End of Day (Jack & Jill #1) (16 page)

AJ raised a suspicious brow. “Chaste kiss? Has a guy ever given you a chaste kiss and lived to tell about it?”

“So you won’t ask me out because you’re afraid of me?”

“I fear no one.”

Jillian’s eyes widened. “Wow. Lucky you.”

AJ shoved her boots off his legs then dusted off the nonexistent dirt. “Who do you fear?”

Jillian finished her apple, core included, then tugged off her boots before drawing her knees to her chest. “Where to begin … uh … I don’t trust women with more than three children under the age of eight. They have to be ticking time bombs. I’ve seen it at the grocery store—one in the cart screaming with his hand stuck between the metal bars, one under the cart eating cookies out of the box that hasn’t been paid for yet, another bear-hugging her leg because he didn’t get the pack of gum he wanted, and one in a carrier latched-on to the breast, but occasionally popping off to look around and the mom doesn’t realize her body is in letdown mode so she’s spraying breastmilk everywhere.”

Jillian met AJ’s gaze and although his lips were set in a hard line, she swore his eyes sparkled with a glimmer of amusement.

She continued, “People who drive ice cream trucks. I mean come on, parents tell their kids not to talk to strangers or take food from strangers, yet they send them down the street with a five dollar bill in hand chasing some old truck that probably has three kids gagged and bound in the back already. It’s like they’re saying ‘Hey, here’s five bucks, take my kid.’ And don’t even get me started on people whose second toe is longer than their big toe.”

That’s when it happened. As hard as he tried, AJ couldn’t stifle his laugh any longer. Jillian took advantage of the moment by climbing onto his lap. He had a smile that was boyish yet handsome. She rested her hands on his broad shoulders and pecked at the grin that lingered on his lips. He tensed when she drew his bottom lip into her mouth, trapping it gently between her teeth. Then she released it and kissed him with a patience that threatened to drain her last bit of control.

Making someone bleed just to prove a point is not control.
Luke’s words calmed her urge.

Jillian pulled back even as AJ’s mouth continued to reach for hers. “Take me out on a real date.”

She felt his heart thumping against her chest, his arousal between her legs, and his quick breaths against her face.

“No.” He claimed her lips once more with demanding force. His tongue as desperate as his lips. Before Jillian could bring the moment into focus, his hands slid up her shirt and he moaned when he discovered she wasn’t wearing a bra. He pushed her shirt up and released her lips. Jillian hissed in a breath as he sucked her nipple into his mouth. Closing his eyes, he took pleasure in her body.

The woman in her, the Jillian in her, wanted to let go and feel her own pleasure, but she couldn’t. The recent rebirth of her life had left her lost in self-discovery. Passion wasn’t love and love wasn’t passion. Her physical urges felt like emotional needs, yet she knew that wasn’t possible. She’d been several pieces away from solving a puzzle, and then some bully came along and wiped all five thousand pieces onto the floor like the ruins of a small town after an EF-5 tornado.

“Enough,” Jillian said, swallowing hard.

AJ continued.

“E-nough!” Jillian raised onto her knees until her right one was applying firm pressure to his crotch.

“Dammit!” AJ jerked his head back and grabbed her waist to lift her off him. “What is your deal?”

Jillian walked into the kitchen and jotted down her phone number on a piece of paper. “Here.” She handed it to him. “Congratulations for not being messed-up from your past, but I kind of am. So when you’re ready to treat me with respect give me a call.”

AJ stared at it then stood. “That won’t be happening.” He tossed the piece of paper on the table and walked out the door.

Jillian laughed to herself. She didn’t think it was possible to find someone functioning in society that was as messed-up as she was. Wrong!

*

Five days passed
before Jillian saw AJ again. The complete lack of activity next door led her to believe he had disappeared like Cage said he did on occasion. She kept busy with two lucrative Lascivio parties, keeping the yards looking trim, and her favorite job: watching Lilith.

“Jesus, Dodge! What the hell happened?” Jillian winced, looking at the stitched-up gouge between his two black eyes.

“Nasty leg cramp in the middle of the night on Sunday. Fell out of bed and the corner of the nightstand high-fived my head before the rest of my body hit the ground. Stan had to take me to the emergency room at two o’clock in the morning. But don’t worry, it looks worse than it feels.”

“I don’t doubt that because I’m going to be honest with you, Dodge, it couldn’t look much worse.”

“Just as well, young lady. At least now you won’t be flirting with me so much and making the missus jealous.”

Jillian looked over at Lilith, who was enraptured with a grin on her face while reading what must have been a good book. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s been a real issue.”

Dodge looked down at his phone. “Stan should be picking me up soon. You two ladies have fun.”

“Where you off to today?”

“Lumberyard. Stan’s going to get some boards and stain them to match my headboard. Then he’s going to build a railing for the side of my bed that locks in at night to prevent future injuries.”

Jillian grinned. “Like a baby crib.”

“No! Like … like … uh … well, like a hospital bed.”

“Okay, whatever makes you feel better.”

Dodge shook his head and left.

Jillian giggled to herself as she walked to the laundry room to see if there were clothes that needed folding or ironing. She brought the ironing board and pile of shirts to the kitchen so she could keep an eye on Lilith. The first shirt she laid on the ironing board was missing a button.

“Hmm … missing button. What are the chances you have a spare one?” Jillian smiled to herself. “Not that it would matter. I can hang kitchen cabinets and weld pipes but the simple task of sewing on a button is something I’ve never mastered. But ironing … ironing I can do.”

Day

J
essica Day was
getting a second chance at life, a glimpse at normalcy again, all thanks to the good Dr. Luke Jones. Of course she was bound by verbal contract to no longer call him doctor, or Jones, or Lucas, or Lukey, or Lulu, or anything other than plain old Luke. It was like the sun refusing to shine after the rain, leaving the rainbow invisible. She felt certain that he popped little kids’ balloons, gave out toothbrushes at Halloween, and went to bed before the ball dropped on New Year’s Eve.

Their first unofficial counseling session resulted in her cleaning his kitchen sink and oven, then removing all the dishes from the cabinets and wiping the shelves down. Everything was spotless before she started, which made her job that much more difficult because he insisted she go through the motions like some sort of Mr. Miyagi training. She in turn got to talk about whatever she wanted to discuss or share. For some reason since the night of their agreement she hadn’t been in the mood again to talk about the kidnapping or anything related to it.

Jessica found herself running ten minutes late for their second meeting as she raced across town after work.

“You’re late.” Luke greeted her with a frown as she slipped off her heels.

“Astute observation, genius. I also forgot a change of clothes, so tonight can we stick to meaningless chores that can be performed in a tight skirt?”

“Do you sew?” Luke asked while walking toward his bedroom.

“No.”

“Do you iron?”

“Why? Do you have some boy scout badges that need to be ironed on to your button-down khaki before the next meeting?”

“Boy scout badges are stitched, not ironed on, and no that’s not why I’m asking.”

“The dry cleaners under starch your whitey tighties? Your hang low swaying despite your robotic gait?”

“Nice try. I cleaned out my sock drawer and found some old dress socks that I’m going to donate, but they’re a bit wrinkled so you’re going to iron them for me. Well … really more for the lucky recipients.”

“You’ve got to be kid—” The moment she turned the corner to his bedroom she saw the ironing board set up with a huge pile of argyle socks next to it.

“Some of the pairs are the same design, so make sure you match right and left ones together.” Luke sat in a leather chair by the window with his feet propped up on an ottoman.

“Are you high? There’s no such thing as right and left socks.” She held up two matching socks as if to prove her point.

Luke glanced up from the crossword puzzle he was working on. “Those are both left.”

“Oh my gosh! I knew it! I knew you were a whacked-out OCDer. I can’t believe they gave you a license to practice psychiatry.”

He stood and took the socks from her. “See how this area in both of these is worn thinner than the rest, both on the right side under the big toe? That’s how you know they are two left socks.” He handed them back before resuming his position by the window.

She plugged in the iron. “You need to get laid. Normal people don’t think like you. When was the last time you had sex?”

Luke ignored her. It was his usual MO when she tried to pry into his life.

“I bet you’re a missionary man. By the book: seven-point-five minutes of foreplay, thirty seconds of clitoral stimulation to get her lubed up, and exactly thirty five thrusts until climax, followed by ten minutes of spooning, a kiss on the cheek, and maybe even a gentlemanly ‘thank you’ before insisting she leave so you can get your necessary eight-point-five hours of sleep.”

Luke didn’t flinch.

“Do you suppose there’s a high demand for argyle socks at Goodwill? Do they even accept socks there? It’s like donating underwear. Really, who wants to risk athlete’s foot or toenail fungus? I don’t know … it freaks me out a little, like bowling allies. You ever get a pair of rental shoes that are still warm inside? How about hotel rooms, talk about crazy. I know the sheets and towels are washed, but at what temperature? When you dry your face with one do you ever wonder how many butt cracks that cotton has slid through?”

Luke submitted a quick glance.

“Of course you do. After all, I’m ironing your
right
and
left
socks for Pete’s sake.”

An hour later, Jessica completed the last set of socks then wrote off another useless hour of her life that she could never get back. Most of that hour was filled with silence.

“I’m trained to kill people with my bare hands.” Jessica plopped down on Luke’s bed with her fingers interlaced behind her head and legs crossed at the ankle. Luke glanced up in her peripheral vision, but Jessica kept her gaze fixed to the ceiling.

“I can’t share anymore information such as how and why, but I can say that something shifted when I realized the power I had. The thing is … I didn’t feel empowered. There was this transformation. I went from trusting to fearing to an unavoidable distrust. Now I trust very few people and the person I fear the most is myself. I’m constantly on high alert. When I walked into your office for the first time I noticed you, but I also noticed all possible exits, places you might be concealing a weapon, and all objects I could use as one.”

“Do you feel safe right now?” Luke asked.

Jessica closed her eyes and exhaled. “Relatively. You have three things plugged into the walls of this room. I could use any of those cords to strangle you. I could bludgeon you with either weighted bookend on your shelf, or the statue in the northeast corner of the room. However, the only weapon I’ve found was a pocketknife in your closet the first time I came here and it’s barely even a weapon so I’d most likely kill you with my bare hands before you’d have a chance to release the money clip in your pocket that you habitually rub between your thumb and middle finger.”

“Is that a threat?”

Jessica laughed, opening her eyes as she turned toward him. “No.” She rolled her eyes to the side and pursed her lips. “Well, maybe. If you ask me to iron your socks again I cannot be responsible for my reaction.”

“Have you ever killed anyone?”

Jessica’s smile slipped. “If I told you then I’d have to kill you.”

“So you’re a secret agent?”

She flipped onto her stomach, resting her chin on her crossed arms. “If I said yes then it would no longer be a secret. Come on, Jones, you’re losing your focus. Don’t let me feel smarter than you or our time together will be over and I rather like hanging out here.”

“Luke,” he corrected.

“Lucas.”

“Luke.”

“Lukey.”

“LUKE!”

“Lulu.”

“I mean it!” Luke showed another rare moment of teetering emotion.

Jessica chuckled. “What are the chances of us having sex? I’ve never done it missionary, but you could possibly counsel me through it.”

He refocused on his crossword puzzle, filling in a word in
pen
. “Less than zero percent.”

“So, not in my favor, eh?

“Why not missionary?”