Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jackson
I 'm not one of those guys who doesn't want to cuddle. After-care is important, even when I'm not tying someone up. But I never thought I needed the closeness either.
Not until Daphne slips out of my arms. I'm not sure if it's been five minutes or five hours. Only that I want to continue to hold her close.
Then she announces we simply have to get lunch now, and I want to tend to that. It's primal. A need to make sure my family is fed, housed, safe.
No matter how many times I tell myself she's not my family, this is temporary, my body refuses to accept the news. My veins buzz with energy. This drive to tend to my wife's physical needs.
It's ridiculous. Daphne is an adult. She knows how to take care of herself. She's perfectly capable of ordering room service, walking to a non-buffet restaurant, or calling a car.
In fact, she's already ahead of me.
She emerges from the bathroom, dressed in a casual outfit, holding the keys to her mom's mini-van. "I borrowed these. Let's go."
My lips curl into an involuntary smile. She's way ahead of me, and I love that about her. I nod and slip into my shoes.
She slides into her hot-pink Converse high-tops. Daphne isn't girly in many conventional ways—she doesn't wear much makeup or follow fashion or paint her nails—but she loves hot pink.
Another thing she shares with my sister.
Shit. My family.
That's another urgent matter.
"Let me check something before we go." I find my phone on the table and shoot my sister a text.
Jackson: Do Zack and Laurel know?
She replies right away.
Cassie: I think everyone in the states of California and Nevada knows, J. The two of you are this close to going viral. Do me a favor and post your next Reel with one of Bryce's new songs. I could use the exposure.
Jackson: Glad you're thinking of me.
Cassie: I haven't heard from them, but I'm sure they've seen it.
Jackson: Do you know where they are?
Cassie: I can find out. Give me one minute .
Daphne looks at me funny. "Can we take this on the road?"
"Checking on our friends," I say. "I want to make sure they won't surprise us."
"The best way to beat them is with preparation"—she holds up a small duffel bag—"enough to stay somewhere else tonight. Or drive back home and beg Cassie and Damon to pack the room and rent a car."
That's a dramatic move. Not one I'd make, but a smart one. Usually, I bristle at sudden changes, especially when they're someone else's idea, but I trust her here.
"Speed helps too—" She raises a brow and motions let's go .
"Do you have clothes for me in there?" I ask.
"Why would you need those?" She smiles. "Yes. I packed an outfit and a swimsuit and condoms. Come on. Let's live dangerously." There's confidence on her face. And there's something else too. Another dare I want to answer.
It's not have sex in public or marry me but it's something.
Not trying to avoid my brother and sister's commentary—
That's stranger than public sex.
Far stranger.
I take her hand, and I follow her to the hallway, the elevator, anywhere she wants to take me.
After a ten-minute drive, the forced glamor of Las Vegas fades into everyday suburbs. We park in the massive lot of a strip mall, walk into the nondescript Thai restaurant, find a spot that could be in any city in the country. Framed photos of rice patties, teal booths, white chairs, and gold Buddha statues.
We're no longer in Sin City.
We're in Everytown, USA.
Or at least some place a lot like home. (Well, less expensive and new money than home).
Daphne and I find a booth in the corner, one right under a framed photo of a temple.
She orders the green curry; I order the red. So we can try both. So I have more of what she wants.
The waitress drops off a pot of tea and two small mugs. I fill both with steaming jasmine. It's not the finest tea in the world, but with this company, it might as well be.
She holds up her glass as if to toast, but she doesn't toast to anything in particular. She just waits for me to raise my glass, then she sips and swallows. "Fuck, that's hot." She presses her lips together and blows cool air over the ceramic cup.
"Should I say then it suits you?"
"Only if I fucked the wit right out of you." Her smile is equal parts sweet and dirty. "But how would that be possible? You're the one who fucked me."
There's something about her goofy, dirty joke. It's sexy and adorable at the same time. "I think we can count it as the two of us fucking each other."
"You don't want to get technical on the definition of fucking?" she asks.
"No, but we can, if you insist."
"No. I just meant, uh…" She blows air over the cup. "You were the one in the more active role."
"You played your part."
She fights a blush.
"You played it well. You're good at this."
"Thanks." Her eyes go to the wall behind me. "You too… but I'm sure you know that."
I do. This is one thing I know. Maybe the only thing I know about myself and relationships. Still, I want to hear her feedback. I want it to be good for her. "I still like to hear it."
She blows air over the drink one more time, then she takes a sip, sighs, swallows. "Do I look as awkward as I feel? I've begged so many ex-boyfriends to talk about sex, but now that we're here, I get why they were hesitant. It's odd."
"You're nervous. It's sweet."
"Sweet? Okay. I'll take that." She takes a long sip, settles into the seat, finds her words. "I didn't bring you here to have my way with you verbally."
"Damn. And I thought Thai restaurants were your kink."
"Is it the Buddha statues that do it for you?" she teases me back. "Or is it something else?"
My lips curl into a smile. "It feels domestic, doesn't it? Like we've been together a long time."
"It's not the place you take someone to impress them." Her eyes go to the watch on my left hand. "That's where I imagine you on dates. Nobu or Geoffrey's. Some place with a view of the ocean and a menu without prices."
"The watch was a gift," I say.
She nods I know and takes another sip of her tea. "Where do you take your dates?"
"I've taken women to Nobu."
She smiles called it .
"Usually, I do drinks for a first date. And somewhere in LA or Malibu proper. I try not to date in Malibu Hills."
She nods of course . "Too high a chance you'll run into someone." She takes another sip of tea. "What about the second date? Nobu time? Or maybe you save it for the third date." She waggles her brows in another gesture that's goofy and sexy as sin.
A laugh spills from my lips. "Do people still wait to have sex on exactly the third date?" Did people ever do that?
"Statistically, no, and I haven't heard anyone mention it in a while," she says. "I think Tinder put a stop to that."
"And where do you take your Tinder dates?" I return her question.
She smiles you wish you knew . "Oh no. You didn't answer. Where is date two?"
"Drinks again," I say. "Then, a restaurant. One the woman will like. If she has expensive tastes and loves sushi, then I'll take her to Nobu."
"You don't have a default place?"
I shake my head. "I try to suggest somewhere she'll like. Or I ask her."
"Do women usually answer?"
"Of course. It's the twenty-first century," I say.
She looks me over slowly, noting my casual linen shirt and shorts. "I guess I can't imagine you on this casual date, with this modern woman, who decides where you'll go."
"What am I doing now?"
She bites her lip. "I did demand we go here. That's a good point."
"But you think I'm an old-timey romance hero?" I ask.
"A detective, actually." She smiles. "So you know all the best spots. And you always pick the right one. Since you've followed leads all over the city."
I shake my head. "And where did you get this idea?"
"From your clothes. And a few of my sexual fantasies."
"Oh." I raise a brow and lean a little closer. I don't mean to bring it back to sex, and I don't think she does either, but it's in the air. After all, this is the kind of place you go after sex. Not because it's unimpressive in conventional ways. Because it's an easy, fast way to feed yourself so you have energy for the next round.
"There might be a scenario in my head," she says. "With an interrogation."
"I'm listening."
She shakes her head. "No. I'm trying to talk about other things. I swear."
"Can you talk about other things?" I tease her.
She laughs. "Maybe. That's a theory I need to test. How many minutes can Daphne Webb go without bringing the topic back to sex."
"Minutes?" I shake my head I don't think so . "We're at seconds."
Her laugh is big, hearty. It floats through the air, filling the room with warmth.
She has such a gorgeous laugh. I want to listen to it forever.
For as long as I have. I'm not dwelling on the end point. I'm enjoying this. For once in my life, I'm going to enjoy something without expectations of a future.
I can do that.
In theory.
"When it is up to you," she says. "And these modern women ask you to choose, because they're just too damn tired to decide the restaurant themselves, where do you go?"
"One of the restaurants that serves Californian-style cuisine," I say. "They're nice, but they're more casual."
"And not outrageously expensive," she says.
I nod exactly . "A lot of people are uncomfortable at expensive restaurants." I raise a brow and motion to her. That's the most logical explanation for why she keeps asking, but it feels insufficient.
"I'm not, I swear. Well, it's not the price. It's the fussiness." Again, her eyes go to my watch. This time, they don't stay there. They move to my linen shirt. "You're wearing a white shirt and you ordered curry."
"I live dangerously."
She smiles wryly. "But you don't. That's the thing. I've never seen you spill. I've never seen a stain on your clothes. I've never seen you sweat."
"What was happening last night?"
"Metaphorically," she says. "You're always cool and collected. You're like Cassie that way. You two… you seem so effortless."
I lean into the bench seat. It's a strange feeling, this comparison to my sister. People see traits in common—we're both witty thinkers—but never this one. "You seem effortless."
"Sure, I'm casual." She motions to her blue tank top. "But I'm sweaty and hot and I've washed a dozen stains from this shirt. I'll stain it again today."
"I don't see any."
"They're there," she says.
"They're not as noticeable as you think." Is that true about both of us? We think our flaws are obvious, but they're not. We think we invite people into our hearts, but we don't. I know I haven't.
"Maybe." She takes another sip of tea. "I don't feel put together. You always look so put together. I bet you're a great cook."
"What's that have to do with anything?" I ask.
She nods with victory. "I knew it."
"Of course you knew it. I've cooked for you a dozen times."
The memory hits her all at once. It flashes over her face, a mix of epiphany and nostalgia. "Right. Of course. And I remember when you were still living at home, you'd cook for women you invited over, and Cassie would try to spy on you, and of course, Laurel and Zack would interrupt, and your dates always found it charming."
"Strange, right?" I ask.
She smiles. "Truly bizarre." The humor drops from her voice. "I was jealous sometimes."
She was? "You had a crush on me?"
"You didn't notice?"
No. I shake my head.
"You didn't see me that way?" she asks.
"Not when you were younger, no," I say. "When you got older, sometimes. But I never thought you'd be interested. You may not walk around, telling everyone you can how much Hole is better than Nirvana, but you're every bit as cool as Cassie. And I'm—"
"A lawyer who wears linen shirts," she says.
"Exactly."
"You look fucking hot in those linen shirts," she says. "I want to rip them off."
Back to sex. I can't say I have cause for complaint. But, still, I call her on it. "Were you timing that?"
"You're the one with the ten-thousand-dollar watch."
"Let me give you a chance this time," I say. "Tell me about the interrogation. Then I'll time you."
Her cheeks flush. "I don't know…"
"It's up to you, Daph. But if you don't tell me, I can't deliver. So… I'm here. Whenever you're ready to set the scene."