I climb into the cab of the truck, laughing as I imagine his reaction when he finally sees his ridiculous time.
“What’s so funny?” he asks.
“Oh, nothing. You’ll see later tonight. Unless of course you’re ready to share my time now?” I smile and bat my eyelashes.
He returns my smile and throws the truck in reverse. “Nice try, babe. But if I give you the time now, I’ll have nothing to ensure you show up tonight.”
“It’s not like I can go very far.” I really want him to tell me so I can watch his face fall when he sees how bad he lost. There’s no way he beat me. Well, there is, just not with the amount of lead-time I added in. If he still beat me, even with the extra time, I’m not only signing up for a gym, I’m getting a personal trainer.
“No, I think I have you right where I want you.” He winks and his cheek rises.
We start driving back toward the hotel, but it’s a different way than how we came. When I look off to the right the shoreline is close. It’s beautiful. The homes lining the street are all quaint little beach cottages with white picket fences and trees that cast shade over the road.
“This area is adorable,” I muse.
Jackson looks over, smiling. “I lived on this side when I was stationed here. It’s the locals’ beach on this side of the bay. You get to enjoy the ocean without the crowds.”
“So if you still have your headquarters down here, do you stay in a hotel every time or do you have a home here?”
I wondered this before but wasn’t sure how or if I should ask. Since he thought it would be entertaining to make me run an obstacle course, I think it’s fair game. If it weren’t for him, my legs wouldn’t be throbbing and my arms wouldn’t be numb.
“No, I sold my house when I moved up to New York. I kept the office here because it made more sense being close to the base. Plus, it gives me an excuse to come back to the beach and see friends.” His hand grips the steering wheel and he puts his blinker on.
“Where are we going?” I ask, confused. The hotel isn’t here, not that I know where here is. But still, there isn’t anything here but trees. I look at the sign as we turn—another military base. No. No. No. I’m not doing this again. He’s trying to kill me. “Ummm …”
Jackson laughs but doesn’t answer. He gives his ID to the guard at the gate and keeps driving forward. “Relax, this will be fun.”
My hands are clenching the seat as I try to get a grip. Jackson reaches over and grabs my hand, pulling it onto the middle console as his fingers intertwine with mine. If he keeps pushing against that wall, soon enough it’s going to crumble. Distance. I need distance. I try to pull away but he tightens his grip, continuing to look forward.
“I don’t believe you. You said the same thing about the last base we went to.”
“I had fun. Didn’t you?” he asks.
“Fun? Sure, if you call aching joints, atrocious hair, and a dirt mark on my butt from falling fun. I would call it something else, but we can go with that.” I smile even though I was going for sarcasm.
Jackson’s loud laughter fills the truck as he parks. A little nervous and afraid to see where he’s brought me, I decide to stare at him—the view is beautiful either way.
“You still look perfect even with messy hair and dirt on your ass—which I happen to be fond of.” Jackson’s brow raises and he shifts forward, coming so close our lips could brush. “I want to show you my favorite place in Virginia Beach, or would you rather go back?”
With his breath heating my face, I’m cognitively misfiring. He could ask me to strip and run the course again and right now, I would. “Here is fine.”
His smile is brighter than the sun. “Good, let’s go.”
I climb, or more like hobble, out of the truck. The sea air assaults my nose and seagulls fly overhead. I look around and it’s truly remarkable. The sand is a little whiter than by the hotel. There are no waves. It’s calm and peaceful. But what causes my breath to catch is the huge brick lighthouse. It’s very old but still perfect. The red is muted from years of wind, rain, and storms, but there she stands—steadfast and strong to guide the ships home.
I look at Jackson leaning on the hood of the truck, watching me take in the sights. He walks around and extends his hand. Instead of wavering, I eagerly give him what he wants, reveling in the way his hand engulfs mine.
“I used to come here a lot. Have you ever been to a lighthouse?” Jackson asks in a hushed tone.
“In Jersey there are tons of lighthouses. My uncle had a boat, and when I was young we used to fish right by one. I always thought they were magic.” I smile and Jackson pulls me closer to him as we walk.
“Magic, huh?”
I shrug, not wanting to share too much of my heart with him. I loved the stories my uncle would tell me about sailors and the women waiting for them to return. He was a silly old man but he always made it seem so romantic, talking about how men would be lost for days until the lighthouse guided them home. And how the lighthouse keeper would ensure it was lit, helping sailors find their beacon. He used to call my aunt his light-keeper and say she was the light he’d always find his way back to. All my life I’ve dreamed of sharing a love like that.
We stop in front of the steps that lead inside. The wind whips my hair forward and I realize I have to climb my way to the top. I’m not going to be able to walk for a week. Maybe we can go back to the hotel where there’s an elevator?
Jackson notices my body tense and rubs his thumb in small circles on the back of my hand.
I have two choices: either I suck it up and climb to the top to see the view, or I pout and go back to the car. Option two sounds like a better idea for my feet, but there’s no way I want to miss this. Even back home I couldn’t ever go inside the lighthouse.
I nudge Jackson as we enter the small building. “Just in case you’re curious, no matter who wins the bet, you owe me a massage. And a new pair of jeans.”
“Are you saying you want me to rub you down?”
I scoff and roll my eyes. “Let’s go, Muffin. We have about four hundred stairs to climb.” If he only knew how bad I want his hands all over me, I’d be in big trouble.
I hear him sigh deeply as I giggle to myself.
The inside is cramped and the spiral metal stairs are terrifying. I’m sure I’ll have blisters all over my hands from gripping the railing so tight. My legs are quivering—not sure if it’s from the previous workout or from fear of falling to my death. The only thing giving me any comfort is Jackson insisting on going behind me in case I lose my footing.
“How much farther does this go?” I ask.
Next thing I know I’m being hoisted over Jackson’s shoulder.
“Stop wiggling or I’ll drop you,” he says with a short laugh, seeming unconcerned as he carries me up the steps.
“You’re insane! You’re going to drop me anyway!”
“Only if you keep moving. I’ll put you down on one condition.” Jackson’s voice is loud and strong as he begins to lower me. He’s very good at getting his way.
“What’s that?”
“You let me carry you on my back.”
What? No. “I can walk up the steps.”
“Then you deal with being upside down,” he says and starts climbing the stairs again, throwing me back over his shoulder.
Jackson climbs about ten more steps and I slap his ass, giggling. “Jackson! Put me down!”
“Nah, this is more fun,” he says, gripping my legs tighter.
I can’t take another second of being hung upside down, staring and feeling suspended over the hundreds of feet below. “Fine! I give up. You win.”
For once, he doesn’t make a noise but I can feel his chest bounce as if he’s laughing. Cocky bastard. Instead of putting me down so I can climb on his back, he lowers me and scoops me in his arms. My arms naturally wrap around his neck as if it’s the most normal thing to be carried like this. Never once can I remember having this happen in any past relationship. His strong arms hold me close against his chest and I feel his heart racing through his shirt. I don’t say a word, afraid to break the moment between us. Safe and secure is the only way I can define this space in time.
Once we reach the top of the lighthouse, he sets me down. My arms fall to my sides as he leans forward and places a kiss on the top of my head. I swallow and try to regulate my breathing and slow my pulse.
He weaves his fingers with mine again and guides me to the windows.
“I used to come up here after my run in the mornings,” he says quietly as we look out at the horizon.
“So you worked out and then climbed the stairs? By choice?” I ask with a raised brow.
His throaty laugh echoes through the building and he pulls me close. “Not all of us find exercise dumb. There are lots of activities that can be”—he coughs and smiles—“enjoyable.”
Jackson’s innuendo makes my cheeks flush. Him and his mouth!
“Well, only if you do it right,” I say boldly.
He leans in conspiratorially. “I always do it right,” he says in my ear. Then he walks past me.
“I’m sure you do,” I mutter.
“What was that?”
Of course he heard me.
“Nothing. Just admiring the view,” I lie and stare out the window.
We walk around the lighthouse, viewing the ocean from all angles. Times like this you realize how small you really are. Up here, looking out, I see endless seas and skies. Jackson and I are the only ones standing here, and as I take it all in I wonder who would light the way home for me?
I’m lost in thought when Jackson comes behind me, pressing against my back. His heat comforts me and I lean back a little. “Look over there,” he says against my ear, pointing toward a huge bridge.
I look over but it’s not the bridge that causes me to gasp. It’s the huge aircraft carrier that’s floating over where the bridge becomes a tunnel.
“Ships come in and out through there. You see the white?” Jackson asks.
I squint to get a better view. It looks like there’s a white lining around the deck of the ship. I nod, still trying to get a closer look.
“That’s called manning the rails. When a ship goes in or out of port for a deployment, they stand around the side of the ship and watch their home either go out of view or come into view,” Jackson explains.
I wonder how many times he’s done that. How many families have watched their loved ones leave, knowing they were about to spend countless nights alone? How many have stood waiting, anticipating their love’s return, serving as lighthouses to guide them home?
In the softest whisper I say, “See. Magic.”
Jackson smiles and his eyes lock on mine. “Yeah, there’s magic here for sure.”
“I don’t know what the hell to do!” I say into the receiver. Ashton is not helping and I need my best friend to help me right now.
I called her shortly after we got back from the lighthouse. Jackson and I spent about a half hour up there, laughing and talking about different stuff—what it was like for him going through boot camp, a little about my college experience and Ashton and Gretchen. I was nervous and quiet in the car after we left, unsure how to proceed with him and how to process what I was thinking. Jackson, however, was relaxed and completely at ease with our silent drive back. As we were arriving back at our hotel, another call came in from his security team. All I could hear was something about an issue with the contract in Afghanistan. Jackson apologized for being on the phone again and when we arrived at our rooms, he just gave me a wave and a wink, unlocked his door, and went in.
“See why I told you to bring pretty panties?”
“You know! You’re not freaking helpful.” I sigh and pace around the room. After crawling and running around all over today, I desperately needed a shower when we got back. But while I was enjoying the warmth and serenity, I remembered I was going to dinner with Jackson tonight. My nerves grew to the point that I had to do some deep breathing exercises to avoid an anxiety attack.
“Look, you like him, right?”
“Yes … I think. I don’t really know him. He could be a complete asshole.”
“Or he could be perfect for you,” she quickly replies.
“Again with the helping.” I huff and continue to pace. “You’re supposed to be on my side. Where is my best friend?”
She makes an obnoxious sound—a mix between a grunt and a snort. “I really hope you’re kidding me, twunt. I am helping. You just refuse to listen to what I’m saying.”
“Twunt?” I ask. “Seriously, did you make that word up?”
“Yes. Be jealous of my superior intelligence.”
I laugh. “Wow, you can make up stupid curse words.”
“Whatever.” I can almost picture her rolling her eyes. “Let’s get back to the issue at hand. He wants dinner. You’re on a business trip. Go to dinner with your sex-on-a-stick boss. And if you didn’t pack the right stuff, just go commando.”
“The problem isn’t the underwear. It hasn’t been that long since things ended with Neil—”
She quickly cuts me off with a stern voice. “That shit was over long before you found out. Let’s be real.” Her voice softens a little but still sounds annoyed. “I’m gonna be brutal here. Neil is not the issue. You are. You get in your head and you think you’re not good enough. Why?”
“Because …” I trail off. I don’t know why. That’s the problem. I don’t know why I can’t accept that a man like Jackson would ever want to have dinner with me, let alone anything more. I’ve never felt special. I was always second best. But the worst thing isn’t that people told me those things—the worst thing is that I believe them. The only place I’m worth a damn is at work. Sometimes when you’re told something long enough you eventually believe it.
“Well, that’s a great answer!” she screams, loud enough that I have to move the phone from my ear. “Here’s the deal. Your dad did a real number on you, and I’m sorry. Your mom has always made you feel like it was your fault. And don’t even get me started on Neil.” She clears her throat and her tone softens dramatically. “Please listen to me this once.” She takes a deep breath. “You’re so much more than you give yourself credit for, but Jesus Christ stop for one goddamn minute. Stop being so deep in your head that you’re blind to the fact that life is short and if you keep letting others influence your decisions, you’re going to be that crazy bitch with a hundred cats. We all know a woman should only have one pussy.”
“Ashton!” I laugh.
Her voice softens again. “I love you. You’re my best friend. You’re worthy and one of the best people in the world. You’ve always deserved more than the bullshit you always seem to get. So go and be the beautiful girl I know you are and live for the moment.”
A tear falls down my face at Ashton’s sincerity. If we were face-to-face, I’d hug her and never let go. “Thank you,” I say softly, never more grateful for our friendship. “I should get ready.”
“I love you, Catherine. Now, open the outside zipper of your suitcase, put what’s inside on under your black dress, and get laid already!” She laughs and hangs up before I can say anything more.
Shaking my head, I walk over to my suitcase, open the compartment, and sink into the chair. I pull out a black corset, which I’ve never seen before. When the hell did she put this in my bag? I need to focus and pull myself together. I’ll worry about clothes in a bit and finish getting ready now. I head into the bathroom to dry my hair. I style it with curls at the end and then do my makeup, making sure it’s perfect. When I’m done primping, I walk back into the room where my dress and corset are lying on the bed, silently mocking me.
Picking up the corset, I hold it to my chest and look in the mirror. My eyes widen as I take in my reflection. I don’t look like the same girl. My hair falls softly down my back. My eyes are rimmed in a chocolate color and my lashes are thick and long, which makes my brown eyes look big and sultry. I put the corset around and hook each eye, pull up the matching panties, and stare at myself in the mirror. My breasts are pushed up and it cuts in at the perfect place to give me an hourglass figure. Satisfied with how I look for a change, I smile as I run my hands down the silky fabric. Yeah, I’m definitely wearing this tonight. Even with no plans of Jackson ever seeing it, I feel sexy. I slip my black sleeveless sweetheart dress over my head. It hugs each curve and tapers down, clinging to my legs, ending right above the knee. I pair it with my open toe, strappy gold heels.
I send a quick text to Ashton, thanking her for earlier and letting her know that I owe her dinner for packing the corset. Needing to keep moving, I clean the room a little and check my makeup at least two more times. I have fifteen minutes before I’m supposed to meet Jackson at the restaurant downstairs. He texted me about an hour ago saying he had to run out and it would be easier to meet there.
Pacing the floor and watching the never-moving clock, I decide to go to the bar and get a drink to kill some time. I keep telling myself this isn’t a date, but in the back of my mind I know I’m only fooling myself by saying this is a business meeting. Maybe Ashton is right—I need to see where this goes and stop fighting my desires when it comes to Jackson. If we can talk and come to an agreement, maybe it won’t affect my career.