Me + Somebody's Son: A Heights Story Read online

  Me + Somebody’s Son

  A Heights Story

  Christina C Jones

  Copyright © 2020 by Christina C Jones

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  1. Haven

  2. August

  3. Haven

  4. Haven

  5. August

  6. Haven

  7. August

  8. Haven

  Afterword

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Christina C Jones

  Author’s Note

  I wanted to write something that just felt fun, and sexy, and summery - this is the result, and I hope you love it.

  As a note - my hero here was introduced to the CCJ universe last fall. He is in no way affiliated with his recently-in-the-news namesake, and would like to excluded from the narrative LOL.

  1

  Haven

  They really were great flowers.

  At least, that was what I told myself to justify keeping the beautiful bouquet that showed up at the studio two nights after yet another failed attempt at just hooking up.

  I wasn’t trying to be anybody’s somebody’s daughter in their social media flicks, and I didn’t give much of a damn about somebody’s son past the very utilitarian purpose of what they could offer physically.

  And yet.

  They couldn’t get enough of me.

  This pussy was a gift and a curse, I swear.

  A gift because well… both parties could end the night very satisfied with what had gone down – a curse because some of these dudes had no concept of a one-night stand, and thought gifts would get me to change my mind.

  They never, ever did.

  Well… maybe a couple times, and those had been disasters, which was why, now, I was firm about that shit. I sent the jewelry and shoes back, declined the use of credit cards and offers of shopping trips – I didn’t need a man thinking I owed him shit.

  Flowers, though… were difficult.

  It wasn’t like he’d get a refund if I sent them back to the shop from where they’d come, so… it just made sense, given how beautiful they were… to keep them.

  It came as exactly no surprise when that ended up being a mistake.

  The flowers arrived at my job, not my house – I never slipped up and let it be known where I lived. I had, however, gotten a little too loose about the tongue and mentioned that I was the manager at the Heights location of Tones&Tomes, the best bookstore in the world.

  Blame it on the drinks, which I’d needed plenty of after “accidentally” brushing against his underwhelming dick.

  But I went with it.

  He was sweet, and cute, and his lips looked very intriguing, so I figured what his dick may or may not do, depending on if he was a grower or a shower, that mouth could more than make up for.

  It did not.

  But he was so nice.

  Which was why I didn’t ghost him – I told him, as pleasantly as one could, that I didn’t think we were going to work.

  He kept calling, and I stopped answering.

  He sent the flowers.

  I didn’t respond, still.

  Then he walked into the bookstore after weeks of unreturned calls and saw those flowers looking pretty on the counter.

  And suddenly, I wasn’t queen, beautiful, or anything of that anymore. I was an ungrateful, user ass bitch who wasn’t all that anyway.

  Huh.

  I feel like he would’ve received my disinterest better if I hadn’t kept those damn flowers. Maybe I wouldn’t have had to pepper spray his ass.

  Lesson learned.

  Don’t keep any of that shit.

  Once I’d dropped them, vase and all, into the trash, the front counter just looked so lonely and bland. Whatever else I might have to say about… whatever his name was – those were some really lovely flowers.

  So I did what any other sensible woman would do.

  I decided to go buy my own damn flowers, because I didn’t have to wait on anybody else to do shit for me.

  Except… well… tell me what type of flowers they were.

  So, armed with a picture of them on my cell phone, I headed down to Posh Petals – one of the places in the neighborhood I hadn’t had occasion to go yet. Now I wanted those flowers though, and planned to take them home for my personal enjoyment. For the bookstore, I’d get something more neutral.

  The Heights was, honestly, everything people claimed it was before I moved – a lot of which I thought I’d hate. I was accustomed to the hustle and bustle of Blackwood, a city girl through and through, but I wanted this new job, badly.

  My previous job at Scattered Seeds Publishing – owned by Toni Wright, who also happened to be my best friend – was… cool.

  Don’t get me wrong, I liked being an acquiring editor and whatever else was needed well enough. And I’d definitely enjoyed my role as Toni’s right hand as she built it to what it was now – that was my boo! Beyond that, I was a massive booklover, so it tracked with what everybody already knew and expected of me, that I would make a career of it.

  I didn’t want to be an editor though.

  The shit was kinda… boring.

  To me.

  So when Toni mentioned wanting to expand the bookstore her parents had established in the town surrounding BSU, I had immediately started campaigning. I wanted to be a part of that.

  And she let me.

  She was busy enough anyway – newly married, starting the process of her and Justin adopting a child. Toni was more than happy to let me scoop some things off her plate, and in the end, I was the one who found the building, got the permits, facilitated the stock, planned the grand opening party, all that.

  And I got to be surrounded by the books I loved, from authors who really deserved the shelf space.

  I had been a little salty about doing it in the Heights instead of Blackwood, but ultimately… this felt right. The fact that the neighborhood wouldn’t be slightly out of place as an indie movie set was definitely a plus.

  It was definitely a bookstore kinda vibe.

  Actually, the energy was so good it actually brought a smile to my face as I made the trek to the flower shop down the sun-drenched summer sidewalk, taking it all in. I didn’t even mind that I’d broken a little sweat by the time I got to where I was going.

  A sense of immediate calm settled over me as soon as I stepped into the bloom-filled storefront of Posh Petals. It was mid-morning empty, and quiet except for the subtle notes of a radio playing over the speakers – the local WAWG affiliate, playing the music of my people – 90s R&B.

  A thousand floral notes hit my nose at once, a natural perfume that wasn't overwhelming. It was just part of the experience.

  I liked this place.

  I… liked this place a lot.

  I stepped further into the shop, admiring the beautiful arrangements on display as I went in search of a replacement for the ones I’d been gifted. All these others were nice, but for reasons more profound than I understood, I felt like I needed the same ones.

  Maybe if I knew what they were called.

  “Can I help you with something?”

  I snatched my hand back from the flower I’d been about to touch, the subtle authority in the speaker’s tone making me feel like I’d been scolded. Heat rose to my face as I turned, embarrassed, to face a man wearing a tee-shirt in the sa
me deep purple from the sign over the door, with Posh Petals emblazoned in white letters across the front.

  A man that brought heat to my face for a reason much deeper than the petty embarrassment from before I’d turned around.

  “… Haven?” he asked, eyes narrowed as he – probably – tried to pin down why I was as familiar to him as he was to me.

  I nodded, fighting the urge to dash out of the shop as I slipped my hands into the back pockets of my cutoff shorts. “Yeah. And you’re August, right?”

  He definitely was.

  There was no need for me to ask.

  He was older than the last time I saw him, yes, but somehow finer, goddamn.

  Like a lot finer.

  A lot.

  The intense obsidian eyes and smooth pecan-brown skin weren’t new, but the grown-man weight and low-groomed facial hair were much different from the slim, baby-faced dude from the quad.

  It was a good look for him.

  Damn good.

  “I need flowers,” I blurted, forcing my brain to not dwell on his appearance, because I didn’t care about his appearance.

  Shouldn’t care about his appearance.

  I was off men entirely right now, following that motherfucker acting a fool at my job, but I probably would make an exception for the right one.

  This one could not be that.

  “Well, you’ve come to the right place,” he said, with an easy smile that kinda made it hard to breathe a little bit. His gaze fixed on me, steady and concentrated. “Do you have something in particular in mind?”

  “Yes.” I pulled my phone from my pocket, turning on the screen before I turned it to him, showing him the arrangement. “Do you have these?”

  “We do,” he nodded. “Actually… I’m fairly sure I’m the one who made this arrangement. I didn’t see the details of the order though. I’m guessing some kind of congratulations are in order?

  I lifted an eyebrow. “Huh?”

  “Those weren’t the kind of flowers you buy a woman for a regular day – was there a special occasion or something?”

  “God no – he just wanted to fuck me again,” I blurted out, shrugging when his eyes went wide. “Sorry to be so blunt, but…”

  “Nah, you’re good,” August chuckled. “Still out here breaking hearts, I see.”

  A grin broke across my lips as I rolled my eyes. “Really? We’re about to do this?”

  “I’m not about to do anything but take your order for these flowers – I’m just saying… the record should reflect that I saw you first.”

  “I wouldn’t know anything about that,” I countered, shaking my head.

  I should explain this, huh?

  Soooo… give or take ten years ago, I was one of the baddest things on the quad at BSU. Which meant that a good amount of people on campus wanted me.

  By my estimation, they allll wanted me, but whatever.

  There was this one dude named Marcus. Marcus was a cutie, basketball MVP two years in a row, all that, so when he made his move on me, it was a no-brainer.

  I gave him the draws.

  And he, like all his brethren before and after him, could not get enough.

  I… could.

  He sucked in bed – which in hindsight was to be expected because we were babies, but still. I knew enough to know he wasn’t it, and I had every intention of letting him know it.

  But then one day – the day I planned to drop him – he came rolling up to the dorm to pick me up… with his friend in the passenger seat.

  August.

  I’d picked the wrong friend from their little group.

  Marcus was cute, yes, and he had his little swag and popularity, but listen… August was the fucking one. He was at BSU on an academic scholarship he wasn’t trying to lose, so he was never out at the parties, didn’t really hang around – he was only with Marcus then to get a ride to his little part-time job that sucked up any spare time he had.

  He wore his little glasses, and had his little mustache, and didn’t say much, but I could see it in his eyes – he had something dangerous swinging between his long legs.

  But I’d already wasted my hoe points on goddamn Marcus.

  Ugh.

  I actually held off on breaking up with him, in favor of unencumbered access to August, who was… way too good for those other dudes.

  Just in my opinion.

  He actually read – and retained – books, he aspired beyond how wasted he could get, he wasn’t childish, and… I didn’t know what he was like in bed.

  I liked fantasizing about it while I tolerated Marcus though.

  It was, indeed, a very sigh-worthy story.

  “I told you,” he argued about the past, stepping closer to me. “Or you telling me you don’t remember?”

  “I remember,” I nodded. “I remember you giving me a big reveal of this information while your homeboy was planning to make out with me at the homecoming bonfire. How is Marcus, by the way? You two keep in touch?”

  August shrugged. “As far as I know, he’s cool. Went professional, married a doctor, the usual.”

  “The usual?” I laughed. “There isn’t much usual about that life trajectory.”

  And you’re not answering my actual question.

  I could turn on the TV to see how Marcus Ingraham was doing.

  I wanted to know if they were still cool.

  “Maybe not, but speaking of trajectories… what are you doing here?” he asked, taking yet another step closer. I could smell him now, distinctly different from all the damn flowers, but certainly a leathery, masculine complement. “I won’t front – I really did not expect to ever see you again.”

  “Very much a shared expectation,” I told him, not backing away. “I’m actually the manager over at Tones&Tomes.”

  “The bookstore, off Main?”

  I nodded. “That’s the one.”

  “Nice. I haven’t made it over there yet, but I’ve meant to check it out. A bookstore, in 2020 – bold move.”

  I sucked my teeth. “I don’t think so – I think we’re in a renaissance, and we saw an opportunity to get ahead of the curve now,” I explained, feeling defensive. “We’ve only been open a few months, but revenue is good, and we’ve had a lot of activity. Signings and readings, people coming in just to hang out. And we actually worked out a partnership with the coffeehouse – we serve their blends exclusively in our little mini café. In return, their poetry nights are now sponsored by Tones&Tomes, and I’ve been talking with Roman and Anika about a few signature drinks and pastries, stuff like that. I think there’s definitely a place for us in the Heights.”

  “And I don’t disagree, relax,” he chuckled. “I wasn’t trying to insult you, just offering an observation – maybe ignorantly. There’s definitely a place for a bookstore in the Heights. A place for you, too.”

  When he said that, his gaze dropped, roaming over me with clear interest I could not allow myself to entertain.

  “Um… thanks. But uh… about those flowers…?”

  “Yeah,” he nodded. “I can put together an arrangement for you.” He said that, but didn’t move, just kept the same intent gaze, poring into me as he met my eyes.

  Shit.

  “Do you need to see the picture again?”

  “Nah,” he chuckled, finally breaking my gaze to move to the front counter, where he got my payment information. “You’ll have to come back for them though, or I can have them delivered. To the bookstore, or to your place, whatever.”

  “Oh, I won’t be able to just take them with me?”

  He shook his head. “Sorry – I’m here by myself today, and got a few priority orders I need to take care of first.”

  “So mine isn’t a priority order?” I asked with a flirtatious smirk that very clearly gave off a message I had no business sending – one he received loud and clear.

  “I can make it one… if you have dinner with me,” he offered. “We can catch up on old times, have a few drinks…”


  End up with my toes in your mouth while you hit it from behind…

  “I’m gonna have to decline,” I told him, really regretting every word as it left my lips – especially when he gave me a very puppydog-esque expression in return.

  “Understood… pick up or delivery then? I’ll get you on the schedule.”

  “Delivery. At the bookstore. And I need something a little more basic too, to decorate the store with. A running order.”

  He nodded. “Okay. What did you have in mind?”

  This time, I was the one with the searching gaze, exploring the glory of his face, shoulders, and biceps before my eyes landed on the nametag pinned to his chest.

  On the head manager printed underneath his name.

  “You’re the expert, right?” I asked, making him grin.

  “I… guess you could say that,” he agreed, nodding.

  “In that case… surprise me.”

  I turned and walked away, a little extra swing in my hips since there was no way he wasn’t watching – even though I knew that wasn’t a path I wanted to take.

  Not even getting into the mess of having dated his friend, there was still that whole thing of not dating.

  One night me, please.

  Maybe two if it was spectacular.

  August was not that type of guy. Just like back in front of my dorm, I could practically feel it. He wasn’t the type to hit and quit – he was the type to have you…showing up at his job to curse him out cause the dick was too good for you to control your emotions.

  I knew better.

  So… I just wouldn’t go there.

  I was much too savvy to get caught up with his somebody’s son ass.

  Nope.

  Not me.

  Shit.

  Did he really have to be that fine though?

  2