Champagne Rules (33 page)

“I guess . . . to be a caring person. A good daughter, sister, friend. Wife and mother, when the time comes. A good vet. I guess—this sounds kind of silly, I know—to be a good citizen of the world.”

“You’re already there. I’d bet you never let your family or friends down. And when you’re a mom, you’ll always be there for your kids.”

She didn’t say anything, but he heard her sniffle.

“You need a shoulder again? Wish I could give you one.” He meant it too. Yeah, tears were hard for him to deal with, but he’d really like to be touching her, offering his support. 

“Y-you really are the sweetest man.”

“Hell, I care about you.” As he said the words, he realized how true they were. “Just because we have different goals, it doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. I like you, my sexy lover. And I respect your opinion, even if I don’t always agree.”

“Just like the Awesome Foursome,” she murmured.

“The what?”

“My group of girlfriends.”

Her closest friends. He was flattered to be included with such company. “You know why I called?” he asked.

“Uh . . . Phone sex?” she said cautiously. He laughed. “Nope, not this time. I missed you. I missed our friendship.”

“Friendship,” she echoed. And then, “I’ve just realized, we’ve been breaking the Rules again. Except, this time we aren’t arguing.”

“Thank God!”

She chuckled. “We’ve been talking about me, Jaxon. Now tell me something about you, your life. Maybe a case you’re working on, or your mom? Or—wait, tell me about your heritage.” Her voice sped up with excitement. “I don’t know much about Jamaica. What about reggae music, that’s Jamaican, isn’t it? And jerk chicken? What is that, anyhow? We have jerky, that horrible dried meat, and I’m sure that’s not what jerk chicken is like.”

And this was why he didn’t tell people where he came from. He was American, not Jamaican. He no more ate jerk chicken than she did, and he’d never cared for reggae—not that he had time to listen to any kind of music.

Stifling impatience, he said, “Jerk isn’t dried, it’s spiced.”

“What’s ‘jerk’ mean?”

“Poking with holes. In the old days, the meat was poked all over, spices were stuffed in the holes, and then the meat was cooked in a stone pit, with green wood burned to add even more flavor. Now, mostly people just use a marinade and basting sauce.”

“Sounds good.”

“Don’t remember. Haven’t had it in years.” Since his step dad had told his mom she was American now, and should learn to cook American food.

“Really. Why not?”

The woman didn’t have a clue. “I only lived in Jamaica a few years, as a little kid. Why should I be interested in Jamaican stuff? I’m American.” So American that he tuned out any time his mom reminisced about her own life in Jamaica.

“Sure, but it’s your heritage.”

They were friends. They were supposed to be able to talk about things without getting mad. He didn’t have a hell of a lot of experience with that, but he’d give it a try. “Look, I don’t know how to say this politely, but I’m feeling a little, uh, stereotyped here.”

“Stereotyped? You think I’m being racist? Jaxon!” She made a huffy sound. “It’s not racist to celebrate having a cultural heritage, and be curious about someone else’s. My background’s Irish and English. That means Dad teaching us Irish pub songs and Mom teaching us English ones; the superstition that leprechauns lurk in the garden; a proper English tea with Devonshire clotted cream when strawberries are ripe; and that’s just a start.”

What the hell could a guy say to all that? And in fact, he didn’t have to decide, because she was going on.

“If anyone here is racist, Jaxon, it’s you.”

“Racist!? What the fuck are you talking about?” Hadn’t she noticed the color of his skin?

“You’re the one who thinks you can’t get ahead if you’re black. You have to pretend to be white.”

Rick’s words hung in his skull.
You ever think you’re taking
this whitewash thing too far?

“Case you haven’t looked closely,” he bit out the words,

“I’m never going to pass for white.”

“That’s not what—Oh damn, we’re doing it again. We really do need those Rules.”

They sure as hell did!

Then Jax took a deep breath, forcing down the anger. No, he didn’t really think Suzanne was racist, and he’d bet she didn’t think he was. He remembered what she’d said about her girlfriends. “Maybe we don’t need the Rules,” he said. “Seems to me we’ve just hit a couple more hot buttons. Doesn’t mean we have to fight.”

“Yes!” she said eagerly. “You’re right. We can calm down and agree to disagree. Even better, we could talk some more, really try to understand each other’s perspective?”

Talk further about being Jamaican? He should hook her up with his mom. “Maybe one day, but not tonight. Okay?”

There was a pause, then she said, “Yes, of course. We all have things we’re not ready to talk about. Like I was, about Liz.”

“Thanks. And it’s getting late too. I should go.” He thought of mentioning that he still had work to do, but figured she’d have guessed.

“Call me again when you get a chance.”

“Sure.” In fact, maybe now they’d kind of pulled things back on track, she might be in the mood for a little play? “So, sexy lady, feel like making a date for phone sex?”

The pause was short. “Love to.” Then, in a seductive tone,

“Have you worn the boxers to the office?”

Damn, she had to remember the boxers. “No way.”

“Tomorrow,” she said firmly. “Wear them tomorrow. And call me tomorrow night, after everyone’s gone home.”

Friday morning, he’d just gotten out of the shower when his cell rang.

Rick said, “Can’t make racquetball today.”

Damn. And next week Rick would end up being too busy too. It was his way of saying he was pissed.

“Too bad,” Jaxon said stiffly. Should he apologize? Wasn’t it really just another case of hot buttons, and overreacting?

He was trying to figure out how to begin, when Rick, his voice ragged, said, “It’s sheer hell here. Jase caught something at day care.” He broke off to cough. “Rosa was sick all night and I think I’ve got it too. Feel like crap.”

Sick? So it wasn’t a brush-off. Relieved, he said, “That’s rough. Anything I can do?”

“Nah, thanks anyhow.” Rick coughed again. He really did sound bad. “We’re all going to stay in bed. Should be okay by Monday.”

“Let me know.”

Poor guy. Rotten way to spend a weekend.

Weekend. Wait a minute. “What about your Saturday b-ball thing? Got another coach?”

Rick gave another cough. “No. You volunteering?”

He wasn’t going to Vancouver this weekend. He could make up the time by working even later. Besides, he needed the exercise. And Rick needed the help, the kids needed a coach, and the truth was, he actually wanted to do it. God knew why.

“Yeah, okay.” He toughened his voice. “But you’re gonna owe me. Maybe one of Rosa’s home-cooked meals, when you guys are all bug free again.” And he was looking forward to that too, he realized. A family meal.

Living vicariously, experiencing the kind of life that would never be his.

Not that he wanted it to be, of course.

Rick gave a surprised laugh, choked out another cough, then found his voice. “You’re on.”

Jax hung up, then opened a dresser drawer and reached automatically for a pair of dark boxer briefs. A flash of red caught his eye. Damn, he’d promised Suzanne.

Thank God he wasn’t going to the club this morning. Rick would’ve killed himself laughing if Jax had stripped off his pants to reveal red boxers.

He slid them on. Yeah, silk really did feel good against his skin, and every inch of this silk held a Suzanne memory. He pulled on a pair of suit pants, his cock hanging loose down the left leg rather than being anchored firmly across his belly. As a athlete, he’d spent a fair bit of his life in a jockstrap, and he tended to favor security when it came to his private parts. Other men wore boxers all the time.

But, he knew from years of locker rooms, other men usually didn’t have so much equipment to stow inside their pants. If he could suffer through this today, he’d have his reward when he phoned Suzanne tonight.

His apartment was only a few blocks from the office. Today, as he strode down California Street, he had to admit the silk shorts felt way sexier than anything he’d worn before. He glanced down. Christ, when his left leg went forward, his pants molded to his body and you could see his cock. He broke stride immediately, then experimentally took shorter steps. That was better; the fabric draped loosely rather than stretching across him.

He almost laughed aloud. Jaxon Navarre, star athlete, was shuffling along like an elderly cripple.

What a relief to make it into the office and sink down in his desk chair. He glanced down to see the bulge of his unrestrained package.

“Morning, boss,” Caitlin’s cheery voice called from the doorway.

Hurriedly, he shoved his chair closer to the desk, so his torso pressed up against the edge. “Morning.”

She frowned. “You okay?”

“Fine, just fine.”

“Don’t like my new hair?”

He hadn’t been paying attention, but now he noted that she’d traded orange for a color he could only describe as banana. She and her hairstylist must be going through the fruit basket. “Uh, it’s different. Interesting.” And what the hell was wrong with natural, like Suzanne?

“Oh God, all this flattery will have me blushing.” She rolled her eyes and departed.

After she’d gone, he moved his chair back out again and surveyed his lap. It wasn’t really that bad. If a person wasn’t staring at his crotch, they likely wouldn’t notice. Would they?

He could imagine Suzanne gazing at his crotch, his cock hardening under her scrutiny, pressing against the red silk, straining upward. . .

“Coffee’s on,” Caitlin called from the door. He darted his chair under the desk again. “Thanks, I’ll get some in a while.”

She shook her head. “You are definitely working too hard.”

She disappeared from his doorway.

He spent the day feeling self-conscious. He had never, outside of a sexual situation, been so aware of his genitals. The silk was both seduction and torture. He felt like a different man than the usual work-day Jaxon Navarre. He was Suzanne’s lover; the silken caress was a constant reminder. The office cleared out early, it being Friday. He went out to pick up a Mexican chicken wrap for dinner, collected a Coke from the fridge in the kitchen, then went into his office and closed the door. Finally, he could relax. He took a couple of bites of his takeout meal, then a long swallow of cold pop. Leaning back, he rotated his neck, imagining Suzanne’s touch. Then he glanced down at his lap.

If she was here, she’d run her finger along the fabric that covered his cock. He did it himself, and the bulge grew bigger. Then he unzipped his fly to a dazzle of red. He studied the garment that had been tormenting him all day. 

He reached down to cup his balls through the silk, then slid his hand farther, to hold his cock, to feel it harden and try to lift. He eased it free from his pant leg and caressed it lightly, making the silk slip and slide across his engorged flesh. No. This was for later. To share with Suzanne. He withdrew his hand and forced his zipper closed. For now, he would finish his quick meal and do another few hours of work. Then he’d phone and collect his reward.

“Time to head home,” Suzanne told her dad, drying the popcorn bowl and hanging up the dish towel. She’d accepted her parents’ invitation for spaghetti dinner and a video with her niece and nephew, who, because it was Friday night, were sleeping over.

“Don’t want to take your turn with a bedtime story?” her father asked. Her mom had already taken the kids up, while she and her dad tidied the house.

“Next time.” Normally, she’d love to, but Jaxon would be calling, and she wanted time to shower and get in the mood. She hugged her dad and went down the back steps. The dusky garden smelled of roses and Melody and Zorro were at the door to welcome her, but she barely noticed. Her mind was full of Jaxon.

Tonight they’d have phone sex, and her body was already humming with anticipation. But last night had been amazing too. They’d talked like real friends, and had figured out how to disagree without fighting. No sexy play, yet she’d felt a warm glow of connection.

Should she be scared? Her excitement dimmed a little, thinking of Rina’s and Ann’s concern that she’d get hurt. But she could handle this, and guard her heart. It wasn’t like she was hoping Jaxon would change. He’d made it clear that wasn’t in the cards.

Definitely not Mr. Cleaver. But for this stage in her life, he was great.

In her apartment, she took a luxurious shower, then slipped into the jade silk robe he’d given her. Under it, she wore only a black thong. These sexy undies took a little getting used to, but she liked the erotic sensation of the silk robe brushing against her bare backside. Is this what Jaxon had felt all day, in the boxers? Or had he been so involved in work he’d forgotten he was wearing them?

She poured a glass of wine, lit a few candles, then closed the cats in the bedroom and settled on the couch. When the phone rang, she grabbed it eagerly. “Jaxon?”

“Suzanne.”

“I love the way you say my name. I love your voice.”

“My voice?”

“Mmm, it’s so masculine. Like dark chocolate, all rich and sinful, with just a hint of something spicy. That’s it, you’re chocolate-covered ginger.”

“You like chocolate ginger?”

“Very much.”

“Like putting it in your mouth and sucking on it?”

Aroused already, she gave a choky laugh. “As you well know.”

“Oh yeah.”

She tried to picture him. “Where are you? Still at the office?”

“I’m predictable.”

Yes. But he was her friend and lover, not her future mate, and she’d try to be understanding. “How was your day?”

“You haven’t asked if I’m wearing the boxers.”

“Oh!” It hadn’t occurred to her that he wouldn’t. “You are, aren’t you?”

“I am. And it’s made for one weird day.”

“You felt really uncomfortable? I’m sorry, that’s not what I wanted.”