Page 3

Chapter Three

IVY

A couple more shots and many more hours later, Jackson and I find ourselves outside on the rooftop patio of the bar, leaning against the railing and gazing up at the stars.

The night air is cool, a perfect contrast to the buzz of tequila warming my veins. Jackson’s bowtie is gone, the first couple buttons of his shirt undone, and there’s a relaxed grin on his face as he stares up at the night sky. Lauren already left because she has an early morning yoga class to teach…which I usually attend.

But maybe not tomorrow, given how many libations we’ve had.

“The stars here are incredible,” he says, his voice quieter now, like he’s savoring the moment. “You don’t get this in the city.”

“I know, right? Riverbend has a couple of perks, at least. I mean, we don’t have the world class art museums that, say, Chicago has.”

I tilt my head, watching him. He’s leaning back slightly, his dark hair catching the glow of the string lights above us. There’s something about the way he looks right now—at ease, a little rugged, and completely untouchable—that has my heart racing. I’ve never been so attracted to a man in my life.

“Oh yeah? Perks? What are the other…perks…of living here?”

He flashes his eyes down at my breasts, obviously, and then looks back at my face.

I mockingly bite my lower lip. “Sir, did you just check out my tits?”

He grins, chuckling and feigning innocence. “I assumed those were the other peaks…I mean perks…you were referring to?”

“Well..you’re not wrong,” I laugh.

He gets up and sits on a ledge, the city lights flickering faintly behind him, and motions for me to join him. The tequila has burned away any shyness, so I follow without hesitation, sliding onto the ledge beside him. My hand grazes his thigh, and I let it rest there, his warmth radiating through the fabric.

“Penny for your thoughts?” I ask, tilting my head toward him. “You look like you’re deep in thought.”

“Oh,” he says, his grin turning wicked. “I can’t tell you that, Emerald Girl.”

The nickname sends a flutter through my chest, and I feel his eyes roam over my dress, lingering at the way the fabric hugs my legs.

“Come on,” I press, giving his thigh a light squeeze. “I don’t judge.”

“You really want to know my unfiltered thoughts? They can be dangerous. Maybe I should just tell you I was thinking about past lives.”

“What? I was thinking about past lives. And you can be honest with me. I like to live on the wild side.” At least tonight, I do.

He leans in closer, his lips grazing the shell of my ear. His breath is warm, his voice low and rough, like gravel smoothed by honey. “I’m thinking about how hot you’d look bent over with that dress peeled up your thighs.”

The words land like a lightning bolt, and every nerve in my body sparks to life. His voice is thick with intention, sending a message straight between my thighs. My breath hitches, and I swallow hard, trying to keep my composure, but my body betrays me, heat pooling low in my stomach.

“Oh,” I say, my voice a little breathless, though I try to play it cool. “And here I thought you were some gentleman lost in the wrong bar.”

He laughs, the sound deep and rich as he pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. “Who says I’m not a gentleman?”

“You might need to redefine the word,” I shoot back, though the smirk on my face betrays how much I like it.

“Maybe I’m a gentleman who knows what he wants,” he says, his gaze locking on mine. His hand brushes lightly against my bare knee, and I swear the air around us thickens. “And I’m very good at cooking breakfast.”

“Why are you single?” I blurt out, the question slipping out before I can stop it.

He chuckles again, leaning back slightly but not breaking eye contact. “That’s a bold question.”

“Well, you don’t exactly seem like the type who has trouble...finding someone,” I say, biting my lip to keep from rambling. “And you’re definitely not wearing a ring.”

“Fair enough,” he says, his grin softening into something more thoughtful. “I just haven’t found the right person yet. I’m picky as hell.”

“Maybe you’re not looking hard enough,” I tease, though there’s a pang of curiosity in my chest.

“Maybe,” he says, his thumb tracing idle circles on my knee. “Or maybe there’s something to God’s timing, you know?”

“Do you believe in God’s timing?” I ask. “Or, the Universe’s timing, if you will.”

“God, the Universe…yeah. I think there’s a plan. I like to think so, at least. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking, though.”

The words hang between us, heavy and electric, and my heart pounds so loudly I’m sure he can hear it. His thumb is still brushing slow circles against my knee, and the heat of his hand feels like it’s seeping straight into my bloodstream.

For a second, I can’t think of anything to say. The tequila might be buzzing in my veins, but the intensity in his eyes is doing far more damage.

“Well,” I manage, forcing a shaky laugh, “I have to say you’ve got some pretty smooth lines. Do these lines work on all the girls?”

His grin deepens, lazy and confident, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes that feels so real, it’s intimidating. “It’s not a line if I mean it.”

“Well, how do I know you mean it?”

“That’s up to you. Here. Look into my eyes.”

He takes the opportunity to lean in closer, his face inches from mine now. His hand slides from my knee to my thigh, his touch slow and careful, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

“Now tell me if you think I’m some player quoting lines to you.”

I blink, stunned into silence, feeling my heart race.

“It’s really up to you to use your judgment, Ivy,” he continues. “Look, I’m having an incredible time tonight. If that’s all this is, one random hangout at the bar for a few hours, that’s okay with me. I admit I like being around you, though.”

“Why?”

“Do you always overthink this much?” His lips curve into a teasing smile. “I can’t just like your vibe? You need to have some concrete reason?”

“Only when I’m dangerously close to making a bad decision,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.

His gaze drops to my lips, and for a moment, it feels like the world around us disappears. “Maybe it’s not a bad decision,” he says, his voice low and rough, “if it’s exactly what you want.”

My breath catches, and before I can talk myself out of it, I close the distance between us, pressing my lips to his. The kiss is explosive, his mouth warm and firm against mine. His hand tightens on my thigh, pulling me closer as his other hand slides into my hair, tilting my head back to deepen the kiss.

It’s not gentle or sweet. It’s hungry, consuming, like he’s been holding back all night and just decided to let it all out. My fingers curl into his shirt, the fabric bunching in my fists as I lose myself in him.

When we finally pull apart, we’re both breathless. His forehead rests against mine, and his eyes burn into me, the intensity of his gaze making my pulse race even faster.

I narrow my eyes at him, intrigued. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Older than you,” he says, his smirk returning.

“Not a real answer,” I shoot back.

He chuckles, glancing at me sideways. “How old are you ?”

“Twenty-seven,” I say, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “Your turn.”

“Ooof,” he says, leaning on the railing next to me. “You’re young. Might be too young for me.”

“How old are you?” I ask him.

“I’m old enough to remember the early nineties.”

I shake my head, smiling. “Wow! The nineties! You’re ancient.”

He laughs. “See? You’re too young for me. Sorry.”

“That’s too bad,” I say, grinning. “Guess we’ll have to take back that kiss.”

“Guess so.”

I take a moment to take him in. He definitely looks great for his thirties.

“So, I’m curious…did you grow up in the big city? Or a small town?” I ask. “I feel like we’ve talked so much but I still somehow know nothing about you.”

He shakes his head, his gaze drifting back to the stars. “My grandparents grew up in a small town outside of Davenport actually. I always loved visiting them, but no, I’ve been in the city most of my life. That’s where I work.”

“What do you do?”

He pauses, the tiniest flicker of hesitation crossing his face before he replies, “I coach.”

“Like football?” I ask, surprised.

“Yeah,” he says, his tone even. “Like football.”

“You like it?”

“It keeps me busy. And yeah. I love the ability to take a group of guys and mold them into a cohesive unit. Make them better than they’d be as individuals.”

I nod, considering that as I take another sip of my beer. “I guess that explains why you’re not married. Probably don’t have a lot of free time.”

“What about you?” he asks, shifting the focus back to me. “Have you lived in Riverbend your whole life?”

“Yeah,” I say with a small smile.

“Ever think about leaving?

“I have, but...”

“But?” he prompts, leaning closer.

“I just really love my family,” I admit. “I’m the youngest of me and my two step-siblings. And I guess I’ve always felt like I’m supposed to look after them. And look after my parents. You know?”

He nods, his expression softening. “I get that.”

I glance at him. “I’ve thought about going west. Moving to Bend, Oregon, or something. Somewhere quiet but different. But I can never quite pull the trigger. There’s always a reason to stay. What about you? Ever think about leaving the city?”

He pauses, his gaze steady on mine. “Sometimes. Small towns have their charm. But my life’s tied to where I work right now.”

I study him, my curiosity growing. There’s something about him—something just beneath the surface, like he’s holding back. But instead of asking more, I lean back against the railing, looking up at the stars again.

“It’s getting late,” he says, his voice low, the kind that vibrates somewhere deep in my chest. “I better get you home. Need a ride? I’ll call a cab.”

Yes. We still have cabs in my town. Uber has not made it here yet.

“I’m actually walking distance,” I say, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Oh. Well let me walk you home, then.”

I don’t hesitate, my lips quirking into a grin. “Absolutely.”

We step off the rooftop patio, the hum of the bar fading behind us as we hit the quiet streets. The cool night air wraps around us, but it does nothing to calm the heat simmering in my chest. Without thinking, I smooth my hands down the sides of my dress, feigning nonchalance.

Jackson, on the other hand, is anything but casual. He falls into step beside me, his hand brushing against mine once, then twice. On the third pass, he doesn’t let it go. His fingers curl around mine, warm and steady, and the contact sends a jolt of electricity up my arm.

“You okay?” he asks, his eyes glinting under the streetlights as he glances sideways at me.

“Yeah,” I reply, my voice a little breathless. “Just...thinking.”

“About what?” he presses, his thumb lightly brushing the back of my hand.

I hesitate. “About how surreal this night feels.”

His grin widens, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he tugs me slightly closer as we cross the street, his hand firm but gentle. The sidewalks are quiet, the occasional sound of laughter or music spilling out of late-night bars, but for the most part, it feels like it’s just us.

“Hey, you want to take the quickest detour ever?” I ask him, tugging his hand.

“Sure. You’re not going to kidnap me are you?”

I laugh. “Uh, no. That seems like it would be a tall order, considering you’re at least half a foot taller than me. Do I look dangerous?”

He shrugs. “Hey, for all I know you could be a femme fatale. Hired to bring me down.”

“Riiight. I mean, I am quite charming when I want to be.”

“Obviously. So where are we going?”

We cross one of the busier streets, then a block past the hospital we turn into a new neighborhood, and walk until until we reach a big house on a dead end.

I pull Jackson toward the sidewalk, stopping in front of the big house at the end of the street. The moon casts a soft glow over the wraparound porch, highlighting the white columns and the deep blue front door. A for sale sign sways slightly in the breeze.

“I don’t know why I’m showing you this,” I admit, feeling a little sheepish. “But this is my dream house. Wanna see?”

Jackson tilts his head, studying it. “Big place. You planning to open a bed and breakfast?”

I roll my eyes. “No. I just always imagined a home like this. Space for a big family. A yard for kids to run around. A kitchen with warm light in the mornings. Maybe a massive room dining table where everyone piles in for dinner. Bookshelves everywhere. And come on, this wraparound porch? They don’t make houses like this anymore. It would be chaos, but it would be my chaos.”

He looks at me, something unreadable in his expression. “A big family, huh? How many kids we talking?”

I bite my lip. “Four.”

Jackson’s brows lift, and I rush to add, “I know that’s a lot?—”

“Not really,” he interrupts, grinning. “I’ve always thought four has a good ring to it, too.”

“Oh. Really.”

“Yeah. That’s how many my parents’ had. It made for fun family events.”

I blink, startled. Then I smirk. “Well, I guess that’s all there is to it. We have to get married now.”

His chuckle is low, warm. “Guess so.”

And standing here, looking at this house that’s only ever existed in my daydreams, I wonder—for the first time—if maybe, just maybe, this moment isn’t just a passing fantasy.

No. That’s insane.

You don’t just meet a hot, tall, city man at a bar, show him your dream house, agree on four kids, and then…

Jackson is quiet for a beat too long, and my stomach tightens. Oh, God. Did I just freak him out? That was a joke . I obviously know that is not how marriage works. It’s about more than just agreeing on a number of kids or sharing a moment outside a house with a for sale sign.

It’s about love, commitment, trust—things you build over years, not… one night .

But what about gut feelings?

What about that spark—the one that makes your heart beat just a little faster, your hands itch to reach out, your entire body knows before your mind does?

Jackson shifts, then gestures toward the house, an easy smirk curling his lips. “Yeah, we could get married…seems like a great place. Maybe there’s a basement in there for a sex dungeon. That’s a requirement for my future home.”

I nearly choke on my laugh, my entire body sagging with relief. Thank God.

“Totally. That’s exactly what I was thinking,” I tease, nudging him with my shoulder. “Nothing screams ‘charming family home’ like a hidden playroom in the basement.”

“Oh, absolutely. Gotta be prepared.”

“Lady in the streets, freak in the sheets,” I quip breezily. “That’s my, uh, ideal life motto.”

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize how that sounds , and panic flickers through me.

“Not that I’ve, like, actually been out there living that motto,” I blurt. “I haven’t even been on a date in a year!”

Jackson throws his head back and laughs, loud and genuine.

“You are dead hysterical, Ivy. I get it. This is your game. You take unsuspecting men to your dream house, propose marriage, pretend like you haven’t been on a date in forever, and then dispose of them the next day.” He feigns some deep realization, eyes going wide. “Wait. Do you…have a load of bodies in this basement? Should I be worried?”

I smirk, playing along. “Well, if you hear sirens in the middle of the night…don’t ask questions.”

“For the record, if I ever go missing, this is exactly where people should start looking,” I say, glancing around.

He chuckles, then takes my hand, leading me toward the porch swing. The warmth of his palm lingers even after we sit.

For a while, we say nothing. His arm stretches along the back of the swing, fingers occasionally grazing my shoulder. It’s a fleeting touch, but enough to send a quiet thrill through me. And it’s nice. Too nice. The kind of nice that sneaks up on you, settles under your skin, and makes you uneasy in the best way.

Eventually, we stand and fall into step beside each other. No words are needed. The silence between us is easy and comfortable, like we’ve been doing this forever.

When we reach my street, the old brick building where I live looms ahead, its familiar, weathered exterior suddenly taking on an entirely new energy.

Like I’m looking at it from a different perspective.

Like something shifted tonight.

We stop just a few steps away, my pulse hammering in my throat as I turn to him.

“So…guess this is where I say goodnight,” I say.

Jackson looks at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

Then he smirks.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, stepping in just a little closer. “Or maybe not.”

Before I can say anything else, his lips crash into mine, firm and demanding, sending a wave of heat straight through me. My hands instinctively find his chest, and I feel the solid muscle beneath his shirt as he deepens the kiss, his other hand sliding up my thigh.

I let out a soft gasp as he lifts me effortlessly, pressing me firmly into the warm brick wall. The contrast between the rough texture of the wall and the heat and weight of his body is dizzying. My legs instinctively wrap around his waist, and he keeps me there, his hands gripping my thighs as if he can’t let go.

Our breaths are ragged, the kiss growing hungrier by the second. His stubble brushes against my skin, a delicious friction that leaves me breathless. His lips leave mine just long enough to trail along my jaw, then down the side of my neck, each kiss sending a fresh jolt of desire coursing through me.

“ Fuck ,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.

His forehead presses against mine, his breath warm and ragged, mingling with mine. His thumb traces carefully along my jaw, his calloused fingertips igniting sparks over my skin. The weight of his gaze pins me in place, his blue eyes smoldering, darkened with something molten—something barely restrained.

“You’re so damn sexy, Ivy,” he whispers, his lips dragging over my ear, the heat of his breath sending a shiver all the way down my spine. His voice is rough, wrecked, filled with something raw and unhinged, something dangerously close to unraveling.

I open my mouth, a breath, a sound, a response—something—but before I can, his lips crash into mine, claiming, devouring. It’s urgent, reckless, teeth scraping, tongues tangling, a kiss that makes my knees weak and my stomach twist with want.

His hands tighten on my thighs, his grip firm, possessive, like he wants to brand me, to make sure I feel him everywhere. Then, with a sharp tug, he releases one leg, his other hand sliding between us, his fingers brushing over the damp heat of my panties before kneading my ass, dragging my body closer, pressing me into him so I can feel exactly how hard he is.

I gasp against his mouth. He groans, like he’s barely hanging on by a thread.

When we finally break for air, our foreheads stay pressed together, my chest rising and falling in tandem with his. My fingers curl into the back of his neck, holding onto him like he’s the only thing keeping me upright.

“So,” I whisper, my voice breathless, my pulse pounding, “want to come up for a nightcap?”

His grip on me tightens for half a second, and then his mouth tilts into the faintest, most devastatingly sexy smirk.

"Oh, baby." His voice is all gravel and sin. His thumb brushes over my lower lip, eyes dark and heavy with intent. "I thought you’d never ask."

He gently lowers my leg back to the ground, his hands steadying me as my legs feel like jelly beneath me. For a second, he keeps me close, his hands lingering at my waist as if to make sure I don’t slip away.

“Which one’s yours?” he asks, his voice still thick with the heat of the moment.

I take his hand and lead him toward the door, fumbling with my keys as my heart thunders in my chest. The cool metal feels slippery between my fingers, and I curse under my breath, feeling his quiet chuckle behind me.

“Nervous?” he asks, his voice teasing but soft.

I glance over my shoulder, my cheeks flushing. “No,” I lie, managing to get the key into the lock. “Just…hoping you don’t see all the dead bodies.”

He laughs as the door creaks open, and we step inside, the soft glow of my kitchen light illuminating the cozy space. My breath catches as I feel his presence right behind me, the warmth of him so close it’s impossible to ignore.

“Nice place,” he says, his voice quiet as his eyes roam the room, then settle back on me. “Feels like you.”

I turn to face him, suddenly feeling small under the intensity of his gaze. “Yeah? What’s it feel like?”

His hand reaches out, brushing a strand of hair away from my face. “Warm. Inviting. Hard to resist.”

My breath hitches, but before I can find the words, his lips crash back onto mine, stealing whatever thought I might have had. The kiss is different now—deeper, hungrier, his hands gripping my waist like he can’t get close enough.

My back hits the edge of the counter, the cool surface pressing into my skin, but I barely register it. Not when his hands are sliding up my sides, teasing over my ribs, his thumbs just brushing the underswell of my breasts.

A low groan rumbles in his chest, and I swear I feel it everywhere.

My fingers trail down, toying with the hem of his shirt before slipping beneath it, tracing over the hard ridges of his stomach. His muscles tense beneath my touch, his breath shuddering against my lips.

Encouraged, I let my hand drift lower.

The moment I palm him through his tux pants, he lets out a strangled curse, his head dropping to the crook of my neck.

“Jesus, Ivy,” he grits out, his fingers digging into my hips. His voice is thick, strained—like he’s barely holding himself together.

I bite my lip, feeling how hard he is, how thick and ready. Heat pools low in my belly, a slow, aching burn.

“Hmm,” I let out, tilting my head, dragging my nails lightly over the bulge beneath his zipper. “Something on your mind, Coach?”

His head snaps up, blue eyes dark with intent.

“Yeah,” he growls, his hands gripping my ass as he lifts me onto the counter. “But you first.”