The week flew by, not necessarily because business was booming, but because all Jaxon had thought about was Lena. He should have been thinking about what she would suggest for his company. That would make sense. Instead, all he could envision was her full lips as she spoke to him in that assertive Brooklyn accent. And her curves. And her eyes.
Shit, he felt like a stupid teenager. He stood in front of his closet, having pitched one shirt after another on the bed, trying to decide which would impress her the most. He didn’t need to impress anyone. He should be picking the one that made him look the most professional instead of the one that made him look fit, yet suave, like the kind of billionaire playboy women liked to fantasize about nowadays.
Who was he kidding? He was neither billionaire nor playboy. He couldn’t remember the last real date he’d been on. Strike that. The last good date he’d been on. The last few he could remember had been either boring or horrible. The very last one had ended with his date puking all over his floorboard. A vague gastric odor still lingered no matter how many of those pine cone things he hung from the rearview mirror.
Then again, this wasn’t a date. It was a business dinner. Lena was his sister’s friend, as well as his marketing agent. He’d feel awkward if he was actually dating her. So business dinner it was. That calmed him a bit and coaxed his appetite to return. He chose a dark gray t-shirt and black blazer, put on his jeans and boots and headed out the door before he could change his mind again.
He had just gotten in the truck when his cell phone blared the Oak Ridge Boys’ rendition of Elvira.
“Oh for cryin’ out loud, Harper.” His sister had a habit of sneaking weird ring tones onto his phone when he wasn’t looking. He’d never live down the I’m Too Sexy ringtone during the closing prayer at Harper’s college graduation.
When the Oak Ridge Boys started crooning the part about hearts on fire for Elvira, he hit accept call and put the phone to his ear. “What?”
“Who peed in your Cheerios?” Harper asked, laughing. “Don’t you love the Oak Ridge Boys?”
“No. What is it? I’m running late.”
“Oh, sorry. Can you swing by CVS and get Momma some Preparation H?”
Jaxon closed his eyes and let his forehead hit the steering wheel. “Are you serious? Why can’t you do that?”
“Pink’s in the shop with a flat tire. I think I picked up a nail in your parking lot.”
“And this is a hemorrhoid emergency?”
“You know Momma. She’ll worry herself silly about it, and the guys here at the shop are way behind. Though their behinds aren’t that bad from my vantage point here in the waiting room. Ugh, except that guy – crack kills, dude.”
“Fine, I’ll get it. Anything else?”
“Where are you going, anyway? Don’t tell me you finally have a date!”
“Yes, um, no. It’s a business dinner.”
Harper was uncharacteristically quiet for a few seconds. “With Lena?”
“Yeah, we’re discussing the marketing campaign.”
“Okay, so long as it’s not a date.”
“And so what if it was?”
“Look, Jax, I know Lena. She’s awesome, but country living is not her thing. If you hook up with her, she’ll eventually get tired of Hicktown, USA and go back to the Big Apple. I don’t want you hurt, that’s all, not when there are plenty of homegrown chicks right here for the taking.”
Jaxon could feel his blood pressure rising. He loosened his collar. “Listen here, little sister, I don’t need to be babied. I’m twenty-six for Christ’s sake. I’ll go out with whoever I want when I want, got it?”
“Geez, I’m sorry. Don’t bite my head off! Don’t forget the Preparation H.”
The phone beeped. Call ended.
“Don’t forget the Preparation H,” Jaxon mocked. “Preparation H, my ass.”
He laughed as he started the truck and drove to CVS. Once he’d bought the hemorrhoid cream and tried to ignore the amused look on the cashier’s face, he drove out to his mother’s place. When he pulled onto the gravel drive, his mother Dorothy was standing on the porch of her tiny house off Newtown Pike. She dropped her cigarette butt and crushed it beneath her house shoe as he got out of the truck. She had supposedly quit smoking six months ago.
“Caught you red-handed,” he said. “Who gave you the cigarettes?”
“Never you mind.” Her sideways glance toward her next-door neighbor Gladys’s house was all the confession he needed. That old gal had burned herself to a crisp trying to get a tan all these years and now looked like a pruney Cheeto. She smoked like a freight train and sounded like a hoarse Louis Armstrong. Harper was good at monitoring all his relationships, so why couldn’t she find their mother some better friends?
“You got my cream?” Dorothy asked.
“Yeah, right here, but I can’t stay.” He followed her into the house and let the screen door slam behind him. Mismatched ceramic bric-a-brac accumulated through years of garage sales and flea markets rattled on the shelves and countertops.
“What’s the rush?”
“A date.” Crap, he’d blurted it out without thinking. “I mean, a business dinner.”
Dorothy took the CVS bag from him and retrieved the Preparation H from inside it. She pointed the box at him. “A date, huh? Is it that New Yorker that Harper keeps jabbering about?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, you be nice to her, Jaxon. If she’s that far from home, she probably feels pretty out of place. Show her the good stuff around here, right? Order some good food. No Moon Pies. You worry about me and Harper too much and keep pushing everyone else away. Give her a chance, and make her want to stay.”
She tore open the Preparation H box, pulled out the tube of ointment, and dropped the box on the floor before shuffling down the hall to the bathroom. Jaxon stood there blinking after her for a moment. She’d never been one to encourage him toward other people. It was usually quite the opposite, expecting him to eat dinner there every night and to drop everything for hemorrhoid cream.
He looked at the time. Crap. Lena would probably beat him to the restaurant. He hollered, “Bye, Momma!” and ran out of the house. Then he turned, strode back in, picked up the Preparation H box from the floor, trashed it, and, a little slower this time, headed to his truck.
****
The Blue Door Smokehouse was always hopping on Friday nights. Jaxon weaved his way through the crowded entryway. Lena had sent him a text ten minutes ago:
I got us a couple spots at the bar. I’ve already had to fight off a bunch of guys that looked like they stepped out of Deliverance. Get your ass over here, or I’m sending you a bill for the most expensive stuff on the menu, which must be BBQ possum from the smell of it.
He’d be turned off by most women with that kind of attitude, but for some reason it was kind of sexy coming from Lena Bosko. Instead of stopping at the hostess’s podium, he made his way toward the bar area. Lena was there all right, toward the end by the wall that held a variety of mounted animal heads. He grimaced. Maybe he should have suggested a classier place. Mom had said to show her the good parts of Lexington. But he knew that once you got past the rough atmosphere of this place, the food was well worth it.
She was sipping a glass of water, staring blankly at a football game on one of the TV screens over the bar. He started over to her, but stopped short, his eyes feasting on the city girl angel just a few yards away. Damn, no wonder she has to fight off men. A tight black skirt and red silk blouse hugged her curvaceous body. Her shapely legs were crossed, red-painted toes peeking from her black stilettos, one of which she swung impatiently beneath the barstool. Her jet-black hair hung just past her shoulders, pulled back slightly from her face with a wide red headband.
Jaxon got hard just looking at her. He grabbed a menu off a vacant table and held it in front of him to hide the growing bulge. What was he, thirteen? He took a deep breath and went over to her.
She turned just as he came up next to her. “Hey, finally. You get caught in traffic?”
“No, um, my mom, she…I mean, yes, traffic.” He tried to slide onto the stool next to her, but almost turned it over. Lena steadied it for him and frowned at him like he was an idiot or drunk. Smooth move, Romeo. He finally settled onto the stool without making himself look like more of a fool and put his erection-camouflaging menu on the bar.
“So what’s good here?” she asked. Was it just him, or did her eyes just give him an appreciative once-over before she picked up her menu?
“Besides the possum?”
Lena laughed. She had a nice laugh, even if it was loud enough to gain them a few stares. “Yeah, I’m allergic.”
“Are you a vegetarian?”
“Hardly.”
“Well, the burgoo is delicious.”
She gave him an incredulous look. “What the hell is burgoo?”
“Kind of a stew with corn and okra and a lot of other vegetables. Several different types of smoked meats go in it, like beef, chicken, pork, sometimes squirrel.”
Lena wrinkled her nose. “Sounds too much like possum.”
“No possum, I promise, and this place doesn’t use squirrel in theirs, but it’s kind of their signature dish. I think you’ll love it.”
“All right then. Bird poo it is.”
“Burgoo.”
“Whatever. Let’s order and get down to business, shall we?”
She re-crossed her legs, brushing one of her ankles against Jaxon’s calf and inducing his second erection of the night. This may not have been a date, but it was already more exciting than the last one he could remember.
After they ordered, they munched on bread and talked about advertising. Lena stuck to water, though she looked longingly at Jaxon’s bourbon. By the time the food arrived, Lena had brought out a notebook and rattled off a bunch of ideas, most of which focused on Internet stuff and social networking and sounded very professional, but none of it felt the least bit connected to his passion for flying.
The burgoo arrived. Lena leaned over the bowl and took a good sniff, then picked up her spoon and took a tentative bite. “This isn’t half bad. So, have I got the contract or not?”
Jaxon scratched his jaw. “Tell you what, if you want me to hire you, take a hot air balloon ride with me. I want you to see what I see when I’m up there, to feel what I feel, all the freedom and wonder.”
Lena dropped her spoon in the bowl with a clatter and shook her head vehemently. “Oh no, I already told you, I don’t do heights.”
“I have barf bags and Dramamine. You’ll be fine.”
She lowered her head and looked at him pointedly through her thick lashes. “I don’t think you understand. Heights scare the shit out of me. I can advertise for you just fine from terra firma, capeesh?”
She wanted to butt heads, did she? He wasn’t about to be a pushover. For a girl like Lena Bosko, one surrender on his part would mean she’d own him. Jaxon had always appreciated a challenge.
“No capeesh,” he said, smiling at Lena, who grew paler by the second. “You fly with me, or the deal’s off. I’m pretty sure that wouldn’t go over too well with boss-lady Laverne, now would it? Her new hire chickening out on a hot air balloon ride.”
Lena’s pale cheeks reddened. Anger flashed in her eyes. “Is that how you want to play it? Blackmail? Well, fine, Mr. Wheeler, if you want to play dirty, we’ll play dirty. I’ll go up in one of your dumb balloons if that’s what it takes to get your money.”
“Good, then it’s a deal.” They shook on it, and Jaxon reached for his bourbon.
But Lena grabbed his glass and downed the rest of his drink in one gulp. She slammed the glass down on the bar and exhaled loudly, then shuddered.
“I thought you didn’t drink,” he said.
“I don’t, but I’ll need a lot more of this before I get in a fucking balloon.”