“So … even today, when you were standing in front of her naked, you didn’t really want to have sex with her?”
“That’s not how I meant it. I don’t want just sex with her. I want more. The more is getting in the way. It’s turned sex into a delicate situation.”
“It’s turned you into a pussy.”
“Fu—”
“I know … fuck me. But seriously. She’s forty. I bet she’s dying to have a shit load of meaningless sex with a hot guy while her hips can still thrust without fracturing. You’re trying to court her. You know what happens in those old movies where the well-mannered, high-society guy tries to be a gentleman and court the lady?”
Jackson rolled his eyes to the ceiling and shook his head.
“The sweaty stable boy with bulging muscles, ripped pants, and old leather boots swoops in and fucks her like a wild animal in the tall grass near the river. And that’s who she ends up with at the end of the story, because no matter what women say about chivalry … they don’t really want a guy who’s going to spread a blanket out under a tree and feed them grapes and cheese cubes. They want a guy who’s going to spread their legs, bury his face, and feed himself without first asking permission to ‘swim in her pond.’”
“Damn…” he exhaled a heavy breath “…I’ve lost my sex mojo.”
*
Crickets chirping.
The pitter patter of the pond fountain.
The occasional popping of a motorcycle on the main road.
The windows were closed, yet Jackson heard every little sound as red numbers on his digital night clock flicked to midnight.
Two beers and clumsy sparring with Jillian should have slam dunked his brain into a deep coma. It didn’t. All he could think about was Ryn. She didn’t wear an anorexic body or grin like a clown from Botox. Her breasts were real and they didn’t stand out. If he looked closely, a few fine lines around her eyes were visible. He hadn’t seen her stretch marks or her scar from childbirth, but she confessed it. They didn’t meet at a bar and fuck in the bathroom or alley … most of his conquests never even made it to his car, let alone his house.
Truth? What he’d done with women in the past could hardly be considered dating. It was more fucking about. Two people using bodies for pleasure. There were never emotions, at least not for him. Any girl pathetic enough to mistake a quick fuck for something more, especially when names were rarely exchanged, had bigger issues than Jackson.
What makes a man so callus, so immune to emotions, so obsessed with instant gratification? A secret. The kind of secret that one person alone has to keep to himself for eternity. The kind of secret that shatters lives, destroys families, and ends in blood.
Jude Day had a secret. A secret that annihilated everything he believed to be true and forever changed his perception of his parents. Jackson Knight needed to believe that secret would remain buried in San Francisco. His entire existence clung to the hope of new beginnings.
The night stretched on, dragging him in and out of restless sleep. He didn’t wait for the sunrise. It never waited for him. Rubbing his face like he could erase the previous day, he lumbered from his bed straight into his running attire. Five miles later, he returned for a shower, Red Bull, and protein drink. The day required an extra boost of … everything.
After a string of agonizing piano lessons with women who were not serious about playing the piano, he texted Ryn, saying he had something to show her. It was the truth, of sorts.
“Jackson?” Greta called before he could shut the car door.
He shut it anyway then rolled down the window.
“You on your way out?” she asked with a labored breath from crossing the street.
He made a mental note to not get old. “Nope. Just keeping Woody company.”
Her brows pulled together.
“Yes.” He chuckled. “I’m on my way out.”
“Oh.” She nodded, maintaining her confused look. “You’re a funny guy.”
“I try. What’s up?”
“I’m having a party at my house next week, and Jillian said you have a lady friend now. Guess you couldn’t wait forever for Marvin to die.” She winked, but it resembled more of an out-of-control eye spasm or an eyelash in her eye. “Here’s an invitation for you to give her. We’d all love to meet her.”
“Oh.” Jackson took the shiny black envelope, inspecting both sides. It looked familiar. “What kind of party is it?”
“Well, a Lascivo party of course.”
“W-what? Are you serious?”
“Yes. After the ValuPak incident, it’s time to show Marvin that I’m not all dry and shriveled up. I’m still a vivacious woman at heart, even if my body is a little slower and not as flexible. Jillian said you’re never too old to nurture your sexuality.”