Chapter 22
JINX
Craig Perry is the last guy I want to see bright and early Saturday morning, especially after the night I had with Rachel, but sure enough, there he is. Almost like a reminder from the universe that I’m supposed to be taking things slow with her, not puddle jumping over every last barrier between us.
“Yo, Jinx.” He raises a hand as he approaches from the gas pumps at the Cole Stop. Cady’s in the passenger seat of his truck, and if the kids are in back, I can’t tell.
“Hey, man.” I lift my chin and toss the beef jerky and package of almonds I just bought onto my center console. “What’s up?”
“Not much.” He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans like he’s going for casual, but the tense expression on his face gives him away. “I just wanted to thank you for working with Mason this summer. Cutting grass and coaching and shit.”
I adjust my ball cap and nod. “Yep, no problem. He’s a good kid. A hard worker, too.”
“He loves being useful, and if he can do it outside, even better.” He smiles, but it’s fake as hell, confirming my suspicion that he’s over here for another reason.
We’ve never been friends, even though he’s close with Aiden and Jesse. He’s always rubbed me the wrong way, and the way things have gone down with Rachel only proves that my instinct was right.
“He likes the cash in his pocket, too. You know how kids are.”
I give a half-hearted laugh. “I thought he was saving for a car.”
Craig snorts and gives his head a shake. “A car? He’s not even twelve.”
“He told me he was gonna start saving now so he can get something nice when he turns sixteen.”
He specifically said he wanted a truck like mine, but I’ll keep that part to myself. It’s only a matter of time before Craig hates me for a slew of other reasons. There’s no need to add my connection with Mason to that list.
“Anyway, no thanks necessary. It’s been nice getting to know him.”
Craig nods again, this time glancing past my shoulder like he’s debating whether to bring up what’s really on his mind.
“Saw the flowers you planted at the house, too,” he finally says. “Rachel seemed to like them.”
Bingo.
“Yeah?” I arch a brow. “Good to hear. That was my goal.”
His gaze snaps back to me and sharpens. “Your goal?”
I lift a shoulder. “She said she wanted to do something with the flower beds again but didn’t have the time, so I thought I’d make it happen for her.”
His face reddens a little further in response. It’s hot out today; I suppose that could be the cause, but the way his eyes are narrowed on me says otherwise.
I just smirk. Am I playing with fire? Hell, yes, I am. This asshole fucked up the best thing that ever happened to him by being a selfish prick. Someone needs to make sure he realizes that. Might as well be me.
“So you two do talk,” he says tightly, his tone edging on accusatory.
“Of course we do. It’d be rude to pick up and drop off Mason without talking to his mother, wouldn’t it?”
“I’m not sure I like your attitude, man.”
I chuckle. “You asked a question, and I answered it.”
“With a fucking attitude.” He works his jaw from side to side, still considering me through narrowed eyes. “Look, I appreciate what you’ve done for my boy, but if you’re planning on doing more than that, you might want to think twice about it.”
Oh really?This motherfucker has some balls, doesn’t he?
I stick my tongue in my cheek and tilt my head. “Are we talking about Rachel now? Because if you’ve got something to say, you might as well just say it.”
“I’m talking about my wife,” he snaps.
It takes everything in me not to drive my fist through his goddamn nose, but I keep my composure.
“She’ll be your ex-wife soon enough,” I remind him. “Does Cady know you’re over here whipping out your dick for a woman you’re not supposed to care about anymore?”
He lowers his chin and balls his hands into fists. “I’m always gonna care about her, you little fuck.”
Irritation rolls up my spine, but I’m not going to show him my hand just yet. I’ve already said enough where Rachel is concerned.
“That’s good to hear,” I say instead. “I’m sure the kids will appreciate that.”
“You don’t know the first fucking thing about my kids.”
I knuckle my nose and stifle a laugh. “Actually, I do. And I notice they’re not with you right now. Why is that?”
He doesn’t respond. He’s too busy huffing out breaths like a bull ready to charge, his nostrils flaring and his eyes flashing with anger.
Lowering my chin, I shake my head. “Seems to me like maybe you need to worry less about my relationship with Mason and Emma and more about yours.”
With that, I shoot him a grin and climb into my truck.
He doesn’t so much as move as I back out and wave to Cady as I pass.
Am I an asshole for poking the bear? Probably.
Do I care? Not even a little.
RACHEL
Last night was insane.
I was insane.
In a completely uninhibited way that came out of nowhere.
Except… did it really?
Or have I denied that part of myself for so long that I forgot it existed? To be fair, I’ve never had the opportunity to take risks like that. And it’s only been a few years since I got in touch with myself sexually.
So maybe I just needed the right moment and the right man to open that door.
And god, do I hope Justin meant what he said about doing it again.
My phone pings with a text notification, and I stretch across the mattress to reach it. I’ve been sorting laundry and am currently stuck in the middle of an archipelago of colors, whites, and bedding.
A giddy flutter of butterflies lets loose in my stomach when Justin’s name appears on the screen. It’s funny how one man can stir up such a mixture of feelings inside me in such a short span of time. It’s exciting and nerve-racking all at once.
I really don’t want to mess this up.
Justin: Hey gorgeous.
Me: Hey yourself. *kiss emoji*
Justin: Things got a little intense last night. Just wanted to make sure you’re okay.
Be still my heart.
Me: I slept better than I have in months. I’m more than okay. How about you?
Justin: Fucking phenomenal now. *sunglasses face emoji*
I laugh.
Me: Glad to hear it.
Justin: What are the chances you’re free later today?
I take in the half dozen piles of laundry and recall the mess of papers, sticky notes, and notepads in the living room.
Me: How much later?
Justin: I was thinking I’d bring dinner over.
Orgasms and food? What on earth did I do to deserve him?
Me: Consider me intrigued.
Justin: *laughing emoji* Dinner it is. See you around five.
Me: Looking forward to it.
“What’s all this?”
Just after three o’clock—two hours earlier than expected—Justin shows up at my door with a load of grocery bags hanging off one arm and, of course, that adorable shit-eating grin of his.
“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” He bends to press a kiss to my forehead. “I know I’m early, so I’ll do my thing, and you get back to what you’ve been working on. You won’t even know I’m here.”
His thing, huh? I cross my arms over my chest and purse my lips, pretending to consider his suggestion. There’s no way whatever he has up his sleeve is anything I can ignore, so it’s a good thing I got most of my reading done this morning. Also, he’s dressed in a pair of gray jogger shorts and a sleeveless athletic top with his ball cap on backward. He has distraction written all over him.
He tilts his head and cocks a brow. “You gonna make this difficult, Sunny? If so, you should know I’m very persistent.”
“Oh, I am well aware.” I stick my head out the door and pointedly scan the freshly cut lawn and the flowers on either side of the porch.
He laughs. “Let me in, babe. I promise I’ll behave.”
I doubt that, but I step aside anyway.
“Go back to what you were doing,” he says with a lift of his chin. “I’ll make myself at home.”
I give a half laugh and gesture to the groceries. “When you said dinner, I didn’t expect you’d be making it.”
“Listen, woman. If I’m going to wine and dine you, I’m sure as hell not going to do it with frozen pizza or takeout.” He bumps me with his elbow and nods toward the living room. “Now, I mean it. Go. I got this.”
He kicks off his sneakers and makes his way to the kitchen like he’s been in my home a hundred times. I’m tempted to follow. The curiosity is killing me. But I’ll play his game. For a little while, anyhow.
With a sigh, I pad back to the living room where my laptop, my books, and my notes are waiting. Classes don’t start for another week, but we’ve been given early access since so many of us in this program are currently teachers who will be headed back to our own classrooms soon.
I’ve spent the last three hours looking over the intro material, scheduling due dates in my phone, and reading the first week’s assignments. I’ve spent the last five or so years dreaming about the day I’d finally take this plunge, and now that it’s here and literally right in front of me, it’s surreal. And I’m really freaking proud of myself.
The sound of the fridge opening and closing, followed by the cupboard doors, makes me smile. I should probably be nervous, considering he’s more of a frozen meal guy than a chef, but he could make macaroni and cheese, and I’d be over the moon. The effort is what gets me.
Also? I really like having him here. And I like that he’s comfortable in my space.
So I pop my earbuds back in and let him do his thing while I work. Just like he asked.
JINX
The last timemy palms sweat like this, I was sixteen and trying to impress Gracie Janikowski with my new used truck. Now I’m twenty-six and trying to impress Rachel Perry with a home-cooked meal. Oh, how the times have changed.
I don’t know whether she could tell how nervous I was or whether she’s busier than she’s let on, because it’s taken me forty-five minutes to get this meal prepped and in the oven, and she hasn’t popped in to check on me once.
Quietly, hoping I don’t disturb her if she’s engrossed in something, I creep into the living room, where I find her curled up on the couch and fast asleep. Her red-brown hair is twisted up in a bun, and her face is free of any makeup. Those pretty freckles add to her peaceful innocence in a way I wish I could see more often.
She’s always moving, this woman. She’s always got a million things on her mind. So seeing her at rest soothes something inside me, too. It eases my own mind to know that, at least for a little while, she can have these moments of quiet. Assuming, of course, that her dreams are as calm and serene as she is right now.
I take the blanket from the corner of the couch behind her and drape it over her carefully. Instead of waking, she snuggles deeper into the pillow with the softest, sweetest sigh.
I’m basking in the ripple of warmth that sound sends through me as I turn to close her laptop. With my hand on the top of it, I press gently, only to pause when I notice the window open on the screen.
She was working in an online classroom. I recognize the format from the handful I took when I was in college.
When she said she was working, I assumed she meant that she was prepping for the upcoming school year with kindergarteners, not college students.
Hmm.
I take in the notebooks and papers spread out on the coffee table, and my breath sticks in my chest.
Master of Educational Administration.
Administrative Leadership.
Principalship.
Holy shit. My sunny girl is going after her master’s degree.
A sense of pride I probably have no right to feel wells up inside me. Damn, this woman impresses me at every turn.
The night we sat on her porch and ate cheeseburgers, she confessed that she’d felt held back in her marriage. That she’d wanted to do something more with her career, but she’d never felt supported in that desire. So she put that dream on a shelf. She didn’t elaborate on what it entailed, but now I know. Now I see it, and I’ll be damned if she ever feels held back or unsupported again.
Moving quietly, I make my way to the laundry room. There are two full laundry baskets in front of the wash machine, one that’s clearly Emma’s, with her assortment of brightly colored T-shirts and leggings, and one full of Mason’s dirty practice clothes.
I only hesitate for a second before I remove the towels from the dryer and pile them on the laundry table. Then I transfer the wet clothes from the washer into the dryer and toss Mason’s stuff in to be washed. I may not be confident in the kitchen, but I know my way around laundry. Despite how much I dislike the task, Ma made damn sure we all knew how to take care of our own shit by the time we hit middle school.
I fold the towels next and put them away in the main bathroom. She probably has a master bath that could use replenishing, too, but entering her private space is a step too far, even though it’s damn tempting to go in search of the bathtub that’s haunted my dreams for weeks.
With any luck, I’ll be seeing that space soon, but for now, I’ll wait for the invitation.
For now, I head outside and grab a few tools from the back of my truck. I noticed the railing on one side of the porch was loose a few weeks ago, and now is as good a time as any to tighten it back up.
The Pruitts are outside with their chocolate Lab, so, keenly aware of the curious expressions on their faces, I lift a hand in greeting. I don’t have my trailer or lawn equipment today, and Mason isn’t here to help me out. Hell, I’m not even dressed for work. I’m just a man doing domestic shit like I live here, like I’m trying to be a good man for the woman inside.
I may not live here, but that last part is accurate. I want to be the kind of man Rachel wants and needs. And I don’t care who sees me doing everything I can to fit that mold.
Rachel has been dealt a shit hand these past few years—probably longer—and it’s about time someone steps in and gives her the support she deserves.
Things between us may have started out innocently enough. I was just a nice guy lending a helping hand.
But I’m no longer interested in being a temporary solution to her problems.
I want to be a long-term part of her life.