So. Long(91)

Aw, jeez I can’t tell him about my book. He might go look it up and find that stupid clip of Jackson’s show.

I cough to cover my pause. “Oh, you know. I dabble. Hobbyist, really. Just doodling a few things for the future.”

“Ah, I see. Well, you never know where that might lead someday.” He lays his menu on the edge of the table.

Crap. I have no idea what I want to eat yet. Too busy thinking of ridiculous things to say.

What’s that sound?

Oh, that’s the sound of my career crashing and burning in the hills of California.

Kaboom.

No worries, that’s just my pride exploding in a fiery blossom of ash and smoke.




I pull Sweet Sue into the driveway behind Shayna’s fun, little sports car, Vixen. Guess it’s easy to tell who drives a sexy car. Oh well. Until my book really pays off, Sweet Sue will have to do, repair costs or no.

As I open the door, headlights zoom past the house. The speeding car slams on the breaks and backs up.

Jackson.

He parks along the curb and hops out. His car beeps as he saunters toward me. More like prowls. Stalks?

I get out of the car and shut my door, careful not to push too hard, lest it stick and I end up climbing through from the other side next time.

I hold up my hand to try to stop him. “You really should call first.”

He ignores me. “Why? I told you I’d be here.”

“What if I got sick?”

He grins. “I’d take care of you.”

“Vomiting?”

“I’d hold your hair back and bring you a washcloth.”

I narrow my eyes. “What if I had uncontrollable, raging rabbit squirts?”

He stops in his tracks, his eyebrows arching.

Good, maybe he’ll take off, running for the hills and for sexier more alluring women. I don’t have time for him. There are other men who actually want more than just a slick pussy to dip their dicks into.

Then his grin returns as he shakes his head. “You know, I like you. I think we could be friends.”

Friends? What the for-reals fuck?

I narrow my eyes. “There is actually something seriously wrong with you, isn’t there?”

He tosses an arm around my shoulder, drags me to his chest, and rubs noogies on my head, like a ten-year-old boy. “Probably. But you’re the one who calls diarrhea rabbit squirts.”

I pull away from him. “How old are you?”

“Old enough to know better…”

I roll my eyes. “…still too young to care—ha ha. Cute, but so cliché.”

“So, want to go to my place?”

I let out a sigh. “Jack, this probably isn’t a good idea. I mean, I’m supposed to see Dave sometime this week for a tennis date.”

Jackson rubs his hands together. “Perfect. Ask me in, and you can tell me all about Dave and your date.”

I pull the little camera loose from my collar and hand it to him. “Watch the video.”

“You know you want to invite me in.” He flexes his pecs and they ripple beneath his almost too-tight T-shirt.

My inner slut demands her moment in charge. I clear my throat. “One drink, and that’s it.”

He nods. “If that’s what you say.”

“That’s what I say.” Even if my throbbing clit says anything you want as long as you kiss me until I die.

I pull out my keys. Jackson takes them and unlocks the door, escorting me inside with the flourish of his hand. “After you.”

“Thank you.”

He shuts the door and whispers, “So, if Shayna’s car is here, does that mean she’s here?”

“I’m not sure. Sometimes she calls a cab. Why?”

Even with only the dim nightlight, the mischief is clear in his expression. “Oh, I just don’t want to wake her.”

“As long as Dickey Bird doesn’t start squawking too loudly, it’s fine.”

“Is he yours?”

“No. Shay got him when she was a teenager.” I drop my purse and jacket on the table next to the sofa, and then I plug in the Christmas tree lights.

Jackson stands in front of the cage. Dickey’s been confined since his last disappearing act. The bird turns his head sideways, staring at Jack.

Jackson pokes his finger through the side of the cage.

I dart to him, dragging his hand away. “Oh, you don’t want to do that. Birds can bite.”

Dickey grumbles, making little clicks and whistles, but nothing too loud. Then Dickey starts the vibrating sounds he’s recently added to his repertoire.

Oh, good God. Heat flushes through me like a firestorm. Stupid bird.

“But I think he might like me. He’s all fluffy and cute. And he’s purring. I didn’t know birds could purr.” Again he reaches up.