“I’m hiding from Jack,” Elise announced.
“Why? I thought he was the hero du jour for flying out to Oregon and providing a buffer between you and Peggy.” Christine folded herself into one of the visitor chairs and played with the end of the ponytail dangling over her shoulder.
“He was. He is. And he met me at the airport last night. With flowers.”
“Wait, you mean he was actually in the airport, not just pulling up the car after you’d gotten your bags?”
Elise grinned. “Actually splurged on short-term parking,” she confirmed.
Christine looked impressed. “Then he’s a precious jewel and you should treasure him.”
Elise toyed with the pen resting on a pad covered with doodles of hearts, flowers, X’s and O’s. “I do.”
“So what’s the problem?”
Elise didn’t want to tell Christine that Jack had proposed. She could imagine the hoots of derision now: He’s a great guy, totally hot, really loves you, etc., etc. It was all true, of course, but it didn’t address any of her misgivings.
“I don’t know. He wants me to move in and I’m not sure I’m ready for that.” She gave Christine a significant glance. “I love my house too much. What if it didn’t work out?”
Christine nodded. “Yeah, I know. Men think it’s just a matter of making space in the closet for the woman’s clothes. It’s a big step, not something you’re going to do because he crooks his finger. And what are you supposed to do with your home while he wants you to play house over at his place?”
Just as though she agreed wholeheartedly with Christine’s cynical view, Elise said, “Precisely.”
Christine shrugged and changed the subject. Guilt poked at Elise, needling her for mischaracterizing Jack’s intentions. Now Christine would think he was a schmuck, interested only in his own convenience. Elise couldn’t see what else she could say, though. Getting cross-examined on her feelings about marriage when she didn’t have any of the answers? Never going to happen.
Christine was rattling off some story about the latest guy who’d asked her out. Elise listened without much interest. Christine’s sad-sack boyfriends were a running joke. Elise used to arrange dates for her with actual men—Christine would always find something wrong with them. Elise gave up. Not her problem to solve, she reckoned. So she smiled at the funny bits and nodded in commiseration when Christine got to the part where the latest disaster showed his true colors as a dweeb or dork or loser.
At the back of Elise’s mind, she calculated how long she’d need to stall Jack before he let the subject of marriage fade away. She wanted to see him, she definitely wanted to keep sleeping with him, her stomach dropped at even the thought of losing him, but marriage? Kids? A future? Elise’s heart slammed into a cinder block wall every time she contemplated the prospect. It would be like jumping off the roof of a building, figuring the ground-floor awnings would save you. No one would be stupid enough to think they’d survive the fall. And yet Jack wanted her to take the plunge. Better all round to avoid the topic if she could.
“…And then he actually used the napkin as a handkerchief. Can you imagine?” Christine flicked her hand in the universal sign for ‘Check, please.’ “I couldn’t get away fast enough.”
Elise laughed on cue. She’d tried to suggest Christine do a bit more prescreening before she went on these dates, but Christine always made a joke about it. “I’m just kissing my allotment of frogs.”
Elise sucked in her breath. Jack wasn’t a frog. He was the genuine article: a sword-carrying, dashing-military-uniform-wearing, scout-badge-earning prince. A prince she’d said no to. Was she even stupider than Christine about men?
“Hey, are you okay?” Christine asked.
“Yeah, I guess. I’m—” Elise stopped before she admitted she was scared. “I’m thinking about Jack. I don’t want things to change.”
“So tell him that. Hell, there’s no rush to move in together, is there?”
Elise stopped herself from saying it wasn’t that easy. She knew Christine wanted to get married someday, so she’d probably be on Jack’s side with respect to marriage. And it wasn’t like Elise could explain why she wanted everything to stay the way it was. “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” hardly seemed a cogent argument against getting married.
“Yeah, you’re right,” Elise said finally. “Maybe in the fall we can talk about it again. His niece’s wedding is coming up, and I just want to go to that on the same basis that I went to her law school graduation.”
“Well, there you go—tell him it would be tactless to change your status as a couple right before whatsername’s big day. Jack’s a guy, he’ll think that’s some secret women’s code of honor or something. Like how guys don’t borrow each other’s precious tools, that kind of thing.”
“Tools?” Elise rolled her eyes. “In Jack’s case, it would be some special piece of kitchen equipment.”
“Same diff. Tools are tools.” Christine’s tone was sardonic even as her blue eyes opened wide and her lips pursed. She looked like a Kewpie doll from the 1930s, not a hard-line bankruptcy lawyer. Elise burst out laughing at the contrast of fake innocence and real devilry.
“I’m starting to have sympathy for those dweebs you date, Christine. You are an evil woman.”
“I’m just waiting for the guy who gets that about me. And who knows how to handle it.”
Jack was the guy who “got” Elise even when she didn’t “get” herself. How to keep him at a safe distance without letting him leave—that was the question.
“Be careful what you wish for,” Elise murmured. When Christine raised her eyebrows in a “Huh?” gesture, Elise shook her head. “Nothing.”
Like Jack said, being in love was definitely not for the faint of heart.
On Friday, Elise finally escaped her office at nine and headed home, desperate to change out of her linen trousers and silk blouse, grab a shower, and put on denim cutoffs and as skimpy a tank top as she could find. It was a hot, muggy July night, but she refused to crank up the AC. She wanted fresh air, even heavy city summer air, to replace the smell of a house locked up too long.
Despite the shower, sorting her dirty laundry left her feeling sweaty and unkempt. She was damp with relief when she finally carried the full hamper downstairs.
She was halfway to the basement stairs when the doorbell rang. It was Jack, bearing food and cold beer. Like her, he’d changed from professional to casual attire. Elise smiled—there was an entire mall’s worth of stores between her rather adolescent outfit and his expensive jeans and polo shirt.
“Do you actually iron your jeans?” Elise demanded as she let him in.
“Hello to you too.” He leaned down to kiss her, holding the paper bag and six-pack out of the way.
“Sorry. I’m hot, sweaty and cranky.”
“After two late nights at work, I can understand that.” He walked into the kitchen. “You’ll feel better with a beer and some food inside you.”
“I need to get a load of washing going, so put everything out, okay?”
Over barbecued ribs and beers, she felt her muscles relax. Jack entertained her with vignettes from the courthouse, and she talked a little about the work that had piled up on her desk. She enjoyed these conversations, where they traded war stories and asked for each other’s opinions. The whole time, of course, the other shoe was dangling on one toe. She resolved to stop waiting for it to fall.
“So,” he said finally.
“Before you say anything, I want to apologize. I got really emotional the other night and that wasn’t fair to you. I hate losing it like that. Chalk it up to cross-country travel, okay?”
He leaned back in his chair and took a drink from his beer. “Okay,” he said in a pleasantly neutral, deliberately soothing tone of voice.
He was handling her, Elise could tell. She hated it when he did that. It made her feel like a fractious toddler overdue for a nap.
“Look, I’d be more comfor
table if we didn’t discuss marriage just now. I’ve got Peggy to worry about, and Libby and Rand’s wedding is coming up.”
His expression was inscrutable. He looked like he was picking words with the precision of a poet consulting a thesaurus. “All right, we can wait. May I ask one question?”
Elise’s heart thumped out of control. She wanted to say no, that he couldn’t ask anything, that she didn’t want to talk about it. She wanted to put her fingers in her ears and say “la la la” in a loud voice.
She nodded slowly.
“You said you were scared. Do you remember that?”
She couldn’t take her eyes off him. She nodded again.
“What are you scared of?” He tried to make it a casual inquiry, like he was asking her why she didn’t like sauerkraut or garlic pickles.
Elise knew what the honest answer would be—that she had no idea what had terrified the pants off her when he’d mentioned marriage—or any sort of future together. Clearly, though, telling him that might be a springboard to the very conversation she didn’t want to have.
She lied. “I think it’s the stress of Peggy’s heart attack. Don’t they have some list of the most stressful events you can go through, like the death of a parent or losing your job? Well, I’m pretty sure getting married is on that list. It’s a lot all at once. Peggy nearly dies—” an exaggeration, but she’d use it, “—and then you propose. I think I got overwhelmed.”
Jack relaxed until he didn’t seem quite so much like a hawk about to pounce. Time to ask for what she really wanted.
“Let’s keep it the way it’s been.” She managed a smile of sorts. “The original deal works for me. Just for now, until after the wedding.”
Jack took another sip of his beer. He looked wise and judicial. Finally he nodded. “Okay.” The beer bottle hit the table with a little clink. “I can wait.” The famous Blackjack smile flashed at her.
Tension left Elise so fast she went limp, like a puppet allowed to slump on the playroom floor. She ducked her head to keep him from seeing the relief in her eyes.
When she could manage it, she peeped up at him. “But you’ll stay the night, right?”
He grinned. “You mean, I don’t have to wait for our next sex date? You reaffirm the contract and immediately propose to breach it. Tsk, tsk,” he teased.
“I prefer to think of it as an oral modification of terms.”
“With the accent on the oral, I assume.”
She beamed at him. Whatever emotion she’d been feeling a moment earlier, it was gone, replaced by a thrum of desire. “There is an implied covenant of adequate performance, so I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.”
“I’m never disappointed when I’m with you.” He leaned forward to give her a kiss that deepened and tugged at her core. She wanted to strip on the spot and roll around the floor with him. At the same time, she enjoyed Jack’s brand of restraint, even as her body throbbed for his touch.
Best of all, desire had replaced anxiety. She had a reprieve until after his niece’s wedding.
Chapter Twenty
Jack cranked up the air-conditioning in the Lexus as the car sat in traffic near the Conshohocken curve. He was tempted to check the radio traffic report, but what good would it do? They were stuck here until things got moving again. His hands tightened on the wheel.
“Jack, please, relax,” Elise said. “I’m looking forward to the wedding. I want to be there. I like your family. We’re going to have fun, I promise.”
Fun. He knew all too well what “fun” meant to Elise. Hedonistic, live-for-the-moment pleasure. Keep it light, keep it moving, no past and no future. Stuck in one place, like a rush hour traffic jam, getting no place fast.
So yeah, that sounded just about right—Elise could promise him fun. Fun for right now. Anything that didn’t require a future.
He squeezed the steering wheel.
What if that wasn’t what he wanted? His marriage proposal had been packed up like a winter coat, useless and unwanted in the summer heat. Which begged the question, would Elise ever get cold enough to pull it out of mothballs?
It had been three weeks since he agreed to let the discussion about marriage hang until after Libby and Rand’s wedding. On the surface, he’d enjoyed the weekends together and didn’t resent too much the workdays spent apart. But now? Going to a family wedding with Elise as his—as whatever the hell they were to each other? With everyone else neatly paired up? It killed him not to have his future nailed down.
He nudged the car forward.
He wasn’t going to say anything, though. No matter what he said, it would make him sound petulant and spoiled. Which would accurately reflect his mood on this topic. Cranky toddler determined to get his own way. I want what I want and I want it now!
Behavior like that was unattractive enough in actual toddlers, and unbearable in adults. Not to mention, Jack had battled his own bratty behavior as a child. He’d been spoiled as a boy. He’d always known that. The son his parents had longed for and finally—after several miscarriages—gotten. The promised child. The golden boy.
Elise fiddled with the satellite radio, finding a channel she liked. Jack didn’t recognize the singer or the song, but the refrain kept repeating “you’re perfect.” Elise sounded cute singing along.
His parents must have thought it would be harmless to dote on him as a baby, a toddler, and then a sturdy, healthy boy. Stacy was gone by then, off to college and grad school, followed by a job, marriage, the twins. For his parents, then in their late forties, adoring Jack must not have seemed unfair. It hadn’t stolen love or attention from a less favored daughter. He hadn’t given them much reason to crack down on unruly behavior or bad grades. So they allowed themselves to spoil their precious Jacko.
New song. Elise was singing. It sounded like, “Not your fault but mine…with your heart on the line…”
When had he learned he could get anything he wanted? Early, he guessed. Then one day at school, Bobby Dell’Assandro accused him of being stuck-up. All the other kids had laughed. That’s just what kids did. It was the specifics that had stopped Jack cold.
“People only like you because you’re rich,” Bobby had taunted. “You’re not so cool, not really.”
For a lonely boy doted on by his parents, this accusation stung…and lingered. It explained so many things, like why it was hard for him to make friends or find kids to play with. And it highlighted the way his parents treated him, giving him pretty much anything he wanted.
When he’d tried the reverse—to ask for nothing, or ask that his Christmas presents be donated to St. Boniface’s appeal for the poor, he could see how it hurt his mother. Oh, she’d say how proud she was, how generous of him, but she was heartbroken the one Christmas they gave in and there were only a few presents for him under the tree. And if he was being really honest, he’d missed the fun of tearing into all that paper to find the latest games and Lego sets.
So he’d found a balance. He asked for just the right amount of presents to keep his parents happy. And, in exchange, he’d not asked for anything he really wanted. He tried to earn money to buy the toys he coveted the most. That way he wouldn’t get too comfortable or think he deserved all that love and attention. It hadn’t made him more popular at school, but he slept better with a code of ethics.
Now look—he’d asked Elise for the one thing he really wanted, and he’d been told no. A word his parents had rarely used with him. He glanced over at her, humming along with the music and flipping through a deposition transcript.
Jack had earned her love. That was the part he didn’t understand. He’d worked at their relationship, gone slow, given her space, agreed to her stupid contract. It was all for her—he hadn’t needed any of that. He could have proposed to her right after the Everton hearing. He’d known in an instant he loved her, would always love her, and there’d never be another woman after her. Well, if she’d been married, maybe he’d have fallen in love with someone else. Maybe.
Thank God Elise hadn’t been married. It was particularly good that she hadn’t been in a relationship. He had a nasty feeling he wouldn’t have respected her commitment to another man as much if it hadn’t been consecrated by marriage. Which was a very unenlightened position to take, so it was just as well she hadn’t been dating anyone. He didn’t like the image of himself working to undermine some other man’s claim to Elise. It fit his dark side rather too well. The “black” part of Blackjack…
Traffic sped up eventually and Jack’s frustration eased its grip on his mood. He’d opened his mouth to say something pleasant—although he hadn’t worked out the words yet—when Elise turned down the volume.
“Whatcha thinking?” she asked.
“That I should say something nice to reassure you I’m not going to be in a foul mood all weekend.”
She laughed. “Go right ahead. Don’t let me stop you.”
He ruled out telling her his thoughts. Get her talking, that was a better strategy. “Tell me about your childhood. What was Christmas like at your house?”
Elise shifted in her seat. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her shorts riding up those creamy smooth legs. His lingering frustration at the traffic quickly shifted toward the prospect of having sex with her.
“Ordinary, I guess. Dad’s one of those suburban warriors who has to put up all the outdoor lights and decorations in the week after Thanksgiving. I remember arguing with him about the environmental cost of all that needless energy consumption, and he trotted out some bogus statistics about how if we just slept in the summer with the windows open instead of using an air conditioner, it would save more energy in a year than ten years’ worth of Christmas lights.”
“Let me guess, your dad doesn’t wear Birkenstock sandals.”
“No, he’s not a former hippie. I don’t agree with him on a lot of things, but I have to admit that my environmental crusade was a bit of a sham. I just resented the attention those lights got every December.”
Ah. Daddy issues. Good to know.
Blackjack and Moonlight: A Contemporary Romance Page 26