Page 25 of Just One Look

Maverick

“Michael Jackson!”

Sammy’s voice echoes in the air as he hurtles across the grass to Jackson, who, like always, has no clue how to respond to the bundle of energy rocketing toward him.

“Hey, buddy. Glad to see you’re doing better,”

he says, patting the top of Sammy’s head while Sammy clings to his leg. It’s been two weeks since the little dude and Wagner came down with strep throat, but it’s the first time he’s seeing Sammy since then.

I smile apologetically at Jackson, who looks great as always in his work getup of dirty jeans, dirty shirt, and dirty boots. The dirtier he is, the more chances it gives me to get him nice and clean in my shower before planting my seed deep inside him. He’s paid me a visit twice more in the week since our first bathroom encounter, and I’m not mad about it at all.

He’s standing rigid with Sammy plastered to his leg.

“Sorry about that,”

I say to him, then turn my attention to Sammy.

“Remember how we talked about respecting people’s physical boundaries?”

“Oh yeah.”

Sammy leaps off Jackson’s leg like it’s radioactive and raises his rosy cheeks up to him.

“Sorry, Michael Jackson.”

“And enough with the name, kiddo.”

Sammy looks confused.

“But that’s what Dad calls him.”

Another apologetic smile. Sammy’s not the only one with rosy cheeks now.

“That’s because your dad is a shi—never mind. Come here.”

I crouch down, and Sammy approaches me.

“That name is slightly problematic for reasons I’ll explain to you when you’re much older.”

Sammy nods along like he knows exactly what I mean.

“Try this name instead.”

I whisper the name into Sammy’s ear, and he lets out a giggle. “Really?”

“Uh-huh.”

Sammy turns, marches back to Jackson, his arms swinging wildly, and lifts his chin to look up at the guy.

“Hey there…”

He’s even got the dramatic pause down pat.

“Janet Jackson.”

Sammy erupts in more giggles as Jackson shakes his head, grinning, even though I suspect he’d rather not be.

“That’s super dumb,”

he tells me.

“I know,”

I reply with a smile, then stand up.

“Want to join us?”

“Join you?”

“Uncle Kick and I are going on a picnic,”

Sammy exclaims, bouncing on his toes as he shares the news. He lifts his hand to his mouth and whispers while trying to contain his giggles.

“Dad thinks we brought healthy food,”

then starts squealing with laughter.

Jackson glances at the picnic basket I’m holding.

“I take it there’s nothing healthy in there.”

“Do fruit-flavored gummies count?”

“Yikes.”

“Come on. Join us.”

Jackson taps his chin.

“Sure. I’ll come hang out with you guys. I just need to do one thing real quick, and then I’ll be back.”

“No problem.”

I point to a spot not too far past the valley oak tree.

“We’ll meet you there whenever you’re ready.”

Jackson frowns as he follows my gaze but nods anyway.

“Sure thing.”

Sammy and I make our way over to what’s become the little guy’s favorite picnic spot at the sanctuary. As he helps me anchor the corners of the blankets with rocks and set up the portable canopy, I have another chat, reminding him about the importance of respecting people’s physical boundaries. By the time Jackson returns, everything is set up.

“Can I help with anything?” he asks.

Before I can respond, Sammy grabs Jackson’s hand, then quickly pulls it back, remembering our chat, and says.

“You can help me decide.”

Jackson frowns.

“Decide what?”

“What to eat first!”

Sammy leaps over to the picnic basket, reaches his tiny arms inside, and starts hurling snacks into the air. Once they’re all out in a messy jumble on the blanket, he hops from foot to foot, giddy with excitement.

“First, I’m gonna have donuts. Then chocolate chip cookies. No. Wait. I’ve changed my mind. First marshmallows. Then donuts. Then chocolate chip cookies.”

“Sounds like you don’t need any help at all,”

Jackson offers with a smile, and for the first time, I see a bit of Clancy in him. It’s the eyes. Not just that they’re the same color, but they radiate with the same genuine kindness, too. With Clancy, though, there aren’t a million layers concealing it.

Then again, that’s one of the things I like most about Jackson. He’s complicated and hard to read, but I like the challenge. And I like the rewards that come with slowly figuring him out, piece by piece, even more.

Jackson glances my way.

“Do you ever feed him anything healthy?”

“All he eats at home is healthy food. Isn’t that right, kiddo?”

Sammy nods seriously.

“Daddy only cooks healthy food.”

“He’s four and has never had a freaking s’more until this year,”

I say to Jackson.

“If Wagner had his way, he’d only eat food he makes. I understand being an overprotective dad, but come on, the dude has to live a little.”

“Yeah, I have rights, too.”

Sammy stomps his foot into the blanket, causing Jackson to smile sweetly at him.

“You sure do, buddy.”

I ruffle his blond hair.

“Now, remember our deal?”

He nods and tips his dinosaur-print nylon backpack upside down. A series of picture books tumbles out.

“One book. Then one treat,”

he repeats our deal as I take out a tray of veggie sticks, hummus cups, cheese cubes, and turkey and avocado roll-ups, holding it up as proof to Jackson that I don’t just overload Sammy with sugar and am capable of making responsible decisions, before placing it on the blanket.

“That’s right. Now, go sit over there while Janet and I talk, okay?”

“Okie dokie.”

Jackson waits until Sammy settles and is totally absorbed in The Very Hungry Caterpillar before plonking himself down beside me and thwacking me across the chest.

“Janet? Really?”

I toss a cube of cheese into my mouth and wink at him.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re cute when you’re mad?”

He leans in.

“Is that why you’re constantly pissing me off?”

“Nailed it.”

I wait for him to deliver the inevitable comeback in five, four, three, tw— Holy fucking shit.

I was not expecting him to take my hand in his. I stare down to where his calloused palm has enveloped my hand, a little dumbstruck, a lot happy.

“Is this okay?”

Jackson rasps, a little breathlessly.

Does he actually think I’m going to say no? Granted, it wasn’t the smoothest of moves, and his grip is slowly draining all the blood from my appendage…and sending it all straight to another one.

“It’s very okay,”

I assure him, playing it cool and trying not to smile too much in case it breaks the moment.

“Note to self: more picnics and more pissing Jackson off.”

“I heard that,”

Sammy says, not looking up from his book.

“Naughty word.”

I don’t take my eyes off Jackson.

“Sorry, buddy. You can have an extra treat.”

“Two extra treats,”

Sammy says, flipping the page loudly.

“Nice try, but no.”

I finally pull my gaze away from Jackson.

“I refuse to be out-negotiated by a four-year-old.”

“Whatever.”

Sammy rolls his eyes playfully and continues reading.

“How’s your day been?”

I ask Jackson, my eyes oscillating between his face and our touching hands.

“Not great. Peanuts isn’t responding to his meds. Looks like I’m going to have to call the vet out again.”

“Good thing we switched to a monthly pricing model, isn’t it?”

He regards me with warmth shining in his eyes. I don’t know if there really is some magic picnic voodoo at play here, but for some reason, they seem to bring out a softer side to Jackson. A hand-holding, sweet-smiling side I am really liking.

“Also, thanks for letting me stay in my cabin.”

That I’m not liking so much. I’m probably being overcautious, but I really wish he’d move out of there, like, yesterday. What can I do, though? He asked for an extension, and I gave him one.

“I’ve been keeping a close eye on wind conditions,”

I tell him gravely.

“Things are going to pick up this weekend. Wind speeds could reach up to ten knots.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

It means shit. Ten knots is a mild breeze, might rustle a few leaves on the ground at most.

“Cyclonic conditions.”

He grins, seeing right through me.

“Yeah, right.”

“Fine. But if we get any bad weather, you are out of there.”

“Sure, sure,”

he says dismissively, nibbling on a carrot stick.

I glance over to check Sammy’s attention is glued to that book and not us. I lower my voice anyway to ask.

“How are you feeling about the stuff we’re doing?”

A grin spreads across his face, lighting up his green eyes. He leans in closer.

“You referring to our newly initiated employee cleanliness hygiene initiative?”

I smirk.

“Correct. And just for the record, the program currently only applies to you.”

He squeezes down on my hand.

“Currently?”

“Currently and exclusively only to you,”

I clarify.

“Good.”

He relaxes his grip and moves in even closer, his shoulder brushing against mine.

“My new favorite thing is walking around the sanctuary with your cum leaking out of my ass.”

A warm flush spreads through my chest.

“We call those weekdays.”

His features soften as an unfiltered grin spreads across his face.

“You’re a doofus.”

I run the pad of my thumb against the soft skin atop his palm.

“I’m enjoying what we’re doing.”

“So am I.”

“I like it a lot. I like you a lot, Jackson.”

His grin fades a little. He tips his head up and stares out into the distance. His lips twitch, but he’s unable to push any words out.

That’s okay.

Would it be nice to hear Jackson say he likes me, too? Of course it would.

But I’m playing the long game here, and momentum is working in my favor.

Like I secretly hoped, the hostage weekend turned out not to be a one-time thing.

It’s kicked off a new chapter for us.

One that includes being honest with each other, holding hands at a picnic, and filthy-hot office sex.

We’re moving in the right direction. The more time we spend together, the stronger my feelings for him grow.

Jackson and I have something.

Something worth fighting for.

All I have to do is make him see that, too.

Right on cue, Jackson opens the door to my office, tiptoes across the room even though I’m not there, mug and note in hand, and deposits both on my desk.

“What are you staring at?”

Wagner gruffs from the driver’s seat.

“Jackson.”

We stop at a red light, and I angle my phone to show him. He shoots an inquisitive look my way, one brow cocked.

“You’re spying on him?”

“It’s the hallmark of any healthy relationship. Oh, and also stop calling him Michael Jackson in front of you-know-who.”

“Why? Would you prefer Janet?”

My jaw drops.

“I can’t believe Sammy ratted me out.”

“He tells me everything. Remember that next time you want to take him on a picnic packed with nothing but junk food.”

“He ate nuts and some veggies, too, thank you very much. Why are you so grouchy this morning?”

The light turns green.

“You can go,” I say.

Wagner glares at me for a beat before taking off, muttering something I can’t hear under his breath.

He’s in an even more foul mood than usual.

A giggle floats up from the back seat, where Sammy is watching Peppa Pig on his tablet.

I sometimes wonder how such a bundle of pure joy could come from the loins of a miserable bastard like my brother.

Or maybe Wagner is his usual level of miserableness, and I’m just noticing it more because I’m flying high.

Things with Jackson are solidifying.

Stolen kisses in the break room, tender moments here and there around the sanctuary, and the almost daily quickie in my office bathroom—things are unfolding the way I hoped.

I’ve even been contemplating whether to ask him again if he wants to move in with me when his cabin gets razed.

I mentioned it when I first broke the news that the cabin had to go, but he got so angry he might have missed it.

I realize it’s super soon and highly likely to freak him out, so I’d have to frame it as a temporary, stop-gap measure until a new cabin gets built at the center.

He’s going to need a place to stay for a few weeks, and my grandparents’ house has two guest rooms.

That’s it.

Nothing more.

I’m not convinced he’d go for it.

Normally, I’d ask Wagner for advice, but as we pull into the sanctuary, his scowl is extra scowly, so I save raising the topic for another time.

“Thanks for taking me to drop my car off at the mechanic.”

“Don’t mention it,”

he grunts.

I unbuckle my seat belt and turn to him.

“That’s it. Who took a shit in your cereal this morning? What’s wrong?”

He thumps his head against the top of the seat a few times.

“Ollie sent me an email late last night with some very disturbing information.”

“He’s not taking up parkour again once his leg heals, is he?”

My attempt at humor lands like a fart at a funeral. Wagner’s jaw sets even harder.

“He found out why I’m having trouble securing investors. Turns out someone is spreading rumors about our wines. Lack of quality control, to be specific.”

My brain immediately jumps to one person.

“Think it’s Duporth?”

“That was my first thought, too. But based on the type of information being leaked, Ollie suspects it’s an inside job.”

“What? That’s fucked-up.”

“Tell me about it.”

Wagner’s eyes meet mine, and now that I’m taking a good look at him, I notice two dark circles underneath them. He wouldn’t have gotten much sleep after a bombshell like that. Explains his extra-foul mood this morning.

“What can I do to help?”

“There’s nothing you can do,”

he tuts, his gaze sweeping side to side, deep in thought.

“I need to figure out who the mole is.”

“As in, you’re going to hire a professional?”

“Most likely. This is serious. I have to tread carefully. If whoever is doing this gets wind I’m onto them, it’ll ruin my chances of catching them and, more importantly, stopping them from further damaging the business.”

“That really sucks, Wag. I’m sorry you have to deal with that.”

“Yeah…well… People are shit. Surprise, surprise. How’s everything at the sanctuary going? Apart from spying on your staff, that is.”

I allow the deflection and even the jab at my obsession with Jackson, because it happens to segue neatly into a favor I’ve been meaning to ask him for a while now.

“I’ve come up with an idea to bring in some much-needed money.”

When all he does is nod in response, I gently and lovingly encourage him.

“This is the part where you ask, ‘How can I help?’ You know, like a good brother and not an asshole.”

He grinds his molars and pins me with a death stare, his voice flat as he grits.

“How can I help?”

“Why, I’m so glad you asked.”

I double-check to make sure Sammy is still engrossed in Peppa Pig land before asking my big bro.

“Can I whore you out to Candice Burlington?”

“What? No. What are you talking about?”

“I know you said you guys are friends, but she’s an attractive lady. You’re…passable. And you’re both single, so, you know…”

I mash my fingers against each other.

He glares at me, unimpressed.

“Your knowledge of heterosexual relationships is pitiful and crude.”

“I’m just kidding.”

Sort of.

“I’m thinking of organizing a fundraiser to raise a ton of money and let everyone know the rescue center is back in safe hands. That I’m determined to rebuild it better than it ever was. And Candice is into all that fundraising crap. She’s well-connected. And I know all of this because I met her when I did you a favor and picked Sammy up from his playdate with her kid. But I guess maybe you may have forgotten that since I do look after Sammy all the time. Not to mention what an incredibly forgiving person I am.”

“Forgiving?”

“Yeah. Your balls are still intact, aren’t they?”

“My balls?”

“Yeah. I didn’t punish you for going along with Clancy’s little stunt.”

He tips his chin up and smirks.

“Worked, though. Didn’t it?”

“Shut up. But yes, it did.”

“You and not-Michael and also-not-Janet dating yet?”

“Not exactly, but I’m making progress. I’m considering asking if he wants to move in with me while his new cabin gets built.”

Wagner’s eyes swell in surprise, but he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. I can tell he thinks it’s way too soon for that…and he’s probably right.

Maybe I’ll shelve that idea for now. I’m sure Clancy would love to have Jackson stay with him for a bit. Which reminds me, I’m overdue to pay him a visit.

“Still don’t get why you need to…”

He drops his voice, grimacing as he says.

“Whore me out.”

“Since I don’t have the faintest clue about organizing a fundraiser, I was thinking of hitting her up for help. I don’t like asking someone I don’t know very well for a favor without being able to offer something to sweeten the deal.”

“And I’m the sweetener?”

“Wag, I would never call you sweet.”

He rolls his eyes.

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

“What?”

“I’ll do it.”

“You will?”

“Why are you so surprised?”

“Because I thought you’d make me beg. Agree to a list of humiliating conditions. Offer up my firstborn. You realize I am actually, literally, whoring you out, offering your body in exchange for her services?”

Wagner chuckles. The unfamiliar rumble fills the car and puts me on edge.

“My sweet, stupid little brother.”

He tilts his head, and for a brief moment, I get a glimpse of Sammy in the shape of his face and especially in those bright-blue eyes.

“Remember getting that call from a distressed lady about a wild horse that led to you and Jackson being trapped together for the weekend?”

“How could I forget?”

“Who do you think the lady was?”

It takes a few moments for it to click into place.

“No way. Candice?”

The fucker nods, grinning triumphantly.

“So yeah, offer to whore me out all you want, little brother. I’d love to be a fly on the wall when you do.”