2
It was kinda stupid to be nervous for a date with a soccer mom, Jericho figured. Yet, he was.
Not that Emily was a soccer mom. She wasn’t even a mom. But she was the type – cardigan sweater, neat blonde ponytail, baking wholesome cookies in the kitchen of her big fancy house.
Emily wasn’t his type in the slightest. Jericho tended to go for girls that had a slightly rougher life. Chicks with tats and piercings that could swig a beer (or a shot of whiskey) as casually as breathing.
But there was something about Emily he liked. Oh sure, he hadn’t exactly cared for her snotty attitude when he’d first arrived – but she’d manned up and apologized, and had been friendly and helpful while he’d worked. She was a funny conversationalist, didn’t mind getting her hands dirty, and had a lovely, pouty pink mouth that he couldn’t stop staring at.
Nice ass, too.
And she made a mean lunch. Jesus, his mouth watered just thinking about it again. The woman could cook. Not that it was why he wanted to go out with her. There was something in her eyes that called to him. It was a soft sadness, like her sense of fun had been ripped from her far too early.
He wanted to be the one to make that spark reignite. She was far too pretty to look so tired and careworn.
Maybe this was a mistake, though. Jericho raked a hand through his now-floppy hair and straightened his leather jacket. He hadn’t dressed up. Kinda figured that she either liked him or she didn’t. He’d ditched the mohawk, though. No sense in scaring a girl off.
He rang the doorbell and waited, glancing over at her cute little Bed and Breakfast sign. Her tiny parking lot was empty other than his bike. Not a bustling business, that was for sure. Still, there were better places to set up a bed and breakfast than this town. She must have had a sentimental reason for owning the place.
A moment later, the big wooden door opened. Emily stood there in, just as he’d guessed, a black cardigan and jeans. Her blonde hair was down from its serviceable ponytail and bounced about her shoulders in loose curls. Her eyes looked incredibly blue and that pouty mouth was a soft glossy pink.
“You look beautiful,” he said softly.
As he watched, her cheeks colored prettily. “Hello to you, too.” Her gaze went up. “You changed your hair!”
“It look bad?” He raked a hand through it again. It kept sliding into his face and was damn annoying.
“Not at all. I like it,” she blurted, and then gave him another shy look. “Did you want to come in?”
“I can if you like. Or are you ready to go?” He gestured at his bike. “I brought a helmet for you.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh. Okay, sure.” She reached over and grabbed her phone off of a nearby table, swung the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed’, and shut the door. “Ready.”
They walked toward his bike in silence, and then he offered her his extra helmet. She examined it for a moment before putting it on her head. “Is it weird that I’ve never ridden a motorcycle?”
“Nah,” he said easily. She didn’t look like the type, so he wasn’t surprised. “Need help getting on?”
She tightened the straps under her chin dutifully. “I just sit behind you, right?”
“That’s right. Make sure you hold on tight, and don’t put your leg against the muffler unless you wanna get burned.”
“Gotcha.” She gave him a firm nod and he swung a leg over then gestured for her to hop on behind him. She did, and immediately her arms went around his waist tightly, her breasts pressing against his back. “This good?”
“That’s perfect.” And it was. Her smaller form fit against him perfectly, and he began to imagine her pressed up against him in all kinds of scenarios: in bed, in the shower together, in the kitchen with her small, strong hands moving to his belt…
He shook his head to clear it of the image. Not something he needed to think about five minutes into a first date. Never mind that it had already been in his mind since the moment she’d held her hand out to him and smiled.
Jericho tilted his head back toward her. “You on comfortably?”
Her hands gave a small squeeze against his stomach. “I’m good.”
He pulled on his helmet, started the bike, and it roared to life. The engine thrummed with a mighty purr and then they were off. Jericho loved his damn bike and he probably wasn’t the most careful driver – he tended to weave between slower cars when he was on his own. But with Emily clutching at his jacket, he tried to make things as smooth as possible so she’d enjoy herself.
It felt like no time had passed when he pulled into the movie theater parking lot and parked his bike on the sidewalk. He looked over his shoulder at Emily and nodded, and she climbed off the back. Her cheeks were flushed, her curls disheveled. “That was fun.”
He smiled. “Glad you liked it.”
“I did, though I’m surprised.”
“Why’s that?”
She took off the helmet and shook out her hair, then gave him a mischievous look. “Because it’s a Harley and you drove like my grandpa.”
He threw back his head and laughed. This woman with her sweet, wholesome exterior never ceased to amaze him. “I’ll show you something on the way home, then.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” she said in a lofty voice.
They left their helmets on the bike and headed into the movie theater. They’d just missed the show time on the most recent summer tent-pole flick. The next thing playing was a romantic comedy, which he said was fine. But she’d laughed and commented on his sour face and suggested a thriller instead, even though the movie had been out for weeks and didn’t start for a good forty-five minutes.
“It’ll give us time to talk,” she said with a smile. “And to pig out on popcorn.”
Yeah, he definitely liked this woman.
Jericho bought the tickets, and Emily insisted on buying the food. They got two bags of popcorn (he noticed Emily liked extra butter on hers), some sour candy, two drinks, and headed into the theater to wait for the movie.
It was empty, a commercial slide flashing on the screen. Emily picked seats in the back, and they settled in with their food and drinks.
Just when he was thinking this date might be going pretty damn well so far, she held a hand to her mouth and yawned.
“Uh oh,” he said. “You bored already? That isn’t a good sign.” Inwardly, he was cussing. Maybe she’d gone on a date with him because he scared her and right now she wasn’t being threatened enough? Maybe underneath that wholesome exterior she was an adrenaline junkie? He didn’t know much about her.
But Emily’s eyes widened and she shook her head quickly. “Oh, my gosh. No. I’m so sorry! I just…” she grimaced. “I didn’t get much sleep last night. That’s all.”
“Something keeping you up?” He fought a surge of irrational jealousy at the picture of her with another guy. Maybe she was dating more than one man. Maybe he was just a number to her.
Worry crossed her face. “You’re going to think I’m crazy.”
“I don’t think you’re crazy.” Just spit it out, already. If she was making this big of a deal about it, it wasn’t good news.
She bit her lip. “I have a ghost.”
Of all the things he’d expected to hear, that wasn’t on the list. Not even remotely. He couldn’t help it; he smiled.
“See?” She said, smiling through her exasperation. “I told you you’d think I was crazy.”
He studied her for a minute to see if she was fucking with him. Underneath that sweet exterior, was there a crystal-rubbing, patchouli-loving nut job? He didn’t know. So all he said was, “You sure it’s a ghost?”
Emily gave him a rueful look. “We were told it was haunted when we bought it. I just didn’t believe the stories”
“Wait. You knew it was haunted when you bought it? And you still wanted to buy it?” He didn’t miss that ‘we’ in there either.
She grimaced and took a sip of her soda as another couple came into the theater. Then she looked over at him and lowered her voice. “So I should probably explain something about my ex-husband.”
“Is he dead?” Oh shit, was she a widow? Those were rough to date.
Her eyes widened. “Oh, no! No – it’s not his ghost. My ex is Braden Smith of Spooky Society.”
He had no clue what that was. “Okaaay.”
She waved her hands and pulled out her phone. “Okay, you’re not a fan of the show, which brings you up a notch in my book.” She typed a few things into the screen of the phone and then handed it to him. “It’s a cable show ‘dedicated to exploring and cataloguing the paranormal and unexplained.’” Her voice turned mocking.
Jericho gazed down at the screen. There was a crew of men in matching polo shirts – all with arms crossed – standing in front of an ominous house. The SPOOKY SOCIETY logo was emblazoned across the screen and at the bottom there were links for cast photos, videos, and additional information. “I…see.”
“So, when we first got married, we were college sweethearts. Braden was a computer programmer. I was a business major and wanted to open my own bakery. In his spare time, Braden ran a ghost hunting volunteer group. I was never into it, but he liked to go on ghost hunting expeditions every weekend. Some husbands fish or hunt.” Her look was a patient one. “Mine liked to go to people’s houses and try to connect with spirits. I ignored it and did my own thing for the most part.”
He offered the phone back to her. So her ex was a celebrity of sorts. And probably loaded. Well, that was two strikes against Jericho’s resume. He didn’t have two nickels to rub together, and he sure as shit wasn’t famous. Maybe infamous around Bluebonnet for his tats and his hair, but that was about it. “So the house was a house on the show?”
She shook her head. “Actually, the house came before the show. We bought it two years ago. I thought the stained glass windows were pretty and liked the idea of a fixer-upper. Braden liked the idea of a ghost in the attic. I didn’t believe in ghosts despite his hobby, so I was fine with buying the house. But right after we purchased it, he got an offer from the television network to create a show based around him and his crew.” Emily’s look became less patient, more pinched. “It meant him basing out of Los Angeles instead of here in Texas. I didn’t want him to do it. We’d just gotten married, just bought the house, and were talking about starting a family in the future. At least, I thought that’s what we were doing. He accused me of not supporting him or believing in him.” She plucked at an imaginary bit of lint on her cardigan. “He went to do the TV show anyhow, and we divorced. I got the house since he didn’t want to be in Texas. And the ironic thing is that it really is haunted.”
“You’ve seen something?”
“Not yet. But I hear things moving around in the attic at night, when I’m the only one in the house. It’s a big house to be alone in anyhow, but add in the ghosts, and it scares the crap out of me.” She looked unhappy, fiddling with one of the buttons on her sweater before taking another sip of her drink. “I have the police come by on the worst nights, but I think they’re getting tired of it. I know they think I’m crazy because they never find anything. But I don’t have anyone else to call on.”
Something about her seemed so sad and woebegone, Jericho wanted to grab her and kiss her until that forlorn expression left her face. “What about Bradley?” he asked.
“Braden?” She shook her head. “He’ll only come check out the house if I let him film it for his show, and I refuse.”
“Yeah, but you’re a business. You could probably use the income, right? I imagine lots of people would flock to see a haunted bed and breakfast.”
“I don’t want notoriety. I want peace and quiet.” She looked distressed at the thought. “I don’t want to be that bed and breakfast, you know? I want people to come because they like the house and enjoy the cooking. Not because they’re hoping to meet a ghost.”
Oddly enough, Jericho understood. Despite his tattoos and hair and Harley, he was a pretty low-key guy himself. His parents had been vagabonds and scammers, floating from town to town and making a quick buck where they could. He’d hated that lifestyle and had ran away from home to join the Army as soon as he was old enough. Served a few years, just long enough to realize that he wasn’t really cut out for being told what to do, and apprenticed with a friend who had a fix-it business. The rest was history. After a crazy childhood, he liked nothing more than to relax at home with a beer.
She reached for her popcorn and nibbled on a handful before looking over at him. “So that’s why I can’t sleep. I’m a chicken and I’m scared of ghosts. But it’s hard to tell myself it’s nothing when I can plainly hear strange noises all night long.”
“Huh,” was all he said.
“You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”
“Nah, I just…” He shrugged. “Never believed in ghosts before, you know? But if you say it’s haunted, I believe you. And your ex said it was haunted, and it sounds like he’s an expert.”
It also sounded like he was a douchebag, but he wasn’t sure if Emily wanted to hear that.
“The house is a hundred years old,” Emily said. “You’d expect someone died in it at some point, right? Maybe they just stuck around.” She shook her head as if to clear it. “But enough about the house. I’ve lived in Bluebonnet for two years and I’ve never seen you. You new?”
He nodded. “To the area, yeah. Decided I’d see if I could make a go of business here. Last town wasn’t so friendly.”
Emily’s brows furrowed. “How come?”
He pointed at his face and recognition dawned on hers.
“Ah. People can be a bit…conservative in small towns, I’ve noticed.” She grimaced. “They’re not really fond of a bad boy. I hope work’s treating you all right.”
“It’s slow,” he said. “But I heard this lady has a ramshackle Victorian she needs help updating. Cha-ching.”
He watched as a smile spread across Emily’s face, making her delicate features utterly gorgeous in the shadowy theater. Damn, he really wanted to kiss her. “Cha-ching, huh?” she murmured.
“I hear she’s a pretty good cook, too.”
“Best in town, or so I’ve heard,” Emily said, playing along. She shifted in her seat and leaned toward him. “She was really pleased with the eaves you helped her with the other day. Don’t suppose you’re good with toilets? And lighting?”
“I know a thing or two,” he said casually.
“I heard there’s a few shaky ones over at the old Victorian that probably need to be re-seated and sealed,” Emily said casually. “I bet the lady with the Victorian would hire you to help with that.”
Her playful, sultry tone of voice was making his cock hard, right in the middle of the damn movie theater. “Think she’d cook something for me?”
“I bet. What’s your favorite?”
Jericho thought for a moment. “Oatmeal raisin cookies?”
“Done.” She smiled up at him. “Are you busy tomorrow?”
“Sounds like I’m putting in a few toilets.” He leaned toward her, curious to see if she’d flinch away from him or if she’d keep snuggling closer. When she didn’t pull away, he brushed his mouth over hers.
She gave a small gasp.
“That okay?” he whispered.
“The kiss?” Emily sounded dazed.
“That, too. I was thinking more about the toilets, though. Tomorrow is good for me as long as you won’t feel weird about it?”
She shook her head. “I won’t feel weird.” Then she tilted her head. “Where are you staying right now? If you just moved to the area?”
“With friends a couple of towns over.”
“You’re welcome to stay with me while I don’t have any guests,” she said. Then, she quickly added, “Not in a sexual way, of course.”
What the fuck? Just like that, his boner died. “Gosh, no,” he said flatly. Where the hell was she going with this? “I’d never be interested in you in a sexual way.”
The look on her face was awkward. “I probably should explain that. I mean, it’s not that you’re a bad looking guy or anything. You’re not! I just don’t know that I’m ready to jump into a new relationship. With sex. And like, commitment. Actually mostly just sex. Staying with me doesn’t mean commitment.” She blinked as if getting lost in her own words. “I’m messing this up, I think. What I meant to say was, I just have extra rooms sitting there and I’d appreciate the company…Any company…”
Even a bad boy like him? Gee, didn’t he feel special. Any company, indeed. “I’ll think about it,” he told her. “‘Preciate the offer, though.”
“Of course. Free of charge, too.” She gave him a faint smile. “I mostly just want the company.”
Jesus, she was putting a chill on his erection, that was for sure. Shame, too. He liked her, and after all that flirting, he was feeling kinda riled up. Too bad that died an ugly death. He fell back to an old safeguard – teasing. “Free rooms? That’s no way to run a bed and breakfast.”
She sighed. “So I hear.”