Headfirst Falling Read online

  He laughs, soft and low. “Why do I feel like I’m in the sixth grade again?”

  “Hopefully it’s because you’re as nervous as I am.”

  “I’m nervous,” he admits, brushing his thumb across the back of my knuckles.

  “Good.”

  He raises a brow. “Good?”

  I laugh. “You know what I mean.”

  He squeezes my hand. “I love that sound.”

  “What sound?”

  His eyes drop to my mouth. “Your laugh.”

  His intense gaze is sending my heart rate into overdrive. I blink a few times to break my own stare and divert my eyes. He touches my chin with his fingers, tilting my face up. “Tell me I can kiss you,” he says, searching my face for some sign of protest.

  My lashes lower. “Kiss m—”

  His mouth covers mine before I finish. The kiss is slow and sweet. He trails his tongue across the seam of my lips, and I part them. I don’t want the kiss to end—ever. But he pulls away after a few teasing sweeps of his tongue.

  “What about that?” he asks, leaning in to press his lips to mine one more time. “Was that okay?”

  I touch my lips because they’re tingling. “More than okay.” More than more than okay, really.

  * * *

  We walk hand in hand along the sidewalk, beneath the streetlights.

  “I had a wonderful time tonight.”

  He looks down at me with a wide grin. “I’m glad. It’s not over yet, though. We haven’t had dessert.”

  “What are we having?” The wine is making a part of me brave, and my first thought is that I want dessert to be him.

  “You’ll see,” he says, dropping an arm over my shoulder and pulling me closer as a guy in a tie-dyed shirt speeds by on a skateboard.

  He walks with his arm around me for a couple blocks. Then we stop and he steers me across the street toward an ice cream shop.

  He holds the door open and gestures for me to go first. “Your favorite when we were kids, I believe.”

  You’d think I was seven by the excited leap my heart does in my chest. “Yes! Still my favorite.” I run my hand along the ice cream stickers covering the railing leading up to the counter. “Do you remember the flavor?”

  He doesn’t have to think about his answer. “Vanilla and strawberry.”

  I arch one of my brows. “Mixed?”

  “Of course not. It’s a tie,” he says. “You can’t mix them because that’s an entirely new flavor. And I hate that flavor.” By the time he’s finished, his voice is high and he’s talking like an annoying girl, quoting word for word the ice-cream-obsessed nut I was as a kid.

  I shake my head in disbelief. “I’m impressed.”

  When we reach the front, a pink-cheeked man greets us. “What can I get for the lovely couple?”

  “Vanilla for me,” Jackson answers.

  They both look to me, and the man behind the counter raises his bushy gray eyebrows and grins. “And for the lady?”

  My mouth is going to be on Jackson’s mouth again before this night is over, and since ice creams flavors shouldn’t be mixed I say, “Vanilla, please.”

  * * *

  From the ice cream shop, we find our way to a small park. It’s quiet, and we walk along the gravel path beneath towering oaks, eating ice cream.

  “You’re cute,” Jackson says as I take the plastic spoon out of my mouth and jab it back into my cup of frozen vanilla.

  My brow creases as I frown. “Cute?”

  He stops on the path and turns to face me. There’s a smile plucking at the corners of his lips. “Yeah. You look cute eating your ice cream, almost like you’re a kid again.”

  I tilt my head to the side. “So you think I’m cute?”

  His face is indifferent, but his eyes are smiling. “Something like that.”

  I shrug and toss my ice cream into a nearby bin. “Cute like a puppy or cute like your grandma’s Christmas sweaters?”

  He does the same with his, pretending to mull my question over as he walks back over from the bin. “What kind of puppy?”

  I take one big, slow step closer to him. “Does it matter?”

  He’s watching me, waiting to see what I’ll do next. “What do you think?”

  I shake my head and take two strides toward him. “Are you always this difficult?”

  His eyebrows lift slowly like he’s challenging me. “Are you always this cute?”

  Our bodies are only a breath apart now. “Do you always ask such stupid questions?”

  His eyes drift to my lips and his voice drops, low and deliciously rough. “Do you always answer questions with questions?”

  I lean in and press my palms to his chest. His mouth is close—kissably close. And the tension is so strong that I can’t stand it another second. I slide my hands up until they’re laced behind his neck and pull his lips down to mine.

  He tastes like ice cream, and his entire body is warm. His hands drift down to my waist and then back up, threading into my hair. I initiated this kiss but he’s the one who finishes it, and when he pulls always and kisses the tip of my nose, I’m so kiss-drunk that I’m wobbling on my feet.

  My face is between his hands and he’s staring into my eyes like he’s going to say something really serious. “I can’t believe you wasted all of that ice cream,” he whispers.

  I laugh and push him away. “Shut up.”

  We start back down the path, and he twines his fingers with mine as we take the first few steps. I don’t give the scoop of wasted ice cream that my seven-year-old self would weep over another thought. I’ve got a new favorite dessert—and it’s Jackson.

  * * *

  My nerves are completely haywire by the time we get to my house, and by the time we’re halfway up the drive my heart is pounding in my chest like a loud drum. When we finally come to a stop in front of the door, I’m worried it might actually explode in my chest.

  He brushes a strand of stray hair from my face and smiles. “I had a great time tonight. I hope we can do it again soon?”

  “Me too.” Invite him in!

  He leans in and presses his lips to mine, sighing as he pulls away.

  I bite my lip.

  He tugs my chin, and I release it. “I thought I told you to stop doing that.” Without realizing it, I bite it again.

  He groans and pulls me to him by the hips. Then his mouth covers mine and his tongue slips between my lips, persistent and in control. All the blood in my body rushes to my face, making my head spin. He steps forward, taking me with him, pressing my back against the door.

  When he pulls away the break is fast, sudden—like a snap. One that gives me chest pain.

  “I don’t want this to end, but I’m trying to be a gentleman.” His eyes are intense, and I couldn’t care less if he wants to be a gentleman. I drag my teeth across my bottom lip.

  His eyes roam across my face, settling on my mouth. “Fuck it,” he growls, lunging for me and backing me against the door again. He wraps his hand in the hair at the nape of my neck and pulls, lifting my face to his. Then his lips crash down to mine. I moan, and he takes full advantage, slipping his tongue between my lips.

  With one hand he cradles my head while the other roams across my skin—up my bare arm, across my collarbone, down my chest. He squeezes the spot just below my breasts, his hand on my rib cage.

  His mouth leaves mine and his lips trail along my neck. “I have to go,” he says, breath ragged as his teeth graze my earlobe. “Or I’m not going.”

  This is the moment I say stay. But just as I open my mouth to do so, he takes an agonizing step away from me. Stay. Kiss me. Don’t leave.

  Kiss me! I demand inwardly.

  He takes another step back.

&n
bsp; No!

  He plants a soft kiss on my forehead, the tip of my nose and finally my lips, not letting our bodies touch. “Good night.”

  “Good night,” I breathe, finally letting out the air I’ve been holding in my lungs.

  He strides toward his car, not once turning back to look at me. Once again I’m left wanting, needing, yearning for more.

  Chapter Nine

  I spend the next morning in my bed, watching Discovery Channel and reading. It’s almost noon when Taylor pokes her head into my room, grinning like she has a secret.

  “Your crazy boyfriend is out front mowing our lawn.” She strolls into my room with a half-eaten apple and goes straight to the window. “You probably need to go make him put his shirt back on before Mrs. Alford across the street has a coronary.”

  I shut my book and launch myself off my bed. “What?”

  “He’s been out there for a good half hour now,” she says.

  I’m at the window so fast, it makes her giggle. And sure enough, Jackson’s there, walking back and forth across our front lawn, pushing the lawn mower with ease. His torso is covered in sweat, and he’s literally glistening in the sunlight. His skin is tan and his muscles are bulging—I might be drooling. Who knew watching a man do yard work could be such a turn-on? Taylor has every right to be worried about Mrs. Alford’s health.

  “I have to go out there, right?” I turn to face Taylor, and her calm demeanor makes me want to shake her. “How do I look? Wait. I don’t think it’s a good idea. Or is it? How messed up is my hair? Oh my God.” The words scramble from my mouth like they’re scared.

  She holds up her hand to stop me. “Pull it together, you psycho.”

  “Okay, okay.” I take a deep breath and shake out my hands. “What should I do?”

  She waves her apple through the air. “Go outside, obviously. Take him something to drink.”

  “Right, something to drink. Good idea.” I nod and head for my bedroom door.

  “Wait,” she says, stopping me in my tracks.

  I spin back around to face her.

  “Change your shirt first.” She disappears into my closet and flings me something to wear moments later.

  I slip my T-shirt over my head and replace it with the thin, patterned tank top. Much better, I decide, looking down at myself as I head for the kitchen.

  “Water or lemonade?” I shout once I’ve got the refrigerator open.

  “Bourbon,” she shouts back.

  “Taylor!”

  “Lemonade.” She laughs, sauntering in from the hallway, apple still in hand.

  I retrieve a glass from the cabinet, fill it with ice and pour lemonade over it. “Here I go,” I announce.

  “Good luck,” she calls, tossing a strand of her glossy blond hair over her shoulder.

  Jackson stops the lawn mower when he sees me. His wide, boyish grin is electric. “Surprise.”

  “You shouldn’t have,” I say, handing him the glass. “But I’m glad you’re here.” Then my eyes go straight to his ridiculous abs. Seriously, how am I supposed to think straight with something this glorious in front of me?

  He looks at the grass and wrinkles his nose. “It needed it.” It’s Taylor’s turn to mow, so it’s overgrown by four inches. Our neighbors probably hate us. “And it gave me an excuse to see you,” he says, leaning down to kiss me. His lips are salty, and he tastes like mint. He lifts the glass to his lips and downs half of the lemonade, and my gaze drifts right back down to his chest.

  “Charlie?” He’s smirking at me when I look back up. I’m just as bad as Mrs. Alford, who’s on her porch in her rocking chair, staring without shame. I wave at her, and she nods back, smiling with satisfaction.

  I keep my eyes trained on his. “You really don’t have to do this. I would hate to see our sweet, old neighbor go into cardiac arrest. Her five cats depend on her.”

  He grins and runs his hand across his bare chest, wiping away a few beads of sweat. The simple gesture sends my mind straight to a place it shouldn’t be, and I doubt he even realizes it. Watching him do it makes me worry about the health of every single female on this planet. “I want to,” he says. “I’ll promise to keep an eye on Sue—I’m CPR certified. And she has six cats. Not five. I met them about an hour ago.”

  Unbelievable. I laugh and shake my head. “Can I at least help with anything?”

  “No.” He puts his hands on my shoulders and turns me back toward the house. “Go back inside. Your legs are distracting as hell in those shorts.”

  There’s no way he misses the flush that flames my neck as I head back into the house.

  * * *

  Taylor and I stand at the window and gawk as Jackson finishes the front yard and moves to the back. “This is the best day ever,” she says, grinning. And I can’t argue. I could get used to this.

  When Devin walks through the front door and shuts it behind him, his eyes narrow like he expects us to be doing something bad. “What are y’all doing?”

  “Watching Jackson,” she answers without shame. “He doesn’t have a shirt on.”

  “You’re both ridiculous.” He shakes his head, but he’s grinning. “Why aren’t you helping?”

  “We are not,” she protests. “And we aren’t helping because we never do yard work on Saturdays.”

  “You don’t do yard work on any day,” he points out, heading for the door.

  “Don’t forget to take your shirt off,” she shouts just as he steps outside, her smile mischievous.

  Devin crosses the yard and he and Jackson do the whole bro-tap back-slap thing that only guys do. Then he retrieves the weed eater from the shed and goes to work.

  My cell phone rings and I tear my eyes away from the window long enough to glance at the screen. It’s my dad. “Hey, Dad.”

  “Afternoon, cook!” I can hear the grin in his voice. I’m sure he’s kicked back in his recliner, eating potato chips from the bag and watching ESPN.

  I spin away from the window and lean back against the counter. “What’s up?”

  “I just wanted to let you know that Billy and I are cookin’ at the house tomorrow if you wanna come over.”

  “Yeah,” I reply. “That sounds fun. What time?”

  “Oh, I dunno.” He pauses and I hear the television in the background. “Anything around three or four would be good.”

  “I’ll be there then. Should I bring anything?”

  “Just your friends,” he says. “We’ll have plenty of food.”

  “Sure thing, Dad. Love you.”

  “Love you,” he responds, clicking off the line.

  “Who was that?” Taylor asks, her eyes not wavering in the least from Devin as he sheds his shirt.

  “My dad. He’s cooking tomorrow. You wanna come?”

  “Sure,” she agrees without hesitation. “I should bring something, huh?”

  I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t think that’s necessary.” Taylor can’t cook.

  When she turns to me her blue eyes have a wild gleam. “Come on! How fun would that be? I could make something.” She pauses, drumming her fingers on her chin as she thinks. “Like a pie!”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” I protest, but she just keeps talking.

  “An apple pie! It couldn’t be that hard, right? I already have the apples.” She lunges across the kitchen and snatches our only cookbook from the kitchen island.

  You know that feeling you get...the one where you know something bad is about to happen. That’s how I feel about Taylor’s cooking. It’s dangerous for everyone involved. The last time she made something, Devin and I were sick for days. Days. I don’t care if cooking is one of her joys—it isn’t one of her talents.

  She must’ve read my mind. “I know you’re thinking
about the last time I made meat loaf, but this will be different. Pies are easy.”

  “Pies are not easy,” I argue. “Meat loaf is easy. Pies are not.”

  She raises her chin. “I’m going to prove that I can cook.”

  “Why don’t we buy a pie, wrap it in foil and say you made it?” I try leveling with her, worried for everyone’s general health and well-being.

  She gives me a dirty look. “You don’t have much faith, do you, Charlie Day?”

  I raise my palms in surrender and step away. “Whatever you want to do.”

  I’m not eating any of that pie. No chance in hell.

  * * *

  I lie on my bed, flipping the pages of my book without actually reading. A song is crooning from my iPod dock, but I’m not paying attention to that either. Jackson is on his stomach beside me, talking on the phone. It’s about business. Not any with my dad. It must be something with his.

  “Listen, I’ve got to go. Just let me know when it’s finished.” He hangs up and tosses his phone to the other side of the bed. “Sorry.”

  I skip over another page. “It’s cool.” I don’t look at him, because I’m trying to keep the environment between us friendly. But staying in safe territory means I’ll have to ignore the fact that he’s at my house, in my room and on my bed.

  He traces the spine of my book with his index finger. “What are you reading?”

  “Just a story. Fiction.”

  His hand brushes one of mine when he gets to the bottom corner of the cover. “What’s it about?”

  If he notices I’m white-knuckling the book, he doesn’t let on. “Love.”

  He tugs it down and his insanely blue eyes pop into my direct line of sight. “You’re reading about love?”

  I shrug, embarrassed.

  His gaze drops to my lips, and my stomach does a nervous flip. “Why are you biting your lip?”

  I’m quick to release it, but the familiar, intense charge his presence brings is already in the room. “Are we going to start answering questions with questions again?”

  His lips slant into a half smile. “I don’t know, are we?”

  “No.” I grab his T-shirt and tug him down to me. Then I kiss him until we’re both in a frenzy.