by Jodi Redford
“You’re dating a porn star?” Marissa’s squeak held equal amounts scandal and intrigue.
“Yes, and he has an enormous dick.” She casually slid her gaze toward Jack. “I guess not all men are so lucky.”
His responding smirk hinted that maybe he was lucky in that department.
Son of a bitch. She’d just have to comfort herself with the certainty that he suffered from occasional erectile dysfunction and butt acne.
“When do we get to meet him?”
It took a moment for Marissa’s demand to penetrate Jane’s mental fixation with Jack’s ass. Pimple-covered or not, safe bet it was world class. Damn him.
She dragged her focus back to the conversation at hand. A normal person would be sweating buckets at having to weasel out of the introduction Marissa just jockeyed for. Fortunately, Jane had two things working in her favor. A—she wasn’t normal. B—she never kept a man around for long. Including imaginary porn stars. “Hard to say. He’s pretty busy. You know, dishing out all those multiple O’s to me when he’s not on set.” She caught Jack’s disbelieving look from the corner of her eye. Fucker would have to show some actual emotion when it was least convenient for her.
Shit. Time to bust out the Level 4 BS. “If we’re still together when the wedding rolls around, who knows, maybe I’ll bring him as my date.”
How pathetic was it that she was getting a little misty-eyed over the prospect of being forced to break up with her imaginary porn star boyfriend? And that it was possibly the best relationship she’d ever had? Smothering a sigh, she took a sip from her water goblet.
Her smile blinding, Marissa cuddled against Trig’s side. “If I could convince this Campbell to forsake all others for me, I’m pretty sure you can hold out on dumping your boy toy for a month.”
Jane’s gulp of water threatened to reverse course. Completely oblivious to his sister’s struggle not to choke, Trig leaned in to kiss Marissa. He smoothed one of her chestnut curls aside, his gaze soft. “It was no hardship for me, baby. You’re the only one I want.”
Sniffling, Marissa threw her arms around him.
Sweet—and slightly nauseating—as the scene was, it didn’t change the fact that Jane potentially had a much bigger problem facing her than choking on overpriced tap water. “What do you mean by a month?”
Marissa untangled herself from Trig and leaned toward Jane. “Remember me telling you how the Barclay Inn in Chelsea is one of my favorite places in the entire world?”
“Of course I do.” She had no damn idea what Marissa was talking about. Admitting such? So not happening. She’d have enough of a ball-buster of a time making it up to her best friend if the imaginary porn star boyfriend ever came out of his imaginary closet. Letting it slip that she’d apparently been dozing off during one of Marissa’s waxing poetic sessions about her favorite places on earth would sure as shit get Jane’s ass kicked out of the BFF of the Year Club.
“Well, from the time I was a little girl I’ve always envisioned getting married there. Their rose garden is absolutely perfect for an outdoor wedding.” The sigh that drifted from Marissa could only be described as dreamy. “Anyway, long story short, they’re closing the inn for a massive renovation the end of September, but the owners were able to squeeze us in before the contractors are due to get started. Isn’t that wonderful?”
Who envisions getting married when they’re a little girl? Fucking weirdo. “Yeah...wonderful.” For her best friend’s benefit, Jane conjured a weak smile. “You do realize that four weeks for planning a wedding is insane, right?”
“For anyone but Marissa,” Trig countered.
She was torn between wanting to hug the stuffing out of her brother for being so supportive of her best friend or clobber him for making it crystal clear that she, Jane, was a screwed pooch.
No one to blame but herself. She’d known one day her bullshit would be her downfall. She’d assumed it’d somehow involve public nudity, the entire US men’s water polo team, and possibly a couple of midgets. This...was so not how she’d envisioned it going down.
“You don’t have to worry about a thing,” Marissa piped up, apparently misinterpreting the panic seeping from every molecule of Jane’s being. “I’ll be doing the heavy lifting on the planning side. All you need to do is show up for the fitting. And the wedding, of course. With your new guy.” Marissa’s gaze softened. “I really am thrilled you met someone. I was starting to get a little worried about you.”
Why did I open my big mouth? “I can’t wait for you to meet him.” Sorry, imaginary porn star boyfriend, but you’re getting dumped tomorrow.
Ironically, not her shortest relationship in history.
CHAPTER TWO
Dinner was everything her taste buds expected an outrageously expensive fine dining experience to be. And it was an indisputable fact that dessert—particularly crème brulee—was put on this earth with the sole purpose of making it easier to live with the knowledge that she was the worst friend and possibly the shadiest liar in existence.
Rubbing her belly with a groan, Jane stood along with her tablemates and hooked her purse’s strap over her shoulder. With Trig leading the way, their small entourage journeyed out to the parking lot together. Marissa clicked the lock release on her Subaru before turning to receive a farewell kiss from Trig.
Feeling like a lame third wheel, Jane reached for the passenger door handle. Still locked. Marissa hadn’t clicked the remote enough times, evidently.
Great. Now she’d have to stand here like a total creeper while her brother and best friend sucked face for an hour. She swiveled her focus sideways and noticed Jack standing nearby. What the hell was he still doing here? Getting his jollies watching the lovebirds tongue frisk each other?
Cheese Louise, she was a cranky ass tonight. She’d have to take off the edge later via B.O.B. while thinking about her imaginary porn star boyfriend with the giant cock. Better than her usual MO—pretending her vibrator was the infuriatingly delicious man currently standing across from her.
She didn’t deliberately choose Jack as a mental stand-in for her fantasies. If anything, she went out of her way to shove him out of her head. But his smirking face inevitably insinuated itself inside her twisted brain precisely the moment her vibe shot her over the edge. She’d lost count of the number of screaming Os B.O.B. and Fantasy Jack gave her. Probably best not to keep track.
Marissa reluctantly broke away from Trig. “See you after you get done with the gig tonight.” Her cheeks pinked when she spied Jane standing there like a dummy. “Isn’t the door unlocked?”
“Afraid not,” Jane intoned dryly.
Marissa fumbled with her keys as Jack took a step toward them. He paused next to Marissa and squeezed her shoulder. “How about I drop Jane off?”
She wasn’t sure who was more surprised by the suggestion—her or Marissa. Her best friend managed to find her voice first. “Uh...”
Jack cracked one of his patented smiles guaranteed to charm the panties off any woman with a functioning pulse. “It’ll give us a chance to discuss options for your couples shower.”
Jane glared at Jack. Who the hell said anything about a couples shower? “Wait a second, buster. If you think I’m going to forego a raunchy bachelorette party complete with oiled strippers in leopard-print thongs, you clearly don’t know me at all.”
“Err, in case you forgot, I already have a stripper.” Marissa sent Trig a sheepish glance before blowing him a kiss.
Jane tossed up her arms. “Like the party is for you, crazy woman.”
Jack grunted. “No one’s depriving you of your stripper bonanza. I fully intend to throw a bachelor party for Trig. But a separate couples shindig is a good way to include the non-singles.”
Ugh. That sounded about as appealing as a fun evening of Chinese water torture. Not to mention the time constraints. It’d be tough enough hustling together one party on such short notice, let alone two. She opened her mouth, an argument primed and ready, bu
t the excitement on Marissa’s face instantly killed that idea.
If her best friend wanted a couples party, by God, she’d get one. Even if it was the most boring event in existence. Even if it meant having to endure Jack’s presence for however long it took to cook up the damn thing. It was the least she could do to make up for being a shady heifer. She buried a sigh deep down in her soul. At least she assumed that was the dark tattered thing hanging on to her by a thread. “Where’s your car?”
Positive beyond a shadow of a doubt that Marissa and Trig were watching them with the lingering uncertainty of ever seeing them alive after tonight, Jane trailed Jack to a silver Maserati parked further down the lot. The asshole always did have exceptional taste in cars. “I see you’ve upgraded from your Lexus.”
“This baby was sitting in the showroom calling my name. I didn’t stand a chance of walking away without the keys.” He gallantly held the passenger door open for her. She took a moment to inspect the luxurious ride. The vehicle was a perfect representation of its owner—sleek, gorgeous, and ridiculously skilled at handling curves. Not that she’d frequently been on the receiving end of that last part. But the way he kissed? He definitely knew his way around a woman’s erogenous zones.
Not about to dwell on Jack Brewster’s kisses while trapped in a confined space with him, she sank into her seat and tugged on a scowl in tandem with securing her seatbelt. He climbed behind the wheel, his overwhelming presence immediately ambushing her senses. This close to him, his body heat and the warm, woodsy tang of his cologne were inescapable forces of destruction.
Again with the destruction. But that’s exactly what he was doing to her. Little by little storming her defenses and burrowing deeper into her awareness of him. Already she could feel the tingling in her clit. The tightening of her nipples. The dryness of her mouth—a direct contrast to the state of her panties. All of them lovely, undesired side effects of the Jack Brewster Sex Appeal Syndrome.
“You and I both damn well know there’s no porn star.”
Shocked out of her reverie as much by the sound of his voice as the accusation he’d lobbed at her, she jerked her gaze to his. “What?”
“That whole crock of shit was strictly for my benefit.”
She should win Willpower of the Year award for not clocking him on the spot. “Wow. Don’t you have an overblown opinion of yourself?”
He shrugged, the motion drawing her attention to his broad shoulders. She immediately averted her stare before she did something embarrassing—like peel back his jacket and shirt so she could bite his nipple.
“This has nothing to do with my ego and everything to do with saving you some future humiliation when you show up at that wedding sans Mr. Boogie Nights.”
It was a miracle her teeth weren’t ground to dust with the amount of gnashing going on. She pointed her index finger and jabbed it into his chest. “Listen, Jackass, I know this might be hard for you to comprehend, but my vagina didn’t shrivel up and die when you decided to take a hike. Plenty of men can’t fucking get enough of me.” Once upon a time, it was true. Therefore not a total fabrication. “Your loss, their gain.”
“I don’t doubt you have a whole harem of eager men at your disposal. Still doesn’t change the fact that your porn star doesn’t exist. Come clean now and save yourself from that embarrassment later, for shit’s sake.”
He was giving her an out. A chance at redemption and to avoid possible humiliation, like he’d said. Would she take it?
Fuck no. After all, why reach for that lifeline when she could stubbornly dig herself in deeper until she was in way over her head in a mucky quicksand pit of lies and deception? Cheese Louise, I’m one warped, pathetic motherfucker. “I’m really going to enjoy making you eat your words.”
“Jane—”
She slashed a hand upward, imperiously cutting him off. “Don’t even talk to me.”
Grumbling a curse, he revved the engine and backed out of the parking spot. A moment later they were speeding for the expressway. He mumbled something under his breath as he took the On-ramp. She veered her attention to him. “What did you say?”
For a second she didn’t think he’d answer. He surprised her by shaking his head. “I tried to convince myself I’d exaggerated the memory of exactly how exasperating you are. That no one could possibly be that...”
“Exasperating?”
“Yes. There’s not even a fitting word for the full scope of your exasperating-ness.”
While most women would have been insulted with his viewpoint, a devil sat on her shoulder, giggling maniacally over the news that he’d indulged in a fleeting thought about her. Several, if she read him correctly. Granted, the thoughts apparently weren’t exactly on the flattering side...
Hell, even that didn’t bother her. Better to be remembered than forgotten. Besides, she was well aware she wasn’t the easiest person to deal with at times. Likely it could be attributed to her hippie mom instilling within her the conviction to always be herself—even if that meant Jane ended up scaring people off now and then. Oh well. If they couldn’t accept her, annoying quirks and all, fuck ‘em. Went double for Jackass.
Partaking in a little silent grouching of her own, she covertly peeked in his direction. His focus remained pinned to the road, awarding her the opportunity to look her fill of him. The darkened interior of the Maserati left his profile in shadow, adding to the air of mystique he wore as effortlessly as his Armani suit.
In a million years she’d never crack the mystery of Jack. And this stupid infatuation she had with him? Pissed her right the fuck off. He’d kicked her to the curb with less consideration than he probably put into taking out his trash. She should be focusing on that sad, pathetic reality. Not staring at the hint of scruff darkening his strong jaw and wondering how it’d feel against the inside of her thighs.
A decadent shiver skipped through her.
“Cold?”
She nearly jumped out of her skin. Unanticipated as the question was, her response had more to do with his whiskey-smooth baritone adding several additional degrees of steamy heat to the already humid air. Damn. She’d almost forgotten how his voice held the potential to make her come on the spot. He could make a bundle in the phone sex industry.
She snuffed a snort. For all she knew, that’s precisely how he made his living. Because he’d sure as hell never been forthcoming with the details.
That was putting it lightly. It’d be easier getting classified intel out of a CIA operative. The most she’d finagled from Jack was an off-hand remark about making the majority of his money in the stock market. His vaguebooking hadn’t banished her suspicions that he was hiding something from her, so she’d resorted to snooping. Hell, a gal was forced to stoop to whatever means necessary when a man refused to give up the simplest deets.
She hadn’t found any clues to what he did for a living. But she’d uncovered something else. The biggest shocker of them all. Jack was a dad. She’d taken one look at the wallet-sized snapshot of the mini-me female version of him and known with soul-crushing certainty that he’d had no intention of telling her about his little girl. At least not in the foreseeable future.
Which meant he hadn’t seen a future for them. Even back then she’d known it. Like a fool, she’d chosen to anesthetize herself with denial as long as humanly possible. He could have spared himself the trouble of sending her the breakup text a week after she’d unearthed the picture of his daughter. The writing had already been on the wall, in garish neon.
She was a goddamn pro at putting on a tough, ballsy persona. Not all of it was an act. She was a tough bitch when she needed to be, but her heart wasn’t made of steel, no matter how hard she tried to fool everyone otherwise. She hadn’t taken the breakup with Jack well. At all. Yeah, her friends were well aware of the Crazy Jane turnout there. What they didn’t know about? The endless nights she’d cried herself to sleep, one miserable thought cycling like a taunting reel through her mind...
Why co
uldn’t he feel the same connection she did?
She wouldn’t go so far as to call it love. If that’s what love felt like, she wanted no fucking part of it. But she’d liked him. Really, really liked him. For the first time in her life, she’d actually considered putting some effort into keeping a man around for more than the twenty minutes or so it took to get an orgasm.
And look where that got her. Dumped, with dozens of worn out B.O.Bs to spoon her on cold, lonely nights.
Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
She sucked in a shuddery breath before recalling she wasn’t alone. Shoulders stiff, she shot a look toward Jack to see if he’d caught the incriminating sound. Judging from the tensed set of his features—yes.
“Jane...”
Time to derail this incoming awkward exchange train. “How is Sunny?”
Forehead furrowing, Jack tossed her a blank stare. You’ve really thrown a guy for a loop when he apparently can’t remember the name of his own daughter. He blinked, breaking his brief spell of befuddlement. “She’s good.”
“That’s great. So was there any particular reason you never wanted me to meet her?”
Jack’s eyebrows snapped into a low V. “Why would you think that? For Christ’s sake, you’ve met her.”
“Seven months ago, long after we broke up. And purely by chance, I might add.” She and Trig had decided to visit Canterbury Village. They’d bumped into Jack and Sunny at the carousel. Strangely enough, the timing pretty much coincided with the mysterious disappearance of her mojo. Much as she longed to feed herself the lie that the two were in no way linked, she wasn’t that good of a bullshitter.
“I wasn’t keeping Sunny from you.”
“No? You didn’t exactly tell me about her, either, did you?”
“I don’t make a habit of introducing my daughter to the women I date.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Oh, now you’ll at least acknowledge we were dating.”
He plowed a hand through his impeccably groomed ink-black hair, leaving it a disheveled mess. The tousled look only made the shithead look hotter. The unfairness of life sucked major balls sometimes. “I never said we weren’t.”