Me? I’d have happily kept kissing her until we wound up making out in the damn water. And that’s not typical for me. Yes, a few past first dates ended up in bed—only one of them in my bed—Jackie sure as hell doesn’t need to know that—but those dates were never more than one-night distractions. I learned quickly that as helpful as those hookups were at getting me over my pain-filled divorce, they were also unsatisfying. The awkward morning after was so strange I amended my sex rule to “her place, not mine,” and I morphed into one of those guys who favored leaving in the middle of the night.
I’m not like that anymore. And I’m not like that with Jackie. I’d never leave her in bed while I sneaked downstairs without my shoes. I haven’t felt this way since I dated Leslie. That thought introduces the smallest kernel of doubt. I shove it aside and hang a left on Cross Street.
“Vince.”
“Yeah?”
Jackie glances to the side mirror. “You turned the wrong way on Cross.”
“Not true.” I flex my hand on the steering wheel, weirdly nervous. “This is the way to my house.”
“I know, but…”
Sigh.
“But you don’t want to go back to my house,” I finish for her.
“Well…”
“It’s Friday,” I say, as if that’s reason enough to take her home. “You come over almost every weekend for movie night.” Or she did, until she started dating Jaundice.
“That’s true, but…”
Another “but.” I can guess what comes next, so I stop acting like an ass and give her hand a squeeze. “But that was before we made out hot and heavy on our first date.”
She doesn’t respond and there’s no need. The kernel of doubt develops into a sprout. Everything between us has changed, even though I didn’t mean for it to. I wanted things to change. I wanted to add kissing to our friendship, not swap one for the other.
I pump the brakes—both literally and mentally—and turn into a random driveway, checking behind me for traffic so I can set the course for Jackie’s apartment.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Taking you home.” I see my opening, reverse out, and drive toward her place. A palpable hesitation from her reminds me how complicated things have become. “It’s not a big deal. I should have asked.”
“But you normally wouldn’t have to ask,” she says matter-of-factly. She’s figured out our conundrum too.
“It’s okay,” I say, because if I keep saying it, hopefully it will be.
I weave around the main road in her complex. The guest parking spaces are full save for a few in the back, and I silently swear. Dropping her off in front of her porch means our kiss goodbye will be in the car. I’d prefer walking her up and pressing her back to the door. Since I don’t see any other cars…
“I’ll get your door.” I leave the keys in the ignition, the engine idling, and I’m out of the car before I hear what might be her protests. I suddenly don’t like sensible Jackie. She’s already outside the car when I reach her, a smile spreading the lips I want another taste of before I leave.
“How did you do it?” She beams up at me, her eyes so filled with naked approval, I pull my shoulders back.
“Do what?” I’m grinning too, and hoping her question is something along the lines of How did you make me want to invite you in and kiss you until you’re ready to explode?
Instead she says, “The flowers,” and starts for her stoop.
Huh?
I turn my head and realize that Jaundice has fucked me over, and I’ll bet he didn’t do it on purpose. There is a huge bouquet of daisies stuck in her mailbox by the door, note attached.
Leaving my idling car behind, I follow her to the door, because leaping into my car and peeling out of the parking lot would be rude. Before I can explain the daisies aren’t from me, she shows me the card. I read it, anger throttling me.
Because roses are generic. ~J.T.
“Daisies aren’t much better,” I tell her. Like a jerk.
Jackie’s eyes flit across the street toward the other apartments. I can’t exactly tell which is J.T.’s, but I know that’s why she’s looking over there. She cradles the bouquet and licks her lips in a nervous gesture.
“Listen. Vince.” Her creased brow tells me all I need to know. She’d invite me in, but it’s too soon—or hell, maybe too late. She’d kiss me goodbye on the stoop, but J.T. might be watching out the windows and she doesn’t want to hurt his feelings.
Guess what? I don’t care about J.T.’s feelings. Or his stupid show-Vince-up flowers.
“I had a nice time tonight,” she says, her smile returning. But it’s a distant smile—bordering on flat. It’s not hard to decipher that those words are a brush-off. They weren’t original. I’ve heard them before. They just never hurt as much as they do right now.
“I noticed.” I step out of my space and into hers. So close I crinkle the cellophane of her bouquet between our bodies. I thumb her bottom lip and lean closer.
She stops me by wrapping a hand around my wrist.
“See you Monday.” Jackie lets go of me and produces a house key. She’s addressing me from the interior of her apartment before I can blink. “Thanks again for dinner. We’ll do this again.”
Her door shuts in my face and I stare at the panel, stupefied.
Did that really happen?
I turn and walk down the steps to my car, and it takes every ounce of resistance in my body not to glare in the direction of J.T.’s window—wherever the hell he is.
I sink into my driver’s seat, head shaking at my awkward departure. And realizing belatedly that Jackie once again threw the “See you Monday” at me, which means she’s not planning on seeing me again this weekend.
Chapter 11
Vince
“Did you believe one date would seal the deal?” Davis asks me from the opposite side of the booth. “That’s lame even for you, Carson.”
We’re at a sports bar named For Puck’s Sake. It’s hockey themed. Columbus Blue Jackets jerseys and photos of the team are hung haphazardly between pucks and sticks and equipment on the walls.
We hate this place. We’ve always hated this place. Yet here we are.
“Did you believe eating here instead of McGreevy’s would make you forget how Gracie inadvertently insulted you?” I shoot back.
Davis pulls his eyes from the television to glare at me. “We’re talking about you being mad at Jackie-O for not sleeping with you on the first date, not Grace or McGreevy’s Pub.”
“I’m not mad that Jackie didn’t sleep with me, you asshole.” I told him the whole story, including the flowers from Jaundice that put the kibosh on any further contact between my and Jackie’s mouths that evening. “I’m not mad at all. I’m frustrated because we’re no longer friends.”
“Men and women can’t be friends.” Davis puts a fry into his mouth and watches the television again. It’s a replay OSU football game, which is about as out of place as the waitresses, who wear referee shirts with the shortest skirts I’ve ever seen.
The Bucks score a touchdown and the entire place, including Davis and me, erupts with cheers even though the game happened five years ago. We Ohio State fans bleed scarlet and gray.
“You need to up your game.” Davis takes a gulp from his tall, frosted mug. “Or else you’re going to backslide into friends with her and that’s all you’ll have left. On the bright side, you’ll be best man at her and Running Guy’s wedding.”
Is it pathetic that Davis’s statement drills into my chest like a hollow-point bullet? I take a drink, then another, from my own frosted mug. “His name’s Jaundice.”
Davis lets out a light chuckle and it’s the first one I’ve heard tonight—hell, in a while. He’s not jovial on his best day, but lately he’s been one grouchy son of a bitch. “I told you it was stupid to encourage her to go out with that guy. You’re Mister Safe Zone.”
Despite his earlier insults and unfortunate honesty, Dav
is is on my side. He has my back. I have his too, which is why I brought up Grace. If he continues avoiding her, I’ll have to bring up Hanna by name, then risk him Hulking out on me. If he needs it, though, I won’t hesitate. He did the same for me when I was sulking over Leslie.
“I’m listening,” I say, “but you have one minute to make your point before I start hitting below the belt.”
“That’s fair.” Davis swipes the napkin over his mouth and tosses it into his empty plastic food basket.
I lean in. I need advice and I’m desperate. Last night I drove home after leaving Jackie on her doorstep—unkissed, I might add. I watched From Dusk Till Dawn with blind eyes. I was staring through George and Quentin when I’m normally rapt. And whenever a vamp tore out someone’s throat, I mentally swapped the victim for J.T.
Immature, sure, but oh so satisfying.
“How’d you get Polly to sleep with you?” Davis asks.
“Why? Do you need pointers or something?” Shit. He did go out with Polly that night. Not that I care, but…yeah, okay, I care. It’s not that I want to date her, but since I know Davis isn’t interested in dating anyone long term, it seems unfair for him to sleep with her. And unfair to Grace, but that’s another can of night crawlers.
“No, dumbass. I want to know how you talked Polly into bed because that’s the same tactic you’re going to have to use with Jackie-O. Turn up the heat.”
“Polly and I didn’t do a lot of talking,” I mumble. I see what he’s getting at, though. I’m handling Jackie with kid gloves instead of pursuing her. I shake my head because using my wiles would never work on my coworker. “Jackie is nothing like Polly.”
“True. I bet Jackie is church-mouse quiet in bed, whereas Polly—”
“Geez, man, seriously?” I hold up a hand because cupping my palms over my ears would make me look like a ten-year-old.
Davis lets out a hearty laugh. “I’m fucking with you, Carson. I didn’t take Polly to bed. God, man. I have rules.”
He does? I’ve heard rumors of the “Davis packages” but I mostly thought he was kidding. I frown in consideration, and maybe a little in admiration.
“You have mad game, Vince.”
“Mad game? Who says that?” But he ignores me.
“For some reason you’re reserving using said mad game for the right time with your coworker. Keep in mind this other guy is playing the game and playing it hard. He’s not keeping any of his game in reserves. He’s going for Jackie-O full out.”
I think of the Château Sedacca and the home-cooked meal. Davis is right.
“So, what, I’m supposed to seduce her away from him?” I hear the fear-edged anger in my voice.
“You told Jackie you’d coach her. So coach her. She wants to know how to get the guy, and you’re just the guy to show her.”
“You’re missing the point. I don’t want her anywhere near this guy.”
“No, but in showing her the how-tos, she’ll be with you.” Davis points at me. “This is a numbers game, bro. The more time you spend with Jackie, the less of it she has to spend with Jaundice.”
I smile because he used my pet name for J.T.
“You know Jackie better than I do,” Davis continues, “but I’m guessing if she’s hot and heavy with you, she’s going to have a hard time getting hot and heavy with Blondie.”
Right. I nod, understanding his point. Actually, I’m excited by his suggestion—it’s a glimpse of possibility when I need it most. A vision of the cavalry riding over the hill when I’m neck deep in Middle Earth orcs.
“I showed my cards too early.” I snatched the kiss from her over delivered fast-food chicken rather than mounting a careful attack.
“Yep. Now she’s got you waiting in the wings for her to decide if this other dude has better game than you do. And by my count he’s flowers, two, to your flowers, zero.” Davis makes an “okay” symbol, then targets me through the circle made with his thumb and forefinger.
“Coach her,” I repeat.
“Until she’s screaming your name.” Davis lifts his mug, and I lift mine and tap “cheers.” We finish off our drinks and bang the glasses on the table, which is evidently the For Puck’s Sake Morse code for “Bring me the bill.” A waitress shows up, her hair in pigtails, socks to her knees, skirt showing a whole lot of thigh.
“Are you ready to cash out?” she asks Davis, smiling as she smacks her gum.
“God, yes. We hate this place.” He says it with a grin, which earns him a giggle from Pigtails. I shake my head in wonder at a man in his element. It’s hard to believe this is the same guy who was up to his eyeballs in forever at one point.
In less than sixty seconds, Davis hands Pigtails his credit card and she’s written her phone number on his hand.
I’m not surprised in the least.
She is a blonde.
Jacqueline
I pace to Vince’s office door for the third time before turning back toward my office and doing the loop one final time. No one’s in the building but us because it’s the ungodly hour of six A.M. Vince probably thinks he’s here alone, and most of the time he is. For the past few months, he’s been coming in early to enjoy the first quiet hour in the morning before the throngs bustle in chattering about the day’s top headlines.
I’m never in this early. My brain is fuzzy and my eyes are grainy, as my first cup of coffee hasn’t kicked in yet. I came in this early because I need to talk to him about this weekend—after I panicked like a complete ninny over a bouquet of flowers. I offered a generic send-off and shut the door on Vince’s handsome face for one reason: I worried that J.T. was watching from his apartment across the street for me to pick up the flowers. Kissing Vince would have put me in the hot seat.
I’m a coward.
I called Bethany the next morning for advice. My older, more sophisticated sister answered in hushed tones from a guy’s bathroom—a guy she’d picked up at a work mixer the night before.
“Are you going to see him again?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe. He’s really good in bed, but he snores.”
I’m torn between admiration and disgust for the way Bethany lives her life. We broached the topic of the flowers and Vince, and she reminded me of something very important.
“You don’t owe anyone an explanation, Jacqueline. You are doing nothing wrong. Kiss whoever you want to kiss. Befriend whoever you want to befriend. You’re waiting on the sex thing until you decide who to have it with, but there’s no rush. You’re in the driver’s seat, honey. I know that’s hard to accept after Lex locked you in the trunk….”
She was being metaphorical but it didn’t make her any less right. Bethany sat on her one- or two-night stand’s toilet lid and gave me the pep talk I needed. Lex made me believe I didn’t matter, further proving it when he didn’t adhere to the wedding vows that meant something—to me, at least.
But enough is enough. I need to let Vince know that I’m the one misbehaving and that he did everything right. He wanted to kiss me. I stopped that kiss from happening and regretted it all weekend. Vince deserves better. If he thinks I don’t care about him, he might call up one of those bimbos from his past. Unacceptable.
I knock on the door frame. Vince looks up, papers in both hands, glasses resting on the end of his nose. He tugs them off, his eyes glazed like he was mired in numbers or some other complicated data.
“Morning.”
“Morning,” he answers, setting the papers down and dropping the glasses onto the stack. Sexy with them on, sexy with them off. Double threat. “What are you doing here so early?”
“I wanted to talk to you. About Friday.”
The intake of breath and the stoic nod tell me I brought up a topic he’d rather ignore. But I was in the wrong and I’m willing to admit it. He stands from his desk.
“You don’t have to get up. I won’t be long. I wanted to say I’m sorry about the way our date ended. It was unforgivably rude not to focus on you and you alone.”
He slides his hands in his jeans pockets and swaggers over, and for the life of me I try to stay on point rather than admire the sexy way he ambles closer.
“Um…” Like that, I lose my train of thought. I find my way back clumsily. “I was on a date with you and I enjoyed myself. I didn’t mean to let a bouquet of daisies derail everything we—”
“Relax, Butler.” Vince stands in front of me now, looking down at me and smelling—Lord, heavenly. “I crossed a line with you.”
I blink. “Pardon?”
“I promised to coach you with J.T., and then I confused coaching with winning and it wasn’t fair to you.”
“You wanted to win me?” I ask, my voice fragile.
“Nah, it’s a testosterone thing.” Vince’s mouth slides into a casual smile. “Won’t happen again.”
That comment is like a punch to the solar plexus. I fight to pull in my next breath. Finally it comes.
“It won’t?”
“I don’t know what got into me.” He offers a shrug. “One second I was cheering you on, the next I was playing the role of jealous boyfriend. You don’t have to worry because I’m putting on my coaching hat again. The only kissing you’ll be doing with me will be training for what you and J.T. have going on.”
“You think I need kissing training?” This is too weird. So is parroting everything Vince says, but I can’t think of anything original to say.
“Everyone needs practice. Sounds like you and J.T. have a lot of potential. I don’t want you to miss out because I’m distracting you.” He lifts his hand like a high five. “Team Butler.”
I raise my hand, still unsure, and he slaps my palm.
“Team Butler!” he shouts, briefly linking our fingers before he lets me go. “Anyway, I have to get this month’s quarterly budget done, so I should get to it.” Positioned over his desk, he unbuttons his sleeves and rolls them to his elbows. I watch the reveal of the tats on his left arm, my mouth going dry. “When’s your next date?”
Eye Candy Page 8