Chapter 22
CHAPTER 22
MEYER
Today is so not my day.
We haven’t had any updates from the police’s investigation, even after Jackson gave them a not-so-gentle prodding. But we also haven’t had any more creepy incidents, so I finally managed to convince my friends that I don’t need a permanent bodyguard. Jackson has been accompanying me to see my mother every time I’ve been recently, but I went alone today.
My happiness was short-lived, though, because my air conditioning decided to crap out on my drive to Calderville, and then on my way back, one of my tires went flat.
Atticus’s class is on a field trip to the strawberry fields today, and Pippa took the day off work to help supervise. Declan is at the lumber yard—I can’t justify interrupting his shift to help myself out. And with that, I realize that my network is very small. I know lots of people in town, but none of them are close enough to warrant asking a favour. The walk back to Fraisier Creek is long, albeit manageable, but in this heat, it’s likely I’d keel over from heat stroke.
Which leaves me only two options: wait in the unforgiving sun for Kenny to come tow my car or call the last person I want to need something from.
Ten minutes later, a black sports car slows and then does a U-turn, pulling up on the shoulder behind me.
“I’m tired, hot and sweaty, so whatever teasing comment you’re about to make—” I hold up a palm. “Just don’t.”
Jackson throws his hands up in surrender. “I was only going to offer to change your tire for you.”
I raise a skeptical brow. “You know how to do that?”
He heads for my trunk. “Believe it or not, I’m very capable with my hands.” After rooting around for a minute, he turns to me. “Ellison, where’s your spare tire?”
I shrug. “I don’t know, in there somewhere?”
He shakes his head. “There’s nothing here.”
“Son of a bitch.” I kick at the flat tire, but I manage to hit the hubcap instead. My big toe throbs. “ Ow . Fuck.”
“Okay,” he says, placing his hands on my shoulders and steering me away from my car. “Let’s not start a fight you can’t win, huh?”
I eye my old Ford Fiesta. “Should’ve gone with the Honda Civic.”
Jackson laughs. “Come on, get in. We can call the tow truck on the way back.”
Begrudgingly, I agree. In the blissful coolness of Jackson’s air conditioning, I call Kenny and tell him where I left my stupid hunk of junk. But when we bypass the inn, I whirl on Jackson .
“Where are you going?” I ask. “The inn’s back there.”
He nods. “I’m aware.”
My protests go unacknowledged until Jackson whips his car into the parking lot of Fraisier Creek High School. Class has already let out for the day, so the lot is empty except for the odd vehicle belonging to teachers and custodial staff.
“Taking me to relive my glory days?” I ask.
Jackson looks over at me, his eyes making a slow perusal of my body, and then he grins. “Come on, Ellison. We both know you didn’t peak in high school.”
Jackson unclicks his seatbelt and then he’s pushing out of the car. I follow suit, more curious than I want to be. As it is, I’m not even sure why I’m going along with this. The air conditioning in Jackson’s fancy car only did so much to brighten my mood—I’m still incredibly tired and dripping in boob sweat.
I meet Jackson at the hood of the car. “Are you going to tell me why we’re here?”
“We’re going to have some good old-fashioned, small-town fun,” he replies, then begins to loosen his tie. “Think you can handle that?”
I glower. “What part of me being tired and sweaty made you think I would want to take part in whatever this is?”
He sighs. “I hate to play this card, but you owe me.”
I scoff. “I’ll give you two dollars for the gas you burned.”
“Just humour me. Please?”
“Fine.” Then I realize that both his tie and suit jacket are lying on the hood of his car. His fingers are now fiddling with his belt buckle. “Why the hell are you taking your clothes off in a school parking lot?”
“Because we’re going to the creek.”
“The creek?”
He shrugs. “I overheard Ashley talking to a friend about it. Seems as good a place as any to spend the afternoon.”
While my initial instinct is to blow him off, I don’t.
“Alright, Hotshot. But unless you want to choke on teen spirit, you’ll follow me. I know a better spot.”
Jackson nudges my arm. “You seem awfully familiar with this place.”
I offer him a crooked grin. “Oh, I totally used to skip school to make out with boys here. Mostly Rudy.”
“The pizza guy?”
“The one and only.”
An odd expression crosses his face, but it disappears just as quickly as it arrived. We walk through the trees, away from the school and the local hangout spot, until we hit a secluded part of the creek farther down.
When I turn to Jackson, I stop short. The sight of him carefully unbuttoning his shirt has my mouth watering. But then I notice he has a small scar running down the middle of his chest, between his pecs.
I’m staring. I know I’m staring, but can I will my eyes away? Not a chance in hell. Which is exactly where I’ll be headed for lusting after my business partner and eyeing his scars.
“You’re doing that thing again.”
My head snaps up. “What thing?”
He smirks. “That thing where you can’t keep your eyes off me.”
I scoff, crossing my arms. “Don’t flatter yourself, pretty boy.”
“Don’t need to. You do such a good job of that already.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
He takes a step closer. “It’s alright, Ellison. Because I can’t keep my eyes off you either.”
My traitorous gaze blazes a downward trail once again, getting caught on that scar. It’s most likely from surgery of some sort, but it’s faded, like maybe it happened when he was a kid.
“Ask me.”
Jackson’s words pull my attention back to his face. “What?”
“Ask me about the scar, Meyer,” he says. “Ask me because you’re curious. Ask me because you care to know something about me.”
He didn’t put any particular emphasis on the word care , but it rings in my ears anyway. He’s daring me to show my hand—to reveal that I do, begrudgingly, care in some way—and damn him , I want to.
I swallow. “The scar,” I say, my voice unsteady. “How did you get it, Jackson?”
“Surgery when I was a baby.” He runs his fingers along the scar at his front. “Coarctation of the aorta. That’s the name of the congenital heart defect I had.”
“And now?”
He huffs a laugh, running a hand through his hair. “That night you called me a workaholic,” he says, “you were right. I, uh— Well, I’ve been known to throw myself into work, even if it means fucking up my blood pressure. Which is already too high, thanks to the whole shoddy heart thing.”
“Why?”
Forget showing my hand. It seems I’ve just surrendered the whole deck to him.
“I don’t know.” Slowly, he shakes his head. “That’s a lie. I do know. It’s— Well, now that I’m trying to say it out loud, it sounds so fucking stupid. I spent time at the hospital and in doctors’ offices when I was a kid, checking on my heart. I missed a lot of school. Overall, I feel like I wasted a lot of time, so in a roundabout way, I was trying to make up for it.”
“Jackson…”
He shakes his head. “That doesn’t really make sense, I know. And on top of all that, I think I was trying to prove to everyone that I was okay. Especially after Cherie’s death. But I ended up making a fool of myself in the process.”
I cock my head. “What do you mean?”
“Just after Cherie passed, there was a proposal I was supposed to present to my colleagues. I had been working on it for months. I wasn’t sleeping much, was running on caffeine. Within a few minutes of my presentation starting, I knew something was wrong. I shouldn’t have, but I tried to push through. I woke up in the hospital later that evening. Turns out, I had collapsed on the conference room floor from the stress I had put on my body.”
I wrap my arms around my middle to stop myself from reaching for him. “Are you okay now?” I ask.
He smiles a little. “Getting there.” Then he runs a hand through his hair again, mussing it up. “I didn’t want to come here. To Fraisier Creek. When I found out about the inn, I thought of every way I could extricate myself. I didn’t have time for this place.”
A strange feeling washes over me. The knowledge that Jackson almost didn’t come here is a little hard to swallow.
“What changed your mind?” I decide I need to know. Somehow, it feels important.
“Cherie left me a letter,” he explains. “She asked me to give the inn six months. After my health issues, I was put on medical leave. Because I’m chronically under-slept and over-caffeinated, my doctor gave me six months.” His lips quirk upwards. “Seemed kind of serendipitous at that point, so I figured I didn’t have anything to lose.”
“Isn’t that cheating? You’re still working.”
He grins. “Thanks to your micromanaging, any work I’ve done for the inn is hardly detrimental to my health. Probably is to yours, though.”
“I don’t micromanage!”
“Really?” He arches a brow as he steps closer. “Is that why your fingers are fidgeting with the need to text Pippa and Trystan for updates?”
“Hey,” I say, poking a finger into his chest. He’s still advancing, and my breath hitches. “You don’t have room to lecture me, Mr. High Blood Pressure.”
“When I initially read my grandmother’s letter, I didn’t understand why she would send me here,” he continues. “After I arrived, I decided the reason was because Cherie wanted me to help her beloved inn thrive.”
“And what do you think now?”
“Now,” Jackson says, “I think she saw that you and I needed each other.” I open my mouth to argue, but he holds up a hand. “I know, Meyer Ellison doesn’t need anybody . Maybe that’s the truth. In any case, I’m trying something new, and I implore you to do it with me.”
“And what is it that you’re imploring me to do?”
“Loosen up.” His hands plant themselves on my hips, and my lips part in a silent gasp. “And live a little.”
The next thing I know, I’m airborne. I shriek as I tuck my knees against my chest, just in time for my body to submerge in the creek.
The cool temperature of the water is a shock to the system, but it’s undeniably refreshing after facing the unbearable summer heat wave. I breach the surface, sputtering as I brush sopping strands of blonde away from my face. Jackson stands on the shore, eyes alight in laughter as he takes in my drowned appearance.
I’m still fully clothed. I glance down at my chest, noting the way the fabric of my white t-shirt is clinging to my skin. I also don’t miss the way Jackson’s gaze traces the visible outline of my bra.
An idea—not a good one, but an idea nonetheless—infiltrates my brain. The rational part of me says to knock it off, but the rest of me tells it to get fucked. I wade closer to the bank of the creek.
Jackson follows my movements. He watches as I grip the hem of my shirt with both hands. Slowly, I begin to drag the material up. I lose sight of him as I tug the shirt over my head, but if his eyes were bugging at the sight of my midriff, I can only imagine what they’ll look like at the sight of my tits covered in lace .
I toss my shirt to the ground at Jackson’s feet. Then I let my gaze trail from his shoes up to his face. His jaw is clenched, his eyes roving over my chest. I mentally applaud past me for picking out a sexy bra today.
Edging closer, I cross my arms and rest them right on the bank. In this position, my folded arms push my bust upwards, giving Jackson an eyeful of cleavage.
“Alright, I’m loose,” I say. “Now what?”
Jackson’s eyes flash. I only meant to tease him a little, but now I think I may be in real danger.
He quickly tugs his shoes and pants off, and jumps into the water beside me. Then he advances, his gaze shining with predatory intent. I back away, but I’m not fast enough. His arm snags my waist, dragging me close to him.
Then his touch drifts to my hips, and I don’t even think before my legs encircle his waist. I’m buoyed by the water, but he palms my ass anyway, holding me up.
His gaze flicks down to my lips, then back up to my eyes. His honey irises are flecked by fire, desire seeping through. My fingers twist into the hair at his nape, holding him steady. Then my heartbeat trips as I close the distance, my breasts smashing against his chest.
His hands tighten on my ass as my lips brush his, the kiss of a feather.
“You can do better than that,” he goads.
I wait for my body to bristle at the taunt. To show some sign of defiance. Instead, my thighs squeeze around him, and I become acutely aware of the ache growing between my legs.
This time, I do kiss him properly. When I smash my lips against his, he’s waiting for me. He coaxes my mouth open, and then his tongue clashes with mine. I shudder.
I know, without any doubt, that I want more. Need more. So I pull back, breathing heavily.
“Jackson?”
He looks at me with hooded eyes. “Hm?” he murmurs.
“Take me home.”