
“Are you, though?” she asks, her lips downturned as she shoots me a pitying smile that immediately makes me want to rage.
And in a way I only ever do around Lila, I let that rage break free. “Fine, then. But good luck pulling the pieces of shrapnel out of your back after he fucks you on your glass-covered bed.”
“Wow. That escalated quickly. Luckily for me, he has his own house. Maybe I will bring him back here, though. I bet I could figure out some creative ways to avoid the bed. The bathroom counter is safe…”
Like fucking Hell she will. I almost bark at her that the counter is our fucking place, but I catch myself, my hand tightening into a fist instead.
I force a smirk onto my face. “Don’t set the poor guy up for failure by giving him such stiff competition.” I raise my eyebrows at the word “stiff,” so she knows exactly what I’m talking about.
“Oh, I’m sure he can handle it. The bar is very low.” She stares right at me, her expression flat, her body language not giving me anything. And, even though I know I’m being gaslighted—gaslit?—my confidence wavers. She had a damn good time on that counter in Vegas. I made sure of it. Shit, I made sure of it twice. But maybe she didn’t? Could she fake ecstasy like that? No. I shake my head, causing her to huff out a sigh of displeasure. Lila would never fake something like that. She would bust my balls until I gave her exactly what she wanted.
I’m too busy mentally backtracking through our entire night together to respond, and the next thing I know, Lila is pulling the door open to the house, the sight of a white pickup just visible through the opening.
“Don’t wait up!” she calls.
I would never dream of waiting up for Lila to find out how her stupid second date went. I’m sure the guy is some weird local who can’t find anyone new to date so is pulling out all the stops to woo Lila. Though, if a high school football game is the best he can do, the poor guy doesn’t stand a chance. What a terrible second date. Maybe he and Lila deserve each other.
I look around the empty house, suddenly feeling more alone than ever, even though I’ve lived by myself for half a decade at this point. A look at the empty bed in our room—fuck, our room —and a wave of nausea rolls through my body. Hoping the feeling is just a bit of light food poisoning from the terrible chicken I made, I force myself to drink a big glass of water. Maybe getting something else into my stomach will cause me to feel normal again. “Dilution is the solution to pollution” and all that.