AJ’s Fire (Hampstead Valley #3)

Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Jackson

I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Well, it and him , but that last part was nothing new. We rode to Long Island on Thanksgiving morning, Emily in the driver’s seat and me half asleep and humming along to some truly terrible pop music until I asked, “Do you think it’s too early to check in on AJ? I don’t want to wake him.”

“From the way you’ve described his family, it doesn’t sound like anyone gets much sleep in that house?”

“I’ve met his niece, so … yeah, you’re right about that.”

Then I texted him. And then AJ started talking about blow jobs. Okay, AJ and I talked about sex a lot , or at least we used to. So it most certainly wasn’t the first time we’d talked about or typed the words “blow job” into our text chain. A drunk AJ once even threatened to send me a picture of some girl on her knees for him, with her consent of course, but I put a stop to that. I searched for that text from a few years back.

Probie: I see enough of you naked in the showers at the fire hall. DO NOT send me a dick pic!

But his text that Thursday morning woke me right the fuck up. I sat up quickly in my luxury leather seat, locking the seat belt in place. As I was unbuckling and re-buckling myself in, Emily took a quick peek my way.

“You all right over there?”

“Eyes on the road!”

“I’m fine. It’s fine. What did he say?”

“I … Emily. Should we be talking about him? I mean, you want to date him, right?”

“I want to be his date for New Year’s Eve. There’s a difference.”

“You’re being cryptic.”

“Intentionally so. I may also be a meddling fool, so out with it.”

I looked at Emily long and hard.

A snippet on the news quoting the White House press secretary ended, and Emily pointed to the car’s sound system controls.

“Just consider me like President Fisher’s press secretary. Thank You. I will not be taking further questions at this time .”

“Okay.” I couldn’t help myself. I was actually dying to tell her. I turned in my seat to face her more fully, and instinctively, Emily’s head turned too.

“Eyes on the road!”

“Oh my God, Jackson. It’s fine! Spill.”

“He’s talking about BJs.”

“I thought you guys shared war stories all the time about your hookups. Surely you’ve talked about blowjobs before? And wait, you’re excited about some girl blowing him? Also, he just got out of the fucking hospital and drove to the middle of nowhere in Upstate New York. Did he hook up last night? Damn, that guy really is a player.”

“Emily. Are you finished?”

“I will take no further questions.” She glanced my way quickly and snapped her head back before I could yell at her again. Waving a hand at me, she said, “Continue.”

“I asked him how he was feeling, and he said his throat felt like he’d sucked a dick.”

“Okay?”

“What kind of straight dude talks about sucking dick?”

“You may have a point. Maybe. He’s feeling okay, though? Enjoying his time at home?”

“Says he’s fine other than the sore throat. Ems?”

“Yeah, Jax?”

“I deleted the app again. That night, at the bar. It kept buzzing and distracting me. Distracting AJ!”

“Aw, sweetie. You’ll know when you're ready.” She patted my thigh, looking at me sympathetically, requiring me to once more remind her where her eyes were meant to be.

We chatted the rest of the way to the beach, and I kept up my text chain with AJ throughout the weekend. I heard about his niece, a game of touch football, and even a play-by-play of a suggestive card game he’d participated in with his siblings on Saturday after his niece had been put to bed. I laughed along with AJ that evening and realized just how much I missed spending time with my best friend.

I sent selfies of me out golfing with my parents and of the sunrise over the beach, and driving back on Saturday, I suggested that we go out like we used to the following week. I needed my best friend back. I would just have to figure out how to get over him. Getting over the image of him sucking a dick was going to be more difficult.

I put Guys4Guys back on my phone, though it took me a few days before I added back that picture of my torso.

Coffee Trainer: Gotta take the kiddo to dance lessons. Meet later?

In the past that would have been the point where I would pick a place, and AJ and I would meet after he’d dropped his niece back at home.

Probie: Lessons are at the Y, right? I can meet you there. I love the food at that little Thai place near your brother’s. We could eat after we drop her off? Decide from there where to go.

AJ met me outside at the Y.

“Hey, you didn’t have to come so early. Her lesson just started.”

“No worries. Do we just hang out here and wait for her?”

“No! We wait inside. With all the moms.” AJ waggled his brows.

“Oh, now I get it!”

“Get what? I love my niece and love being able to help my brother out. Oh! He’s gonna join us on New Year’s Eve.”

“Great,” I said noncommittally. It felt like Guys4Guys was burning a hole in my pocket.

AJ held the door open for me. “Dude,” he said seriously. “You have to promise not to laugh in here. Seven-year-old ballet can be really intense.” I laughed, but AJ just kept up a serious stare.

“Noted.” I nodded in assurance.

As we walked down the hall, AJ kept up the conversation. “So, New Year’s Eve. You and Ruth are a nonstarter, huh? Who are you going to bring?”

Though Emily hadn’t come out and said it, I think she thought I would use New Year’s Eve as an opportunity to come out to AJ, to bring a guy. Thanksgiving was over, and I hadn’t even worked up the nerve to chat with one guy anonymously on my phone. An image of sand draining through an hourglass mocked me from behind my eyes as I closed them and sighed.

When I opened them, AJ’s look warmed my heart, his concern for me obvious in his stare. Reining in my sighs was definitely on my list of things I’d have to do if I wanted to go back to hanging out with AJ.

“Keeping my options open, bro. Any hot moms?” I asked right as AJ opened the door to the dance studio, where any number of moms were sitting around the room, watching the kids practice until that very moment, when it felt like all eyes were on me.

“Dude!” I whispered.

“Sorry,” he whispered back.

Vera was focused on her steps, and AJ watched her like a hawk, proud and anxious. I watched him. I’d spent time around him and Vera before, and I loved getting to see that side of him. Family man, protector, guardian. It certainly wasn’t how he acted when we went out together.

While the kids tried to perfect a jump, I elbowed AJ in the ribs. “She’s got this, dude. She’s doing great.”

“She takes it so seriously,” he whispered back. “Vee’s mom … Well, Anna wasn’t into this kind of stuff when we were little.” He waved his hand at the class. “But boy, did Anna take shit seriously. I’m always reminded of her when I’m here.”

“You guys grew up together, right?

“Yeah, I’ve known her and Rose since I was like, seven. It fucking sucks, man. But hey! Jamie’s going out with us again on New Year’s Eve. It should be fun. So what’s the deal? You bringing a date, or planning to play the field that night?”

“I … I don’t know.”

AJ started to look around the room as if to pick out a date for me. I punched him in the arm, garnering us a few angry looks. We sat quietly and behaved for the rest of the lesson.

After dropping Vera off with her dad, we went for dinner at a hole-in-the-wall Thai restaurant on Jamie’s block. We were seated at a table so small our knees knocked as we chatted from opposite sides.

“Where should we go tonight?” AJ asked.

“I might …”

“I’m gonna stop you right there! You never want to go out anymore!” AJ leaned in close as if he could ferret out understanding from behind my eyes. The table was so small that the move put us mere inches apart.

“What the fuck color are your eyes, bro?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s what you want to ask me? They’re hazel.”

“They have like green and brown.” His face was so close as he explored my face, his legs sliding even closer so that our inner thighs touched. It was equal parts exciting and uncomfortable. “And is that orange? I guess I’ve never really …” He trailed off and kept searching my eyes. “I don’t even know how to describe them, bro.”

“You literally just did. And what you described was hazel.”

He ignored me as he pulled out his phone. “Can I take a picture of them to send to my dad?”

“Your dad?” I laughed.

“My dad, the poet. Fucking sonnets should be written about those eyes.”

There wasn’t a hint of romance in his tone. He’d leaned back and was holding a beer bottle pre-sip as he said it; running his fingers through his always slightly too-long hair. Our legs separated while my heart grabbed that sentence and wrapped itself up in it anyway.

I watched him sip his drink, imagining him whispering in my ear about my eyes instead. It did very funny things to my cock.

“What?” He’d caught me looking.

I shrugged. “Just tryin’ to find something to compliment you about.”

He spread his arms wide. “What’cha got?”

“I …” You’re beautiful. You’re fun. I love the way you love your niece and the way you complain about the rest of your family even though you have the same look in your eyes then as when you talk about Vera. I love when we joke and when we stumble home together. I love how we don’t need to talk when we work because we’re so in sync. I love the way the corners of your eyes crinkle when you smile because I love to see you happy.

“Your hair’s alright. Brown. Like the bark of a tree. Quick, write that down! Send it to Professor Gordon!”

“Dumbass.” He paused and looked at my eyes again like he really was taking notes on them. He narrowed his own before continuing. “I see what you’re doing.” Holy fuck, what could he see? I sat up straight and double-checked that my phone was face down on the table since I’d downloaded that fucking app again, with silenced notifications.

“What am I doing?” I tried to be nonchalant in my ask.

“You're distracting me from asking you what’s been up with you lately.”

“You are such a dumbass! It’s one hundred percent you that got distracted by my poetry-worthy eyes.”

“Oh, yeah. I guess so,” he admitted, then he just stared at me.

“Fine! Okay.” I huffed. “We’re doing this?”

“I worry about you, bro. I thought at first that maybe you were seeing Emily and didn’t … I don’t know, like, didn’t want to disappoint me or something.”

“Disappoint you?”

“Like, how you don’t want to be my wingman anymore. Are you seeing someone? Is that why you stopped hooking up? Stopped going out with me?”

“No, there’s no one. But lately, I have been feeling like maybe I want more.” It was tough not being honest with AJ; we pretty much had no boundaries in the things we talked about. Yet there was no way I could tell him I didn’t want to hang out with him because I was pretty sure I was in love with him, and because it had become too hard to see him with other people.

He waited patiently while I processed my thoughts, another trait I loved about him and another thing that was not helping my little crush. I landed on a version of the truth.

“I had, maybe have, a little crush on someone.” He opened his mouth, and I shook my head no. “Trust me, it doesn’t matter who, because they for sure don’t feel the same way. But the crush, it made me realize some things, like why I was hooking up so much, and why I maybe don’t want to anymore.”

We spoke over each other, but AJ let me finish.

“You could have …”

“I should have … Yeah. I should have told you. You’re my best friend, and I’ve missed hanging out with you.”

“You’re a good wingman, but you're my best friend. If it’s dinner and dance lessons, or real dates for New Year’s Eve, I’m there for you, bro. Bro code.”

“A real date,” I ruminated. I could feel my pulse quicken. “So you think, you and Emily?”

AJ looked like he was giving it some thought. “You know, I always thought this all started when she moved to town. It’s not her, is it, Jax? Did you profess your love to your best friend”—my eyes went wide—“high school edition and get turned down? Why am I going out with her, Jax? What’s going on?”

“I don’t begin to understand what’s going on with Ems. But I promise you, it’s not her.”

“Is it Nina, or Rose, oh! Or Casey from Lucy's Taphouse?”

“Okay, Aje, now you’re just naming women.”

“Ruth? Is it the cousin? Ohhh, am I going to be witness to a dramatic cousin’s love triangle on New Year’s Eve?”

“Your dad needs to write a poem called ‘Dumbass,’ because you’ve turned that trait into an art form, and it should be documented and celebrated.”