J. Valentine - Surrender to Love

 Jon backed toward his car, a playful smile curving his lips. He flashed the piece of paper he’d taken her information down on, and said, “Actually, I do. Be seeing you.”

 Slumping back in her seat, Patti shook her head. What the hell was she doing? The last thing she needed to be doing was rebounding, but she was also in desperate need of a distraction. If she was lucky, this guy just might give her one.

 “Oh, and Patricia?”

 Patti twisted in her seat, hanging her head out the window. She raised her eyebrows in question.

 “I don’t know what all that was about on the phone, but for what it’s worth, I think you have fantastic legs.” He winked at her and turned away to head back to his car.

 A true smile burst across Patti’s face and she bit her lip to keep from giggling. Yep, Jon was definitely going to be a distraction.

 Checking the traffic, Patti glanced in her rearview mirror before pulling away. Jon stood beside his mangled BMW with his phone pressed to his ear. His lips moved as he spoke to who she assumed to be a tow truck driver, but his eyes stayed pinned on her. He lifted his hand at her and Patti felt the heat creep back into her cheeks as she maneuvered her way back on the road feeling buoyancy she hadn’t felt in ages.

“Are you telling me that you busted up her sweet ass car, and then she agreed to go out on a date with you?” Travis’ hazel eyes reflected his bewilderment, and maybe a touch of envy, as he looked up at Jon from his hunched position. “Only you, my friend. Only you.” His arm swung back over his right shoulder and swept back down fast, connecting with the little ball of plastic and sending it sailing through the air at warp speed. “Four!” he shouted, and laughed wickedly when a little old couple ducked their heads in fear.

 Jon swapped positions and reset the tee. There was no better way to start a Monday than with a round of golf. “What are the odds that we’d ever run into each other again? I couldn’t let her slip through my fingers,” he explained. Licking his finger, he raised it above his head to test the wind’s direction, just like his father taught him. “I’d never forgive myself.” Jerking his arm back, he smashed the golf ball with his club and they paused, shielding their eyes against the noonday sun, to watch where it would go. It went a good one-hundred and fifty yards, beating out Travis’ easily. Jon smirked at him.

 “Dick,” Travis muttered as they replaced their clubs in the bags and climbed into the golf cart. “So you said this woman actually had it out with her boyfriend while you exchanged information? Doesn’t that sound a little dicey?”

 “Ex-boyfriend,” Jon clarified as he guided the cart toward the eighteenth hole. “And it isn’t dicey at all. You know I like my women feisty, and this one is a spitfire.”

 Travis nodded, staring off into space as he ruminated over the past. “Hot in the sack, I’ll give you that, but otherwise crazy. The first girlfriend I ever had was out of her damn mind, but holy hell did she teach me some things.”

 “Always the best kind,” Jon agreed, already entertaining ideas of all the things he’d like to do to Patricia’s insanely gorgeous body once he got her naked and underneath him. She was petite, her head barely reaching the center of his chest, but that was fine with him. It would just make things that much more interesting when they took it to the bedroom.

 “And what happens if she turns out like the last one?” Travis inquired.

 Jon hit the brakes and they got out, rounding the back of the cart to select their clubs. He turned to his friend and slanted him a devil-may-care smile. “Then I know who to come to for a restraining order.”

 Travis followed him out on to the field. “Is that all I’m good for, filing protection orders when you fall into bed with your current fatal attraction? You make me feel so cheap, Jon,” he pouted playfully.

Jon clapped him on the shoulder. “Baby, you know you’re the only one for me.”

 Travis socked him in the shoulder. “Damn. You sure know how to make a guy feel special.”

 Jon pointed to the last hole. “Hurry up and lose. I’ve things to do.”

 By the time Jon wrapped up his game with Travis and they parted ways, he was running late for a meeting. Bookish Temptations was his brainchild and its success astounded him every single day, but he wasn’t a numbers kind of guy. In fact, he hated just about everything having to do with running a business. Growing up, his father called him a wild child, while his mother lovingly deemed him a free spirit. All he knew was that he loathed being cooped up in a place that wasn’t his home, and he absolutely hated being idle for too long.

 An hour later, while he sat in a boardroom listening to a group of old men blather on about growth and percentages, he gazed out the long line of tinted windows at the tiny specks of color moving on the street below. He longed to be out there, living instead of wasting away precious moments of his life on something he wasn’t even remotely interested in.

 It was then he made his decision. “Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen,” he began, placing his palms on the table and pushing to his feet. Mr. Dierdrick paused in his explanation of whatever pie chart he was presenting to the group, the tip of his expensive black pen hovering over the paper, as he looked over at him. “While I do so enjoy learning the ins and outs of corporate strategies, I have other places I need to be.”

“But, Mr. Bradshaw,” Mr. Dierdrick spluttered. “There’s still so much to go over.”

 “Henry,” Jon interrupted. He started for the door, fastening the button on his suit jacket and smoothing his tie down his chest. “Send the report to Ms. Montgomery. She’ll be sure it makes it onto my desk.” With his hand on the doorknob, he motioned a quick farewell to the other men in attendance and breezed out the door, relieved to have escaped the confines of the stuffy boardroom.

 Once outside again, he breathed a lungful of fresh air as he cut across the parking lot and climbed into his brand new F-150. Some might call him spoiled or a snob because he could just go out and select a new car at a moment’s notice, but he had the money. It really didn’t make any sense to drive a rental while he waited for the insurance estimate to come in when he could just buy another. Being wealthy had its perks.

 It was mid-afternoon, which left the day open for possibilities. Going straight home, Jon changed out of his work clothes and got in a quick shower. As he shaved his face clean of scruff, he thought over what his next move would be with the sensational vixen he’d had the good fortune of plowing into the previous morning. Would she be thinking of him still? Was she anticipating his call?

 After shaving, Jon pulled on a pair of boxer shorts and went in search of food. He didn’t keep much in the fridge besides the basics: beer, milk, juice, lunchmeat and the occasional piece of fruit. Most of the time, Jon ate out, pun intended. He smirked at his own little joke and laid out the container of sliced turkey and a loaf of bread. While he assembled his sandwich, the phone rang.

 “How’s my little dumpling?”

 “How many times do I have to say this, Mother? I am in no way little.” Jon’s grin spread ear to ear, secretly pleased with his mother’s constant doting. 

“You’ll always be my little boy, Jonathon,” she said.

 “I know, Mom.” Jon slathered what would be considered a little too much mustard for most people’s taste on the bread, and slapped everything together. “So how are you and Dad?”

 “Getting a little older every day, but there’s breath left in us yet,” she said cheerfully. “How are you doing? Is work going alright?”

 Jon bit into his sandwich. “It’s fine,” he said around a mouthful of food. “Jenna’s quitting on me.”

 “Is that the quiet one with the glasses?”

 “That’s her.”

 “What a shame. Did she say why she was leaving?”

 Jon sighed heavily. “She’s getting married and her fiancé seems to think it’s the wife’s duty to stay home and mind the children.”

 “And this upsets you I take it?” his mother questioned.

 “Hell yeah it does,” Jon said. “She’s worked hard to get where she’s at and she’s just throwing it all away for some simple-minded jack-off! Now she’s leaving and I’m out an accountant.” Jon’s hands shook with his indignation. He set his sandwich down on the counter.

 “You’ll find another one,” his mom reassured him.

 “She was the best,” he argued.

 His mother laughed. “Stubborn, just like your father.” She paused and Jon braced himself for a shift in conversation. “Speaking of your father. The annual block sale is coming up at the end of the month and he wants to unload a few pieces of old furniture and, well, you know how he is. He doesn’t want to ask for help.”

 “Dad’s not supposed to be moving anything heavy,” Jon agreed, thinking back to the time when his father threw his back out while trying to unload a dishwasher he’d bought for Mother’s Day from his truck bed, alone. Doc Bradley, their family physician, had laid down the law and proclaimed his father officially over-the-hill. He let him know that under no uncertain terms was he allowed to move heavy objects without assistance from there on out.

 “From your mouth to God’s ears,” his mother prayed. “But you know how he is when he gets an idea into his head.”

 Jon nodded. He could see where this was heading from a mile away. “Just let me know when and I’ll make sure I’m there to help out.”

 “You’re such a good son,” his mother praised. “One day you’ll make some woman very happy.”

 Jon’s eyes narrowed and he felt the darkness creeping in around his thoughts. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that would never happen. Happiness wasn’t in the cards for him, and even if it was, he sure as hell didn’t deserve it. “Sure, Mom. When do you need me?” he asked, desperate for redirection.

 “Not next Saturday but the one after that, say seven-ish?”

 “Seven-ish it is.” As much as he loved talking to his mom, Jon needed to get off the phone. He couldn’t risk the conversation heading down the path he knew it would if he kept her on the line any longer. “Talk to you tomorrow?”

 Disappointment laced her tone, but she didn’t voice any complaints. “Okay, my little dumpling,” she said.

 “I can hear you smiling,” Jon said with a smile of his own.

 “Smiling? Me? Never.”

 Still smiling. “Love you.”

 “Love you too, Son. See you in a couple weeks.”

 Jon hung up the phone and polished off the rest of his sandwich. It tasted like saw dust, but just the simple act of eating took some of the edge off. The trick was to focus on other things, and he was a master of avoidance.

 Staring at the phone still clutched in his hand, Jon debated on whether he should call Patricia. As much as he would have liked to call her that instant and set to work sealing the deal, he quite enjoyed the thrill of the chase. Far too much, in fact, to just steamroll into it. He was a man who liked to tease a woman’s senses, make her crave him as much as he craved her, until the sex between them was guaranteed to be nothing short of explosive.

 Okay, sure, he had asked her to dinner, which could have been misconstrued to sound like he meant sooner rather than later, but in all actuality, he hadn’t specified when he wanted to take her out, just that he did. Would she be mad when he didn’t call? Most definitely. Did he care? Not a lick. Just like a frightened kitten with its sharp teeth and claws, with a little bowl of milk and the right words spoken in a soft, soothing voice, she’d eventually let her guard down, and then he’d be free to stroke her all he wanted.

 Tonight, Jon planned to take it easy and let his dinner plans simmer on the back burner for a bit. Slipping into a nice, form-fitting black cotton T-shirt and dark wash jeans, Jon dialed up Travis and grabbed his keys as he headed out the door.

 “You got the booze?” Travis said by way of answering.

“That depends, you got the ladies?”

 “In the bag, baby.”

 “Then I’ll see you in ten.”

Annoyed. Aggravated. Attitudinal. Patti was all of those things as she strutted into the sandwich shop Tuesday afternoon and made her way to the back where she and Lynn agreed to meet for their weekly lunch date. She wore her emotions on her sleeve as she dropped into the last available chair. “Talk about a week from hell,” she groused, slamming her purse down on the table.