I contemplate the image of Jack Straithmore in my head. Whereas Eddie is a good-looking teenage boy, his dad, Jack, is more like pure sex. Jack might be 45 years old, but the extra years have only done wonders for him. He has electric blue eyes, black hair, and bronzed skin that stretches across a muscular, ripped body. At least, that’s what I imagine. I’ve only met him a couple times, but it’s clear he keeps in shape. I’ve always found him attractive, but he’s my boyfriend’s dad, so I never thought much about it.
But now, the circumstances are different, to put things mildly, and Jack Straithmore is H-O-T. And if Eddie can sleep with my mom, then the perfect revenge would be for me to sleep with his dad. Right?
I shake my head at myself. “You’re losing it, Dakota,” I mumble. “Seriously, this is getting twisted.” Then I put my car in reverse, but for some reason I can’t seem to move my foot to the gas pedal to drive away. Instead, I adjust the gear shift to drive and pull my car further up the driveway and around the large mansion before parking around a hedge so that my vehicle is out of sight.
Chills run down my spine, as well as a sense of anticipation. Am I really doing this? Am I really going to attempt a form of naughty revenge? It seems so because after turning off the ignition, I pull down the car visor and do my best to fix my hair in the mirror. My locks are thick and curly, so there is only so much I can do with them after a long day working the steamer as a barista, but it’s not so bad. I’m wearing jeans and a sweater that are relatively form-fitting, showing off my curves. Quickly, I swipe on some lipstick and pinch my cheeks for color. This is going to have to do.
Without giving myself a chance to second guess, I get out of my car and head straight for the front door before ringing the doorbell. Heavy footsteps approach, and my heart feels like it’s beating out of my chest, but it’s too late to stop. My plan’s been set in motion, and now there’s nothing to do but to see where it takes me.
3
Jack
* * *
Paperwork is my least favorite part of owning my own business, but I try not to complain. After all, the success of Straithmore Construction is something I’m incredibly proud of, and paperwork’s just part of the process. We’ve tried to cut down and go digital as part of the move towards “no waste” or “low waste,” but nothing is perfect. Some things still have to be in hard copy and Straithmore still has printers and copiers after all these years.
But I’m proud to have built so many homes throughout Portland, and my heart always leaps whenever I see a Straithmore sign. The money hasn’t hurt, either, but today, I’ve been cooped up all day in my home office filling out invoices and going over quarterly tax statements. I’m ready to crawl out of my skin. I went into this industry to build buildings, not to become a pseudo-accountant.
But if I’m being honest with myself, it isn’t just being stuck inside with paperwork that has me restless. In general, I’ve been feeling a bit uneasy lately. I know part of it is because my house is empty most of the time. Eddie, my son, isn’t home much, but that’s normal because he’s a teenage boy with a ton of activities. I’m used to that. If anything, I miss having a feminine presence around because my son’s mother and I divorced ten years ago, and it’s just been me and Eddie for years now.
It would help if I dated more often. I can’t remember the last time I went out with a good-looking woman, and it’s been even longer since I considered getting serious about a relationship. It’s not that there aren’t any options. I know enough to realize that I’m a handsome man and rich too. Trust me, women make themselves available but I’m just not interested because it’s not the right type of woman. It’s usually a Portland socialite who loves to talk about helping the environment, or saving all the abused animals in our state, or expanding recycling to third world countries. Unfortunately, all their talk is just talk, and what they really care about are perfectly manicured nails and who can get their hands on the latest designer handbags fastest.
With a grunt, I put away the papers on my desk and close up my laptop because I just can’t look at one more number today. Sitting back in my chair, I close my eyes and sigh, trying to remember the last time I met a woman who even remotely piqued my interest. A face immediately pops up in my mind, but I try to shake it off. There is one woman who I catch myself thinking of time and again, but I know it’s wrong, so I keep a good distance for the sake of my sanity, and my son’s. After all, the woman I’ve been lusting after is Dakota Stanton, my son’s girlfriend.