27 JANIE
JANIE
“Admit it, it’s going to work,” I say to Tyrone.
“Alright, alright it’ll work! Now I’ll have juuuust enough margin to never retire and die right here,” he gestures to his stool behind the register at Let it Spin, where he’s almost always perched.
“Didn’t you say that was your plan?”
“Girl, I say a lotta things, get outta my store,” he bellows, his accent thicker than usual.
“You’re welcome,” I sass back.
“For what?” Aunt Kim says as she and Aunt Bobbie push in through the door I was about to pull open.
“The wiz done wizzed my numbers, now I’m not gonna close after all.”
“Close after fall? Is that what he said?” Aunt Kim asks.
“You were never closing, Tyrone.” Bobbie rolls her eyes.
Kim points, confused. “The sign on the door says Closed on Monday?”
Tyrone raises his voice because all three of them are hard of hearing and refuse to wear hearing aids.
I remember Skye’s granddad is the same. Why do all Boomers refuse to wear hearing aids?
“No, not after fall. And look, it says closed on Monday s. With an ’S.
’ The wiz’s idea. Not just close the store on my slow days but to let Miles rent it out those days too. Like I said, she wizzed.”
“Can we not use that term?” I mutter.
The women decide they’re done with his conversation and both turn to look at me instead. I brace myself.
“Janie. Why weren’t you at the Gobble Squabble?” Bobbie narrows her eyes at me.
I sigh, “Because I know nothing about turkeys? Because it’s a ridiculous tradition to place bets on random birds and their weight, speed, and feed preference?”
“But there was a Mellman’s sign,” Kim asks the statement at the same time Bobbie grumbles, “Well that’s just silly, everyone knows the birds prefer the corn over the seeds.”
I inhale and exhale because I cannot with this town. Just because I live here again does not mean I want to spend my Saturday playing holiday-themed farm games.
I explain, “Auntie, Mellman’s was a sponsor, they just slap their logo on things.”
“Don’t sigh at us, girl, that husband would have liked it. He liked the scarecrow contest,” Bobbie huffs.
“Oh, he did?” I tilt my head.
“Yes,” She nods back, “he’s very competitive, like you, clearly. And the way he split that pumpkin, quite muscular.”
“Yes, those big arms, very impressive,” Kim sighs in a way that almost makes me uncomfortable. Not that I can blame her, because he does have— no. No more thinking about his arms!
“Yes, well, we can’t be at everything. We were in the city. We just got home.”
“The city,” they both grumble with unbridled disgust. Tyrone says something in the corner that sounds like, “Here we go.”
“Your Gran told us all about the city, all about your big fancy life, big fancy job, big fancy friends, meanwhile Cheryl was—”
“Bobbie!”
“I know!” I snap. Because I do know. Gran, Cheryl to them, was getting sick and fading away and I was living in the rat race of the city, trying to keep up. Trying to help Theo and help Jack and help Skye and who was helping Gran?
I left, and my brother followed in my footsteps, tripping and falling on his face.
And where did all of that leave us? Him laying low out of state and me, right back here, no fancy job, no savings, no fiancé, no brother, no best friend and most days, no Gran.
“I know,” I soften my voice. “I should have been here for Gran and I wasn’t and I’m sorry. I’m doing the best I can now.”
“And you have Benedict,” Kim adds.
“Right, yeah, now he and I can be here for her. Too little, too late, I know, but it’s something,” my voice cracks as a big hand grabs my shoulder. Tyrone pulls me into a side hug.
“We’re just glad to have you back is what she meant to say.” The sweet old man says with a gentle tone, though I’m betting his face above my head is giving the Aunties some wicked side-eye.
“Yes, we are,” Kim agrees.
Bobbie clears her throat, “Well, you should have started decorating. You know judging starts December first.”
“She knows, Barbara Ann, she’s lived here her whole life.” He shifts to look down at me. “How many years d’you help me with this place the week of Thanksgiving, huh?”
“It was the least lame shop in Juniper Falls. Still is,” I shrug, remembering helping him hang lights and set up all kinds of decor throughout the fall.
The town votes for the best decorated business and best decorated home each year, and, in an effort to maximize tourism, the longer the decor is up, the more points you get.
The week of Thanksgiving became a bit of a Hell Week, everyone not only making Thanksgiving dinners but also trying to one-up the Christmas decor from the year before.
Decor, not lights. Because it includes the inside and outside. Because this town is unhinged.
“Yes, but now judging doesn’t stop until Christmas Day,” Kim says excitedly.
“What?” My eyes go wide. It used to be that you had two weeks to decorate. Now I can only imagine how the insanity just builds and builds until Christmas Eve. Too bad if the gifts aren’t wrapped and there’s no Christmas dinner, kids, we gotta add another inflatable snowman out front!
“ You won’t need the extra time because you’re rich now! No one can compete with a billionaire, not with that house on the hill.”
I don’t bother asking how they know which house Ben bought because of course they know.
For a moment I think about protesting. But no matter the logic—we both work, it wouldn’t be fair, we are, in fact, sane—they won’t hear it.
It’s Christmas in Juniper Falls. You decorate your house inside and out. The end.
“I’m sure he’ll want to keep it simple,” I say instead. They all harrumph in reply. I pretend my phone is buzzing, knowing they won’t question not hearing the sound. “Oh, that’s probably him now! I better take this!”
I make a quick exit.
I inhale the chilly air and walk toward Harper’s for an afternoon pick-me-up.
That was too much.
Too much chatting, too much guilt.
Maybe that’s what I get for trying to avoid my husband.
I figured I would just slip out early this morning.
I didn’t expect him to come back to Juniper Falls with me, but I guess the jet is here?
And I think he just wanted the time together, which we mostly spent arguing about holiday traditions.
A surprise to no one, he pretty-much loves all of it and I’m the opposite.
Still, we knew each other’s answers and arguments and somehow we still laughed so much. How does he keep doing that? Is he getting funnier?
He’s definitely getting hotter.
Now that I’ve seen the muscles he’s hiding, I’m constantly sneaking second glances at his ass, his chest, those wide shoulders. He’s absolutely wearing shirts that are a size too small and I’m not complaining.
Now that I’ve heard his other, deeper voice… Let me see you. Come for me.
Now that I’ve seen his face when he’s at my mercy.
Now that I know too much, well, I’m a live wire. His pinky finger brushed mine on the car seat during the drive and I almost jumped out of my skin. I had to cover the episode with coughing.
I cough again as I enter The Roasted Chestnut.
I just need to stop thinking about it. About him.
He’s just Benedict being Benedict—good for some laughs and some occasional sex.
Soon it’ll all be over. I cough again for no reason, then shake it off.
I just need some caffeine, since I didn’t sleep well after my whole world was tilted off its axis.
No, not my whole world. Just my sexual world. One good orgasm is not going to change your whole world! Get a grip, Janie.
As I wait in line for coffee, without thinking, I pull out my phone to text Skye.
That happens, the urge to talk to her, even though we don’t talk anymore.
I sigh at the screen, ignoring the unread messages at the top.
They’ve slowed, but haven’t stopped. I’ve been distracted enough that the nightmares about texts have stopped, at least. Since I have had some money come in I’ve been able to eat again most days.
I don’t tap on Skye’s name. I can’t really talk to her anyway. If we talked I’d want her to dress me down, knock some sense into my confused brain.
I move my attention to the next best thing. The photos app. I flip through the reminders, the album.
Yup.
My walls fortify like clockwork as I scroll. I will not be charmed again. I’ll keep my lust in check and my emotions tucked away. I can handle this.
_____
“Couldn’t handle it, eh? Had to sneak out while I was in the shower.”
“Benedict? What are you still doing here?” I say as I move from the garage mudroom area into the kitchen.
“Refusing to be avoided,” he smirks.
“I wasn’t…” I set my purse down, along with the facade. “Okay, I was.”
He laughs, “I’m shocked.”
“Don’t you have somewhere to be, though?”
“In a few hours. Shall we eat something? Continue watching Emma Watson grow exponentially as an actor?” Say no.
Make up plans. Literally run away. He goes on, “Quit trying to come up with an excuse, love, it’s a Sunday night, Leftovers Night.
You don’t even have food planned. You’re doing nothing.
Let me do nothing with you, come on.” He walks over to the sunken living room and grabs the remote like I already agreed.
“Fine,” I sigh.
But he looks back over his shoulder at me, grinning and I swear I see an actual sparkle in one of his deep blue eyes. Mischievous. Confident. Hot. I’m in so much trouble.
I manage to keep my cool though, sitting on the far opposite edge of the couch as we eat a classic “girl dinner” of left-over gourmet pizza, all the sides from the steakhouse dinner he ordered me a few nights ago, chips and queso, and some cake. Perfection.
We do watch Harry Potter but with a million interruptions. I need water. He says we need wine. He clears our plates and trash. I go to the restroom. He goes to the restroom.
Suddenly we’re sitting thigh to thigh and all I can think about is Ben Ben Ben.
He’s purposefully wearing jeans with no socks again.
Is that an invitation? Is he messing with me?
He smells so freaking good, clean and manly.
Did he put on more cologne after we ate?
His arm keeps brushing mine, huge and hard and warm and every cell in my arm responds. Ben Ben Ben Want Want Want!
Yet there he sits, calm, looking forward. Watching the stupid TV. He has to be messing with me. There’s no way I’m alone in—
“Fuck it, I’m desperate again.” He says, turning to me.
“Thank God, me too.”
Then we’re on each other. His mouth claims mine, I groan, “Yes.”
He pushes me back on the couch, I pull his shirt off.
He kisses down my neck, then one of his hands travels up my shirt. I quickly whip off both my top and my T-shirt bra at the same time. He sits back, staring.
“Bloody hell. Your tits will be the death of me.”
“I thought my legs were going to be the death of you.”
“Hard to say for sure, need to research,” he smirks as he leans down. There’s less teasing this time, more…everything. We’re unhinged. I touch as much of his bare torso as I can, squeeze his huge biceps and then reach and grip him through his jeans. I savor the way he shudders.
He moves down, kissing past my navel and stopping at the start of my leggings. He looks up at me. One lock of hair falls over his gorgeous face, his blue eyes gleam. He looks hungry. He raises an eyebrow.
“Yes! Please, yes,” I say, pulling my pants off.
“Let’s see…” he says, just barely running his fingers along the edge of my panties. “I remember something about no teasing?”
“Right, no, come on, I’m already ready.”
He looks up at me from between my legs, shoulders bulging as he tugs the lace down. “Funny you think you’re in control here.” I moan involuntarily. “Sorry, darling, but you are not.”
I shudder and whimper at his commanding tone, at this different side of him. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me. And I kind of love it.
He starts over, kissing my mouth, then my neck working down slowly. Too slowly! He kisses my stomach, my legs, my thighs, everywhere but where I want until I…I might be actually dying. I am writhing, panting, dripping.
“Look at you, wife,” he says, spreading my thighs wide and staring. “You’re making a mess of our couch, love.”
“Bennnnn!”
“Don’t worry, I’ll clean you up.”
Then his tongue is finally on me, exploring me. He hums in appreciation, a low, sexy vibration that just makes every touch feel even better, unbelievably. “Grab the cushions, Janelle.”
“W, what?”
“Hold on. I’m going to take you with my tongue now.” He says and then he…
I…
I can’t think.
Sucking, spearing, kissing, fingers, tongue..
Holyyyyy…
“BEN!”
I black out for a second. I must’ve, because as I come down from yet another lightning-fast, life-altering orgasm, still quaking, I see my billionaire, towering over me. He’s pulled himself out of his jeans and is already rock hard and glistening.
“Grab your tits.” He barely can say.
I moan again, obeying his growly command. I barely obey before his eyes go wide and he detonates all over my stomach. His mouth hangs open as his brows tense in the sexiest way, and he has to hold the back of the couch to stay upright.
“What…that…” he breathes a few seconds later.
“Good?” I smirk up at him.
“I think my soul just left my body.”
“Same,” I sigh.
He looks down at me, at what I’m pretty sure is a disheveled sticky mess, and bites his lip. He doesn’t hide that he likes what he sees. A shiver runs over me, but not from cold. Still, he catches it.
“Right, let me get a cloth.” He pushes off the couch. As he goes to the hall bathroom he calls back, “Then we can go again.”
“What? Benedict, no. That was it.”
“Well, then I can’t just leave the room, I’d better leave the house,” he murmurs on his way back. “The whole bloody state.”
“I thought that was the plan, don’t you have a plane to catch?”
He gingerly wipes my skin and absently answers, “I don’t catch the plane, the plane waits for me.”
“Gross,” I tease.
He snaps out of his trance and levels a knowing glare at me. “Yes, well at least one part of you disagrees.”
I don’t argue because he’s not wrong.
He’s just not right either. It’s more than one part. I’m not just attracted to him. I have fun with him. I look forward to having him around.
And that…that I can’t have.
I take the washcloth from him and leave the room, trying to leave all the confusing feelings behind me.