Chapter 22

Jackson

I propped my phone on the kitchen counter, leaning against the giant plastic jack-o’-lantern, and let the bags of decorating shit fall to the floor.

“You really can’t make it out a day early?” I added a hopeful twinge to my voice, like I wanted him to come.

I didn’t.

“No, I’ve got a benefit tonight.” On the screen, Cooper weaved back and forth, sweat dripping off the darkened ends of his hair as he pedaled his exercise bike. “You always have your party on Halloween, not the day before.”

I almost felt bad. Almost. Cooper and I hadn’t missed a Halloween together since freshman year of college. From the keggers we’d hosted in our dorm room to more over-the-top warehouse blowouts to that one memorable weekend in Amsterdam—well, at least the part I hadn’t blacked out—Halloween was my thing. No Jones family obligations, only the anonymity and lack of accountability that came with costumes and a lot of booze. Yeah, I’ll admit it: those ragers fed right into the playboy image I’d tried hard to cultivate. The parties, the racing, the women, all of it layered into a hard shell I’d built around the insecure kid who couldn’t focus, the company founder who regularly disappointed people.

Not even Cooper saw through it.

“The last time Halloween fell on a weeknight, I had to send Marlee after you the next morning. Remember?” he asked fondly. “Where’d she track you down?”

“On a chaise next to Weston’s pool.” For some reason, I’d thought it was a good idea to show up at the CEO’s place early on November first, but I’d passed out on his deck before I’d accomplished whatever prank I’d gone over there to play.

“Marlee’s a lifesaver.”

Didn’t I know it. One of the many reasons I’d refused to furlough her. I lifted a package of spider garland out of one of the bags. I’d hang it over the door to the patio so people could brush through it on their way to get a beer.

“Some of the people I’m inviting have kids. They wouldn’t come to an adults-only party on Halloween. So I did it a day early.” I’d almost danced, right there in the office, when Alicia said she’d come.

Cooper’s pedaling slowed. “That’s actually kind of considerate of you.”

I shrugged. “I guess I’m growing or something.” I pulled out a package of eyeball ice molds. “I love these!”

“Growing,” Cooper grumbled. He sped up. “Maybe I can come out early tomorrow. We could go for a ride. Or a hike.”

If all went well tonight, I’d hoped Alicia might invite me over to her place for Halloween. Together, she and I could walk Noah around the neighborhood trick-or-treating. I hadn’t done that since my sisters were little. I’d imagined acting like friends. Not colleagues.

Now that I’d decided to stay in Austin, I had weeks, if not longer, to spend with Alicia. Maybe she’d let me come to one of Noah’s soccer games.

“Sure. Let’s do it.” I’d spend the next day with my best friend, who’d be in town for only a night or two.

Cooper slowed again and beamed at me. “I’ll be there by noon. And, Jay, I’m proud of you.”

I smiled back, not quite as broadly. “Can’t wait.”

Alicia

I’d gotten a twinge in my belly when I saw Jackson’s address in the emailed invitation. There were a lot of apartment complexes on that street. It couldn’t be the same one. I couldn’t be that unlucky.

But I was. The twinge turned into a full-on sinking feeling as I parked in front of Jackson’s building. I glanced toward the other side of the complex, past the swimming pool, sport court, and clubhouse. I couldn’t even see the building that housed the apartment where I’d slept with Rick that one time. I deliberately slowed my breathing. This was a risk I could avoid. If I stayed inside Jackson’s apartment, especially if I left early, the chances I’d see Rick were minuscule.

I got out of my Honda, smoothed down my costume, and fluffed my hair. Taking a deep breath, I scanned the building until I located his apartment number—though the AC/DC blaring from his door gave it away—and walked in.

The apartment was dark except for colored lights pointed at the ceiling, the uplights giving everyone a spooky glow. Garland was strung everywhere: splayed across the walls, dangling from the peninsula that separated the kitchen from the living room, fluttering across the open slider to the patio. There didn’t seem to be a theme to it, other than things you could find at a pop-up Halloween shop: there were skeletons, spiders, bats, even a few very creepy clowns. Plastic jack-o’-lanterns sat on every flat surface, battery-powered candles flickering inside.

Jackson bounded up to me, wearing jeans and an untucked pink polo with the collar popped to show off a gold chain around his neck. A backwards baseball cap covered his dark hair, and sunglasses glinted across the top. And, of course, he wore his now ever-present boots. His expression was the same as Noah’s had been last year as we’d stepped off the porch on Halloween night, about to go trick-or-treating: boyish delight. Jackson reached out as if to give me a hug, but at my warning expression, his hands dropped to his sides. Sure, friends hugged. But coworkers didn’t, and I’d already spotted Kevin in the corner, an orange plastic cup in his hand.

“I’m glad you’re here.” He looked me up and down. “Eleven from Stranger Things, right?”

“Yeah.” I’d found the geometric-print shirt at a vintage shop and paired it with high-waisted jeans and suspenders. “Are you…also eighties-themed?”

His face fell a little. “I’m a brogrammer. Get it?” He made jazz hands.

“Oh. Totally.” I scrunched my nose to keep from giggling. It was a little clever.

“Can I get you a drink?”

“Um, okay. A beer?”

He led me outside, through the dangling spiders, to a cooler. He named off the beers, I chose a local IPA, and he dug it out of the ice for me and popped the top.

He pulled a bottle of water from the other cooler and leaned against the post that supported the balcony above. He tilted his head, watching me.

“What?” I checked my costume. All the buttons were still fastened, everything in order.

“I’ve seen you in the office. And at your house. But this is the first time I’m seeing you here, at my place.” One corner of his mouth kicked up.

He hadn’t mentioned Linda’s Taquería. “And?”

The other corner rose. “I like it. We could try going other places together.”

“Jackson, I—”

“Hear me out. We’re friends. I could go to one of Noah’s soccer games. See some of that Tuesday-Thursday magic.”

“No, Jackson, I—I want to keep Noah out of it. I understand you’re going back to San Francisco”—I held up a hand—“eventually. But he won’t.”

His smile drooped. “Okay, then, you’ll have to show me some of Austin’s landmarks. Like the Capitol. And the Alamo.”

I almost spat out my beer. “The Alamo is in San Antonio.”

He scrunched his nose. “It is?”

“A ninety-minute drive in light traffic. And you’ll be disappointed. People who aren’t Texans or history buffs always are.”

“I like driving. And if I were with you, I couldn’t be disappointed.”

He was a good six feet away, much farther than when we worked elbow-to-elbow in the office. Still, a warmth started in my belly and dipped lower, tingling at the juncture of my thighs in my high-waisted jeans. I clenched my center. None of that.

“I shouldn’t keep you from your guests.”

He shot me a glance like he could see right through me. “Let’s go inside. I’ll introduce you to some people.”

“Who’s here, anyway?” Besides Kevin, I recognized a few other faces from Synergy. No Cooper Fallon yet, thank the Halloween spirits. But there were many people I didn’t recognize. How did Jackson have so many friends in Austin?

“People from work. People I’ve met around here. Come on.”

He introduced me to his upstairs neighbors, the guy who managed the condo complex, and a couple of folks who worked at the Formula One track south of town. We were still talking to his neighbors, who hadn’t realized they lived above a world-famous programmer until I told them, when a heavy arm landed on my shoulders.

“Hey, guys.” Tyler’s breath in my ear was liquor-scented. “Wha’s up?”

“Hey, man.” Jackson, who was now also holding Tyler upright, patted his shoulder. “Having fun?”

“Oh, yeah. I was playing Fuzzy Duck with your neighbors over there.” He waved at a group of young men, all dressed as Tom Cruise in Risky Business, with white button-downs, boxers, and shades. One lay half-on the sofa, another swayed where he stood, and two more sat on the floor, talking earnestly.

“You invited the college boys?” Jackson’s neighbor June asked.

“No. I think they’re naturally attuned to the frequency of party music. Couldn’t keep them out if I wanted to.”

“They’re grrreat,” Tyler said.

“Unlike you, they’re able to walk home. Let’s get you some water,” Jackson said.

“I’ve got it.” I ducked out from under Tyler’s arm. He swayed but remained upright, leaning on Jackson. Out on the patio, I plunged my hand into the half-melted ice and drew out two bottles of water. I wished I could plunge my head into it to dispel the haze I felt around Jackson Jones. Since I couldn’t do that, I’d drink the water and then go home, where I’d be safe from the tingling I’d started to feel whenever he was near.

But when I stepped back through the spider garland into the apartment, I saw something that made me wish I’d chosen a beer or something stronger.

“Alicia!” Jackson had been standing between the couch and the sliding glass door. He took one of the waters and handed it to Tyler, who now slumped on the couch next to Tom Cruise number one. He grasped my icy hand and pulled me to his side. “Let me introduce you to my workout buddy.

“Rick, this is Alicia. We work together.”

I stared into the last pair of eyes I’d wanted to see tonight. “We know each other,” I said, my voice tight.

“We’ve been seeing each other on and off,” Rick said at the same time.

I stared at him. “On and off? We ended it four months ago.”

He shrugged. “I figured you didn’t want to date during the season, and we’d pick up where we left off after.”

Jackson’s hand convulsed in mine. “Alicia’s the woman you told me about in the gym?” His cheeks were pink, and he didn’t look at me.

Shit, what had Rick told him?

“You didn’t say you were seeing anyone.” Rick’s gaze arrowed to where our hands were still joined.

“We’re not—” I began.

Jackson dropped my hand. “Alicia and I work together.”

A chill settled in my chest.

“Rick. You and I are not getting back together.” My voice crackled with frost. “Not when the season’s over. Not ever.”

His green eyes flared. “You were a bad lay, anyway, Ice Queen.”

A fraction of a second later, Jackson was in his face. “Out.”

“But I—”

“Out.” Jackson used his larger body to herd Rick toward the door, ignoring the people they jostled along the way.

I stood where they’d left me, my feet stuck to the floor like I was exactly what he’d called me, an ice queen, a statue. I’d tried to be open with him. I’d let him into our lives. He’d met Mom and Esmy. We’d even taken the boys on a couple of our dates.

But had I really let him in? Had I held something back, not giving him a chance? Would I always be holding part of myself back, like Mom had with Dad?

Had it been me who sucked in bed, not him?

I wrenched the cap off the bottle of water and chugged it, the cold liquid burning my throat. By the time Jackson rejoined me, I’d emptied the bottle. I shoved it into his hand. “I’m going now. Thanks for inviting me.” My voice was two-dimensional, like my heart.

“Don’t go.” He rested a hand on my arm below my shoulder, not pinning me there, but comforting me with a squeeze. “I’m sorry about Rick. I didn’t know he was the one you told me about.”

“Yeah. Well.” I stared at his boots. “I shouldn’t have come.”

“Alicia.” His big body shielded me from Tyler and the college guy lolling on the couch, as well as the rest of the party. His voice was low, urgent. “I’m glad you came. I want you here. Please don’t let that asshole Rick ruin this for you. You’re a strong woman, one of the strongest I’ve ever met. I’m honored you’ve allowed me to be your friend. Letting people get close to you is your choice. Not mine, and not his.” He nodded at the door he’d muscled Rick through.

My throat closed up, and the words piled up behind it like water behind a dam. Even though we were surrounded by people, by loud hair-band music, by the ghoulish uplights, we two were all alone under Synergy’s awning, his gentle fingers blotting away blood at my hairline. I reached down and tangled my fingers with his for a moment. I hoped he could see the gratitude shining out of my eyes.

“Ouch.” He winced.

Gentling my grip, I lifted our joined hands. His knuckles were red, and one had an abrasion that was starting to well with blood.

I stared at him, my eyes bugging.

He shrugged. “Punches to the face are hard to execute well.”

A groan from Tyler ripped through the moment. I let go of Jackson’s hand and peered around him. “Tyler, are you okay?”

“Spinning,” he mumbled.

Laying a hand on Jackson’s chest, I said, “Maybe we should get him to your bathroom.”

One corner of Jackson’s mouth lifted in not quite a smile, and he shrugged one shoulder. “Guess I’d rather not have to clean up puke tonight.”

He said something to the college guys, and they shambled to their feet, propping up the collapsed one, and shuffled toward the door. The apartment had started to empty, and the music seemed louder now that there weren’t as many bodies to absorb it.

He crouched next to Tyler, draped one of his arms over his shoulder, and levered him up. I hurried to support Tyler’s other arm, and we lurched down the hall. Jackson passed the open bathroom door and opened the door at the end of the hall.

I could tell it was his bedroom from the gray Converse and satchel piled on the floor. Jackson steered us toward an open door on the left, which led to a spacious bathroom that was almost as big as my bedroom at home. When we reached the toilet, I lifted Tyler’s arm from my shoulders. “You’ve got him from here?”

Jackson nodded. “Wait for me in the bedroom?”

“Okay.”

I had only a few seconds to check out his bed with its generic white duvet tossed across it and the pile of laundry that overflowed from the closet before Jackson joined me, closing the bathroom door. “He says he’s good.”

No sounds came from the bathroom.

“You won’t let him drive home, will you?”

“No, he can sleep it off in the guest room.”

“Good. Then I think it’s best if I—”

“Stay. We’ll…talk.” Taking two steps, he closed the space between us. His lips twisted into a sinful smirk. I imagined the many, many things he could do to me with those lips. Not one of them involved talking.

“Maybe just for a few minutes.”

He took my hand like we did this every day and led me out to the living room.

June, his upstairs neighbor, waved from the front door. “Everyone’s going to the bar across the street for karaoke. You coming?”

“Maybe later,” he said.

When she closed the door, leaving us alone in the apartment, he turned down the music. “Huh. My parties usually last longer than this.”

Orange cups and bottles littered every flat surface. An item of clothing lay discarded on the kitchen floor next to a sticky-looking spill of red punch. A bag of chips in the corner of the carpet had exploded, and crumbs coated a four-square-foot area.

“Let me help you clean up.”

“I’ll take care of it in the morning. Tonight, I’d rather relax. With you.”

“Relax?” I brushed crumbs from the sofa cushion before I sank down onto it. “I’m not sure I know that word.”

He chuckled. “Here. Give me your hand.”

“My…hand?” Was he going to kiss it again, like the hero in some old black-and-white film?

“I give a great hand massage. It eases stress and helps counteract all that time we spend typing.” He held out his hand, palm up. “May I?”

“But—your hand.” He’d put another one of those Lightning McQueen bandages across the split knuckle.

“Doesn’t hurt anymore. Not when I’m with you.”

I snorted at the line, then I touched my palm to his. What harm was there in a little hand massage? “Okay.”

He turned over my hand and pressed his other thumb firmly into the center of my palm, making tiny circles. Slowly, he increased the pressure until my hand felt warm and loose.

I leaned against the sofa cushions. “You do this with all your coworkers?”

He looked up from my hand. “Nah. Just my sister, Sam. She’s a coder, too. She gets sore wrists.” He turned over my hand and made the circles on the back of it.

So that’s where the patience had come from. Why he’d coached me instead of berating me for my subpar skills. I started to ask about his sister, but he spoke first.

“And my dad. When he was with us.”

“He left?” We had more in common than I’d thought.

“No.” He increased the pressure slightly as he moved down to my wrist. “He died.”

Way to put your foot in it, Alicia. “I’m so sorry.” I wished I’d searched him online the way I’d been tempted so often to do.

He shrugged. “It was a while ago. Summer after my freshman year in college. Heart attack. Anyway—”

“No, Jackson. I really am sorry. No matter how long ago, or how old you were, it hurt. I understand.”

He looked up, and our gazes held. Melissa’s death had been slow and painful, but at least we’d been able to say good-bye. Jackson might not have had that chance. “I know you do. Thank you.”

He made long, slow strokes between the tendons and pressed the skin between each finger. “Before he started his company, before he became a CEO, Dad was a programmer, too.”

“Like you.”

“Like me. And his hands would hurt. He used to rub them. So I watched a couple videos and learned how to do it for him. And we’d…talk.”

He was right about its being good for stress. I felt like he’d removed my spine, and I was a throw blanket spread over his sofa. “Talk. Like you and I are doing now.”

“Yeah, between his startup and my three siblings, it was usually the only one-on-one time we had.” He sandwiched my hand between both of his, letting his body warmth suffuse into it. “It’s nice to give a massage again. And remember.”

Shared experience. That’s what that phantom string that connected him to me was. It had to be the reason I felt alive near him and empty when we were apart. I levered up from the couch cushions and surged past our joined hands to kiss his cheek. His beard wasn’t prickly as I’d anticipated but soft and warm. He held very still with my lips against his cheek. “Thank you,” I whispered.

I should’ve sunk back down into the cushions, but I didn’t. I’d found the nexus of his intoxicating scent, and it held me there, curling around me like a third arm. I was so close to him, the stiff fabric of my shirt brushing up against his polo, that I could almost feel his racing pulse in my chest. It thrummed at his neck.

“Alicia, I can’t—”

“I know.” He’d said the same words that day we’d met. When he knew I worked at Synergy, and a relationship was off-limits. I knew all the reasons my lips shouldn’t have been within inches of his, my hand pinned between his, my own pulse throbbing between my legs.

“No. I mean I can’t stop.” His lips touched mine.

It was soft, tentative, at first, giving me time and space to pull away. But that was the last thing I wanted. Lifting a hand to the back of his neck, I tugged him closer and felt a corresponding hand on my back, pulling me tighter against his heaving chest. My heart sped up, pounding between us.

Finally. I was kissing Jackson Jones. And it was heaven.

I licked the corner of his mouth, and he opened, letting me delve inside. He tasted like candy corn and sin. The shorter hairs around his mouth prickled my lips while my tongue slid lightly across his, like a dance. Meanwhile, my pulse had become a battering rhythm through my body, urging me to go faster, go deeper, to straddle him and soothe the ache inside my Mom-jeans.

When I pulled back to catch my breath, he dragged his lips across my cheek and down my neck, leaving a blazing trail of heat. I threw my head back, clearing the way for him to kiss down to the hollow between my collarbones. Tingles shot from everywhere he touched right down to my core. My cheap polyester-blend shirt was going to melt right off me.

“Alicia,” he murmured between kisses, “I want more.” He traced his hand up my ribs to my breast and covered it, rubbing soft circles over my nipple through my shirt.

God, I wanted to give him more. I wanted to tell him exactly what to do to make my body sing. With both hands, I guided his face back to mine and kissed him, setting a rhythm with my tongue against his. A promise of how we’d be together, the joining of our bodies, the perfect push-pull that’d build to an explosive climax. I tangled my fingers in the hair at his nape and trailed my other hand down the nubby fabric of his polo.

“Jay?”

We turned our heads at the same time, our chests heaving against each other, and our cheeks stuck together with a sheen of sweat.

Tyler leaned against the wall in the hallway, his eyelids drooping. “Mind if I crash on your couch?”

With a last, regretful glance at me, Jackson said, “Sure, buddy.” He stood and crossed to Tyler, gripped him by the upper arm, and led him back down the hallway and into the second bedroom. I followed and paused in the doorway. Tyler flopped back on the bed and flung his arm across his eyes. “Night, Mom. Night, Dad.”

Jackson ruffled his hair, and I entered the room to slip off his sneakers and set them on the floor next to the bed. I led the way back out into the hall, and Jackson closed the door behind us.

Jackson glanced at his bedroom door. He must’ve had the same thought I did, to continue where we’d left off. But we both knew it was a terrible idea. Tyler had caught us. Good thing he was too drunk to remember in the morning.

“Jackson, I—” God, I wanted to. My body hummed for him. Two weeks. We had only two weeks until the project was done. “I’m going to go now.”

“Okay.” With a whisper of whiskers, he kissed my cheek. “See you Monday.”

“See you Monday,” I said. “Thanks for—for everything. I had a good time.”

He gave me that smirk again, the one that set me on fire. “Me too.”

Before I melted right there into his carpet, I forced my feet down the hallway, out the front door into the night. The cool air prickled against my cheeks, an echo of the abrasion of his beard.

We’d agreed to be friends. I touched my skin, still warm from our kisses. But after we finished the project, was there a chance we could be more?