The memory continued to floor her. She’d gone to bed that night overwrought, confused and stunned, analyzing every sexual encounter she’d ever had in such detail she may as well have drawn up diagrams and flow charts. What had her previous lovers done wrong? What did Jackson know that they didn’t? Why had her body decided to respond to him when it had always been so meh about the other guys in her life?
She’d fallen asleep without reaching a single conclusion, and seeing Jackson again now only raised a slew of new problems.
Because the moment she’d gotten into his truck, she’d wanted to f**k him.
“You look sexy as hell, by the way,” he told her as he started the engine. “I’m lovin’ the outfit.”
Mia glanced down at her black Madison High Warriors T-shirt, skinny jeans with a hole in the left knee and bright red flats, wondering how anyone could label the outfit “sexy as hell”. And yet Jackson was eyeing her like he wanted to peel off her clothes, lay her down in the back of the truck and devour her whole.
“Um, thanks,” she answered. “You look nice, too.”
Nice? Ha. The man was a walking Adonis. She’d never met anyone who could pull off Levis, wifebeaters and plaid shirts better than Jackson Ramsey. He oozed raw masculinity in his casual get-up, and the fact that he hadn’t shaved since she’d seen him last only aided his heartthrob cause. The dark stubble slashing his jaw was so hot her fingers itched to stroke all those sexy bristles.
“Thanks, sugar. That’s sweet of you to say.” He put the car in drive and turned to look at her. “So where am I goin’?”
She gave him directions to Danny’s school and then they were off, Jackson smoothly switching gears as he merged into traffic. When they reached the stop sign at the end of the street, he leaned forward and flicked on the radio. The upbeat tempo of a Temptations song wafted out of the speakers, prompting Jackson to sing along.
Mia burst out laughing. Never in a million years would she have pictured herself sitting in a pickup truck with a bona-fide cowboy, listening to him croon out the words to “My Girl”.
“What, no country music?” she teased.
Shrugging, he shot her a sideways look. “Oldies are my guilty pleasure. I only listen to country when I’m feelin’ down.”
“I can’t imagine you ever feeling down,” she said frankly. “You might just be the happiest, most well-adjusted man I’ve ever met.”
“Everyone gets sad sometimes, sugar. Even happy, well-adjusted folks like myself.”
There was an odd chord in his voice, an emotion she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but he flashed another smile before she could try to decipher it. “Anyway, tell me how your day was. Are you working a new job?”
She nodded. “Yeah, we just got contracted by the city to redo all those little parks near the waterfront. It’s a lot of work, but it pays an obscene amount, so my boss promised everyone big bonuses once it’s done.”
“Nice. Oh, and by the way, Miranda loved what you did at their place. She’s telling all her clients about you. I’m not sure you know this, but she owns a dance school in the city.”
“She mentioned that, yes.” Mia paused. “I really liked her. We’re going to try to have lunch next week.”
He offered a mock pout. “So you’ll make time for Miranda like that—” he snapped his fingers, “—but you make me beg for it? Evil woman.”
“Hey, I made time for you, pal. Are we not having a second date at the moment?”
“Damn right we are.”
He sounded so overjoyed about it that she had to grin. “Better make this one good too or you won’t get a third.”
“Oh, I’ll get a third. Just you wait.”
They reached Madison High five minutes later, then spent a full ten minutes cruising the jam-packed lot for a parking space. Apparently everyone and their grandmother had shown up for the season opener, and Mia experienced a burst of pride that her brother was starting tonight. She’d taken him out for a steak dinner when he’d gotten the coveted position, an achievement that was made all the more impressive because the coach had chosen a junior for his varsity quarterback over the current senior starter.
A pang of nervousness tickled her belly. “I really hope he does well,” she told Jackson.
“I’m sure he will. You don’t become the starting QB unless you’re good.”
“And he better not get hurt,” she added anxiously. “I’m always so worried he’ll get sacked and break his neck out there.”
“Injuries are a risk in every sport,” he agreed in a serious voice. “But worrying doesn’t achieve anything. There’s nothing you can do to protect him when he’s out there on the field, short of forbidding him to play.”
She bit her lip. “I know.”
They finally found an empty parking spot a million yards from the entrance of the field, then trekked across the paved lot toward the gate. Jackson didn’t take her hand or walk overly close to her, but she was completely aware of his presence.
And she wasn’t the only one. Female heads swiveled sharply as Jackson sauntered past, his long strides eating the pavement. Every single woman, young and old, gazed at him with blatant appreciation, gawking as if they simply couldn’t believe their eyes.
Jackson, however, seemed oblivious to the admiring stares. “Football and injuries go hand in hand,” he said, picking up where they’d left off. “My teammate Cash learned that the hard way.”