Page 29 of Legs

Jimmy

“You’ve met my ex and know I’m single, but I’ve seen you checking your cell plenty. Is there a man I should be aware of?” I patted the pillow she’d placed between us. “A reason you’re keeping your distance?” I’d done enough sharing for one day. Never wanted to think about Sophia and her betrayal again. Time to unravel more of Rachel.

She smiled tentatively. “Are you jealous?”

“Yes.”

She sucked in a breath at my honesty.

As soon as I’d acknowledged my deeper interest in Rachel to myself, the games stopped. I wanted her. Not just another night between the sheets (and on the floor and against the wall). I wanted a glimpse of that adoring look she’d leveled on me in the store, to stand together, her hand in my back pocket, my fingers in her hair, knowing she was mine. See if I could trust a woman again.

As a kid, I’d dreamed of being a professional soccer player. I’d watch every major league match, imagining my father cheering me on. Determined to earn a spot on the coveted CRL—California Regional League—I’d played soccer day and night. My mother would have to drag me inside to go to bed. I’d stopped hanging with my friends. I’d made it, though. Played a few strong years, until girls and wine became more important.

My father only ever came to one game.

I figured it out then. My father may have withheld his affection, but if I wanted something tangible, lack of determination was my only roadblock. I aced my viticulture degree, traveled Europe to immerse myself in wines until I’d earned my Master Sommelier.

I planned to put as much effort into winning Rachel.

She dragged the first glass of Cabernet Sauvignon to the edge of the table, giving it a swirl. She brought it to her nose and inhaled. Instead of listing the aromas opening up, she said, “I don’t have a boyfriend. I’ve been single for close to a year. The incessant cell noise is my mother. She’s on the overprotective side.”

I’d figured there was no other man, but it was nice to hear it. “You two are close?”

“She drives me insane at times, thinks every person she knows is a minute from catching an airborne disease, but I love her. You should have seen her at my high school art shows, telling anyone who’d listen I was her daughter, and wasn’t I the most talented kid? Which was often followed by my childhood finger painting prowess, and the story about me and a naked Aaron Waxon covered in phthalo green.”

“Sounds sweet.” As was the way Rachel glowed, her memories lighting her from within.

“More like mortifying, but she always means well. My brother can be an ass, too, but we’re close.”

“Younger or older?”

“Physically, he’s two years younger. He’s twenty-five. Life-wise…definitely older.”

Her voice thinned, insecurity in the hunch of her shoulders. She may be an adult, living on her own, but her self-worth was still tied to her family. Something I’d been well acquainted with until I shed that baggage. “What’s wrong with your life?”

She replaced her glass on the table, untouched, and fell back onto the sofa. “I’ve held an obscene number of jobs since college. I can’t figure out what to do with my life, like I’m in one of those movies where I’m left floating in space and can’t find my way back to Earth.”

That would explain her quotes on the wall, the searching. She was a fine wine, developing, exploring her depth. I wanted to help uncork her. “What was the worst one?”

“Worst one what?”

“Worst job? If you’ve had that many, some must have been painful.”

She covered her face with her hands, like hiding would ease her embarrassment. “You have no idea.”

“Let’s hear it. I’d love to know the levels to which you’ve sunk.”

She stole a glance between her fingers. “When you say it like that, how can I resist?”

I removed her pillow barrier from between us and scooted closer. “I’m dying of curiosity.”

She didn’t pull away, didn’t shove that flimsy divider back between us. She uncovered her face and twisted toward me. “Okay, so, I don’t even know why I’m telling you, but I saw a classified ad that read 'Must love animals.' Next thing I knew, I was on the street in a poodle costume, waving a Doggy Wash sign.”

My grin stretched so wide my cheeks hurt, and Rachel covered her mouth, attempting to hold in her laughter. It escaped anyway, a snicker that rolled into a sharp cackle.

“The worst,” she said, dabbing at her eyes, “was my brother. He happened to drive by and see me, and he’s never let me live it down.”

A full-on snort followed, her head tipping forward as she gripped my thigh. Her whole body shook, and she nearly fell right into me. I lost it, too, everything about Rachel’s silly humor infectious. That ridiculous sound. Her willingness to embarrass herself. The way she could flip from sultry to fun to feisty on a dime.