by K. C. Enders
I smile, laughing softly at his request. “That is pretty presumptuous. I’ll be fine, but I’ll talk to you soon,” I say, slipping past him to return to my very last date with Dr. Barnes.
If this goes nowhere in the long run and Mr. Right remains elusive, Jack has a point. I deserve more in my evenings … even if the star is strictly Mr. Right Now.
Chapter 6
Jack
NO MATTER HOW MANY times I check, my phone remains idle. Silent. Dark. A useless piece of shit.
It was a toss-up last night as I sat at the bar, finishing my dinner, on whether to be a creep and follow Kate to make sure she got home okay or to sit tight and be a reasonable human being. I went with reasonable and rational, sending a quick text to the number she’d entered, hoping it was really hers and not a bullshit fake. I have nothing to base this shit on—this concern. But it would have taken nothing for her to send me a damn message. Just a quick, Home. Safe. Here.
Something.
But, no, I got nothing from her, and that asshole she was with gave me a bad feeling. The voice mail I left this morning has gotten no response either, and that’s just pissing me right the fuck off. I offload my bar and step away from the squat rack. The United States Military Academy gym is fairly empty with the cadets in their academic hours, so I take my time. Pop the clips, add another plate to each end, and get my head right. I don’t need an injury, just need to work this woman out of my system.
A quick breath progression once the bar is settled across my shoulders, and I get into position. There is no need to waste time with five hundred-plus pounds on my back, so I get straight to it. Squat and up. Squat and up until my last set’s done.
Once the bar is stripped and the plates put away, I flip my phone over, and of course, I have a missed call.
“Hey, this is Kate Beard returning your call. I appreciate your offer, but I think I’m going to pass on dinner. Thank you for the offer and enjoy your day.” Her message is pert and professional, just like she wanted.
Well, fuck. I pull on a beanie and my jacket, pop my earbuds in, and head out. I hate running. It’s mindless and stupid, absolutely fucking pointless, but I take off through town, hoping that the monotony will clear my head and burn off some of the disappointment. It’s not like I’ve never been turned down before—this is not an ego thing—but she’s cute. Sassy. Hell, who wouldn’t want to spend some time with a fuck-hot teacher? Maybe coffee? I should take her out for coffee first, ease into this. I told her I wanted to show her how a gentleman treated a lady, give her a different experience than the ass she was out with last night, so I need to do exactly that.
I push through my last couple of miles and take a quick shower, thinking hard about how to change her mind again. Get her to go out with me. And, at the same time, I’m doing a fantastic job in avoiding looking at why this has become a fucking mission.
With a quick stop to grab a few things, I pull into visitor parking ten minutes early because, if I’m not early, I’m late. And I can’t stand being late. The buzzer sounds, and the lock clicks open, granting me respite from the cold wind whipping past Beekman Hills Elementary.
“What can I help you with today?” the secretary asks, a smile plastered across her face.
I pull out my identification and hand it across the counter, checking the name on the nameplate. “Mrs. Simpson, I’m here to see Miss Beard. This is her lunch period, correct?”
She studies my military ID, flipping it from front to back. “It is, Captain Jackson. Is she expecting you?” she asks, one hand on her phone.
“I’m afraid not, ma’am. If that’s a problem, I’d be happy to leave this for her,” I say, placing the to-go bag on the counter. I’d much rather see Kate, but I’m not about to rock the boat at her place of employment.
“Miss Beard, you have a package in the front office. Can you swing on by after your lunch drop-off?” Mrs. Simpson quips, giving me a sly wink. “No, I’m sure you’ll want to tend to this before you eat. Yes, okay. See you in a bit.” Ending the call, she turns to me and says, “She’ll be right up, if you’d like to take a seat. And thank you for your service.”
I thank her and sit by the window, waiting patiently. Hopefully, this won’t be an imposition, though Chloe assured me that it’s cool to stop by the school. I might have mentioned wanting to drop a cupcake by for Jake during his lunchtime. It’s not a lie, not really. There’s a mini cupcake in the bag—his favorite flavor—along with the hot soup, sandwiches, and full-sized chocolate cupcake for Kate.
“Hey, Jenny. What’s my package? I didn’t order anything. Oh—”
I stand, drawing her attention. “I brought you lunch.” I nod, taking her in from head to toe. A long-sleeved shirt and curve-loving skirt have never looked so damn good. Hell, she’s more gorgeous than I remembered.
“Thank you.” Kate’s brows push together, and her lips purse into a biteable pout. “Are you … did you want to join me?”
“I’d love to.”
Familiar with the process, I sign in on the clipboard and grab my visitor sticker before opening the door for Kate. She slides past and leads me down the hallway to her classroom.
“What are you doing here?” She glances at me over her shoulder as her ass sways seductively with each step. “I left you a message this morning that—”
“I got it. You said dinner was a no-go, so I thought I’d bring you lunch.”
“Jack”—she pauses to open her door—“that’s not what I meant. I just think it’s best to keep things separate—personal and professional, I mean.”
I nod slowly, having fully expected some kind of resistance. “Gotcha. Well, there’s a treat for Jake in there, so if it makes you feel better, you can give him the lunch as well, but I have a feeling he’s not going to appreciate lobster bisque the way you might. Totally up to you though. I just wanted the opportunity to thank you for what I’m sure can feel like a thankless job at times.”
I set the bag on the corner of her desk and take a step back to pivot and go. No one likes getting their marching orders, and that’s exactly what this is. A dismissal.
I might not agree with her reasoning, but who the fuck am I? And can I blame her? I understand professionalism. Understand keeping things compartmentalized. That’s how I get through each tour in the desert because that sandbox is so fucking brutal.
A deep sigh and a muttered, “Shit,” hits my back as I reach for the door handle.
I pause, turning slightly to face her while I wait.
“I just don’t get it. Why are you such a pain in my ass?” Flustered and with her guard down, Kate’s accent is more pronounced.
Alabama maybe?
She shifts her weight, popping her hip out, arms crossed over her chest. Classic defensive position, but the way it pushes her tits up is pretty fucking distracting, and I have to briefly close my eyes to find my focus.
“Kate, what’s the issue? That I’m a pain in the ass or that I’m pushing your limits of professionalism? I’d like to get to know you, for you to get to know me. It doesn’t have to be a big thing. I’m just here for a couple of weeks. Surely, we can have a drink. Dinner.” Watching her bite at her plump red lip, I want to do a hell of a lot more than just eat with her, but dinner and drinks would be a great place to start. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable though, so I won’t push this anymore. You say the word, and I’ll go, drop it, and leave you be. Consider lunch today a good-faith, humanitarian gesture and nothing more.” I shrug, nodding to the bag still packed full of food on the corner of her desk. And, of course, my stomach picks that God-given moment to rumble obnoxiously. “Sorry, I’ll just—”
“Stay. Eat with me and … I don’t know. Let me think about the rest of it.” She pulls containers from the bag. “It looks like you got enough to feed an army.”
Her laughter dances through the air, and that shakes something loose in me, drawing me further into the classroom.
Chapter 7
Kate<
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SOMEHOW, JACK BROKE THROUGH my resolve yesterday. Well, he did it with lobster bisque and manners that I didn’t think I’d seen used properly since I moved to New York. He’s got country manners. And the way he carries himself, completely aware of everything and in control at all times is some kind of sexy. Try as I might, it was damn near impossible to resist him. So, now, we’re having dinner.
I run home after school and change into a more date appropriate outfit. Not a date, just dinner. And why is this so hard for me? I’m not normally this wishy-washy, but something feels different. Bigger, more intense. I have gone back and forth in my mind a hundred times on dating Jack—having dinner. It’s just dinner.
As I apply the finishing touches to my makeup, Gracyn calls out to me from the kitchen. On a whim, I throw my makeup bag into my big tote along with a few other just-in-case essentials and go check out what has Gracyn yelling for me.
The project supplies I ordered are haphazardly stacked by the front door, so I scoop them up and drop the boxes on the kitchen floor, scaring the crap out of Gracyn in the process. I pull all of the craft supplies out and group them by project before repacking them to take to school while we chat. I could ask my kids’ parents to send in bits and pieces, but I like knowing what I’ve got and that it’s ready to go for assembly into the cutest Thanksgiving turkeys ever.
“You want some wine?” Gracyn asks, already grabbing a couple of glasses.
“Couldn’t hurt,” I tell her. “I have a date—hmm, let’s not jinx things. I’m having dinner with someone tonight, but I’m sure the wine will help.”
“You’re rocking the sexy-librarian thing pretty hard. Who is this guy?” She pours us each a glass of Merlot and leans against the counter. “Another Tinder winner?”
“Nope. And I’m sure it won’t amount to anything,” I say, avoiding. “Let’s concentrate on you for a hot minute though. Things rocky with the rock star?”
She tells me all about their back-and-forth, outlining the what-ifs, and damn if she’s not trying to talk herself out of falling in love with him.
I tune back in to her saying, “We’ve spent next to no time together. What if it’s just an illusion and we’re not at all compatible?”
“What do you mean? Like, sexually?”
Gracyn about snorts her wine out through her nose, sputtering, “The sex is fine, but what if that’s all there is? It’s not like we can just date like normal people and then walk away when things go south. He’s either in LA or on tour, and I’m stuck here. That doesn’t bode well for a normal dating relationship.”
“When?” I ignore her look of confusion and carry on, “You said ‘when things go south,’ not if. Are you invested or not? Are you willing to take a risk for real, or are you just playing with him?”
And there it is, folks. The dating disaster handing out relationship advice like I have a damn clue. I can dispense the wisdom, but it never seems to work out for me.
I check the time and drain the last of my wine, handing off my empty glass. “I’ve gotta shake. I’m meeting Mr. Right Now at the restaurant. Don’t wait up. If he plays his cards right, he might get dessert,” I toss out, going more for shock value than anything.
But it has been a long time, and talking with Gracyn about all the amazing sex she’s been having with Gavin has me feeling more than a little frustrated. It’s been a long dry spell, and I have a fine man taking me out tonight. One who really won’t be around long enough to cause any complications. Maybe I will keep the O option open.
I flip my ruby-red velvet coat around my shoulders, waiting for the inevitable.
“Be safe and make good choices,” Gracyn calls as I sashay out the door.
***
“HOW DID YOU END up teaching here? You don’t sound like you’re originally from the area,” Jack asks as the waiter leaves us with our drinks.
I’d have ordered a shot of tequila if I’d known we were getting right to the nasty stuff. Instead, I take a healthy sip of my paloma and laugh. Nothing like jumping into the getting-to-know-you portion of the evening.
“I moved here from Mississippi with my high school sweetheart. Go ahead and laugh; it’s fine.” Lord, if Jack thinks that little tidbit is funny, he’s in for a treat. “We’d dated forever, all through school and college, and when he wanted to move closer to Manhattan and the Fashion District, I followed him,” I say coyly because the rest of the story is where the real kicker is.
Jack leans back in his chair and sets his drink down without taking a taste. “Fashion? He a model or something?” he asks, stroking the stubble along his jawline that gets thicker every time I see him.
“He was something.” Maybe he’ll leave it at that.
“What happened? He run off with a supermodel?” Finally, Jack decides to take that sip of his drink, but the timing couldn’t be worse.
He sputters the añejo tequila, choking on it, when I say, “I don’t know if he was a model, but I caught Chance with his tongue down a guy’s throat outside the restaurant we were meeting at for dinner.” I shrug because, really … what else can I do? The whole thing was ridiculous. “That’s how I ended up with my two best friends. Gracyn, my roommate, and Lis kind of felt sorry for me as I slammed tequila at the bar of the bistro. It turned out, Gracyn needed a new roommate since Lissy and her boyfriend were moving in together, and it all just worked out.”
Jack sets his napkin down after mopping up his spilled drink and asks, “And the guy? Chance? What the fuck happened there?”
“I moved my shit out of the apartment we shared, and his boyfriend moved in the same day, I think. I see him around every now and then, but I think he does his blessed best to avoid me at all costs.”
The waiter comes back, dropping off food and filling our water glasses, giving me a little reprieve from the mess that started my long history of dating disasters.
“So, my mama still hears from his mama, and she just can’t seem to understand why I would move all the way up here with her boy and then leave him high and dry, making him take a new roommate he hardly knew at all. I think it’s safe to say that Chance hasn’t come out to his mama and daddy yet. Lord, I’m not looking forward to going home for Christmas and having to deal with that mess.” I tip back my glass and take a bracing gulp.
“Wait, you … your boyfriend, who you dated forever, is gay? And you had no idea?” Jack’s eyebrows can’t get any further up on his forehead without him pulling a muscle.
“That’s correct,” I quip.
He pulls his lips between his teeth, biting back a smile. “And your last name is—”
“Yep.”
He folds over, practically face-planting in his dinner, loud laughter rolling out of him.
“My last name is Beard, and I had absolutely no idea that I was his beard.” I set my fork down and wait until Jack’s at least marginally under control. “I’ve heard all the jokes about it, made quite a few at my own expense, but aside from my epic dating failures since then, I’m glad. Can you imagine if I’d have married him? And let’s be honest; that’s where we were headed. Lawd, he’s probably still waiting for me to break it to his mama, but that ain’t gonna happen, no sir.” I steal a glance at Jack just as he registers my no sir.
His pupils darken as his posture changes. Gone is the casual and easygoing air, morphing into something heated. Something passes between us that is decidedly sexual. His shoulders broaden, his back goes ramrod straight, and God help me, his tongue lazily sweeps out, moistening his lower lip.
“Katelyn”—his voice holds a note of bridled tension that settles low in my belly, warmth tingling through me—“I like the way sir sounds, spilling off your lips.”
“Wyatt”—I place my napkin on the table. I am all but done with dinner, the heat and lust quickly bubbling up all around us—“I will not call you sir.”
“Fair enough. You wanna stay for dessert?” Jack asks, pushing away from the table, poised to stand.
I lean down and
grab my purse from the floor. “I think I’d rather be dessert,” I purr quietly, standing with more grace than I thought I could muster. I stalk toward the door of the restaurant. I’m not sure what’s changed, but I’m ready to break all the rules.
Jack just might be the unicorn I’ve been looking for. Manners and chemistry that sizzles. And, since he’s only here for a short time, what could possibly go wrong? It’s not like I’m going to fall in love in a few short weeks. Fun, flirting, and maybe a little fucking on the side—it sure as hell won’t be forever, but maybe all I need is right now.
***
THE DOOR TO JACK’S room snicks shut behind us, his fingers wrapped firmly around the belt of my jacket. He slowly tugs me into the room, full of quiet confidence and control. And, if I’m being honest, I’m more than willing to follow him. He spins me, untying my belt as he does, my jacket falling to the floor behind me.
With the patience of a hunter, Jack pulls the pins from my hair, letting the waves tumble down around my shoulders. He deliberately flicks the buttons of my blouse, exposing my heated skin, inch by burning inch.
“Christ, you’re fucking gorgeous, Kate.” He trails a fingertip across my collarbone and down between my breasts.
My skin pulls tight, pebbling my nipples. And, with clothes flying in every direction, we tumble into a writhing, glorious, passionate heap. Thrusting and moaning until both of us are beyond sated and there is nothing left but to pass out from exhausted bliss.
***
NOISES, MUFFLED VOICES, PULL me from sleep, and it takes a beat or two of my heart for me to remember where I am. That, and the hard slab of muscle my hand is resting on. I trace my fingers along the ridges, accentuating V-cut muscles that point to heaven. Fine, they point to Jack’s cock, but sweet Jesus, that’s close enough to heaven for me. I thanked God more than once, and I swear, I saw angels when he thrust deeper than anyone ever had before.