Down On Me: Reece and Jenna (Man of the Month Book 1) Page 4

  But she did. Some of it, at least.

  And as a warm blush spread over her body, Jenna closed her eyes, breathed deep, and let herself fall backward into the memories of that delicious, forbidden night.

  Chapter Four

  Eight months ago

  "You and Brent should just quit working and move to LA with me." Jenna took another long swallow of the rum and Corona concoction, then sighed with pleasure, her head spinning a little more than it should. Correction, a lot more than it should. "These are amazing. You're putting them on the menu, right?"

  "If you say so, I will. Your wish is my command."

  "You're teasing me, aren't you?" She narrowed her eyes, saw two of him, then narrowed them some more until Reece merged into one man. A man who was smiling indulgently at her from across one of the wooden two-tops in the back section of The Fix on Sixth.

  Seven Percent, a local band that had gathered a nationwide following, was playing on the wooden stage up front, and normally she'd be sitting at the bar up there, listening to the music and chatting with the bartenders or a girlfriend while Brent and Reece did their jobs. Tonight, however, they'd both taken the night off. Because tonight was Zero Hour. The last hurrah.

  Tomorrow at noon she was getting into her car and driving to Los Angeles.

  "Where'd Brent go? He's not off doing work on my last day in town, is he?" She swiveled in her chair to search for her errant friend, tilted awkwardly, and then smiled gratefully when Reece reached over to steady her.

  "You're drunk," he said. Not in accusation, but as one might state the weather.

  "It's your fault." She lifted the beer bottle. "Your invention. Your fault. And I do say. In honor of me."

  "You do say?" he repeated, rubbing his beard as his brow furrowed in confusion before clearing. "Oh, about the drink going on the menu. All right. In honor of you. I'll call them Long Neck Jennas."

  She wrinkled her nose. "That's horrible."

  "Got a better name?"

  She squinted at the longneck bottle. Rum. Corona. Lime. One bottle, all loaded up. She smiled up at him. "Loaded Coronas."

  His mouth twitched. He reached across the table, then brushed his fingertip over the tip of her nose. "Done."

  "Yeah?"

  "Assuming Tyree agrees."

  "Let's ask him."

  "He's with Brent, remember?"

  She shook her head to clear it, trying to play back the last half hour or so.

  Watching her, Reece laughed. "You are so wasted."

  "So? Last hurrah, remember? Besides, it dulls the pain."

  He took her hands. "Hey, none of that. This is a good thing, remember? Just one month ago, you told me so yourself."

  The memory of the phone call offering her the job in Los Angeles set off a fresh storm of emotion. "You're right. It is. I mean, the company's got an amazing reputation, and I'm going to get so much experience. It's a dream job—working with a premier event planner in Beverly Hills. It's exactly the kind of job I was hoping for when I quit teaching to go back for my marketing degree. I mean, a company that's behind most celebrity charity events? Half of my graduating class would kill for this job."

  "But?"

  She raised a shoulder. "Just nerves, I guess. I'm almost twenty-nine, and I've never lived anywhere but Austin. And, well, I'll miss you guys."

  A shadow flickered in his eyes. "Yeah, I know. We'll miss you, too. But it's not forever. You get the experience, you move back to Texas, and you take the city by storm."

  Laughter bubbled up in her. "Is that the plan?"

  "Written in stone, baby. I've got all sorts of faith in you."

  "I know you do," she said softly, meaning the words with all her heart. "And it helps."

  For a moment, a pleasant silence lingered. Then she tilted her head toward the hall leading to the office. "Should we go find Brent? We're supposed to meet Amanda at the Broken Spoke." Jenna was lousy at country-western dancing, but there was no way she was leaving Texas without another go. And besides, Brent could two-step like a pro. If anyone could make her look good on a dance floor, it was him.

  "Probably should. But you've had four of those things, and that's a lot of rum. Not to mention the beer. Are you sure you can dance?"

  "Oh, please. We both know I couldn't dance before. There's no place to go but up." Laughing, she slid an arm around his waist, for both camaraderie and support. He stiffened, then relaxed, and she was about to ask what was wrong when Brent came toward them, his expression grave.

  "What is it?" Reece demanded.

  "My babysitter called. Faith has a fever. I'm sorry, Jen, but I need to go."

  "Sure. Of course. We'll come with you."

  "No, you guys go on. This is your last chance to see Amanda before you head out, right? She can't do breakfast tomorrow?"

  Jenna nodded. They were supposed to meet up at the Magnolia Cafe on South Congress before Jenna hit the road. "But if Faith's sick, I won't see you tomorrow either."

  "I'll make pancakes. Come to the house. I already told Tyree, and I'll text Nolan and Tiffany and everyone else. I can set Faith up in my bedroom with her videos if she's still sick, and we'll give you a banana pancake send-off."

  "You sure?"

  "Are you kidding? Not see you off? Not a chance. Ten o'clock?"

  She nodded. The plan was to be on the road by noon, stay the night in Van Horn, the next night in Phoenix, then get to her new—sight unseen—apartment by mid-afternoon. She had a thermos for coffee, an ice chest for sandwiches, and a ton of playlists downloaded to her phone. She was as ready as she'd ever be, but no way was she leaving without seeing Brent and Faith and the rest of her friends.

  "It sounds perfect," she said.

  "Give Faith a kiss for us," Reece added. "We'll see you in the morning. I'll probably have to buy this one a few more beers if she's gonna believe that I can lead as good as you can," he added, hooking his thumb toward Jenna.

  Brent chuckled. "Whatever works, man."

  "Too many more beers, and you'll be carrying me onto the dance floor," Jenna said, in words that proved to be unfortunately prophetic.

  She'd planned ahead for dancing, so she was wearing cowboy boots instead of heels, but even so, she wobbled a little on the way to Blue, Reece's truck. Not that he ever called it that—he swore it was silly to name a car—but Jenna and Blue had an understanding.

  "You okay to drive?" she asked as she climbed in.

  The corner of his mouth twitched. "I'll manage," he said, and she remembered that he was tonight's designated driver and hadn't touched a drop. That was okay. She'd drunk enough for the both of them.

  She'd thought that she'd sober up a bit on the drive, but there was no traffic, and it was only a few miles from Sixth Street to the well-known dance hall on South Lamar. She leaned her head against the window and watched the scenery go by. The new construction downtown. The river glowing in the moonlight. The food trucks and small boutiques that had popped up south of the river.

  The cool window on her forehead revived her somewhat, but she was still buzzed—and a little nauseous—when they arrived. By the time they'd pushed through the crowd and found Amanda and her guy-of-the-week, Jenna all but pounced on the basket of French fries that sat in the center of the table.

  "Help yourself," Amanda said between bouts of laughter.

  "She's a little lit," Reece said.

  "Ya think?"

  Jenna scowled at them both. "I'm Jenna," she said, introducing herself to the dark-haired guy with the chiseled jaw who sat beside her friend.

  "Easton," he said, in an accent she couldn't place, but that she thought might be from the Northeast. "Great to meet you. Sorry it's right before you're leaving."

  "My big send off," she said.

  Lawyer, Amanda mouthed, when Easton turned to shake hands with Reece. She waggled her eyes, and Jenna was still laughing when the men turned back.

  "Something funny?" Reece asked.

  "Nope," Jenna said, sharing
a quick grin with Amanda before grabbing Reece's hand. "Let's dance."

  "Whatever the lady wants," Reece said, then nodded at Easton. "You two coming?"

  "I grew up in Connecticut, and even with four years of undergrad and three years of law school in Austin, I still can't manage the two-step."

  "We won't hold that against you," Amanda said. "Come on. I can lead."

  Easton went without further protest, which scored him bonus points as far as Jenna was concerned. Maybe Amanda had found a good one.

  As for her and Reece, any lingering disappointment that Brent couldn't be there faded within seconds of hitting the dance floor. Technically, Jenna supposed that Brent was the better dancer of the two. But in Reece's arms it didn't matter, because despite her tendency to trip over her own feet, she felt on fire, suddenly certain that she couldn't miss a step even if she tried.

  Somehow, they fit, and with his hand firmly at her back, they moved in a silent, perfect rhythm that had her heart beating and her body thrumming. From exertion, of course—what else could it be?—but even so, when they'd finally exhausted themselves and stopped for a drink, she stepped away quickly, a little unnerved by how much she didn't want to break contact.

  The first beer barely quenched her thirst, and over the next hour, she drank another—possibly two—then sat and watched the room spin while Easton went off to find food, and Reece invited Amanda out onto the floor.

  Jenna watched them, her jaw aching until she realized she was clenching her teeth and forced herself to relax.

  What the hell was wrong with her? Amanda loved to dance, and Easton didn't know the steps. Of course she wanted to dance with Reece.

  "How long have you two been going out?" Easton asked, returning to the table with a fresh basket of fries and a plate of chicken fried steak.

  "What? Oh, no. We're just friends. Best friends."

  "Really? I just assumed—"

  "Friends," she said firmly, pulling her hand back instead of grabbing some fries. Suddenly, her stomach felt a little too jumpy for food. Instead, she snatched up the whiskey from one of the four Two-Steps—beer with a whiskey chaser—that Easton had ordered after the last round of beer. She slammed back the whiskey, ignoring the beer. She didn't need the extra dose of alcohol—Lord knew she was buzzed enough already. But she wanted it. Wanted to be numb. Anesthetized. Wanted to not feel whatever she was feeling. The sweet prickle of sensation when Reece touched her. The tight curl of jealousy when he held Amanda.

  It had to be melancholy. A departure-induced yearning that had infiltrated her consciousness. Because even though she was excited about her job, she also didn't want to leave. Or, more accurately, she didn't want to leave Reece.

  She sat bolt upright as the impact of the errant thought hit her. Reece?

  No, no, no. Reece and Brent. She voiced the words clearly in her head, because right then, correcting her unspoken mistake was the most important thing in the world. Reece. And. Brent.

  That's what she'd meant, of course. Her thoughts were all muddled. She just didn't want to leave her friends and go off alone to the big city. But at the same time, she did. The job was a dream, and it's not like she'd stay away forever.

  Would she?

  She frowned, her eyes on Reece as she considered. She'd always thought that she'd get experience elsewhere, then come back to Austin. But why? She wanted to plan large-scale events, and didn't that mean that Los Angeles was her target market?

  Maybe, she thought, as Reece dipped Amanda. But maybe there were reasons to come back, too.

  Mentally, she groaned. Her thoughts were going in circles. So much so that she didn't even notice when Easton cut in, pulling Amanda into his arms. Moments later, Reece was beside Jenna, tugging her to her feet.

  "You're fading, kid. I should get you home."

  The band finished the song, and Reece raised his hand to call Amanda and Easton over to say goodbye. But then the music started up again, probably from the jukebox. Not the fast rhythm of a Texas two-step, but the easy melody of a slow dance. "Wait," she said, squeezing his hand and urging him onto the floor. "I love this song."

  "You need—"

  But she didn't let him finish. She pressed against him, her arms going around his neck, her cheek tucked in against his shoulder. With a sigh, she breathed in the scent of him, all musk and male and beer.

  "Jenna—" He cut himself off, his voice tight, as if her name were ice and about to crack.

  "Mmm?" She snuggled closer, a warm glow filling her, and after a moment, his arms tightened around her, pulling her closer until she could feel every inch of his tight, hard muscles as they swayed in time with the strains of George Strait's The Chair. And for one moment—one blissful, wonderful, amazing moment—the entire world seemed perfect.

  Then he shifted and reality crashed around her again. "Jenna." He seemed to be choking on her name. She looked up, confused, and saw a mixture of determination and fluster in the lines of his face. The song wasn't quite over, but he pushed her away. "We need to get you home."

  "No, I—"

  "Have a huge day tomorrow and need sleep." He hooked a finger under her chin, and she saw steely determination etched on his face. "You're wasted, kiddo."

  "I am." The words felt like they were oozing out of her. "But it's okay." She smiled up at him. "You're here to take care of me."

  His throat moved as he swallowed. "Hell yeah, I am. Come on," he added, leading her off the dance floor. "You need sleep and aspirin and water. You don't want to drive all the way to Van Horn tomorrow with the monster of all hangovers."

  "It may be too late for that," she said, as the room did a very unpleasant tilting thing. "I think I'm going to be sick."

  "Bathroom," he said, and started leading her there. She grabbed his arm, struggling to stay upright, because the floor had started rolling now. Her stomach, however, had settled.

  "Actually, I want to go home," she said, because the idea of kneeling on the floor in a public bathroom and puking up her guts sounded miserable. "I think it'll pass."

  "You're sure?" He peered at her, and she felt a bit like a ticking bomb. "You're not going to barf in the truck, are you?"

  "Soil Blue? Never."

  A hint of a grin touched his lips, and he nodded. They found Amanda and Easton to say goodbye, though the parting wasn't much more than a gray blur to Jenna. And once she was settled in the truck, she closed her eyes and let the rhythm of the road lull her into a semi-sleep state, where memories of slow-dancing with Reece mixed with fantasies of soft kisses and gentle caresses.

  She moaned and squirmed, some part of her mind knowing that those kinds of thoughts would only lead to trouble, and another part of her mind thinking that she didn't care. That this electric sizzle now burning through her was worth it, and that she'd never felt safer than she did right now, with his arms tight around her and his breath soft against her face, and—

  Right now?

  Her eyes flew open, and she realized she was no longer in the truck. Instead, she was cradled in his arms as he climbed the stairs to her second-floor apartment in Austin's Tarrytown neighborhood. She squirmed, trying to get free, because as it was, she liked the feel of his arms more than she wanted to. "I can walk," she protested. "I'm fine."

  "Sure you are," he said. "I'm just trying to get in a full workout today."

  She made a face, squirmed some more, and gave up. They'd reached her door anyway, and he shifted his grip, then punched in the unlock code. A moment later, she was on her couch.

  And a moment after that, she was bolting for the bathroom.

  She didn't make it. Her stomach revolted, she fell to her knees, and because she was trying not to mess up her carpet, she ended up vomiting all over her shirt and jeans.

  "Oh, baby, it's okay." Like magic, Reece was beside her, wrapping one of her oversized towels around her to keep the mess at bay, and then leading her into the bathroom. Where, of course, her stomach decided to have another go. This time, at leas
t, she managed to hug the toilet, and Reece even held her hair out of the way.

  When it passed, she drooped to the floor and rested her face on the cold hard tile, then sighed with pleasure.

  "Oh, no, sweetheart." His gentle voice roused her, and she peeled open her eyes to find him unbuttoning the slate gray shirt he was wearing.

  "What are you—"

  "Needs to be laundered," he said, tossing it aside, and pulling off the damp T-shirt underneath, too.

  Her chest tightened, and a powerful wave of longing crashed over her. It didn't make sense. She'd seen him without his shirt dozens of times. Hundreds, maybe. And the sight of his bare chest had never left her fluttery. Those tight muscles; that vibrant ink. Never before had she longed to stroke his warm skin. To feel his heartbeat under her fingertips.

  But she wanted to now, dammit.

  She closed her eyes, her stomach roiling. "Oh, God. Sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

  "Hey, no worries," he said, thankfully misunderstanding. "But we need to get you cleaned up. Come on."

  But coming on wasn't something her body wanted to do. Or her head, for that matter. All she wanted was to stay on the floor and clutch the ground until it stopped spinning.

  She tried to tell him that, but apparently she'd forgotten how to speak. And when she tried to open her eyes, it turns out she'd forgotten how to do that, too.

  Her mind knew what was going on—knew that he'd started the shower, knew that he was undressing her—but she was utterly incapable of commenting on that interesting fact.

  And time seemed to be jumping around, too, no longer obeying basic rules of physics, because then she was standing, and water was sluicing over her bare skin, and Reece's arm was around her, his skin hot against hers as he used his other hand to gently rinse her off. A wild tremor ran through her, her body betraying her as she craved a more intimate touch. His fingertip stroking her breast, then following the droplets of water down lower and lower until this entire surreal night exploded into pleasure in his arms.

  It would be so easy. All she had to do was conjure the words. Tell him. Beg him.