Jordan
I like talking to you? What have I ever said that was so fascinating? I let out a scoff, shaking my head as I peel the potatoes for dinner.
Maybe it’s a lack of options. He’s lived alone for so long that any conversation seems interesting? We have absolutely nothing in common.
But, the truth is…I loved hearing it. Why do I want him to like me so much? And why was the party the last place I wanted to be last night when I realized he wouldn’t be out there, too?
I glance up and see him in the backyard through the window in front of me. He works on trimming the tree by the fence separating his yard from Cramer’s, holding a long, hand-held device that stretches up into the tall branches. I mentioned that not enough sunlight is reaching the garden, so he took it upon himself to solve the problem. Without even being asked.
I love the garden more than I admit to him. It’s like my own little space, and it will still be there after I leave. It’s comforting.
The seeds are planted, and the sprinklers dust the soil for a few minutes every morning and evening like clockwork. I’ve started to like hearing them kick on in the wee hours when it’s still dark, and I’m the only person up and in the kitchen with my coffee.
Everything is starting to feel familiar and warm here. Like a home.
I carve into the potato skin, rough and abrasive. Typical. I always grow attached to things that aren’t forever. The idea of my mother returning when I was little, Nick, Jay, my apartment and the desire to make a home of my own…. I amaze myself at how absolutely pathetic I continue to be. I jab the knife into the cutting board and dig out a few more potatoes from the bag.
And to make matters worse, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about last night all day, and the party is the least of it.
The birthday cake, the tapes, joking around with him…. The way he remembered that I have to blow out a candle and make a wish. A flutter hits my heart, and I smile and then scowl, confused and not wanting those feelings.
I blew out the matchstick last night, wishing for the same thing I wished for in the movie theater that night. I loved how I felt in that moment and hoped that I could feel that way every day. That’s all I wanted.
Not for something to be different or for something I didn’t have, but that I would feel exactly the same the next day. And the next.
Special, remembered, happy.
He makes me happy.
Happy in a way that my boyfriend should.
Peeling another potato, I see him out of the corner of my eye move outside, and I try to stop myself, but I look up anyway.
Raising his arms, he pulls his navy blue T-shirt over his head and slides it into his back pocket, reaching over to pick up the branch cutter again.
For a moment, I freeze. My hands pause in their task, and the sounds of the cutter, the lawnmower across the street, and the music playing in the kitchen slowly fade away.
His skin—golden and toned—looks warm and smooth, the muscles of his stomach and the cords running down his forearms press against his skin, displaying how long and hard he’s worked in his life. Sweat glistens down his neck and spine, and I can see the ripples of the muscles in his back. Even through the tattoos.
Long legs in worn jeans with his T-shirt hanging out the back pocket and covering part of his…. I wet my lips as I tear my eyes off his behind and stare at the way his jeans hang off his hips.
Every muscle flexes as he chops branch after branch, and all I can manage is short, shallow breaths as I even admire the way his pant legs drape over his tan construction boots.
Mr. Lawson is hot. He’s able, strong-bodied, and I wonder how he feels. What is he like with a woman?
I drop my eyes again.
“Oh, that’s hot,” I hear a voice say.
I blink and jerk my head, looking behind me. Cam.
She stands next to the side of the island, having come through the front door without me hearing her. She has one forearm planted on the granite, leaning casually with an amused look on her face.
I turn back to my task, my heart hammering in my ears.
It’s bad enough to ogle someone not Cole, but it had to be her who caught me, too.
“I’ve never seen you look at Cole like that,” she says.
How long was she standing there?
I decide to nip it in the bud. “Like what?” I snap. “Stop trying to start shit.”
I hear her shuffle across the floor as she comes up to stand next to me at the sink. I cast a glance at Pike to see he’s still working, oblivious to us in the house.
“You both are getting pretty cozy here,” she teases, rinsing off the peeled potatoes and putting them in the pot. “He’s doing yard work. You’re cooking. It’s like you’re a couple.”
“Shut up. I’m young enough to be his daughter.”
“But you’re not his daughter,” she shoots back, turning toward me and leaning in. “You’re a hot, young piece of pussy living under his roof, and you know he’s thought about that. He may be Cole’s dad, but he’s also a man.” She turns back, looking out the window and checking him out. “And a fine, healthy-looking one, too.”
“I have a boyfriend. His son.”
That’s right, Jordan. That’s exactly what you should’ve told yourself when you were staring at him a minute ago.
But my sister just shrugs. “Even hotter.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “If you like him, go for it.”
“Nuh-uh.” Her lips curl playfully. “I’m all worked up about the fantasy now. I want my own boyfriend’s father.”
Uggggghhhh…my cheeks warm again.
“You’re sordid. And you don’t have a boyfriend,” I point out.
“Well, I should get one. One who has a hot dad.”
I shake my head. I’m not talking about this anymore. She’s convinced I was ogling, and she thrives on naughtiness. I’m not feeding her.
“Plus, you’re my sister,” she states. “I don’t want to make you jealous by hooking up with him.”
“Why would I be jealous?” I blurt out, finishing the last potato. “Seriously. I have a boyfriend. Who Pike Lawson screws is of no consequence to me. Go for it.”
Turning away, I wipe off my hands, veer around her, and grab the pot of water with potatoes and put it on the stove, starting the burner. Pork chops are marinating. Dough for the biscuits is sitting. I go through my mental checklist as quickly as I can to keep my mind occupied. And away from him.
He can see whomever he wants. This is his house.
“Well,” I hear Cam say. “If you’re okay with it then…”
I remain at the stove, pretending to check the burner, but my hand tightens on the knob, fear twisting my insides.
The next thing I hear is the back door slamming against the frame, and I jerk upright, seeing that she’s left the kitchen.
Son of a…
Walking back over to the sink, I peer out the window and see Cam heading across the lawn to where Pike is working. She tosses a look over her shoulder at me like she knows I’m watching. She smirks, and I scowl.
I wasn’t serious. The thought of her hands on him…his arms around her... I don’t want to see that. She’s my sister.
He senses her approach and looks down at her, turning off the tool, and I watch as he listens, probably wondering why she’s bugging him.
Maybe he’s wondering, that is.
My sister is hot, and not many men would refuse her if she set her sights on them. Maybe Pike’s attracted to her? He is a man, like she said.
And she’s older, has her own place, a car, and is rooted in this town for the time being. She’s still significantly younger than him, but she’s not a kid.
She’s not a ‘little girl’.
She crosses her arms over her chest, shuffling her feet a little, giving the impression of modesty, and I shake my head, because Cam is not modest. At all.
Just very good at reading people. She knows coming on too strong will freak him out.
After a moment, she touches his arm, and I barely breathe as I watch her bend her neck, inspecting his ink. Then, quickly, she straightens and lifts up her arm, showing him the huge black phoenix on the side of her torso.
He watches as she lifts up her white tank and bra straps, and my stomach sinks, expecting him to blush or look uncomfortable, because uncomfortable is Pike’s thing, but he doesn’t. Instead, he watches her as she talks animatedly, excited, and then suddenly, he smiles, his body shaking with a laugh at whatever she’s saying.
Something tugs at the back of my throat, and I don’t feel good. He keeps looking at her. His eyes have barely left her since she walked out there. Does he want her? Does she turn him on?
I mean, I want him to like her, just not want her. It’s not right. I don’t want to hear her moaning and panting down the hall all night.
Besides, she won’t like him. He’s way too uptight. Pretty boring, actually.
But she’d definitely make him feel good for a while.
I close my eyes, a five ton weight on my shoulders.
She turns and starts picking up branches off the ground, and he goes back to cutting, both of them working together in happy unison. But I see her turn to mouth something at me with a cocky little smile.
It takes a moment to register what she said.
Jealous yet?
I can’t help the snarl that escapes as I flip her the finger and then turn around, walking away from the window. Damn her. She won’t do anything. She thinks I like him. She’s just trying to piss me off.
I pull the collar of my T-shirt away from my body, every inch of my skin feeling irritated. I need a breath.
Walking over to the stove, I turn off the burner and leave the kitchen, jogging up the stairs. I enter Cole’s and my bedroom, pull some clean clothes out of the drawers, and leave, walking across the hallway to our bathroom.
But as soon as I step inside, I stop, seeing the mess Pike has made. The tub is ripped out, the valves are disconnected to the sink, and there’s debris all over the white tiled floor.
He’s still renovating. I forgot.
His bedroom door lays open, and I can see his bed straight ahead, the headboard against the opposite wall as I walk toward his room. Every time I’ve passed through here to get my showers this past week, it’s felt awkward. Being in his room alone.
I don’t snoop, but it’s tempting.
His bed is always made. A little haphazardly, blankets just tossed back up in a rush, but I can’t help but be a little taken back. If not for my stepmom, my father’s bed would never be made.
Heading for the bathroom, I see the pictures of Cole from birth to senior year portraits lining the frame of his dresser mirror. A flat screen hangs on the wall, it’s power cord dangling and unplugged. A model schooner sits on his bureau with only a light layer of dust on the white sails.
And an old watch with a worn leather band I’ve never seen him wear sits in a dish on his dresser. There’s no other jewelry anywhere.
Aside from the bed, the two dressers, the TV, and the bedside tables, the room is minimal. Nothing on the walls, of course, one black lamp with a gray shade, and a strong afternoon light streaming through the cracks in the partially open blinds.
I hate that he lived here alone for so long. Someone needs to spice this place up. Not my sister.
Swinging the bathroom door closed behind me, I lock it and reach into the shower, turning on the water. I set my change of clothes on the sink counter and strip down, pulling out a towel from the shelf and hanging it on the hook outside the shower.
Jealous yet? I shake my head, my ire rising again as I step into the shower and close the glass door.
I’m not jealous. I just don’t want to see her push him around like I know she definitely can. So much is a game to my sister, and she hides her insecurities behind flighty behavior and sarcasm.
Pike’s not like that. He needs someone calm. Someone who knows how to keep him calm.
Someone who can wrap their arms around his neck and make the rest of the world disappear.
Tipping my head back, I wet my hair and close my eyes, feeling the heat of the water pound my shoulders and neck. Chills spread down my arms, and my head suddenly swims with the pleasure of the warmth.
Turning around, I plant my hands on the wall and roll my head under the spray, finally coming back up and leaning against the wall behind me as I push my hair back over my head.
My stomach curdles. If Cole wasn’t in the picture and Pike came into the bar one night and sat on a stool and talked to me…I’d like him. I’d really like him.
I’d want him.
I squeeze my eyes shut tighter. God, my sister is right. Something is happening. It’s been happening, actually. Does everyone else notice, too? Does he notice?
Shit.
Opening my eyes, they immediately fall on his body wash ahead of me sitting in the caddy. Cole usually uses Axe, but he hasn’t pulled his stuff out of the other shower yet, probably just using his dad’s Irish Spring.
I cast a quick look toward the glass, making sure I’m alone, and pull the bottle off the rack and pop the lid.
Little suds fizz around the opening from the guys’ showers that morning, and I close my eyes, bringing Pike’s body wash to my nose. The heady fragrance fills my head, and tingles spread across my skin. It’s cheap soap, but it’s no frills, does the job, and reminds me of jeans, lumber, and the barest bristle of a five-o’clock shadow on a man’s jaw.
It’s him.
My throat swells like I’m taking a gulp of water, and I swallow, feeling disappointed that nothing is there. I lick my lips, breathing hard.
I suspend reality somewhere in the back of my mind and absently squeeze a drop of the soap into my hand. Bring my palm up to my nose, I smell again, my breath catching, my eyes falling closed, and my clit instantly throbbing.
Should I go after her? I remember his rare, cocky smirk that excited me last night. I didn’t want him going after anyone, but God, I’m desperate to see what that looks like. What is he like with a girl?
You think I can’t handle her? I’ve been around the block.
The hand with the soap falls down my neck, glides over my collar bone, and washes down my breast and over my nipple. Handle her? “Not her,” I mouth to myself.
My fingers graze down my stomach as I lean back on the wall, and I slide my hand between my legs, biting my lip and shuddering at the touch.
I slowly start to rub myself, my fingers working little circles on my hardening clit.
“No,” I whisper, opening my eyes. “Stop, stop, stop…”
I force Cole into my head. His hands on my body. His lips on my ear. The way he buries his face in my neck, so I can never see his eyes.
Oh, baby.
Fuck, baby, fuck.
You feel good. So good.
His hands grip my ass, and I rub the nub harder. Faster. Chasing the momentum I just had. The orgasm taunts me low in my belly and wants out so hard.
“Cole,” I say, closing my eyes again. “Go harder.”
I spin around, facing the wall and pressing myself into it with my hand still buried between my legs. He’s behind me, demanding in. He wants to fuck.
I slip a finger inside and start moving on it. I lay my cheek against the wall, trying to go fast, so I can’t think. Maybe if it’s just fucking, I can come.
My finger is wet, and I slide it back out and rub my clit again. I want to come. It’s right there. But I can’t. The muscles in my arm strain, and my lungs ache for air.
Please.
But it doesn’t come. My fingers slow, and I exhale, tears stinging the backs of my eyes.
I bite my lip again, aching so badly. I’m so wet.
And then, my mind in a fog and my will gone, I crawl inside my head where no one else but me can see.
I hide and give in, because no one but me has to know. In that moment. In my dirty thoughts and torrid little fantasy, I want him. I want to be for him. Our little secret.
Hidden.
“Such a good girl,” a new voice whispers in my ear.
Pike’s voice.
His body is behind mine now, larger and taller, caging me to the wall. His hand fists the back of my hair, and he pulls my head back slowly, leaning in to flick my lip with his tongue. I whimper.
“Taking care of the house the way I like,” he taunts, and my hand becomes his hand in my head as he takes over fingering me. “Cooking my meals the way I like. Pretty little thing for me to look at. You’re doing so well, Jordan.”
I keep my eyes closed, feeling for his lips, my whole body pulsing with an electric current at the taste of his warm mouth and the water of the shower cascading over his hot skin. I can feel his cock, hard and ready behind me.
“I need you to do everything a woman does now,” he instructs. “Everything a good girl does for a man. Can you do that?”
I nod, panting. “Yes.”
My orgasm is cresting again, my nipples press painfully into the tiled wall, and it feels so good between my legs. I want him. I want him on me. I want to know what he feels like.
Reaching behind me, I don’t think. I grab a loofah and slide it between my legs. The netting chafes my clit in a way than sends me over the edge. I roll my hips into it, wanting to feel anything, because it’s him in my head and that’s enough. His smell surrounds me, his mouth sucks my neck, and he’s hefting me up, so he can slip inside me. It’s rough and hard, his hands on my tits one minute and his mouth stealing my breath the next. God, his tongue tastes good.
The orgasm tingles deep, building and building, and Cole’s father is fucking me so good.
I come, the wave washing over me, and I cry out in silence, breathing hard but making no sound. God. I collapse against the wall, nearly crumbling as I shudder, the orgasm drifting down my legs and making my knees week. I squeeze my eyes shut and shake through it until it ebbs away, leaving me light-headed.
When the shower stops spinning and my breathing has returned to normal, I open my eyes, a flood of emotions rushing me.
Oh, my God. I want to cry.
What the hell is wrong with me? Why would I do that? And with his father? I…
I’m confused and stressed out and seeking comfort in a guy, because he’s been nice to me a couple times. Jesus.
No matter what happens with Cole and me, Pike Lawson is off limits. Don’t forget that. There are hundreds of men out there just like him. He’s not special.
It can’t be him. Ever.
I straighten, taking a deep breath. Looking down, though, I see the loofah in my hand isn’t my pink one. It’s Pike’s silver one.
“Shit.”
A few suds are still in it from his shower this morning.
And I used it to orgasm. Awesome.
I groan inwardly.
Climbing out of the shower, I bury it under tissue paper in the trash can and make a mental note to get him a new one next time I’m out.
And some different body wash, I think, too.