Chapter 11
Jo’s phone rang as she was finishing off her makeup, and Rose got to it first.
“Josephine Caroline Ethel Glievens’ phone.”
Jo made a grab for it, but Rose danced out of her way.
“Hey, Alex, and yes, really, that is her full name.” There was laughter. “I’ll pass you over.” Rose held out the phone and quirked a smile. “I’m getting dressed, sis.” She looked at her watch. “You have thirty to get downstairs.”
She left then, walking through the bathroom and into her own room, shutting the door behind her.
“Hey,” Jo said, and caught the end of Alex chuckling.
“Ethel?” he asked.
“Great Aunt Ethel,” Jo defended. “And I will kill Rose.”
More chuckling, and the sound of it was enough to make Jo want to join in.
“What’s your Christmas Eve like?” Alex asked.
“Don’t go there,” Jo said. “I want to know your middle name.”
“Mine? Who says I have one?”
“How embarrassing is it?”
“Alexandre Avellino Simard. Avellino means longed for, which is fitting given that my mom was nearly thirty when she had me, and according to her, they’d been trying a long, long time, which is something I didn’t really need to know.” She could imagine his expression, which was weird given that she hadn’t seen enough of him to be able to catalog everything, but his smile, she’d seen that.
“You realize telling me that means that now I can’t even laugh at your middle name.”
He grinned. “It worked, then. So, tell me about your Christmas Eve.”
“You first.” The last thing she wanted to talk about was what she had coming. Polite socialization, lots of humble-bragging, and Keith-the-dick.
“The usual—games, food. I mean, Mom took over the kitchen, and I’ve never seen so much food. Couple of the boys who can’t make it home are coming here as well—beers, games, and staying over.”
“Sounds great.”
“And yours?”
“Same,” she said, because the longer explanation wasn’t one she wanted to give.
“Wait, you have members of the Dragons coming to your place as well?”
“Ha ha,” she deadpanned, “you’re a funny man.”
“I wish I was seeing you tonight. It’s been…”
“Too long?” Jo offered to fill the sudden silence as Alex stopped talking.
“No, it’s been weird, knowing where you are, and wanting you… To talk to you, touch you, and I can’t.”
Jo sat down heavily on the side of her bed. “Oh,” she said.
“Is that too much?” Alex said, quietly, like he was expecting her to hang up.
“I want to see you too,” she admitted.
“I have a free afternoon, three hours, the twenty-eighth, can you… Are you…?”
“Yes, I can. You have a game the next day, right?”
“Flying out that night.”
“I’ll come to you.”
“Will you let me kiss you?” he asked. “I want to touch you so fucking bad.”
Jo couldn’t stop the flush of arousal that flooded and pooled inside her, and she must have made a noise or something, because he cursed ever so quietly.
“Jo? Tell me you want to touch me too.”
“What are you asking?” Jo trailed her fingers to her nipple, erect under her dress, and circled the sensitive nub. Her sister was next door, guests arriving soon, and all she wanted was to slip her fingers under her panties and press right where she ached.
“I want you so bad, I want to push you against the wall and lift you…”
“Jesus, Alex,” Jo murmured, squeezing her nipple and gasping at the feel of it, trailing her hand down her belly and slipping a finger under the scrap of silk, feeling how wet she was there, all for him and his soft voice.
“Are you touching yourself?” Alex asked softly. The tone of his voice had changed, like he’d gone into another room, where his voice was muffled.
“I can’t help it,” she whimpered as she smoothed the moisture there against her clit. She wriggled on the bed, hoping to hell Rose had meant it when she’d said she’d meet Jo downstairs, and leaned back on the pillows, spreading her legs a little and pressing harder.
“You know what I’ll do? I’ll hold both of your hands in one of mine, and you’ll let me, and the only thing keeping you standing will be me holding you against the wall. You’ll be begging for kisses, and I’ll push my fingers inside you… How many can you take, Jo? Two…three… I bet I’d find your sweet spot. Do that for me, Jo—get yourself off.”
“Alex…”
“I’ve got my hand on my cock, Jo, it’s so fucking hard, and I’d use it, push inside you, hold you still, kiss the breath out of you… And you won’t argue, will you… I’ll be sucking on your nipples so hard, and I’ll have you trapped in my hold, and you’ll let me fuck you against the wall…”
That image of Alex inside her had her orgasm building and stealing her breath, and then it hit her, and she gasped as she tipped over the edge and called out his name. She heard his breathing, heard the stutter of it, and her name whispered as he was coming.
“I can’t fucking wait to get you in my arms,” he said.
A knock on her door had her scrambling. “I’m going down,” Rose called. “You’ve got five, Jo.”
“Alex, I have to… I need to go.”
And Alex, the bastard, chuckled. “Me too. Talk soon?”
Only if you promise to get me off like that again, with just your voice.
“Soon,” she whispered. And ended the call.
In a flurry, she cleaned up and splashed cold water on her face, and realized her makeup was going to be minimalist. In five minutes, she’d fixed most of it, pulled on the dress she’d worn to the hockey party, and slipped on the same heels. She knew she looked good in it, and not only did she look good, she felt it from the inside, where it mattered.
Alex had made her feel that way.
Wanted.
Sexy.
Jo formed part of the receiving line with her mom and sister, as usual feeling like the odd one out. Rose had her mom’s tiny frame and long blonde hair, all cute and girly. She, on the other hand, had inherited her dad’s height and was a good five inches taller than her mom and Rose. Although she wasn’t doing her usual thing where she stooped. Because Alex had made her feel sexy, and she was still tingling from that orgasm.
Keith, with his parents flanking him, took the time to talk to her, demanding some time with her later because he had missed her face—those were his words, and he delivered them with his best cute smile.
She managed to fob him off, and avoid him most of the evening, and bless her, Rose ran interference. But by the time everyone left, Iris was looking decidedly unhappy.
“You could have at least encouraged him,” she said. “He’s on the market now.”
“I don’t like him,” Jo said evenly, hoping her mom would drop it. But she didn’t, and right there in front of the caterers cleaning the area, she delivered a familiar line.
“How else will you ever find someone when you are like you are?”
Jo bit her tongue. They would talk tomorrow, when her mom was back on an even keel, and when there was a chance of a Christmas miracle. “Night, Mom,” she said, but clearly that wasn’t it.
“Why did you not even make an effort tonight? Do you know how much effort I had to make?”
Jo sighed. “They bore me…” she began, and then stopped. “Why did we even have to do this tonight, Mom?”
And then Jo had the wind knocked out of her when her mom’s face crumpled. “I don’t know what else to do, do you get that?” Tears slid down her mom’s face, and, back straight, she disappeared down the corridor toward the one room she seemed settled in; Dad’s study.
Rose slipped a hand through Jo’s arm. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s do this.”
And together they walked to the study.
Iris had her back to them, staring at the portrait of her, Rose, and Jo that held pride of place right opposite the large oak desk.
“Mom?” Jo asked. “I’m sorry if I upset you.”
Her shoulders stiffened momentarily and then relaxed. “You didn’t, I’m a mess.” Then she turned to face them, and Jo noticed the tears were gone, but her mom was worrying her lip with her teeth. Iris Glievens did not do things like that. “I miss him every day.”
“So do we,” Rose said, speaking for her and Jo.
“Every day,” Jo added.
“Why did he even climb that ladder? Why did he go anywhere near the machinery? Why would he leave us that way?”
Jo wished she had answers. Sometimes the blackness of grief escaped the hold she had on it, and that was after counseling and talking until she was blue in the face.
“I tried tonight,” Iris said, and sat carefully on the edge of the sofa that sat in the corner of the study. “I talked to those people, and I imagined a life where I was back there, hosting parties and dinners, and I realized that without your dad at my side, this was never going to be the same.”
Rose sighed. “Mom—”
“Let me finish, Rose. I owe Jo an apology, for thinking we could ever get to the point where we would be a normal family.”
“We are a normal family, Mom, or at least we could be, if you let us.”
Iris pressed a hand to her chest, but there was honesty in the movement, no theatrics. “You know what Keith said to me tonight? With his mom at his side, he actually suggested that we needed him to run the company, and he wasn’t too worried which daughter he made a union with.”
“A union,” Rose scoffed. “Who even talks like that anymore?”
“The thing was,” Iris continued, “he said that with no trace of irony. He honestly thought I would stand there and consider it.”
“I’ll kill him for you,” Rose muttered.
“I want to sell the house,” Iris announced. “Unless either of you have an emotional attachment that means you’d like me to reconsider.”
“Mom, do you want us to reconsider?” Jo asked, not sure what they were supposed to be saying. “Do you want us to stop you selling?”
Iris looked at Jo, and then Rose, and kind of deflated a little. “No, I want to go, to buy a smaller place close to your aunts. I want to wear jeans, and eat at the kitchen table and…everything. I want to be able to live without your dad, however hard it will be. You girls and your father were my everything, and now he’s gone.”
“And the company?”
“I want it gone. It stole Simon from me. The management team have offered me a settlement, and I’d like to take it, let them buy me out.”
Jo moved first, sitting next to her mom and holding her hand, then Rose sat on the opposite side and all three embraced.
“Please, Jo,” Iris murmured into her hair. “Please stay safe, I know what you need to do, I know it’s your calling, but I can’t lose someone else.”
Jo held her mom closer. “Of course I will, Mom.”
They dressed up warm for the visit to Simon Glieven’s grave. Jo and Rose held back to allow Iris some time; she was talking to him, and for the longest time they allowed her the time to talk. Then she looked back at them and half smiled, gesturing for them to join her.
“Tell him everything,” she said. “Tell me what I miss by not asking.”
Rose talked about her boyfriend who wasn’t a boyfriend anymore, and about her thoughts on which grad school to go to.
“I think Stanford is a good choice,” Iris said, “All that sunshine. Your dad would agree, I’m sure.”
And then it was Jo’s turn, and she didn’t know what to say, until abruptly she did.
“So I met this man, Dad. He’s taller than me, but when I wear heels we’re the same height.” She glanced at her mom, who looked at her with surprise on her face. “He has this blond hair that’s kind of too long—it falls all around his face, and he keeps pushing it back. I kind of want to sit him in a chair and cut his hair, but I think it’s his trademark. I looked him up on the internet, and they call it his flow. He has good flow, or so they say. He has blue eyes, really blue, you’d think he was Scandinavian or something, but he’s from Canada. Whistler, actually, but his father was from Quebec. I don’t know about his mom.” She stopped. Was that enough?
“You looked him up?” Mom said. “Is he famous?”
“He’s a professional hockey player; plays for the Dragons in Burlington.”
Iris nodded but didn’t seem to be judging.
“I don’t even watch hockey,” Jo said. “But flow is a hockey thing, or so Wikipedia tells me.”
“Where did you meet him?” Mom asked the question super carefully.
“A party. No, wait, I met him before that, but he tried to kiss me and I accidentally kneed him in the groin. He sent me gifts to apologize for the kiss—a beautiful journal for my studying, and a pen. I really think I could like him a lot,” she admitted.
“What’s his name?” Mom asked, and Jo ducked her head. Admitting that to her and Dad was like putting a seal of approval on it or something.
“Alexandre Simard. I call him Alex. His teammates call him Simba, because of his last name and his blond hair, at least I think it’s the hair. They all have nicknames on the team, you know.” She realized she was rambling, and stopped.
“You should bring him to dinner once before we leave the house,” Iris murmured. “So he can see where you grew up.”
Jo linked arms with Mom, Rose on the other side. “That would be nice.”