A Gentleman for Christmas Page 2

  I snatch them from his hand. “I was looking for my toothbrush.”

  “Those could be dental floss, maybe,” he snickers.

  I’m really in no mood, and the look I give him tells him so. Unfazed, he holds out a cute little travel pack with a toothbrush and toothpaste inside that I know he must’ve just purchased from the airport store. I’m officially a bitch.

  “I rinsed off your shoes,” he says, holding them up. “The laces are still wet, but . . .” he shrugs a little.

  I thank him, grateful for his thoughtfulness, but thoughts work both ways, and while he’s being sweet now, my mind won’t ever forget watching him dancing with that other girl, a huge, cocky grin on his face. The male species just sucks!

  *

  It’s a good forty minutes from the Pensacola airport to the town of Waterscape. So after I got myself together at the airport, I put on my sunglasses and settle in for the drive, resting my head on the window, my subtle hint to Jax that I don’t want to talk. My seatmate on the airplane hadn’t gotten the hint and blabbed the whole flight. I think he was afraid of flying and talking made him feel better, so I humored him, but I really just wanted peace and quiet.

  Lightly, I play with the petals on the flowers Jax brought me. The same ones he sends me on my birthday every year—Irises. Growing up, our moms always had them in our yards, both of them sharing a love of gardening. It’s sweet that he always remembers, but I never understood why he sends them. We aren’t nearly as close as we used to be.

  The ones he sent me this year were still on the coffee table in my apartment when I left. My birthday was a few weeks ago, but for some reason, I was unable to throw them out this year. Maybe it was because I broke things off with Luke on my birthday and wanted something nice to look at. Maybe it was because I didn’t know when I’d get flowers from a man again. Who knows? But now I have fresh ones sitting in my lap.

  “Have you talked to your mom?” Jax asks. “Does she know you are coming in?”

  I shake my head. My parents were older when they had me, and my dad passed away when I was in college. I didn’t know it at the time, but my mom had been diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. She lives in an assisted living center now. She’s still one of the youngest people there, but they have skilled nurses that can help her when she needs it. It’s a nice place, more like a country club, but I hate that I’m so far away. It’s another reason why I come back as much as I can.

  “I saw her last week,” Jax says. “She looked good.”

  She told me he stopped by. He stops by to visit with her at least once a week. His mom wasn’t exactly a typical mom. She partied a lot, dated a lot. She’s a sweet lady, and I love her, but she is always searching for love in all the wrong places. Currently, she’s searching for it in Alaska. Jax was always close to my parents. My parents helped his mom out with him while she worked, and she returned the favor when they needed help with me. Still, I think Jax thinks of my mom as a surrogate mom.

  “I don’t want her to worry,” I say. “I’m going to make my visit like I’m surprising her.”

  “Always the trooper,” he says, looking over and flashing me a smile.

  “I’m fine,” I lie. “I was just airsick.”

  “Okay,” he says, letting me get away with my little fib. “Here we are.”

  I look up as he waves to the security guard at the gate, who recognizes him. Following the rounding road through the same neighborhood where Malcolm and Maci grew up, every house looks like it comes out of a magazine, all dressed up for Christmas. Some in red and white, others green and gold, still others in ice blue, but all of them perfect. I remember thinking when I was younger that this is where the perfect people lived. Didn’t take me long to figure out that what my parents had was perfect, and this was all just window dressing.

  We park in front of Maci and Malcolm’s house. We used to call them M&M’s in high school. Between their names and their level of sweetness with each other, it was fitting. Maci works with me and stays at home with her kids, and Malcolm is some sort of computer wizard IT guy. Until very recently, I didn’t even realize that IT stands for Information Technology, so you can guess how much I know about his job. All I know is that he gets paid big bucks by big companies to do something on the computer, and that he works from home.

  Their house is a two-story colonial decorated with red and green wreaths and plastic candy canes lining the path to their front door. It’s just a few streets away from where Maci and Malcolm’s parents still live. Built-in babysitters, Maci calls them.

  Jax opens his car door, starting to walk around to get mine, as I see Maci step outside the house. Not waiting for Jax, I fling open the car door. I’m anxious to get one of her huge hugs, only she holds her hands up, a medical mask covering her face.

  “I may be covered in stomach flu germs,” she says.

  That doesn’t stop me for a moment, and before I know it, we have each other wrapped in a hug, her bright red hair mixing with my brown like we are one person. Jax, on the other hand, keeps his distance, and I’m not sure if it’s because of the germs or because he wants to give me some privacy.

  “How are the kids?” I ask, pulling back to get a look at her. Her skin is as pale as mine, only she’s got freckles that I always thought were adorable, but she hates them. Maybe that’s why we were such fast friends. Pigment-challenged people have to stick together.

  She shrugs. “They’re bad, but now Malcolm has it, too.” She flashes a look to Jax, and he steps a little closer. “Skylar, you know you are welcome here anytime, and I want you to stay, but I don’t want you to get sick.”

  I usually stay here when I come into town. My mom isn’t allowed overnight guests at the assisted living center. I’ve got nowhere else to go, but the last thing I need is to get sick. I’ve already thrown up once today.

  “I feel like such a crap friend,” she says. “I insisted you come here. I know you need some girl time, and I’m just . . .” she trails off as she flicks the fabric of her stained shirt.

  “It’s okay. I’m sure I can find a hotel.”

  Again, her eyes go to Jax. No, don’t even think it.

  “She can stay with me,” he says.

  “No,” I blurt out. “I’ll find a hotel.”

  “I called around,” Maci says. “It’s the holidays. Things are booked up or super expensive.”

  I glance back at Jax then give Maci the evil eye. “There has to be something.”

  “There’s Jax,” she whispers. “Just for a few days until everyone is better, then you can come stay here.”

  *

  From the front seat of Jax’s car, I watch Maci giving him instructions like she’s leaving her kids with a new babysitter, only I know she’s talking about me. Maybe I should’ve stayed in Chicago, it might’ve been less torturous than having to stay with Jax. I left one man who broke my heart to go stay with the original heartbreaker. Fabulous!

  Maci hands Jax a bag, and he peeks inside before glancing over his shoulder at me waiting. He turns and starts walking toward his car. Jax has money now, but you wouldn’t know it by his car. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a nice luxury SUV, which I’m sure carries a hefty price tag, but you’d think a young bachelor with his money would be driving around in something to attract women, not something that you might find in a school carpool lane. Granted, it might be the most expensive thing in the carpool lane, but still.

  Hopping in the car, he hands me the bag. “Maci says this is the essential breakup kit.”

  I peek inside finding wine, whiskey, ice cream, nail polish, and drug store facial masks. God, I love her.

  “There it is,” Jax says, motioning to my face. “The dimple.”

  I try not to, but feel my smile grow. It’s short-lived when I hear my cell phone ringing out from my purse. Luke again. Forcefully, I hit the decline button and snap, “Isn’t there some rule about how many times you should call your ex?”

  “Depends,” he says.

&
nbsp; “On what?” I ask.

  “If you truly believe she’s the one.”

  His blue eyes catch mine. “Luke doesn’t think I’m the love of his life. Trust me.”

  “Luke has been in love with you since we were twelve,” he says, putting the car in drive.

  “I don’t want to talk about him,” I say. The phone rings again. “I just want him to stop calling me.”

  “Give me your phone,” he says, shifting the car back to park. I just stare at him. He holds his hand out. The next ring seals the deal, and I hand it to him. He punches a few buttons then hands it back to me. “He’s blocked.”

  “You blocked his number?” I cry out.

  “You don’t want to hear from him, right?” he asks. Suddenly, I feel confused. “Or maybe you like knowing he’s calling? That he’s missing you.”

  “No,” I say, needing his barrage of calls to stop. “I’m through with him.”

  “You’re sure?” he asks.

  I’m very sure and feel myself smile again. “I can’t believe you blocked your friend.”

  “Guess this means I’m on your side,” he says with a chuckle, starting to drive.

  “No, Jax,” I cry and reach out to touch his arm. As soon as my fingers feel the hard muscles, I snap back. “I don’t want this to affect your friendship with him. I told Maci and Malcolm the same thing. I’m not sure how this will all work out, but I don’t want you guys to have to take sides. No team Luke, team Skylar.”

  His head shakes. “How about you don’t worry about everyone else and focus on yourself for a few days?”

  “I’m really . . .”

  “Yeah, I know you’re fine,” he teases me. “Christmas is a less than a week away. Give this gift to yourself. We’ll make it Skylar’s Christmas week.”

  “That’s not necessary,” I say. “You don’t need to babysit me. I know you’re probably working on some deadline.”

  He shrugs. “I’ve got a seminar tomorrow night, but that’s it until after the New Year. My mission this week is you.”

  “Jax,” I whisper, feeling my throat tightening up.

  “I know,” he says, his hand landing on mine. “You’re fine.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  JAX

  I’ve got no idea what went down between Skylar and Luke, and I’m not going to ask. Even though Skylar and I haven’t been as close as we once were, I know her. She’ll only tell me when she’s ready.

  I never thought Skylar and I would sleep under the same roof again. When we were kids, we had “sleepovers” all the time. Then as teenagers, I used to climb out my window, traverse the roof’s edge, and sneak into her bedroom. More often than not, we fell asleep with me on her floor. Nothing ever happened between us. Nothing except talking for hours, laughing together, sharing everything with each other.

  It’s funny how sometimes nothing means everything.

  Those nights in her room were the best part of my day—better than football practice, hanging with the guys, making out with other girls. Doing “nothing” with Skylar was what I lived for back then. I’ve got a chance to get a little of that back, and I’m not about to blow it.

  She rolls the car window down as soon as we get close to the beach. I look over at her, the wind whipping her hair around like a leaf caught in a breeze. Her eyes are closed, and her full pink lips have the slightest hint of a smile, like she knows a secret.

  I hit the button in my car that activates my garage door, and that brings Skylar back to the present. As I pull inside, she leans out, trying to catch a glimpse of the outside of the house. “I always did love this house,” she says.

  I just smile, knowing it was her favorite. I know all her favorites—movies, songs, cereal, color, flower. My house isn’t the biggest on the beach. It isn’t the newest, but all those other houses weren’t loved by Skylar, so when this one came on the market, I didn’t think twice about buying it. No one knows that, not even Skylar.

  “You just moved in, right?”

  “About a month ago. It’s not totally furnished yet,” I say, realizing that I don’t have an extra bed for her, and I doubt she’s going to want to share. Hopping out of the car, Skylar doesn’t wait for me to get her door. I really wish she would. I’m going to have to be quicker.

  Instead, I grab her suitcase, open the door to the house, and lead her inside. From the garage, you enter a mudroom that flows into the kitchen. As soon as you step foot in the kitchen, the view of the water hits you. The kitchen and den are one big space. The walls are white, the floors a gray hardwood, and the stairs leading to the second floor have a clear wall so everything looks open and vast like the view.

  “It’s beautiful, Jax,” she says. “Really beautiful.”

  It is, but I can’t rip my eyes away from her. The water will always be there, but Skylar won’t be. I remind myself that she’s Luke’s Skylar, not mine. Even if they’re broken up, that’s the bro code. That’s what we live by. That’s what kept us friends all these years. We don’t go after each other’s women—ever. I can’t do that to Luke. He’s one of my closest friends. Besides, Skylar’s recovering from a breakup. I won’t be her rebound.

  Not that she’d give me a shot, anyway. I hurt her years ago, and she hasn’t forgotten that. Hurt sticks with a person longer than love does. Skylar and I were never more than friends, but we meant a lot to one another. That all disappeared when I hurt her. One hurt wiped out years of love. How much love will it take to wipe out the hurt?

  I’m the gentleman behind the handbook, but I don’t have a damn clue.

  “Do you think I can just go to sleep?” she asks, her voice soft. She must see the confused look on my face. It’s barely seven o’clock. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  “You don’t want to eat anything?” I ask. “I have strict orders from Maci to not let you be alone too much and to make you eat.”

  “Sleep,” she says. “Please.”

  I cave. I’m a pushover when it comes to her. God help me if she ever figures that out. Taking her bag, I motion toward the stairs. Looking around, she slowly walks up. I’m not going to look at her perfect ass. I’m not. I’m keeping my eyes on the floor.

  “Double doors on the right,” I say.

  She nods a little. I step in front of her so I can get the door. Waiting for her to enter first, she just peeks inside. The view is the same as downstairs. It might even be better from up here. The bed centers the room, and unlike the color scheme downstairs, the wood tones of the furniture are dark, the bedding a gray-blue color.

  “This is your room,” she says, not stepping inside.

  I’m not sure how she can tell that, unless she’s just guessing based on the size. I don’t have any personal photos around, no clothes on the floor to tip her off. I go inside, laying her suitcase down on the bed. “Remember I told you the house wasn’t furnished yet? This is the only bedroom.”

  “I’m not taking your bed,” she says.

  “Yeah, you are,” I say, surprised at the stern tone in my voice.

  “I can just sleep on the sofa,” she says. “I’ll feel guilty if I kick you out of your own bed.”

  “I’ll take the sofa,” I say, grinning at her. “It’s a step up from your bedroom floor.” Her blue eyes soften. She remembers those nights, too, and she remembers them fondly. If I want to mend things with her, I need to keep reminding her of what we shared. “And I won’t have to listen to you snore.”

  She breaks into a full-on laugh. The first one I’ve seen from her. There is something special about seeing a woman you care about happy. It’s the most addictive experience.

  Gentleman’s Rule: If hearing her laugh doesn’t make your top ten reasons for living, then you probably shouldn’t be with her.

  She yawns through her laugh, and I ask, “You need anything else?”

  She shakes her head, but I’m not ready to leave her. I point out the master bathroom, telling her where the towels are, and then I just stand there like a
moron. I’m around beautiful, sexy women all the time, but none of them make me speechless, render me an idiot. One afternoon with Skylar, and I’m suddenly a mute.

  “Thank you,” she says.

  “Any time,” I say, hating that she thanked me. I mean, it’s sweet she did, and Skylar’s always a grateful person, but I hate the formality of her gratitude. It’s almost like she’s dismissing me. She used to thank me with a hug or a kiss on the cheek. This time I half-expected a handshake, and just when I thought I was getting somewhere.

  *

  It’s been nearly fifteen hours since I’ve seen Skylar, and other than the shower turning on last night, I haven’t heard any noise coming from upstairs. Maybe the house is just so soundproof that I can’t hear her. Should I check on her? Maci’s already called three times. If I don’t put Skylar on the phone next time she calls, she’s liable to come over here and strangle me.

  I’ve got a seminar to give tonight about an hour away in Panama City. Much like a music concert, the outline of the dialogue stays the same, so I don’t really have to do much to prepare other than brush up on my notes, which I did last night. Things can always go off the rails at these things, especially during the question and answer portion, but I’m very quick on my feet. I worked out this morning, ate breakfast. I even put away my pillow and blanket from my night on the sofa. Basically, I’m just waiting for her. It’s as if the day won’t really start until I see Skylar.

  Mostly, I’ve been thinking about what to do while she’s here for the holidays. Christmas in a beach town is a little different than in the rest of the country. Add in that the beach is in the South, and basically any traditional thoughts of snow and hot chocolate go out the window. Still, Waterscape has its own traditions, starting with the bonfire on the beach tonight. Hopefully, I make it back in time so Skylar doesn’t have to watch it solo.

  My cell phone dings with a text.

  Hope I’m not waking you. I couldn’t sleep, so I took a cab to come see my mom. Thanks for the bed last night. C U later, Skylar.