by Jennie Marts
“Nice ring tone.”
She grinned. “I love it. It makes that sound whenever I get a text.” She picked up the phone and tapped the screen.
The color drained from her face as she let out a cry and tossed the phone away from her. It hit the new carpet with a soft thud and the dog jumped down as if she’d thrown the phone in a game of fetch.
“What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, her lips set in a tight line, and her hand trembled as she pointed to the phone.
He grabbed it from the floor and peered down at the screen.
“What the hell?”
The text was from an unknown number and contained a picture of him and Murphy that must have been taken the night before. The couple was standing by the back door, his arms around her in a tight embrace as they’d shared their first kiss.
Under the picture was the caption, “WTF???????????”
Nausea rolled through his gut. That had been their moment, their kiss, and now this sick bastard had infected it with his creepy peeping-tom tactics.
“Come here,” he instructed as he stretched his arm along the back of the sofa.
Murphy slid in next to him and wrapped her arms around his waist as she laid her head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she whispered against his neck.
He pulled back, looking down into her apologetic eyes. “You have nothing to be sorry for. This isn’t your fault. This is some asshole creeper who is doing this to you. You don’t ever need to apologize to me. I feel bad for you. This has got to be so scary.”
“It is. But it’s also sick and twisted. And I hate dragging you or anyone else into my mess.”
“Don’t worry about that. I grew up in a household of brothers, I’ve been through all sorts of messes. I’m just sorry you’ve been going through this on your own.”
The doorbell rang before she could say anything more, and she brushed a quick kiss against his lips before she got up and let Richie in.
“Hiya, Murphy. I was glad you called,” he said as he stepped through the door. “I was going to stop by later today anyway.”
“Why? Did you learn something about the case? Did you figure out who vandalized my car?”
“Nah. We’re still working on that. I just wanted to bring you this.” He handed her a small blue bag. “It’s some of that cheddar cheese popcorn from that place at the mall—I know how you always loved that stuff. It’s kind of a ‘welcome back to the neighborhood’ gift.”
“Actually, she liked the caramel popcorn the best,” Jack muttered as he crossed the room to where they’d laid the copies of the pictures on the kitchen counter.
Welcome back to the neighborhood, my ass.
It was more like an ‘I’m hoping to get into your pants’ kind of gift.
And the thought of Rich Jenkins anywhere near Murphy, or her pants, had his teeth on edge and his blood boiling in his veins.
He couldn’t believe Rich even remembered that business about the mall. It had been so long ago.
Murphy’s grandpa was a bit overprotective when it came to her leaving the neighborhood, but one of the few places she’d been allowed to go was the nearby mall. But never alone—only if she was with one of the Bannister brothers.
So of course she was always talking one or two of them into going with her. She loved walking around the mall, wandering through the shops or hanging out in the food court, especially on those summer days when it was too hot to hang around outside. It was an easy trip on the city bus, and she frequently got a box of caramel corn to eat on the ride home.
Personally, Jack couldn’t care less about the mall. In fact, he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been there as an adult. But he went with her—every single time she asked. He went for the chance to sit next to her on the bus, for the opportunity to spend time with her, and for the possibility of having their hands touch when they both reached into the popcorn box at the same time.
Usually a whole group of them went together, but there had been occasions that it was just the two of them, and those times had been the best.
And it annoyed the shit out of him that Rich had brought her that popcorn—that he had inserted himself into their memories of those trips to the mall.
He stood facing the kitchen, his fingers gripping the edge of the counter, as he tried to get his aggravation under control. He hated that Rich was here and that he and Murphy were laughing over old times. He hated the tendrils of jealousy that were creeping through him like weedy vines that invade a beautiful flower bed.
And most of all, he hated the feelings of inferiority—the memories of not being good enough, strong enough, cool enough—that he felt whenever he was around the guy.
It was ridiculous. He knew it. Knew he probably made twice the guy’s annual salary. But it wasn’t about success, or money, or the size of his wallet. It was more about the size of his biceps. And the confident way he carried himself. And the easy charm he had with women—with Murphy.
She laughed at some idiot joke he’d just made and the sound of her laughter—which was normally one of his favorite things—now grated on his spine like nails on a chalkboard.
Get it together, buddy.
He’d just spent the night with her, spent hours curled around her perfect naked body. Not Rich. Him.
He was the one that had just had his tongue in her mouth and his hands on her skin. That should have been enough—enough to give him at least an ounce of confidence.
But it wasn’t. Wasn’t enough to clear away the years of feeling inferior. Years that started a long time ago, on a warm summer night in their basement.
“You okay, Jack?” Murphy asked.
“What? Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just getting these pictures together.” He cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders before picking up the pictures and turning to face them. “Like I told you on the phone, this creep was sneaking around Murph’s yard last night, and he just sent her a text message with a picture of us in the house that was obviously taken last night.”
“Are you serious?” He held out his hand. “Can I take a look?”
Murphy opened the message then passed him the phone.
He looked at the screen then up at Jack with a wolfish arc of his eyebrow. “Yeah, from the angle of the photo, it was obviously taken from the backyard.”
Wow. No shit, Sherlock. They already knew that. He was a good detective. Now tell us something they didn’t know.
“It’s from an unknown number. The guy probably used a burner phone, but we can check it out anyway. Text me the number, and I’ll look into it.”
Rich was standing too close to Murphy.
Jack knew it shouldn’t bug him, but it did. He wanted to go stand next to her, casually drop his arm around her shoulder or take her hand. Anything to show this guy that Murphy was his girl.
But was she?
Did one night together make her his?
Just because he’d already handed over his heart, that didn’t mean that she felt the same way. And seriously, how could she?
Why would she even be interested in a dork like him?
It didn’t matter that they’d just spent the night together, and the morning. His insecurities festered like a rotten tooth, the pain of his inadequacies throbbing through his already bruised ego.
“I gotta get back to work, but I’ll take these with me,” Rich was saying as he opened the door and stepped out on to the front porch. He didn’t even bother to acknowledge Jack, or maybe he assumed Jack would follow them out.
Jack took a step forward then froze as he saw Rich lean down and give Murphy a hug.
“Good to see you, Murphy. It’s nice to have you back.” Rich looked over Murphy’s shoulder, giving him a wave and a sly wink.
Jack clenched his fists at his sides, nausea rolling through his stomach.
“Thanks for coming over, Richie,” Murphy was saying, but it was hard to hear her over the dull roar in his ears.
“You be sur
e to call me if you need anything. I mean it. If you’re feeling scared and want someone to take a look around the house, just give me a ring. You’ve got my number.”
“Yep.”
“Really. Don’t be a stranger. I noticed your kitchen’s still torn up—why don’t you give me a call if you want to grab some dinner. Catch up on old times.”
Holy freaking ass-wipe.
Was this guy really hitting on Murphy right after he saw a picture of her kissing him?
It was a dick-move, but it only reinforced Jack’s own thoughts about himself.
Of course, Rich wouldn’t think twice about asking her out, because he so sure of himself that he didn’t even consider Jack as competition.
With his self-esteem already battered, he couldn’t bear to hear Murphy’s reply.
Instead, he turned and slipped quietly out the back door.
Chapter Eleven
Murphy waved as Rich climbed into his cruiser and pulled out of the driveway.
“What a conceited douche,” she said, opening the front door and stepping back into the house. “Did you hear that guy asked me out? What nerve.”
But she was speaking to an empty room.
“Jack?”
Well, shit.
That’s just great. Why did he leave? Without even saying goodbye.
Maybe he had a CPA emergency. Was that even a thing? Like someone’s tax shelter crumbled.
Or did he hear Rich asking her out?
If so, he should have also heard her telling him thanks, but no thanks.
She picked up her cell phone, and tapped the screen to call him. Instead, the phone rang in her hand, the screen displaying the number of a fellow teammate. She had to take it.
“Hi, this is Murphy,” she said into the phone after accepting the call.
It was over an hour later when she hung up the phone. Her teammate wouldn’t be able to make the practice that afternoon, and she’d needed to fill her in on the details of the meetings in Canada and get her input before she presented the plans to the team.
She still hadn’t heard anything from Jack.
Crap. And she didn’t have time to deal with that now. Practice started in an hour, and she had to get down to the ice arena.
Pulling up the app on her phone, she quickly arranged for an Uber to pick her up and ran up the stairs to get changed.
Jack stared blankly at the screen in front of him.
Just like he’d been trying to do for the last hour.
It was no use. He’d been trying to work, but couldn’t concentrate, the numbers on the screen a blur of color as his mind kept returning to Murphy.
He shouldn’t have walked out—shouldn’t have left without at least telling her goodbye. That was stupid.
For such a brainy guy, he sure made some dumb moves.
He glanced at the time in the corner of his screen and grabbed his keys. He’d have a chance to talk to her while he drove her to practice.
Tossing the dog a treat, he pulled the door shut behind him then jogged down the steps of his apartment—just in time to see an Uber driver pulling away from the curb. A hockey stick and Murphy’s blond head were visible in the back window.
Crap.
He’d blown it now.
His heart sank. That had to be the fastest romance in the history of the world. Or at least in his history. It had been amazing, but now it felt like it was over before it even had a chance to begin.
Which made it feel like a tawdry one-night stand. And he didn’t think he’d ever done anything tawdry before in his life.
He turned and trudged up the stairs, tossing his keys on to the table as Maggie raced around his legs, excited to see him even though he’d only been gone for a minute.
He let out a heavy sigh. If only he was as exciting in real life as his dog thought he was.
His cell phone gave a short buzz, indicating a text, and he pulled it from his pocket, his heart leaping at the sight of Murphy’s name on the screen.
“What happened to you? Missed you this afternoon. We still on for dinner?”
Oh thank goodness, she wasn’t mad. And she’d just said she missed him. His fingers fumbled as he tried to answer the text but dropped the phone instead.
It hit the floor and slid under the sofa. He fell to his knees, reaching under the sofa as Maggie raced around him, barking at what must be a new game.
“Get back, girl,” he scolded, his fingers brushing the side of the phone and pushing it further under the couch.
Scanning the room, he searched for something to use to reach the phone. Grabbing the remote control he stretched out his arm and tried to use the remote to bat the phone toward him, but he whacked it too hard and the phone sailed farther away.
“Shit,” he said as the dog pounced on his back legs, startling him enough that he dropped the remote.
He heard the phone vibrate again and peered under the sofa, the light from the screen illuminating the dark recesses. He spied not only the phone and the remote, but three tennis balls, a rawhide, the silver money clip he’d thought he lost several months ago, and a beer can, hopefully empty. Although what it was doing under there was anyone’s guess. He’d have to get the money clip later though. Hopefully it had a twenty in it instead of the normal seven dollars of coffee cash he carried.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.” He raced into the kitchen, yanking open the kitchen drawer and digging for something with a long handle. Kitchen utensils hit the floor as he snatched a spatula from the drawer.
Maggie raced at his side, giving a yip of excitement at his abnormal frantic behavior. He and the dog normally lived a pretty calm life. No wonder she was excited.
Dropping to his knees, he reached the spatula under the sofa and finally retrieved the phone.
The new message simply read, “??”
He quickly typed a response. “Yes,” followed by a second message. “Sorry, phone was under the couch.”
“Under the couch?” She added a confused face emoticon.
“Long story.”
“What time should I pick u up?”
“I can drive.”
“I got this. I’m taking u out, remember?” Smiley-face emoticon.
He remembered.
And his pulse quickened at the thought of spending the evening with her again.
What emoticon symbolized “I can’t wait to see you—hope we get to have sex again”? Hmm. Maybe best to leave off the emoticon for now. “How about 6? Or 7? Whatever you want.”
“Lol. How about 6:30-ish?” Another smiley face.
He wasn’t much of an ‘ish’ kind of guy. He prided himself on his punctuality.
“Sounds great.”
“Can’t wait.” This time, she followed her text with a pink heart emoticon.
A heart? Oh boy.
He set the phone on the coffee table and fished the rest of the things out of from under the sofa. Brushing the dust bunnies from the money clip, he was surprised to see it held two twenty dollar bills.
Maybe it was his lucky day, after all.
Jack paced the floor, Maggie at his heels, and checked his watch once more.
Six thirty-nine.
Maybe she’d changed her mind. Decided she didn’t want to go to dinner.
Stop it.
She’d said six thirty-ish, so she wasn’t late, exactly. She just wasn’t exactly on time either.
He shook out his hands. It was fine. This is who she was. It wasn’t her fault that he’d been completely ready since five forty-five, just in case she showed up early.
He’d heard that punctuality could reflect a sense of control in your life. It made sense. With his erratic health issues, being on time was something he could control.
With the way Murphy moved around so much and never had any say in where she ended up, maybe being five minutes late was her way of thumbing her nose at the control that other people had over her.
Geez, maybe he should have got a degree in psychology. And maybe
he should quit trying to psycho-analyze everything about his relationship with her, and just let things happen.
He glanced down at the perfectly ironed seam in his suit pants and the polished gleam of his dress shoes, then up at the flawless bouquet of roses that sat on the counter. Yeah, being impulsive and spontaneous weren’t his strong points. He liked to have a plan, to know what to expect.
And that was one of the biggest problems with imagining a relationship with Murphy—she didn’t seem to ever really have a plan. She was reckless and open to whatever experience seemed to happen to her.
Although not with this women’s hockey team. She really wanted this. Even though she had jumped on a plane at a moment’s notice and flown off to Canada for a single meeting. She probably hadn’t even pre-printed her boarding pass.
But weren’t these the precise things that he’d always loved about her? The way she made him laugh, made him experience new things, the way she’d dragged him out of his room to go find an adventure. Even if it was just a late night run to the convenience store for Slurpees—she always made everything fun.
He checked his watch again.
Six forty-five.
Where was she?
His phone buzzed, and he checked the text message on the screen.
“On my way. Meet me outside your apartment.”
His heart pounded against his chest. She hadn’t forgotten.
He grabbed the flowers, tossed a treat to Maggie and pulled the door shut behind him.
Working to even his breathing, he walked down the stairs, but his pounding heart sank as he heard the low rumble of an engine and watched Murphy roar up the driveway on her motorcycle.
She wore tall black leather boots, a red leather jacket, and—holy shit, this girl was crazy—a skirt that rode high up her legs as she leaned forward and cut the engine. She looked hot as hell—like she could be on the cover of a motorcycle magazine as she straddled the bike and pulled the helmet off her head.
Her blond hair fell down her back, most of it corralled into an elastic band at her neck. “I told you I’d drive tonight. I thought we’d take the new bike for a spin.”
This is exactly what he meant by impulsive and reckless. He never knew what to expect with this girl. But was that a bad thing?