Jackson: A Sexy Bastard Novel (8 page)

S
he’s breathing
into my chest, and I’m tempted to lick the perspiration from where it has beaded at her temple, but I stop myself. Don’t want to get things going again.

Well, I’d actually love that, but we need to get back out to the front of the bar, or people are going to start wondering.

People named Cash.

I begin the process of peeling apart our bodies, but as we move, the shelving unit we’re pressed against gives a loud creak. Suddenly napkins are snowing down on us, followed by boxes of straws, toothpicks, and latex gloves. Skylar lets out a shriek and I wrap myself around her, absorbing the pinches and scraps of sharp box corners. Finally, everything is still. Together, we survey the mess on the floor. Then, she looks up and we both start shaking with laughter.

“We’d better start cleaning this up,” I murmur after a minute, bending down toward the mess. The shelf gives another creak, but there’s nothing left on it to fall, and we are both catapulted back into hysterics.

“You might consider putting on your clothes, first,” she finally suggests. As she says it, she begins to fish around for her clothing amidst the sea of paper products. “I’m sure you’re a big believer in ‘cleanliness is next to godliness’ but—”

“Hello?” The sound of a familiar, female voice freezes me in my tracks. Skylar and I both look up to see the doorknob turning.

“Shit,” I hear Skylar hiss, and she slinks behind a shelving unit. Me? I just stand there like a statue.

“Is everything okay—oh.” Cassie stops the moment she sees me clutching handfuls of crumpled napkins, naked as the day I was born. After two blinks, she slowly backs out. The door shuts with a soft click.

Ten seconds of tense silence later, Skylar and I finally look at each other.

“Shit,” Skylar repeats. Then she starts to scramble for her clothes, yanking her jeans up to mid-calf until she realizes they’re inside out. “Shit shit shit. Do you think she saw me? She’s gonna tell Ryder, isn’t she?”

I’m still slightly shell-shocked. To have sex right in one of our own bars . . . that’s a Cash move. Not a me move. And then to get caught? Ryder will have a hard time even believing this story . . . assuming it gets back to him.

“Cassie’s cool,” I try to reassure Skylar, finally locating a trash can in the corner and stuffing the wadded-up napkins I’m holding inside.

“Yes, Cassie is very cool,” Skylar agrees, “but she’s also dating the owner.”

“I’m an owner, too, you know.”

“Okay . . . .” She stands and starts hopping to pull the legs of her pants up over her hips. Damn I love women’s jeans. “Does that mean you can keep them from firing me?”

With some of the napkins out of the way, I manage to find my clothing and start redressing myself, all without taking my eyes off of Skylar. She looks sexy even when she’s putting clothing back on—although of course, I still prefer the opposite.

“Sky, of course I wouldn’t let anyone fire you.”

She blinks. “Oh. Well. Thanks.” A smile beams across her face. I think I live for that smile.

“Good news is, I don’t think I’ll have to.” I finish buttoning my shirt and smooth out a few wrinkles.

“Fucking in the storage room isn’t grounds for termination? It seems like it probably doesn’t fit with too many health safety codes.” Skylar gives me a wry smile.

“You might be right, but, of anyone who could have walked in, I think Cassie was pretty ideal. I distinctly remember when she and Ryder were starting to get together, and they were, let’s say, somewhat indiscreet in their choice of sexual venues.”

Skylar wrinkles her brow. “Which means . . . ?”

“I walked in on them fucking in the office. At Altitude.”

“Oh.” She snorts a laugh, then nods in understanding and then pulls her t-shirt over hear head. The way that thin materials clings to her skin . . . God, I can’t believe I’m already thinking about touching her again. Roughly, I push my belt buckle into place.

“So, all I’m saying is, she can tell Ryder whatever she wants, but I don’t think either of them have any legs to stand on in terms of firing you.”

We finish cleaning up the room as best we can, me making mental note of all of the inventory that now needs to be replaced.

“So, now what?” she asks, sliding a final box of straws back into place.

“What do you mean?” I move closer to her and wrap a hand around her back. It’s hard to be in such close proximity and not touch her.

“Well, break time is over. And I have a job to get back to.” She straightens the bow on her apron. “Next time, are you actually going to call me, instead of randomly showing up and endangering my job? You know, to do something fun? Like we agreed?”

Next time.
“Not if you call me first.”

“Ah, because I have a more exciting life than you do. Makes sense.”

“Hey.” I grab her hand and look into her eyes. The scent of lavender and sex wafts off of her, making my pulse pick up again. “I’ll come up with something fun to do, if that’s what you want.”

Smiling, she leans in, her breath hot inside my ear.

“Fabulous. I’ll be waiting.”

I
t’s just
another Wednesday night. Students are trickling in, chatting softly, and aligning their mats in neat, even rows. Meanwhile, my mat has been out for a good thirty minutes, because I desperately needed a head start stretching out this body of mine.

Work has been nuts this week, starting with the nuttiest part of all: when Jackson showed up. Ever since, walking in and out of that storage room has been a nonstop memory jog.

Jackson’s mouth.

The cold metal shelving against my back.

Jackson’s cock thrusting inside me.

Napkins everywhere.

After lighting a few more candles on the windowsills, I am heading to the back of the studio to dim the lights when three more women enter the room. The first has vibrant red hair and equally red lips—an odd choice for a yoga class, but who am I to judge? The second has long brown hair pulled back from her face, and for a split second I’m certain I know her. That chin, those eyes—she looks intensely familiar. However, the moment I see the third woman, all other thoughts vanish.

Cassie.

I’ve only met Cassie a handful of times—one of them being when she walked in on me and Jackson—but she’s unmistakable: stylish brown bob, heart-shaped lips, eyes like a tiger. She’s been nothing but nice to me, in spite of our encounter in the storage room, but I’m still wary of her. After all, she’s dating the boss. Or at least one of the bosses.

Why is she here? I’d guess that she could have stumbled into my class by accident, but then who are those other women? I’ve met her best friend Savannah, but she’s a buxom blonde, so she’s definitely not here. I swear I must have at least met the one girl before. Has she been to The Library? Attended one of my barre classes?

Suddenly it comes to me, who these women are—or at least the familiar-looking one. That’s Shelby, Cassie’s friend and confidant. She also happens to be Jackson’s sister.

Damn that Cash, when he asked where I taught yoga, I thought he was just acting interested in my other jobs, not doing reconnaissance for Cassie and her friends.

All three women lay out their mats at the back of the room, murmuring softly to one another. Cassie gives me a little smile and wave and then sits down cross-legged and closes her eyes. The other two sit down on their mats and fix their gazes on me. I feel a chill run down my spine. Cassie brought Jackson’s sister here. Presumably to judge me.

Swallowing, I finish dimming the lights and return to the front of the room. The candles flicker as all noise and motion in the room slow and then stop. Carefully, I fold my legs and sit down on my mat, pressing my feet and my palms together.

Breathe, Skylar. They’re just people, too. And for this class, they are your students. Don’t think beyond that.

“Welcome to class,” I say, speaking to the room. “Please come to a sitting position and close your eyes. Release the tension in your shoulders and feel the breath move in and out of your nose, down your throat, filling your lungs. We will now prepare for our opening breathing sequence.”

I inhale deeply and close my eyes. This is my time, my space. Quietly, I exhale. There is only this breath, only this moment. Opening my eyes, I silently repeat my own personal mantra: live for the moment.

* * *

A
n hour later
, when class ends and the students begin to file out, I glance toward the back of the room: Cassie and her cohorts are donning shoes and jackets. Fleetingly, I wonder if I should go over and say hello, to get ahead of whatever is about to happen, but before I can make a move, they’re already coming toward me.

“Nice class, Skylar,” Cassie says.

She’s smiling, with no apparent motive behind her comment. The tension that has started to gather at my temples eases a smidgeon.

“Nice work,” I respond, nodding to each woman. “All of you. You did a great job.”

“You mean
Cassie
did a great job,” Shelby laughs. “She’s the only one of us who actually does yoga on the regular. Me and Ruby just go whenever we start feeling especially unhealthy.”

A redhead named Ruby. I bite my lip at the irony and shake her hand.

“Which should be all the time, for anyone who eats like this snack machine,” the redhead teases. Then she thrusts a thin pale hand toward me. “Nice to meet you. I’m Ruby.”

“Thanks for the introduction, Cassie,” Shelby quips. Then she holds out her hand. “I’m Shelby.”

Her handshake is strong, and she looks me directly in the eye the whole time. In spite of my suspicions about why she’s here, I can’t help immediately liking this girl.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Skylar.”

Shelby releases my hand and hoists her mat bag behind her. “Full disclosure: we really just came to scope you out.”

“Yes, because Shelby only starts ‘feeling unhealthy’ about two or three times a year,” Cassie explains.

“No offense, but yoga is kind of pretentious.” Shelby looks directly at Cassie. “I’ll stick to sports where I can move outside of a five-foot rectangle.”

I can’t stop myself from laughing. Now I definitely like this girl.

“Shelby’s just grouchy because she’s so inflexible,” Cassie explains. “But when I told her that her brother was dating a girl from work, she insisted that we come stalk you. Even if it meant maxing out her yoga quota for the year.”

“Meet,” Shelby protests. “I said ‘meet.’ I’d never stoop to Jackson’s level of stalkerdom.”

My confusion must have registered on my face, because Ruby rushes in to explain.

“Jackson used to prescreen all of the guys Shelby tried to date.”

“Yeah, so it’s my turn.” Shelby puts her hands on her hips and squints at me. “Tell me stuff. About yourself.”

“Um, well I think the first thing I think we should clear up is that Jackson and I aren’t dating.” I shake my yoga bag to slip the mat to the bottom and then pull the drawstring tight. When I look up, I am faced with three sets of raised eyebrows.

“I mean, we’ve been on a few dates, I guess. If you can even call them that.” Everyone still looks dubious. “We met at a strip club, for crying out loud. Right after I punched a guy out.”

“Ohhhh, this is getting good.” Shelby grabs my arm. “We must take you somewhere and squeeze out every last detail.”

“There’s a juice bar down the street that I like a lot,” I offer, before I can reconsider what I’m about to do.

“Done,” Shelby proclaims, nearly dragging me out the door.

Fifteen minutes later, we’re clustered around a tiny high-top table, sipping rainbow-colored concoctions through plastic straws. Shelby—who, Ruby informed me, with no sense of irony, is a certified junk food addict—was initially disappointed that the juice bar didn’t also serve fries. However, she looks pretty satisfied with the strawberry-banana-mango smoothie she ended up with. So satisfied, in fact, that I notice she’s halfway done by the time I finished explaining how Jackson and I met.

“Cassie told me that she saw you and Jackson having a ‘moment,’ whatever that means,” Shelby interjects, when I start to describe our various ‘dates’. “She thought things might be serious, so I had to come check you out. Jackson hasn’t done ‘serious’ since, like, college.”

I nearly choke on my peach-mango smoothie.

Jackson hasn’t had a girlfriend since college? I thought for sure he was a serial monogamist. Or at least, seeing that he is currently single, the sort of guy who might have gotten burned by an ex or two—but a recent ex, not a childhood ex.

“Jackson doesn’t break the rules for just anyone.” Cassie pushes her hair behind her ear and swivels on her stool. “I mean we all know that he hooks up with girls, but on company property? That’s not him at all.”

“Company property?” Shelby almost spits her drink across the table and Ruby claps her on the back until she stops coughing. Cassie shoots me a sideways glance, but I shrug in resignation. It’s out there now. No sense in hiding it.

“Yeah, that was our ‘moment,’” I say, referencing Cassie’s earlier comment. “In The Library. Last week.”

“Holy shit. I don’t care what you say about dating or not; anyone who can get Jackson to break the rules like that is definitely special.” Shelby eyes me again, like she’s seeing me for the first time. “Nice work, Skylar. I’m impressed.”

“Thanks.”

I feel myself start to blush, which is ridiculous, because what do I care what Shelby thinks? I glance out the shop window. A car across the street is having trouble parallel parking.

“But wait, can we back up a second? You said Jackson hasn’t dated anyone since college. How old is he now?”

The loud grind of blenders drowns out whatever Shelby says, so she finger-signs a “two” and a “nine” to me, and then we all wait for the noise to subside. “Twenty-nine,” she repeats. “But yeah, he hasn’t dated anybody serious since college. So . . . six years? Maybe seven?”

“He was too busy stalking all Shelby’s boyfriends,” Ruby adds.

“Okay, let me get this straight: Jackson didn’t date anybody after college because he was too busy protecting you? That doesn’t make sense.”

The three girls exchange glances, and I realize I’ve hit on something. After a long moment of female ESP, Shelby grips the table and turns to me.

“Jackson got really overprotective because our parents died in a car crash right when I first got to college. I took it really hard—we both did, but especially me. I almost dropped out. Honestly, if it weren’t for Jackson, I don’t know where I’d be now.”

With wide eyes, I listen as Shelby tells me the story: how Jackson had just started his first job at an architecture firm, and he wound up negotiating to work remotely in order to go up to Clemson and help her through her first year. He somehow found the means to support her through the rest of college, and after graduation he brought her back to Atlanta with him, where he set her up with an apartment and helped her job hunt until she found a public relations position with Elderman Spalding, which is ultimately what led her to the amazing job she has now with the Falcons.

“I couldn’t have done any of it without him,” Shelby says. She looks at the table, clears her throat, and then, noticing her empty cup, stands.

“I think I need a refill.”

Watching her retreat toward the counter, struggling to maintain composure, I start to imagine how Jackson must have felt. My heart aches for him, but a tiny part deep inside of me is rejuvenated. Because of this, I now know that Jackson and I have a shared experience: living parent-less. Not that mine died, although my dad could be dead for all I know; I never met the man. My mom, however, is definitely alive and kicking. Or at least she was the last time I saw her, four years ago. In the hospital.

Instinctively, I touch my neck, rubbing my fingers over the space below my ear and trailing down to the base of my jaw. The skin is smooth, no lumps. I exhale.

“So, now you know all of Jackson’s dirt.” Ruby squeezes Shelby’s hand when she returns to the table with her new smoothie. Then, she points a finger at me. “Tell us about you.”

“Okay. What do you want to know?”

“Let’s start basic. How did you get into yoga?”

I suck the last remnants of my smoothie from the bottom of my cup and set it aside. “So me and yoga. Okay. Well, I used to dance ballet.”

Suddenly my throat constricts. What the fuck? This all happened ages ago, practically another lifetime. There’s no way I am going to cry about this now, in a juice shop, in front of these three girls. I clench my jaw and stare at the gray linoleum tabletop, forcing down the tears.

“Ballet—that didn’t pan out. But dancing and yoga aren’t all that different, so I went to a few teacher training retreats and now just kind of take whatever comes my way. Oh and I teach barre, too. Not as much as I did in LA.”

“Holy shit, you lived in LA?” Shelby looks impressed.

“For a hot minute, yeah. I moved around a lot, which is why teaching yoga was so convenient. There are yoga studios everywhere.”

“So, how did you wind up in Atlanta?” Ruby asks.

I shrug. “It’s where I’m from. I guess everyone ultimately goes back to what’s familiar. Although I don’t know how long I’ll stay. Plenty more world out there to see.”

“You’re teaching barre and yoga,
and
waiting tables at The Library,” Shelby summarizes, “until . . . what? The travel bug bites? That sounds stressful to me. Why not just invest all your energy in one? You could open your own barre studio. Or you dance, right?” Her eyes light up. “You could open a dance studio!”

Images of bright, shining mirrors and pale wooden floors flit across my mind. Immediately, I shove them down. No. Ballet and I are done. And yet even the thought of girls in little pink tutus, plié-ing in a row creates pressure behind my eyes.

Ruby notices my hesitation and jumps in.

“But then she can’t travel, dummy. She’d have a business to run.”

“Oh. True.” Shelby crinkles her straw wrapper on the table, scrunching it up and smoothing it out until she finally flicks it into Ruby’s lap, eliciting a yelp. “It just seems like a lot of jobs to juggle all at once, that’s all.” She glances at me and wiggles her eyebrows. “Especially if you’re trying to make time to date my brother.”