To Catch A Player

Ready to swoon, because it was such a sweet gesture. “What is it?” My curiosity got the better of me and I leaned over the counter to try and get a peek inside the bag, but Jackson yanked it behind him with an admonishing look.

“In time. What smells so incredible? And please, don’t tell me it’s just sauce.”

I gasped. Loudly. Dramatically. “Just sauce? Did you say just sauce? To me?”

His smile was playful but his hazel eyes showed just enough wariness to show he understood his mistake. “No. What I meant is, it would be a shame if there wasn’t a massive amount of food to go with all that delicious sauce.”

“Wow. Pretty and quick on his feet.” He really was pretty, especially as he finally peeled off the blue button-up to reveal a plain gray T-shirt that had seen a few too many washings and looked soft. So, so soft. And touchable.

“My eyes are up here, Reese?”

“Yeah, yeah.” I waved him off and ogled the way his chest muscles bulged behind the thin T-shirt, and the way it hugged his narrow waist while hiding the mouthwatering six-pack beneath the fabric. “I already said you’re pretty.”

His laugh was loud and booming, full-on amusement, and I couldn’t help but join in and watch the way the lines in his face transformed him from the staid cop to the handsome guy giving me bedroom eyes. “Thanks. But seriously, what smells so good?”

“One-track mind,” I grumbled and went to check the oven. “Meatball sliders. Spicy BBQ meatball sliders, to be exact.”

“Is this for the cook-off?”

“No,” I sighed. “It’s for me.” I didn’t want to get into anything heavy with Jackson, it wasn’t really our relationship, but I was too tired and still too raw to hold my defenses all the way up.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Yes. No. Not really. My aunt isn’t getting any better.” I told him all about how she didn’t remember me and treated me like a polite stranger. How it hurt like hell. “I know this is her illness and it’s about her, not me, but I can’t help feeling sad about this. Sad, and sorry for myself.”

That was how you turned a guy on, right?

“Sorry.” I turned away from Jackson and begged the tears to go the hell away because I didn’t want him to see me cry.

But suddenly, there was warmth. A lot of warmth, and strong arms wrapped around me, holding me close. Jackson’s chin rested on my shoulder and when he spoke, his voice was right beside me ear. “I’m sorry about your aunt, Reese.” His lips pressed softly against the line of my jaw, a strictly platonic move that had the unwanted effect of touching me between my legs and in my heart.

I was so screwed, so I smiled and pushed out of his arms before I changed my address to that exact spot. “Thanks, Jackson. No more stalling, what’s in the bag?”

His smile charmed me once again as he reached down and pulled out a miniature wooden crate. “It’s a cheese and pickles kit from around the world, apparently.”

I stared at the stylized crate in disbelief—not that it was so cheesy, no pun intended, but that it was so perfectly weird. So unlike Jackson that I tossed my head back and laughed at how right this moment was. The perfect distraction. “This is great, actually. Let’s crack it open. Do you think it’ll go well with half a pitcher of Bloody Mary?”

His gaze slid to the glass pitcher and back to me, one brow arched. “Half a pitcher?”

“Well, it’ll be a full pitcher in a minute, so hush.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He zipped his lips and I turned away to replenish the Bloody Mary pitcher.

“That’s more like it. How about we take the pickle kit on the back porch, since it’s kind of hot in here?” I heard the words, but it was too late.

“You already got me out of my shirt, Reese, maybe slow it down a bit. Feed me first.”

“Who says men only have sex on the brain?”

“We do, but food is a more acceptable topic. Or so I’m told.”

“By your mom?” Sure, I was fishing, but I was also curious.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “She tried to make sure I didn’t grow up a complete Neanderthal.”

“Well, she succeeded on that front. What about your dad?”

“No dad, just a Steve. My stepdad. He’s a prick, but Ma loves him. He had a heart attack recently and she’s bending over backwards for him, as usual.” Jackson sighed and dropped down on the steps instead of one of the chairs right behind him. “I sound like an asshole, don’t I?”

“A little, but you’re not usually one on purpose so I assume there’s some bad blood between you and Steve?”

“You could say that.” And then Jackson shocked me by sharing the details of his tumultuous relationship with his stepfather. “He’s just a bully and she just wants to keep him happy. It’s not abuse, but it’s abusive. Does that make sense?”