46. FRANKIE
FORTY-SIX
FRANKIE
My phone dings, and my gaze slides over to where it’s sitting on my desk. My face instantly breaks into a smile.
Jackson
Thursday night I’m taking you out.
I snatch up my phone and lean back slightly in my chair.
Me
Kinda sounds like a date. Though you didn’t use your manners.
Jackson
It’s very much a date.
My smile widens, and I bite my lip as I twist my chair back and forth. A date. Out in the wild. You’d think after having spent so much time with Jackson—after I took him away for a weekend—I wouldn’t be so giddy over a date night. But something about it feels different.
Me
I still didn’t hear any manners.
Jackson
I’m saving those for later.
My stomach flips over. Ooooh. Naughty boy.
I’ve noticed him coming out of his shell more and more since we started this…
but something big changed after he met with Jed for lunch and was solidified after he met with his agent.
He was comfortable with me before, I think comfortable with himself.
But now? There’s a confidence that wasn’t there before, and it’s sexy as all hell.
Me
I don’t put out on the first date, loverboy. No matter how prettily you beg.
He doesn’t respond right away, so I get back to work.
Tonight’s going to be a late night since I have something due to one of my clients by the end of day.
I’m grateful for the distraction, though, because the boys have a double-header today to make up for the rain-out and then an afternoon game tomorrow.
He’s going to crash at his place since it’s closer to the clubhouse, and he gets up at an ungodly hour before afternoon games.
I don’t understand how I miss the guy more now than I did when he wasn’t at my place basically every night. Which is a dangerous thing. I have a lot of days like this ahead of me. His next road trip is next week. And at some point…he’ll be in Connecticut.
I pop open our intranet and start browsing until I find the employee handbook. It’s not so far from Providence that I couldn’t drive up for client meetings. I scroll down until I land on our remote working policy. Maybe I could swing being in Providence while he’s away and then…
I open a new tab and type in a real estate site. I’m halfway through typing Fairfield, CT Apartments when I freeze.
I close the browser and shake my head with a small laugh.
What has gotten into me? This is all very new.
We’ve been officially boyfriends for two days, and here I am looking at whether I can completely uproot my life when I don’t even know when that’s coming.
For all I know, it’s years away. Probably should start with a first official date before I start apartment hunting.
My phone dings. Jackson’s name stares back at me, but no message is visible. I tap open our message thread. My eyes fly wide, and I immediately click the lock button.
Ohmigod.
I can’t unsee it. The picture of Jackson on his knees, phone camera pointed at the mirror in front of him as his pleading blue eyes stared straight at me.
Completely naked. Hair drenched, water dripping down his meaty chest and thick abs, steam slightly obscuring the picture.
But it didn’t obscure what his fist was wrapped around.
My phone dings again, and I swallow hard. My fingers shake as I open the chat.
Jackson
Not even if I beg like this?
Oh dear.
Another message pops up.
Jackson
I’ll be such a good boy for you.
And I’m dead.
I also have a situation. I scoot my chair closer to the edge of the table I’m sitting at. Open-floor plans do not serve inconvenient hard-ons. Horrible day to choose to wear my thin linen pants.
I glance around the office and quickly type out a message.
Me
You will pay for that.
Jackson
Counting on it.
Who is this man? And what has he done with Jackson Olander?
I pause.
Or maybe…maybe this has been Jackson Olander all along.
“Frankie! Your date’s here!”
I grin at Pao Pao’s shout as I check myself in the mirror. I run a finger under my eye and clean up my eyeliner even though it’s already fine. My stomach is in knots, and my heart hasn’t stopped flitting around like a caged bird the entire time I’ve been getting ready.
I smooth my hand down my high-waisted forest-green trousers.
The buckle of my gold belt glints as I turn from side to side and give myself one last perusal.
My ivory silk shirt ripples, plunging V giving an enticing glimpse of my chest. That was a calculated decision.
Jackson deserves a little torture after that picture yesterday.
I slide on my gold loafers, then slowly make my way down the stairs.
I don’t remember the last time I’ve been on a date like this.
I’ve met guys with the intention of hooking up.
I’ve dressed up to go to the bar or the club.
I took Jackson on a weekend getaway of batting cages and ice cream. But a real dinner date? Not since Nick.
I turn and make for the kitchen. The minute my feet hit tile, my gaze locks on ice-blue.
I still.
My world stills.
All I can register is the man standing in front of me as sound fades away.
He’s in a black T-shirt that might as well be a second skin.
I can make out every groove and ridge of muscle.
The sleeves hug his biceps like my fingers itch to.
It’s tucked into a pair of crisp black dress pants, black belt to match.
His dark-brown locks have been styled so they’re slightly slicked back and out of his face, a slight curl to them.
Dear Lord, he’s screaming Johnny from Dirty Dancing right now.
His smile freezes, then slowly slides off his face until his jaw is completely slack. Something flashes across those blue irises.
Then he’s striding to me.
Hands grip my face, and his mouth crashes down on mine. I let out a squeak, and my hands shoot out to his biceps where I hold on for dear life as he claims a filthy kiss right here in the middle of my kitchen. Catcalls and wolf whistles erupt around us. A kitchen that contains an audience.
He pulls back and draws a finger down the center of my chest, then tugs lightly on my top. Those blue eyes are far from ice-blue now. No, there’s nothing but heat in them.
“Damn,” he whispers.
“I honestly can’t pick.” Shane’s voice breaks the charged moment.
He’s sitting on the table, feet kicking back and forth as he glances between us.
Maddy tosses his head from side to side, lips pursed. “I think I pick Jackson’s biceps and Frankie’s ass.”
“What the fuck is this?” I ask.
“We’re deciding who cleans up nicer,” Shane says.
“I think they both look very handsome,” East says.
Something in my chest softens. Easton Winters is the world’s biggest sweetheart.
Paulie rubs his chin, brows scrunched. “I think Frankie takes it. Like, Jackson is just in all black. Frankie’s got color and style.”
Maddy scoffs. “Jackson looks like he crushes skulls with those biceps, man. He’s oozing bad boy.” He lets out a sad sigh. “If only he were tatted.”
Shane’s smile goes lopsided. “Tatted men are the fucking best. Add in a piercing or two and—” He presses his fingers to his lips and kisses them.
Easton frowns, staring at Maddy. “I’m not tatted…”
“Yet,” Maddy says matter-of-factly.
I shake my head, lips twitching. “All right. Are we allowed to go on our date now?”
Shane makes a shooing motion. “Yes, you two kids get out of here.”
Jackson grins and laces our hands together, pulling me toward the door.
“But we’ll be waiting up!” Shane calls.
“Jackson, don’t bring him back past curfew,” Paulie adds.
Jackson leans toward me. “What’s curfew?”
I lift a shoulder and shoot him a sly smile. “They never specified, so I guess whatever we want it to be.”
“Midnight!”
Ugh. I flip Paulie off over my shoulder, and the guys snicker.
We step out of the townhouse. “Don’t forget to wrap it!” Maddy’s call cuts off as the door snaps shut behind us.
I drop my head to Jackson’s chest and dissolve into laughter. “They’re so cheesy,” I mumble.
We settle into my car, something Jackson got very flustered over earlier when he asked if it was okay if I drove.
He felt like he should be driving since he’s the one taking me out on a date, but his car doesn’t have air conditioning, and he thought we’d be more comfortable in mine.
It’s the end of July, and the last thing I want on this date is my makeup melting off my face, so I didn’t need any convincing.
“Where to, hot stuff?”
He plugs an address into my car’s navigation system. An address I recognize.
“Ohhh! Are we going to The Green Roof?”
His shoulders slump. “Damn. Really wish I had a better car. I wanted to surprise you.”
“Hey,” I say softly, and give his thigh a squeeze. “Whether I found out right now or when we arrived, it’s still a surprise. A good surprise.” I’ve only been there once, and it was for a work event. It’s a beautiful spot, and with tonight’s soft breeze, it’ll be gorgeous.
A half hour later, we’re walking into the restaurant and up to the hostess.
“I have a reservation under Olander,” he says.
Jackson’s fingers twitch in mine, his hand a little clammy.
She smiles at us. “Right this way, gentlemen. We have your private seating area all ready.”
I glance at Jackson from the corner of my eye. His face is an unreadable mask, but it’s impossible to miss the tension in his shoulders. They’re about as immovable as the brick of this building.
I squeeze his hand as we ascend the stairs and shoot him a comforting smile. His eyes brighten slightly.
The hostess leads us out onto the rooftop. Ivy and greenery climb over trellises and wind through pergolas. Potted palms and ferns dot the stone patio and frame seating areas, creating private alcoves.
Accordion glass doors are pushed open to the true patio. The restaurant is all-season, all weather. The glass room closes when it’s too cool or too rainy to be outside.
We keep walking through the doors onto the open patio. Plush patio furniture with blue gas fire pits are scattered throughout. She leads us to a small sectional in a private corner.