Second Chance Hero (26 page)

“Sounds promising.” I say swallowing, as we reach
the steel double doors.

Deacon swings them open and I’ve never been a firmer
believer of appearances deceiving. It’s a building shop.

“We’re shopping for building supplies?” I ask,
looking around at the building with shelving from ceiling to floor and aisles
of supplies.

“What’s with all the meaningless questions?” he
mirrors what I said to him in a very different tone weeks ago, and bumps his
hip into mine.

He pulls a sheet of paper and a pencil out of his
pocket and unfolds the page, revealing a mini replica of the drawing he made of
my shop.

“You can pick out what you want in here. I’ll get
the details and get it ordered. I can start it next week. I get all my supplies
here.”

And someone here must have bat ears, because a
spritely old man with a beer belly and receding hairline appears in front of
us, his smile from ear to ear.

“Afternoon Mr. Reid,” He greets, shaking Deacon’s
hand. Even his hands mesmerise me; you can tell from afar he has a strong
handshake, dexterous fingers...Jesus.

“This is Jenna. Jenna this is Scott, he’s my go to.”

“Nice to meet you.” I say shaking his hand.

Deac leads me away from Scott and we walk along the
length of the warehouse, before he grabs my hand and pulls me down an aisle
full of work wear.

“I’ve got this fantasy.” He says, spinning me and
pressing me against one of the shelves, “Close your eyes.”

I giggle in anticipation and shut my eyes, waiting
in silence to see what Deac is up to. I feel his hand on mine, and then a rough
material slide up my arm, settling on my shoulder; Deacon holds the back of my
neck, pulls me off the shelf and slips the material up the other arm. He pulls
whatever he’s just put on me tight around my chest and pulls me to him, kissing
me quickly on the lips. And then he’s gone again and I’m left with tingling
lips and a deep yearning in my belly. I hear his boots on the floor as he
approaches and wraps something around my waist; it’s heavy. And then after
another silence, he tugs at my ponytail, freeing my hair and puts something on
my head.

I hear the sound of the camera on his smartphone
clicking, and I want to open my eyes and see what he’s done.

“Open,” he breathes, his voice low, his breathing
shallow.

He’s dressed me in what I think he called ‘PPE’ the
day I was in his office – a hard hat and visivest. With a tool belt hanging
around my hips.

“This is your fantasy?” I ask.

He nods, “Almost.”     

I nod, urging him to continue, but he just snaps
another picture. I smile for the next, and blow him a kiss for the fourth, and
then he steps next to me and kisses me firmly on the lips for another. He puts
his phone in his pocket, links his fingers with mine and we continue down the
aisle.

“You’re leaving me like this?”

“Yep, you can be the shopping basket, I’m buying
it.”

“Why?”

“Once your mine, I want you in my office wearing
nothing but what I just put on you.”

My step falters and I stop breathing. That’s his
fantasy? It’s hot; I squirm thinking about it. And Deac is looking at me in
that way again – if this place didn’t have cameras I’d have to do something
about the heat coursing through me.

“I know that look.” He says, pulling my hand behind
me back and stopping so I’m flush against him. He cups my face, lowers his head
and presses his lips, agonisingly gently to mine.

“Boss?”

Deacon stands up straight and curses, turning around
to greet whoever just spoke to him.

“Mike, I didn’t think you’d be in here on your day
off.”

He talks to the man of the couple approaching us.
He’s tall and dark and it’s obvious he’s earned his body from manual labour.
The woman is a small redhead, overdressed for a walk around this warehouse;
she’s wearing tight jeans and a cleavage-revealing pastel blouse. Her spiky
leather knee-highs are hot, but they’ll go to waste in here.

“We’re shopping for a new kitchen.” Mike rolls his
eyes and looks at me, “Who’s this?”

“Sorry, this is Jenna. Jen, this is Mike, one of the
site managers.”

“You’re Jenna?” Mike sounds shocked, how many people
has Deacon told about me?

“I was last time I checked,” I smile and shake his
outstretched hand, “nice to meet you.”

“You’re engaged!” Mike’s wife shrieks, “Deacon, why
didn’t you say something!”

Oh shit. I let go of Mike’s hand and hold both hands
behind my back, looking to Deac to take control of the situation.

“Uh,” he stutters, “yeah.”

What?

“Congratulations!” The woman hugs me, and pulls me
to the side. I look to Deacon as he shrugs apologetically.

“I’m so happy for both of you. I’m Shelley.” She
shakes my hand rapidly and scrutinises my ring, “You must come to dinner.
Tomorrow.”

I nod, overwhelmed by this intense woman, and wonder
why I’m nodding. I can't celebrate an imaginary engagement. I should have taken
the ring off, but I forgot I was wearing it.

Deacon agrees with Mike that we’ll go to their house
for dinner tomorrow night, ignoring the subtle shakes of my head. I know he
sees me; the frustrating sexy smirk betrays him.

When we leave, Deacon has most of the materials he
needs for the refurb ordered and I’ve picked out my worktops, flooring and
paint.

We’ve been quiet since being bombarded by Mike and
his wife, and I know Deacon knows he shouldn’t have played along with the whole
engagement thing.

            “You can tell them whatever you want.” I
say, winding up my window as more rain falls.

“Tell who?”

“The people at the yard. Tell them you called off
the engagement because I’m terrible in bed, and way too needy. Or that I
cheated. Or that all I would go on about is the plastic surgery I expected you
to pay for.”

“If you touch one inch of your skin with anything
surgical there will be trouble.”

“I’m serious.” Why is plastic surgery the only thing
he picked up on?

“So am I. I’m not telling them anything.”

“Why? I don't want you embarrassed.”

“Because at some point,” he reaches over and holds
my hand, pulling it over onto his lap, “it’ll be the truth.”

Deacon

            Jenna is on the phone when I walk in the
shop Friday morning with breakfast. I do the one thing I shouldn’t do – I stay
as quiet as possible and listen to every word she says, trying to acquire
bionic hearing to see who she’s talking to.

            “What the hell is wrong with you?” She
asks, flailing her arms in the air, balancing her phone between her shoulder
and ear while she reaches up to the shelf for a bag of flour, “Why can you not
see there is so much wrong with what you did?”

            Who the hell is she talking to? She’s
quiet for a long time, and I can hear the raised voice on the other line. Jenna
stops measuring out her stuff and I step back as she turns around, bending over
the counter and squeezes her temples.

            “Saturday, as in tomorrow Saturday?
Fine. But you’ve got to stop springing stuff on me, Kip.”

            She says nothing else, just listens to
what the idiot has to say and then ends the call, slamming her phone on the
counter.

            “What’s he done?” I ask, stepping into
the kitchen. I can't watch her for another second without being close to her.
Crazy, fucked-up, incredible woman.

            She jumps and turns around with her hand
on her chest. I smile and look at where her hand is settled, over the plump
cleavage exposed from her vest.

            “You’ve got to stop sneaking up on me.
You’ll give me a heart attack.”

            Without another thought, she walks
around the counter and straight into my arms. I squeeze her, making the most of
being in her good books, before something comes along and fucks it all up for
us. Again.

            “Deal.” I kiss the top of her head and
slide my hands over the cheeks of her incredible behind, which currently has
denim practically painted on them, “But what is it you ordered London-Boy to
stop doing?”

            “He has a name,” she smirks, looking up
at me with the big brown eyes I’m dying to get lost in, “and it’s a long
story.”

            “Yeah, but saying it leaves a bad taste
in my mouth.” I kiss hers quickly and watch the tension leave her, “I’ve got
all day, Jen.”

            I let go of her and switch the kettle
on, feeling her eyes follow my every move as I make us coffee. When I turn to
face her, she’s sitting on the counter, with her legs dangling and has the
‘Jenna look’ in her eyes. Jenna eyes: a look no one else has, that says she
wants my body, heart and soul. She has them; all we need is Kip out of the
picture. I place our cups either side of her legs and settle in between them,
where I’d me more than happy to spend every minute of my life.

            “You remember I was upset yesterday?”
She asks, stroking her hands up and down my forearms.

            “I wondered when you’d tell me.”

            “Kip had someone come round to the
house,” she closes her eyes and sighs, “a wedding planner. He told her I wanted
my hair back blonde in time to be married by Christmas.”

            “What?!”

            “I know,” She nods, but keeps her eyes
closed. I don't know if it’s because she doesn’t want to talk about the
wedding, or because she thinks I don't want to hear it. I don't, “and Miss
April Matthews basically said I won't fit into a wedding dress.”

            “What?”

            “Even if I was a bit big I’d want a
tailor-made dress. She had no right to make me feel as shit as she did.”

            “That’s not what I’m talking about,” I
bite, knowing I think she’s stunning, but not being able to articulate it, “who
came to your house?”

            “A wedding planner. I think Kip sent her
from London.” She frowns when I stare at her, waiting for her to hear the name
I’m hoping didn’t come from her mouth, “April. Matthews.”

            “Fuck.”

I can’t get further away from her then; April is
something that will mess everything up, and things couldn’t be better. Apart
from the whole fiancée thing, but she’ll be begging for a quick wedding in a
minute.

            “What?” She frowns as I scrape my hands
through my hair and lean against the counter opposite her.

            “Don’t let her in your house again. Or
plan your wedding. I don’t want you having anything to do with her.”

            “What are you talking about? How do you
know a London wedding planner?”

            “She’s from Ashton.”

            “She’s a-”

            “Don’t say it.”

            There’s that look she gives me every
time we have to talk about one of the ‘trait girls’. It’s a look that wonders
if bumping into exes will ever end. Technically they’re not exes, but it’s an
argument I won’t win with her.

            “I told you there were three.”

            “I know.” She says, her eyes wide, “I
remember her from the pub now. How many more are there?”

            “April is the third.”

            “Before that.” I shrug, “It doesn’t even
matter.”

            “What?” I snap my head back from where I
was inspecting every crumb on the floor and waiting for a battle.

            “It doesn’t matter,” she slides off the
counter, walks towards me and reaches into her bag for her purse. I curiously
look down and notice how empty her purse is; apart from a few coins and a
business card she pulls out, “she’s in the past. What excuse did you tell Mike
and his wife for why we can’t go tonight?”

            “Uh...”

~

            I watch out of the kitchen window like a
nervous boy on prom night as the little red car pulls up on the drive and the
firecracker that is Jenna steps out of it. She notices me watching and waves at
me. I want to wave back, but it’s taking my new found sensitivity and
connection with my emotions too far. So I settle for leaning in the doorway of
the kitchen, waiting for her to come in. She swings the door open and I love
that she looks for me straight away. She’s wearing the jeans she had on earlier
and my surf club jumper and, yet again, she couldn't look hotter, or cuter, or
more beautiful.

            “Hey,” She smiles, walking through the
living room like she lives here. I love that too.

            “You can't go for dinner dressed like
that.”

            “And you can't go like that.” she nods
towards my lack of clothes. I’d been working out in the garden until I realised
she would be here any minute. Instead of using those long minutes to get
dressed, I stood by the window.

            “Touche.” She ambles over to me, and
kisses me. It’s unexpected, passionate and it catches me off guard, “Have a
bath with me.”

            “I thought you’d never ask.”

She smiles and exits the kitchen, leaving a trail of
clothes leading up the stairs and to the bathroom.

            “Nothing smells better than you and
bubble bath.” Jenna says, playing with the bubbles on top of the bath and
looking up at me.

            She’s sitting in front of me, between my
legs and lying back on my chest; I’m glad I put in a bath big enough for both of
us.

            “I can think of something better.” She
raises her eyebrows for me to continue and I lean down and kiss her on the
nose, “You and bubble bath.”

            I slide my hands up her legs, wet and
slick from the bath oil. She takes hold of my wrists and wraps my arms around
her stomach.

            “No sex,” she says winking at me,
linking her fingers with mine.

            “Why?”

            “I think if we can get through this
dinner as a normal-fake couple without thinking about having sex a few hours
before, we’ll get through anything. Besides,” she kisses me quickly on the lips
and leans forward for the soap, “think about how good it’ll be when we get
home.”

            She frowns, no doubt at calling my house
‘home’, but it’s something else I love.

            “You’re staying?”

            “I’m staying. Want me to wash you?”

            Jenna looks incredible. She’s in a short
skin tight black dress with a red jacket and the sexiest red heels I’ve ever
seen. Images of her feet in little white plimsolls around my neck are hot; but
these shoes... she’ll be leaving them on when we get back. I wait for her to
get out of the truck, purely to watch her – there’s no view like the back of
Jenna.

            “One day.” She says, turning back around
and catching my attention as I grab the handle, “I want you to fuck me in the
back of this truck.”

            She shuts the door and I can't move for
a minute. I’m about to have dinner with an employee and his wife, while their
kids are sleeping upstairs; and I’ll be thinking about all the ways I can make
Jenna come apart in the bed of my pick-up.

            Two can play that game. She’s waiting
for me on the pavement, leaning against her door and she watches as I approach
her. She steps away from the car, but I use my forearm to push her back against
it. Keeping my arm on her stomach I take a fistful of her hair and pull her
head to the side, exposing her neck to me. I kiss it lightly and feel the
shiver run through her.

            “I’ll do more than fuck you in my car,”
I growl into her ear “I’ll fuck you so hard I’ll have you screaming my name,
trembling from the inside out as I pound you, and coming harder than you’ve
ever come in your life.”

            When I hear the gasp escape her, I
smile, satisfied and let go, walking a few paces in front of her as she
smoothes her hair back down and hurries to catch up with me.

            “Your mine, Jen,” I look down at her and
take her hand as we wait at the door, “don't ever think you’re the only one who
gets to fulfil fantasies.”

            She swallows hard and nods, and I stroke
the back of her hand softly.

            “So how did you and Jenna meet?” Shelley
asks, and apparently she can't cook either because she’s made beef stew. 
She's called it some posh French name, but I know the
secret.

"Our parents are best friends.
We've known each other forever." Jenna answers, taking a sip of her red
wine and licking her lips.

"That's so romantic!" Shelley
coos and I want to spew.

She's weird in a
come-to-dinner-and-be-my-best-friend kind of way, but I'm guessing she's
lonely. They've got ten kids. Or four, but they might as well have ten if
they've got four. The girls seem to get on well. When we were younger, Jenna
found it hard getting on with girls; she was always more comfortable with me
and the boys.

All these years, I've been waiting for
the girl on the beach to come back, but I don't think she's there anymore. That
Jenna would never have the confidence to do what we're doing, and I don't think
we were mature enough five years ago to work on a relationship that would have
gone all the way. But she's talking animatedly and comfortably with Shelley,
and she's turned into this goddess in the bedroom. As much as it pained me to
listen to it when we were away studying together, I know she was a
missionary-only kind of girl, and I never thought she could be so brazen, so
comfortable in her body; she always hated that she wasn't stick-thin.

Maybe being apart was what we needed. I
wish it had been on better circumstances, but I instantly think of my dad. I've
never been religious or spiritual, but maybe he is somewhere, watching. Maybe
he knew we wouldn't make it at the time. Maybe we both needed to go away, write
a few chapters by ourselves and reunite in time to write the ending together.

"Couldn't you have got her a better
ring?" Mike makes me jump and launches himself across the table to grab
Jenna's hand.

"It's temporary. Until she picks out
the one she wants."

"And what about the
honeymoon?" Shelley asks, clearing our empty plates.

"We haven't got that far in the
planning yet." Jenna looks at me, silently telling not to take it any
further.

"I'm going to take her
travelling," I answer, looking at Shelley and ignoring the kick in the
ankle I just got from Jen, "I wanted to take her when we finished uni; we
were studying in London together. But then we lost each other."

Shelley stops clearing the table mid-air
and they're all staring at me, Jenna with a shocked expression on her face.

"Jenna can take her time with every
other decision involving our future, but I'm taking her away for a while. I
lost her once, but I won't lose her again."

Jenna grabs my hand and when I turn to
look at her she kisses me. I hold her face in my hands. It's a quick kiss, but
for those few seconds her lips are on mine we're not in Mike's house, we're on
our own, in our own world of confusion and ecstasy that works for us. Her kiss
tells me she understands. Going travelling was always my plan, but it always
involved Jenna; I should have told her that night on the beach when she asked,
but I wanted to wait until we were free from studying and could be together as
adults.