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“Look, you horse’s ass, I’m trying to be agreeable, okay!” I skidded to a stop and yelled at his back. When he kept walking, my temper boiled over and I found myself blurting fluent idiot. “Ohhhhh, Jack, it was the best, most amaaaazing sex I’ve ever had! And I’m sure I would very much like to do it again and as soon as possible. Maybe right here, right now?” I tapped the seat next to me and gritted my teeth as he took one infuriating step after another. “No? Okay, so when you’re done being a jerk and can forgive my inarticulate way of being agreeable, give me a call!”
I heard laughter beside me and jerked my head in the direction of the farmers who were sitting at the field’s edge eating their breakfast. Humiliated again, I narrowed my eyes at Jack as he remained steadfast and ignored me. Furious at this point, I floored the cart and sped up to him as he neared the halfway mark to the center. No longer willing to be cast aside, and with my dignity hanging by a thread, I ran him off the sidewalk and knocked him sideways on his ass. Completely unconcerned with his wellbeing, I jumped off the cart and stood in front of him as he looked up at me, amused and chuckling.
“I’m trying here, Jack! What do you want me to say?!”
Jack grabbed a hand off my hip and jerked me down into his lap, much the same way he did the day I met him. His lips claimed my parted ones, and he kissed me hard and thoroughly. I gripped him tight to me and kissed him back with everything in me. He pulled away with my favorite smile, and I returned it.
“Honestly, baby, I just want you to shut the hell up at this point. I think you’ve said enough.” He shoved me off of his lap, and I landed on my ass with a thud. Indignant and still itching for a fight, I stood to watch him approach my cart and climb into the driver’s side. Fully expecting to join him, I stood open mouthed when he began to drive away in the direction of the clinic.
“Hey,” I protested.
“Time out, Rose.”
“You ass!”
“Get some new material!” I could hear his smile as I all but growled behind him, coming up with plenty of fresh material.
I looked to the sky as more hysterical laughter bellowed out behind me. I raised my hand and gave the one finger salute as I watched Jack drive off. Shoulders slumped, I turned to face my audience and glared in their direction, daring them to say a word. When nothing came, I stomped my way back home then broke down in a ball of laughter in the shower.
That night after my shift, I was disheartened to see Jack’s bike gone. I was a twenty-eight-year-old woman in a time out.
The next day, I decided to test out the waters with Jack by bringing catered lunch to the crew. Jack had a right to be pissed off, but at some point, we had to make peace. I’d done nothing but battle guilt and fantasize about him. I owed him an apology, but more than that, I’d screwed up the first real chance I’d had at making progress in a new relationship.
I brought the sandwiches through the double doors, unable to keep from scanning the lobby for any sign of him. My eyes found him on a ladder in the midst of mounting one of two huge healing poles he’d crafted by hand by mimicking a design he’d seen in Africa. I admired his stunning work as I spread out the food on a long plastic table and waited for any one of the workers to acknowledge me. After several minutes, and my nerves fraying at the ends, I put my finger and thumb to my mouth and with a loud whistle made damn sure everyone heard it. Seeing a few of the workers make their way over, I made a beeline for the break room to grab the cooler full of drinks.
With a deep breath, I reemerged to a table full of the hungry crew, who thanked me through mouthfuls of food and eager sips of cold beverages. Jack stayed planted on his ladder, his ear buds in and his attention far from reach. I admired his immaculate body as he worked diligently on his task. He was in his usual jeans and black work boots but had decided to forgo his t-shirt for a black wife beater. He was pure strength and masculinity, and I had to bite my lip hard to stifle the moan trying to escape my throat.
His arms flexed with every strike of his hammer. I took in the broad shoulders I’d had my hands on just
days before that led down to a perfectly trim waist. I gasped a little as I visualized the movement of his hips as he hovered over me and what lay beneath his jeans.
Needing to distract myself, I made small talk with Pedro as I kept busy, keeping the table full and replenishing the drinks.
Hadn’t I apologized? Hadn’t I chased him for over a mile trying to explain myself? I stood fuming as the workers dispersed and Jack remained in his position, fucking beautiful and completely out of reach. I cleaned up quickly, no longer able to handle his blatant disregard for my olive branch. With each piece of trash I threw away, I mourned our late night talks, and the possibility of a new tradition of being naked in the meadow with him. I hated his absence and his silence.
He was giving me a taste of my own medicine. I got his message loud and clear.
I left a single sandwich and drink on the table for Jack. Looking up to him one last time, I found him staring right at me. His stare was curious, as if he was seeing me for the very first time. I met his stare but only for a moment, afraid he would see the truth of what his rejection was doing to me. Seconds later, I walked out the doors, less the burden of food I walked in with and yet heavier with the idea that I may no longer have Jack to look forward to.
Guilt had proven to be my biggest hindrance in moving on without Grant. It wasn’t just the sex with Jack. It was the feeling that went with sharing the most intimate part of me with him. I’d assumed our attraction was mostly physical, but Jack was both disarming and charming without bounds. He’d lifted his figurative finger at me in summons, and I’d walked toward him willingly. What I had not counted on was the new algorithm that danced in my heart.
After my shift, and another day of painful silence, I decided on a plan b. I walked into the center, claiming the bottle of Maker’s that we’d started on. I went home to shower and jumped into my convertible before I had a chance to second-guess my actions. I pulled into Jack’s motel and sat outside in my car next to his bike, working up the courage to approach as I took sip after sip of bourbon. Memories of the way it felt to be filled by him trickled in and out as I took a deep breath then pushed open my car door. I stood outside his room, hesitating only briefly before knocking softly twice.
“Jack?”
I got no answer and looked back at his bike, puzzled. Sudden fear crept over me that he might not be alone. I jerked away from the door. My heart pounding as every worst-case scenario raced through my mind, I gave the door the one finger salute.
“Temper, beb,” Jack said behind me as he caught the bottle I almost dropped when he startled me. He slid his key into the door, a fresh bucket of ice cradled in his arm. “I saw you pull up about thirty minutes ago. I like my booze on ice.”
Cheeks heated, I followed him into the room and blew out my embarrassment with my breath.
“You thought I wasn’t alone,” he said as a statement as he pulled my purse from my arm then set it down on the table next to the bed.
“Yeah,” I said, refusing to play games.
“Why?” he said as he took a seat at the edge of the bed and placed his hands on his thighs. I wanted nothing more than to bare myself, tear off my clothes and dive into him, knowing what he could do to me. I didn’t want meaningful conversation, not tonight. I wanted to be handled and by Jack.
“Because, Jesus, I mean, look at you.”
