“This is all their fault.” My blood boils at the thought of my mother and Deb ruining yet another major milestone in my life—first love.
Jaxson will always be my first love no matter how bad our mothers manage to botch what could have been.
On Saturday, exactly one week from the party, Jax invites me to his mother’s home for dinner. And even though I’ve known Debbie Stade all my life, the thought of joining her for dinner as her son’s main squeeze has me in a state of panic. I change three times from a skin tight nude number that made me look like a stripper, to jeans and a sweater that made me look as if all my other clothes were buried in an overflowing hamper, to the final ensemble of the evening, a white lace top that screams both sexy and conservative and a pair of black velvet pants because what in the hell goes with lace, anyway? Of course, I pair the outfit with my Louboutin heels because nothing says I’m making bank in L.A. more than a thousand-dollar pair of the sexiest heels on Earth. I toss on my pea coat and drive like mad for the Stade house because all of those wardrobe changes put me behind schedule a good forty-five indecisive minutes.
But I’m good and excited and feeling on top of the world because not only is Jax back in my life—in my heart and on the lucky off chance in my body—but I had an official job offer come in from Kleese and Sloane Designs that I promptly accepted on the spot. Not that going back to L.A. is a dream come true, but it sure helps with the bills. The thought of a couple thousand miles splitting the distance between Jaxson and me dampens my mood, so I put the thought out of my head for the time being.
I park and slip and slide my way to the door. Note to self: High heels do not a good snowshoe make. And believe me, after living in Oak Grove all my life, I’m well aware of the fact. But I have to make Deb believe I’m putting an effort in to impress my man—even if Iamreally putting an effort in to impress my man.
Jaxson opens the door with a huge toothy grin on his face and his nephew Jensen in one arm.
“Hey, cutie!” I pat little Jensen over the top of the head. He has Jaxson’s bright blue eyes and those requisite Stade dimples. Jensen could easily pass for Jaxson’s son, and the thought makes my ovaries plead for mercy. Is it terrible that I wish that wild romp Jax and I shared in my childhood bedroom actually led to achild? I admit I was a touch disappointed when he drummed up that condom, then two, then seemingly twelve. I mean, dear God,have a value pack—will travel? Talk about egotistical assurance that he was going to get laid. That’s some serious balls that boy was packing, and I mean that in both the literal and figurative sense.
“I think you’re okay yourself.” I lean up and brush a quick kiss over Jax’s cheek, and he widens that smile. He’s donned a bright blue flannel that sets off his eyes like flames, the hint of that white cotton T-shirt straining under the duress of his muscles makes my girl parts whimper, and those well-worn Levi’s. There is something inherently sexy about a boy in well-worn Levi’s.
“You look beautiful.” He dips in with a kiss of his own. “Some men give flowers, and I’m giving you a son.” He pretends to toss Jensen at me, and the little boy explodes in laughter.
“Finally!” Kali grunts when she spots me. “Jax’s ho is here!” she barks, prompting Jules to pop into the room and glare at me.
“Don’t call her that,” Jax barks right back. “Sorry,” he mouths.
Why would Kali call me his ho? That’s what we used to call Jaxson’s vaginal jukeboxes as a team, and now she’s turned on me. Kali and I seemed to get along okay, but that was years ago. It’s clear she’s long forgotten all about me. She was only starting junior high when I left. I’ll have to make it a point to get back on her good side.
I give a friendly wave to Jules. Jules and I go way back. We were never really close. She’s sort of like that cousin you were forced to see on holidays and special occasions that never really talked all that much to you—and secretly thought she was better than you.
“Food’s getting cold,” she scowls as she scoops up her son and heads to the dining room.
Jaxson wraps his arms around me from behind and presses a kiss to my neck. His warm cologne soothes me, and I’m hoping his spiced scent and heated affection will be enough to get me through the hostile waters I’ve ventured into. I know they will.
“Let me take your jacket.” He helps me slide it off and is quick to place it on the coatrack.
“You don’t think anyone’s upset with me, do you?” I wrap an arm around his waist as we head into the grand dining room painted pink and gold, a color combination only Deb Stade and her billions can pull off.
“Why would anyone be upset with you?” He lands another kiss to my cheek just as Deb comes out to greet us.
“Look at the lovebirds!” She pulls us into a dual embrace. “My—don’t you look virginal in white lace.” She offers a sly wink with her dark hair coifed to the ceiling and her lips a bright, cheery red. “We all know that’s a bit of a fib, now don’t we?” She touches the tip of my nose before scurrying off to her seat, and both Jax and I exchange a quick glance.
Oh my shit. My virtue was just called out as an appetizer, cold, and yet with a little kick you don’t feel until after. It’s clear my mother has rattled off the naked truth about Jax and me. And I get it. Deb is her very best friend. That would be like me keeping things from Sadie, which is practically a capital offense.
We take our seats to a table full of food that I’m sure Deb prepared herself. She might have more money than every small nation combined, but she’s not giving up her God-given right to party in the kitchen.
A nice mixed salad and a side of creamed green beans look delicious. The glibbery mass of pink bovine is still mooing, so I think I’ll take a hard pass on pretending to be a carnivore. In all honesty, I can’t remember the last time I ate any part of a cow. I guess L.A. has changed me. I would have been much happier if it were bento boxes all around tonight, but I’m just thrilled to have been invited to enjoy a meal with the Stades so I don’t say boo—or in this case,moo.
“So, Poppy”—Deb starts in while passing the salad—“a little birdie told me that you and my JJ had a good old-fashioned slumber party.” She bites down on that devil-may-care-that-her-children are in the room smile and engages in an odd little side-to-side swivel.
Good God, is she doing the happy dance?
“Oh, right.” I give a nervous laugh over to Jules who’s glaring at me while sawing at her steak as if it were a tree branch. “Actually”—I glance to Jaxson for help, but he’s too busy loading up on the goods to even notice the conversation—“we were—um, there were chicken soup and a dragon.” I nod as if the wordsaladI just espoused was completely lucid. “The pancake breakfast had blueberries!”
“Of course, it did.” She lifts her fork as if to toast me. “They’re Jaxy’s favorite.”
Jaxy. I touch my knee to his. I’ve always thought it was a bit comical that Deb continues to call Jaxson by his childhood moniker. Jaxy this, Jaxy that. Good Lord, Jaxy could do no wrong in this woman’s eyes.
“Your mother says she saved the sheets.”
“Thewhat?” Good God, is that why my bed was mysteriously made later that day? I didn’t notice new sheets, but this would not surprise me. I can just picture my mother and Deb cutting up the sheets Jax and I committed coitus on to cover those fluffy little scrapbooks they’ve been working on for decades.
“Thesheets,” she practically mouths it this time. “There was no blood.” She shakes her head as if this were a pity. “That’s how you proved virginity back in the day. It was a frame-worthy piece of art, I tell you.”
