More Than Physical (The Physical Series Book Book 2) (22 page)

Jackson should have been in a great mood today – the day of his best friend’s wedding. It was cause for celebration because the great Mitch Camden was finally coming off the market. And ladies around the world wept in sorrow.

The celebratory atmosphere should have given him joy. But it didn’t. In fact, he was in such a broody, foul mood, he nearly bit Mitch’s mother’s head off when she told him how handsome he looked, telling him how he’d make “
such a dashing groom someday
”.

The fuck
?

Yes, he was mad as hell over whatever little game Sasha was playing with him. And he did not like games when it came to relationships. But he knew better than to be taking it out on his best friend and Margo Camden. As soon as he could corner Sasha today, he would. Jackson would find out what exactly the problem was with her and why she’d been ignoring him all week.

It confused the hell out of him why Sasha hadn’t returned any of his calls he’d made to her over the past five days. Or his texts. Or his emails. After the third day of radio silence, Jackson became concerned that something had happened to her, so he popped by her clinic, only to find that both she and Rylie had taken the rest of the week off in preparation for the wedding.

Five long days without being with Sasha. Without seeing her. Touching her. Hearing her voice and her musical laughter. Joking around with her, laughing over stupid things with her. Running his hands over her gorgeous, feminine curves. Laying side-by-side her naked body.

Great. Now he was sporting a boner in a church, wearing a pair of tight-as-fuck tux pants. That only aided in darkening his mood even further.

Jackson needed air. Eying the exit, he maneuvered around a small group of silver-haired ladies who were hovering just inside the church foyer, a little shocked when he felt one of the ladies’ hands swipe against his ass, partaking in a generous squeeze as he walked by. He glanced behind him, uncertain whether what he felt really happened, to see the seventy-year-old giving him a cheeky grin and a wink.
Dirty old bird
, he chuckled to himself, stepping out into the bright day.

He needed a few minutes to himself to gather his thoughts. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep his composure once he laid eyes on Sasha. Rylie and her bridesmaids weren’t scheduled to arrive until a few minutes before the ceremony was to start, so he’d need to work hard to keep himself in check throughout the ceremony, knowing getting Sasha alone was an impossibility until after the wedding.

And keeping his cool while she stood across the aisle from him at the front of the church was going to be tough. This little disappearing act she pulled on him was not going to fly, and he was determined to get down to the bottom of things.

Earlier that week, when Casey informed Jackson that he had just missed Sasha leaving his office, who had apparently dropped by unannounced to see him, he felt both elated and disappointed. It had filled him with hope to believe that she’d been thinking about him enough to give him a surprise visit. Maybe she needed him in the same bone-deep way he needed her. His thoughts had been consumed by her and she was all he could think about – which unfortunately was not helpful when he had a raging hard-on every hour of every day. Not very conducive to business meetings.

Jackson tried going after her that afternoon, but was met with failure when the elevator he’d taken stopped on every floor before getting him to the lobby. And by then she had disappeared. So Jackson gave up and simply tried calling her – with no answer. He texted her twice, hoping she’d turn around and come right back up to meet him. But all he got was crickets - no replies and no returned phone calls. For days.

Now standing outside the back of the two-century old church, Jackson growled like a grizzly waking up from his winter nap, shoving his hands through his hair in exasperation. He’d just have to wait to talk to Sasha when he could get her alone later. Nothing he could do about it now.

The caustic smell of cigarette smoke permeated the air, drawing his attention to the man sitting on the bench around the corner of the brick exterior building. Dylan Hemmons sat in contemplative silence, his long legs stretched out before him, and his eyes closed.

“I don’t know what you have to grumble about. It’s not your baby sister getting married today. Shit…” Dylan opened one of his eyes and tilted his head to glare at Jackson before leaning over, placing his elbows on his knees. “I like Mitch and all, but I will fuck him up if he ever breaks her heart again.”

Whoa. There was no doubt in Jackson’s mind that Rylie’s brother meant every word he said. Dylan was the epitome of blue-collar, tough Southie boy. Although he’d spent little time in his presence, Jackson knew two things about Dylan. One, he lived a swinging single life. Dylan worked with his dad as an electrician by day, and partied hard at night.

Dylan was never seen with the same woman, or women, twice. The guy was a street-wise, bad-boy, ladies’ man. He used his charm and sex appeal, along with the hard muscles he’d earned in the military, to shape his outward persona. Tough. Hard. Boston strong.

But apparently he was a softie when it came to his sister, which was the second thing Jackson knew about Dylan. Rylie and Dylan had a close relationship, their sibling-bond developing during their childhood. Jackson admired that type of familial relationship, something he never had. The closest thing he would ever have to a brotherhood was what he shared with Mitch. So he understood the protective nature of Dylan’s attitude toward Rylie.

Jackson grunted, taking a seat on the bench next to Dylan, who was also outfitted in a groomsmen tux. Reaching out, Jackson grabbed the cigarette from Dylan’s hand and brought it to his lips for a quick drag. Jackson hadn’t smoked since college, and only then on a few occasions, so he choked out a cough on the exhale. But the nicotine hit seemed like the thing to do in the moment to get his mind off his troubles.

From the corner of his eye, Jackson watched as Dylan reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small pewter flask. Unscrewing the lid, he took a generous swig and gestured toward Jackson.

“You look like you need this just as much as I do.” He smirked before wiping off his lips with a swipe of his hand and pushing the flask into Jackson’s outstretched hand.

“Thanks, man.”

A comfortable silence descended between them, offering up the sense that misery truly does love company.

And then Dylan went and ruined it when he spoke up. “So, you and Sasha, bro?”

Jackson nearly spit out the whisky as it cleared his throat.

Copying Dylan’s position, Jackson leaned down, elbows resting on his knees and shook his head. “Maybe. I really don’t know. I think she’s pissed off at me right now, but fuck if I know why.”

Dylan let out a hefty grunt, taking another long swallow of the warm liquid.

“Sasha is a piece of work, bro,” he said, shaking his head in solidarity. “She’s been a great friend to Rylie, but Sash is one tough chick. Always been a man-eater. Kinda like a female version of me.” Dylan chortled as his own inside joke.

“Uh, thanks…I think.”

Laughter filled the space between them and Dylan reached back to pat him on the shoulder.

“Shit. Sorry, man. I don’t mean to be a downer or nothin’,” Dylan grumbled, kicking at a pebble in front of him. He gave Jackson an apologetic glance. “But don’t worry…me and Sasha…we never…I never tapped that.”

“Jesus. I don’t know if you’re making this better or worse for me.”

Although, Jackson had to admit, it was somewhat a relief to know Sasha and Dylan had never hooked-up. That would’ve just made things more uncomfortable and weird. Hearing about Sasha’s past party-girl ways wasn’t exactly making him feel all warm and fuzzy about his current situation, either.

“But here’s the thing, dude,” Dylan said, stuffing the flask back into his pocket and taking another pull of his cigarette. “I know something’s going on there because I’ve never seen Sasha look at another man the way she was staring at you the other night. She’s got it bad for you, bro. So that gives you the upper hand, here. She’s probably just chicken-shit to do anything about it. And if I know her the way I do, I’m guessing it’s making her mad as hell. Not at you, but at herself.”

Whoa. Dylan the philosopher and love guru. Who knew?

Both men stared out into the small courtyard garden, contemplating the weight of the situation.

“So the thing is…if you like her, then you gotta prove it to her. Make her see you’re not just some passing ship in the night…or whatever shit they say. You feel me, bro?”

Jackson would’ve laughed if he didn’t think Dylan was absolutely right. The absurdity of getting relationship advice from him was like hearing a public service announcement about “Don’t smoke weed” from Snoop Dog.

“If you can tame that one?” he said, now pointing to the open limo door where Sasha was emerging from. “I’ll be very fucking impressed.”

****

So far everything about the day had gone off without a hitch.

Rylie, Sasha, and their friend Beth from med school, had all gone to have their hair, nails and make-up done that morning, heading back over to Sasha’s house to get dressed before the limo came to pick them up. During that time, she’d successfully avoided any detouring thoughts about Jackson or what she might say to him when she saw him today. Instead, she concentrated on the joy of being part of her best friend’s perfect wedding day.

And all that was shot to hell as soon as she stepped from the black, stretch limo and gazed upon the man himself. Just at the sight of him, Sasha’s limbs locked up, her mouth went dry as the desert, and her head turned fuzzy. Jackson looked like a dream standing there in his black tux, his red bowtie a bit askew, his eyes squinting in the sunlight.

He might have been a bit stunned himself, a half-smile curving across his mouth, his hands jammed into his pockets. God, the man was dangerous. Delectable. So freaking debonair. But oh-so bad for her.

Just the sight of him had her melting like butter in the hot sun. Jackson was her sun. His gaze alone sent her up in flames.
Damn
. She was toast.

Determined to ignore him, Sasha swung back around, reaching into the limo to grab the bride’s hand. Rylie gladly accepted it, placing one foot out the car door and on the ground before pulling herself out as ladylike as she could muster. And that was saying a lot for a self-proclaimed tomboy.

The late-afternoon autumn sun was streaming behind her, casting a glow that made Rylie look ethereal, like a subject in a Renoir painting. Rylie was a uniquely beautiful woman. A tall, slender, natural beauty that was usually hidden underneath jeans and jerseys. But today she looked exquisitely goddess-like, her long dark hair flowing in waves across her back and shoulders. She chose not to wear a traditional veil, instead opting for strategically placed white gardenia flowers pinned around the crown of her head.

Rylie stood, wobbling with unbalance in the short heels she’d chosen to wear, her hand smoothing down the satin skirt of the strapless dress. It was simple but elegant. Exactly how Rylie should look on the biggest day of her life.

Beth scooted out behind her and presented their bouquets, handing the largest of the three to Rylie, a beautiful mix of colorful flowers of all varieties, wrapped with a red ribbon. The bridesmaids’ arrangements were all white with a red satin ribbon, to contrast their satiny red gowns.

Out of her peripheral vision she saw Dylan and Jackson approach the group, as the photographer snapped away frame after frame of the trio. Sasha slapped Rylie on the bottom to reprimand her for rolling her eyes and making a funny face at the camera.

“Stop that you twat,” Sasha ribbed, pushing them toward the doors of the church. “Do you really want that face to be in your wedding album for the rest of your life?”

“What? It was the face the good lord gave me,” she deadpanned, sticking her tongue out at Sasha.

“Save that tongue action for your husband, girly. Now shape up. We’re heading into the house of the Lord.”

They all giggled as Sasha made the sign of the cross and pressed forward, the doors held open on each side by Dylan and Jackson. She held her breath, trying not to take in the intoxicating scent of him, as Jackson was on the side closest to Sasha.

He made a grab for her wrist as she moved to walk through the arches, surprising her with his light touch. Wanting nothing more than to pretend he wasn’t there, she willed herself to keep it together, glancing over at his face just a few inches from hers. So close that their lips could touch if he leaned in any closer.

Those soft, full lips of his that she could feast upon for hours. That had kissed every part of her body – thoroughly ravaged her and found every one of her erogenous zones. She shivered from the memories.

“You look gorgeous, Sash,” he murmured, so softly only she could hear. The warm wisp of breath that clung in the air was a mixture of bourbon and mint. “But then you always do.”

He left her speechless, her mouth gaping in a disoriented haze. Jackson’s face held a slight, tight-lipped smile, as he dropped his hand from her wrist, leaving her heart skittering and her pulse racing. The expression on his face slayed her. A tentative sadness, etched with something else she couldn’t quite name.