I Wish You Were Mine
Page 57
He was surprised to realize how much he’d missed this—how much he’d missed having friends. Most of Jackson’s best friends had been on the team, but he’d had other sets of friends as well: neighbors, college friends…even a handful of high school friends. Every last one of them was back in Texas. And while most of them had at least sent a card after the accident, there weren’t exactly daily phone calls coming in. Not with most of them thinking he was the worst sort of philandering asshole.
But these Oxford guys didn’t seem to care about any of that. Hell, apart from Cole and maybe Cassidy, it didn’t even seem to register with them that he was a former pro athlete. For the first time in his life, Jackson was defined by something other than his throwing arm.
He wasn’t at all sure how he felt about that.
When Jackson had accepted the Oxford job, he’d done so in a desperate attempt to escape the life that was unraveling in Houston, but he’d always figured that New York would be temporary—a chance for him to get his legs back under him, get in control of his life, and then return home.
But as he watched the other four guys give each other crap, the way guy friends tended to do, Jackson found that he wanted to be a part of it. Just then Cole glanced over and declared Jackson’s green tie to be the color of a “toxic waste spill.” Jackson smiled, realizing that he was a part of it.
Once outside the office, they all stopped and glanced at Jackson.
He looked around. “What?”
“New guy picks,” Jake said, as though this were obvious.
“I don’t really know what’s around here.”
“Probably because you never leave your office,” Cole said good-naturedly. “Fear not, my stomach knows all the places. What are you feeling? Burger? Thai? Sushi?”
“Not sushi,” Jackson said. “Burger sounds good. Or steak?”
Lincoln clamped his hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “Dude, just say it. You want beef.” Lincoln lowered his voice and made a flexing motion with his biceps as he said the last word.
“Yes, say beef, Burke,” Jake said. “But not until we can get you in a Stetson. Oh, and chaps. Do people still wear chaps in Texas?”
“And if you take your shirt off, it’ll sell more magazines,” Cole added. “We could maybe get some of that oil they smear on the cover models. Get you all oiled up.”
Jackson shot the group the finger.
Cassidy glanced up from his phone. “All right, I got reservations at Wolfgang’s. Can you ladies walk, or shall we take a cab?”
“Too bad I don’t have my horse. I could have just cowboyed myself over there,” Jackson drawled.
Lincoln snapped and pointed. “That’s the spirit. And let’s walk—I need to burn off the calories of those cupcakes Jo brought in this morning.”
“Considering you scooped the frosting off five of the cupcakes, I’m thinking you’re going to need to do more than walk to keep your girlish figure,” Jake said.
“Whatever. I’ll get a salad at lunch. Unless, of course, Cassidy’s buying…”
“I’m not buying!” Cassidy said, raising his voice just slightly as the group crossed Broadway.
“Come on, man, you’re the boss.”
“Not by choice,” Cassidy muttered. “You think I really want to be the one to try to corral you guys?”
“Ooh, he said corral,” Cole said, elbowing Jackson. “Another cowboy term for you!”
“You guys know that my house was in the ’burbs, right? Not a ranch? I haven’t even seen a horse since I was eight.”
“Well, this is highly disappointing,” Lincoln said. “Did you at least bring your moose heads with you to put on your walls?”
“They’re called hunting trophies,” Jake said.
“How the hell do you know? The only thing you’ve ever hunted is women,” Cassidy said.
“That was the old days,” Jake said, lifting his left hand to flash his wedding band. “Speaking of, when are you popping the question, old man?”
The group stopped at a red light and smirked expectantly at Cassidy. Their editor in chief ran a hand over the back of his neck and looked as unsure of himself as Jackson had ever seen him. “I dunno. It’s just…”
“You know she’s gonna say yes, man. You guys are like Romeo and Juliet without all the pesky death stuff,” Cole said.
“And you’ve talked about it, right?” Jake added. “Grace said you and Emma have had The Talk, so it can’t be that much of a surprise.”
“I know all that,” Cassidy grumbled as they started walking again. “It just doesn’t make it any easier. I want it to be perfect. She deserves perfect.”
Cole pretended to wipe a tear from his eye, and Cassidy shoved his shoulder before shifting his attention to Jackson. “Speaking of the womenfolk, what’s your situation?”
“Ooh, I know this one,” Lincoln said, turning around and walking backward. “He’s hitting on the younger sister.”
“Whose younger sister?” Cassidy asked.
Jackson gave Lincoln a warning glare, but the other man either didn’t see it or ignored it. Probably the latter.
“His ex-wife’s younger sister.”
“No way!” Jake said.
Way, Jackson thought. Although he hated hearing it said out loud like this. He knew all too well how this looked on paper—like the hotshot asshole had hit his midthirties and decided to upgrade to the younger, hotter model.
But these Oxford guys didn’t seem to care about any of that. Hell, apart from Cole and maybe Cassidy, it didn’t even seem to register with them that he was a former pro athlete. For the first time in his life, Jackson was defined by something other than his throwing arm.
He wasn’t at all sure how he felt about that.
When Jackson had accepted the Oxford job, he’d done so in a desperate attempt to escape the life that was unraveling in Houston, but he’d always figured that New York would be temporary—a chance for him to get his legs back under him, get in control of his life, and then return home.
But as he watched the other four guys give each other crap, the way guy friends tended to do, Jackson found that he wanted to be a part of it. Just then Cole glanced over and declared Jackson’s green tie to be the color of a “toxic waste spill.” Jackson smiled, realizing that he was a part of it.
Once outside the office, they all stopped and glanced at Jackson.
He looked around. “What?”
“New guy picks,” Jake said, as though this were obvious.
“I don’t really know what’s around here.”
“Probably because you never leave your office,” Cole said good-naturedly. “Fear not, my stomach knows all the places. What are you feeling? Burger? Thai? Sushi?”
“Not sushi,” Jackson said. “Burger sounds good. Or steak?”
Lincoln clamped his hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “Dude, just say it. You want beef.” Lincoln lowered his voice and made a flexing motion with his biceps as he said the last word.
“Yes, say beef, Burke,” Jake said. “But not until we can get you in a Stetson. Oh, and chaps. Do people still wear chaps in Texas?”
“And if you take your shirt off, it’ll sell more magazines,” Cole added. “We could maybe get some of that oil they smear on the cover models. Get you all oiled up.”
Jackson shot the group the finger.
Cassidy glanced up from his phone. “All right, I got reservations at Wolfgang’s. Can you ladies walk, or shall we take a cab?”
“Too bad I don’t have my horse. I could have just cowboyed myself over there,” Jackson drawled.
Lincoln snapped and pointed. “That’s the spirit. And let’s walk—I need to burn off the calories of those cupcakes Jo brought in this morning.”
“Considering you scooped the frosting off five of the cupcakes, I’m thinking you’re going to need to do more than walk to keep your girlish figure,” Jake said.
“Whatever. I’ll get a salad at lunch. Unless, of course, Cassidy’s buying…”
“I’m not buying!” Cassidy said, raising his voice just slightly as the group crossed Broadway.
“Come on, man, you’re the boss.”
“Not by choice,” Cassidy muttered. “You think I really want to be the one to try to corral you guys?”
“Ooh, he said corral,” Cole said, elbowing Jackson. “Another cowboy term for you!”
“You guys know that my house was in the ’burbs, right? Not a ranch? I haven’t even seen a horse since I was eight.”
“Well, this is highly disappointing,” Lincoln said. “Did you at least bring your moose heads with you to put on your walls?”
“They’re called hunting trophies,” Jake said.
“How the hell do you know? The only thing you’ve ever hunted is women,” Cassidy said.
“That was the old days,” Jake said, lifting his left hand to flash his wedding band. “Speaking of, when are you popping the question, old man?”
The group stopped at a red light and smirked expectantly at Cassidy. Their editor in chief ran a hand over the back of his neck and looked as unsure of himself as Jackson had ever seen him. “I dunno. It’s just…”
“You know she’s gonna say yes, man. You guys are like Romeo and Juliet without all the pesky death stuff,” Cole said.
“And you’ve talked about it, right?” Jake added. “Grace said you and Emma have had The Talk, so it can’t be that much of a surprise.”
“I know all that,” Cassidy grumbled as they started walking again. “It just doesn’t make it any easier. I want it to be perfect. She deserves perfect.”
Cole pretended to wipe a tear from his eye, and Cassidy shoved his shoulder before shifting his attention to Jackson. “Speaking of the womenfolk, what’s your situation?”
“Ooh, I know this one,” Lincoln said, turning around and walking backward. “He’s hitting on the younger sister.”
“Whose younger sister?” Cassidy asked.
Jackson gave Lincoln a warning glare, but the other man either didn’t see it or ignored it. Probably the latter.
“His ex-wife’s younger sister.”
“No way!” Jake said.
Way, Jackson thought. Although he hated hearing it said out loud like this. He knew all too well how this looked on paper—like the hotshot asshole had hit his midthirties and decided to upgrade to the younger, hotter model.
