“I should start wearing a bra.”
“I doubt it would matter. It’s still lingerie. From what I’ve seen, I think once women hit sixty they start buying their bras from the Army Surplus Store. You know what I’m talking about, the ones with seven rows of fastening hooks, six-inch wide shoulder straps, and such thick material and complete coverage it could double as a bulletproof vest. These men around here … they’ve been looking at vests for years.”
Jillian laughed, almost to the point of tears. “You’re so mean.”
“Astute.”
“Shrewd.” She sighed. “God, I can’t believe this is our home now.”
“Well believe it. And I know you don’t want to talk about it, but we’re going to be attacked from every direction at the picnic tomorrow. These people have nothing better to do than live vicariously through us because let’s face it … they have no life. So we need to get our shit together. We’ve agreed on a past, now we need a future.”
“A future?” Jillian finished the rest of her beer.
“Jobs.”
“You know what we should do?” Jillian’s eyes widened.
“Professional beer tasting?”
“Is that a real job?” Jillian couldn’t hide the excitement in her voice from the fleeting moment of promise.
“I’m joking.”
“About it being a real job or our job?”
Jackson shook his head. “Both, neither … I don’t know. You’d suck at it since you don’t like beer.”
“No, that other girl didn’t like beer. Jillian Knight is quite fond of it.”
“You guzzle it down to expedite the buzz so you no longer care what it tastes like.”
He had a valid point. In the past thirty years she’d had maybe a grand total of six bottles of beer. Since their arrival in Omaha, she’d been averaging a six pack a day. The beer did two necessary things: one, it made her Jillian Knight, and two, it made life as Jillian Knight in Omaha, Nebraska, tolerable.
“Back to my idea.” Jillian stood and offered Jackson her hand.
“Where are we going?”
“Inside for paper, pens, and hats.”
As only two thirty-year-olds on a new path with way too much alcohol circulating through their veins would have done, the Knights decided to write five jobs for each other on ripped pieces of paper then drew them out of a hat.
“What if I don’t like the first one I draw?” Jackson asked as he went first.
“Then you can draw another, but there’s only five so you have to choose one.”
“No way.” Jackson ripped the first piece of paper in two.
“Which one was it?”
“School bus driver.”
Jillian giggled, tipping her beer toward him. “Yeah, I didn’t think that one through. It would require you to be sober.”
“And like kids. Your turn.”
“Don’t act so callous. Why exactly is it you don’t like kids? I mean … I’ve assumed for quite some time now that it’s because you still are one and you don’t like competition.”
Jackson shrugged. “They remind me of what I may never have.”
“Oh … that’s … deep.”
“God, you’re gullible. It’s been my MO for years. The downside to dating older women is their damn ticking biological clocks. If a woman knows I don’t like kids and still ends up in my bed, then I know it’s for the right reason.”
“Which is?”
“Duh … sex.” Jackson took a swig of his beer.
“Yeah … not so deep after all.”
Jackson smirked and held out Jillian’s hat. She stirred her hand around and picked out a piece of paper. “What the hell?”
Jackson snatched it from her. “Oh, this is a good one. And I’m sure the demand is high here in Nebraska. The downside is the risk of injury.”
“It’s not even a real job, you perverted fuck.”
“It most certainly is.”
“Then do share, oh wise one, what exactly a barnyard masturbator does.”
“It’s self-explanatory. They collect bovine sperm for research and breeding purposes. You can use a rectal electrifier to stimulate its release, or an artificial vagina on its penis, or good old-fashioned manual stimulation.” Jackson wiggled his brows.
“Bullshit.”
Jackson laughed. “Technically it’s bull sperm.”
“Give me your hat. I need to add some better job options.” Jillian tried to take Jackson’s drawing hat.
“Nope. Too late. And just remember … we shook on it. We both agreed we would choose one of the five jobs, no matter what.”
“Draw,” Jillian grumbled, sitting back in her chair.
“Personal Trainer? No way.” Jackson narrowed his eyes at her.
“Don’t even look at me that way. You cannot honestly say working as a personal trainer is worse than jacking-off barnyard animals.”
“It is if you spent most of your senior year in high school being jacked off by your personal trainer.”
“She wasn’t a personal trainer, she was a P.E. teacher.” Jillian laughed. “And don’t act like you didn’t like it. Luke said it’s probably what started your older woman fetish.”
“Nice to know you kept that shit confidential.”
They both paused for a moment. Just the mention of his name sucked the air out of the room, even in their inebriated state.