"Fucking stop," she says. "You did take care of me and you got me home with my ass intact, so I forgive you." She drinks another long drink from the mug and grimaces. “And I feel like shit for cock-blocking you.”
"Doesn't matter much anyway," I say. "It was all for nothing. Jack didn't ask for my number."
There, it's out. That’s what really kept me up half the night. If he was as interested in me as it seemed, why didn't he ask me out? He followed me to the club, forced me to become interested in him, but flaked out at the last minute. Even if he did flake out like a gentleman.
"Maybe he'll come by the bar again," Allie says, her voice is scratchy and heavy. "He was clearly into you, from what I can remember. You can always look him up on Facebook."
He was into me; that much I know with absolute certainty, but just how deep that interest goes is another matter. "I don’t even know his last name," I say pointedly.
“Nick texted me last night,” I say. “He asked if I went home with ‘that big fucker'.”
“What’d you say?”
“I told him I was giving Jack a blowjob and needed him to leave me alone.”
Allie’s face perks up and for a second, she’s almost totally alert. “You did not say that.”
I can help but grin. “Yes, I did.”
Allie and I snicker over coffee as I try not to wish what I told Nick was true.
§
I drive to Claire's after my shift at Willie’s and I tell her about Jack. She listens as we fold her laundry, happy that I’m talking about someone with interest rather than complaining Nick.
“He’s so good looking, Claire. And he’s polite, funny, and he’s got some smooth moves on the dance floor.”
“Well, listen to you. You’ve never talked about someone with so much umph,” Claire says, stacking a small mountain of towels into a basket.
“He was…intriguing,” I say.
“Well, speaking of intriguing, Mark gave Robert your number.”
“Who’s Robert?” I ask.
“Duh, the guy you agreed to go out with? Earth to Carly.” Claire swats me with a wash cloth.
“I’ve changed my mind, Claire. I don’t want to go.”
Claire throws her hands up in frustration then moves to put them around my neck. I laugh and shove her off.
“What the hell am I gonna do with you?” she groans.
“Well, I gave it a lot of thought, Claire. If Jack and I manage to meet each other again, I’d hate to lead someone else on. I don’t want to be that girl.” I’ve rehearsed this part, knowing that if Claire understood where I was coming from, maybe she’d let me off the hook.
“There’s nothing wrong with talking to them both, as long as it’s just talking. How are you supposed to make a choice if you have only one option?”
I chew at my lip, contemplating what she’s saying. True, Jack and I had very little conversation and what we did have was superficial, but there was something there, something I couldn’t explain if I tried. I felt connected to him, tied to him in a way that runs through me, through the Earth and straight into him. Like we’re both caught in the same high wind, blowing around and brushing against each other before coming to rest in the same spot. How do I explain that and not feel foolish?
“Okay, fine. I’ll go. Just don’t expect anything to come of it,” I warn.
“Don’t you automatically expect nothing to come of it,” Claire says. “You don’t even know if you’ll see Jack again and Robert’s a very nice guy. Mark would never try and fix you up with someone he didn’t think would treat you well.”
“If he texts me, I’ll say yes. Just to appease you,” I say. What’s the worst thing that could happen?
Chapter 4
The rest of Sunday passes and I don’t hear from Robert. Who is this Robert, anyway? All Claire knew was that he’s in his early thirties and comes from money, neither of which matter to me. He owns a local business, but she isn’t sure which one and Mark thinks he’s a ‘real stand-up guy’. I realize I must trust Mark’s judgment a whole hell of a lot to agree to go out with someone based solely on that.
Monday during class, my phone does its little ding ding, and I silence it before the instructor rips my ass a new one. She’s a real ballbreaker and hates when students leave their phones on, which I normally never do. I’m sleepy as hell today; having spent almost all of last night’s sleeping time awake and thinking about Jack again.
Once outside, I rummage in my purse for my phone. It’s a number I don’t recognize, but I know it has to be this Robert fellow.
Hi.
That’s it? I hoist my backpack up on my shoulder and curse myself for even agreeing to this.
Hi. Is this Robert?
God, I feel like such a dork even doing this. What happened to meeting a thoughtful guy who takes your breath away and then just being with them? Oh, yeah, I told him I didn’t need him to follow me home from the club and he didn’t. I killed chivalry in one fell swoop.
Yes. I apologize for the awkwardness of this, but would you like to go to dinner Friday night?
I have to give him points for directness. My thumb hovers over the screen, waiting for some direction from my brain. What the hell.
Sure. When and where?
I wait, the little gray bubble showing up in iMessage as he types. I realize I know nothing about this man, not even what he looks like. Do I trust Mark’s judgment on how attractive another guy is? I think of Jack, my perfect specimen and hope Robert can measure up.
§
Friday comes and there’s no doubt in my mind that Claire is more excited about this date than I am. I came straight to her house after class, but only after she begged and bullied me into it.
“This is not a damned senior prom, Claire. It’s a date. A date that will probably be the first of exactly one.” I pull on the somewhat expensive maroon dress I bought today and instantly feel that the price was justified. I look like a sexy bitch.
“You promised to keep an open mind,” Claire chides. “Mark said he was your type.”
I roll my eyes. “How does Mark know what my type is when I don’t even know?”
I adjust my boobs and appreciate how small the dress makes my waist look and the way it hugs my hips. I’m suddenly sorry to waste this dress on what is sure to be a shitty date.
“He’s tall, dark and handsome,” she says, digging through a small box on her nightstand.
“Oh, god, if Mark used those actual words, you’d better ask him if there’s something he wants to talk to you about.”
Claire flips me off without looking up.
I pull the dress up around my waist and roll the thigh high stockings up my legs. Again, something so awesomely sexy is going to be wasted on this guy.
“Damn, you’re going all out for a date you don’t even wanna go on,” Claire says. Her long blonde hair is pulled back in a high ponytail. She’s wearing yoga pants and one of Mark's t-shirts that says, ‘Ask me about my dong’.
“No need to go looking like shit,” I say. My hair is curled in loose waves, but I like how it’s falling around my face tonight. If I’m lucky, I’ll run into Jack. In the back of my mind, I know I’m dressing like this just in case.
I slide on black heels and then Claire holds her hand out to me.
“Wear these,” Claire says, opening her palm. Two big diamonds glisten in the light of her bedroom lamp.
“No way. I won’t wear those. I know what they cost. Thank you, but I’d never want to be responsible for them.” I close her fingers over the earrings.
“I want you to, Carly. They’ll look beautiful on you. Please wear them.” Her green eyes are so green tonight and I hope their baby has those same eyes whenever it decides to come along.
I take the earrings and the weight of the flashy stone feels just right in my ears. Some days, I feel like I have to be the most unattractive woman on the planet, but tonight, my body and I are friends and I accept that I look great.
/> Mark knocks at the bedroom door and Claire tells him it’s safe come in. He looks at me and his eyes go wide.
“You look fantastic, Carls. Robert is definitely going to have his hands full tonight.”
“Thank you, Mark, but his hands will only get as full as I want them to be.” I double check the earrings and make sure they’re still there. I hope I don’t have the urge to do this all night.
“Fair enough,” Mark says. He grabs Claire by the waist and pecks her cheek. She wraps her arms around him and looks at me.
“Our baby’s all grown up,” she says, feigning tears. “She’s going off into the big old world to get herself a hot man.”
“Oh, shut up,” I say, sticking my tongue out at her. I hope she’s right about the hot man part, though.
§
Like most places in town, the quickest way to get to Captain's Restaurant is to get on the highway and then exit off. I sometimes wonder what Princeton was like before the main highway came through.
I drive on the highway before turning onto the two lane road that leads to the restaurant that'll be the scene of this catastrophe. It's already dark and the trees look naked without the leaves that blow across the road. The restaurant is in the least busy, most remote part of town, but it’s the best food in three counties. West Virginia may be better known for brown beans and cornbread, but Captain’s is definitely a top notch place.
I pull along the side of the building and park as close to the exit as I can. A giant black Cadillac SUV is taking up the best spot and all I can do is scowl at the owner of this big douche-mobile. I wanted to have a clear escape route in case Robert turns out to be an asshole.
I’m a few minutes earlier than the seven o’clock we agreed on, but I walk inside anyway. Robert said he’d be at the table in the far corner, so I head to the hostess at the podium to let her know I’m here. She turns to me, all smiles and servitude, and welcomes me to Captain’s.
“I’m here for a dinner reservation with Robert Webster,” I say.
She eyes down the sheet of paper on her podium. “Mr. Webster is already here.”
My stomach flutters not with butterflies, but with bats, and I'm nervous in spite of my before claimed indifference. I squeeze the small gold clutch I borrowed from Claire and double check the earrings. She walks from behind the podium and says, “Follow me.”
We walk past the other patrons, the eyes of men and women alike falling on me. I may not be society’s standard of beauty, but I try to carry myself as though I don’t care.
I follow the hostess to an empty table in the corner. Dammit. I was hoping to make a kind of entrance.
“Mr. Webster must’ve stepped out,” she says apologetically. “You can go ahead and be seated, if you’d like.”
“Thank you,” I say, pulling the chair out and sitting down. There’s nothing on the table that would suggest Robert has already been here except for a half empty glass of water. God, this is unbearable. Now I remember fully why I detest blind dates. An older man at the table diagonal to ours smiles at me and I return it.
I want to bolt. I want to just run for the door and tell Robert I couldn’t make it. I tap my foot, if only to ease the impulse to rise and run. I take a drink of water from my glass and scan the room.
"Hi," a voice says behind me. I turn in my chair and almost fall out of it.
Jack is standing there or at least a neater, cleaner cut and better dressed version of him.
We stare at each other for what feels like forever. I know my mouth is hanging open, but I don't have the strength to close it. He's wearing a dark gray dinner jacket with dark wash blue jeans. And he's clean shaven, revealing those beautifully pronounced dimples and a cleft chin.
"What are you doing here?" Jack asks. He makes no move to come to the table.
"What are you doing here?"
"I'm on a date," he says, and my heart sinks. So this is why he didn't ask for my number.
"Me, too," I quickly counter. Jack's eyes go to the empty seat.
"With whom?" Jack asks. His face is blank, emotionless.
"Um, with a guy my brother-in-law fixed me up with," I mutter. My mouth feels dry and sticky as I try to speak.
"With Robert Webster?" Jack asks.
"How do you know his name?"
Jack sticks his hand out to me and says, "Because I'm Robert."
I stare at his hand, his words coming out in Chinese for all the sense they make. My body, out of some automatic southern resistance to rudeness, reaches out and places my hand in is. I’m greeted with those same sparks as before.
"Carlene?" he asks.
"Yeah, but everyone calls me Carly for short."
I watch as Jack, or Robert, goes around the table and takes his seat. He steals a glance at my breasts and then at my face. I'm beginning to understand what’s going on.
"Mark told you my name was Carlene Moore, not Carly. That's why you're confused, but why did you tell me your name was Jack?"
"I didn't tell you my name was Jack. That's what Bub called me in the sex shop and you just assumed it was my name. He calls me Jack, short for Lumberjack. I own Webster Sawmill."
Wham, it all makes sense.
"Oh," I mutter. I look at Jack's face and feel a mixture of relief and attraction.
"You look amazing," Jack says, taking a sip from his water glass. I barely hear him in my stunned state.
"This is fucked up, you realize that, right?" I take a drink from my own glass and feel only the cold sensation as I swallow. My head is still spinning, trying to toss one emotion ahead of all the others.
"In a good way, though," Jack says, giving me that megawatt grin. I see dark chest hair barely creeping above the collar of his white button down shirt.
I shake my head in an attempt to clear it. "This is nuts."
"Well, don't be too disappointed," Jack says, feigning hurt feelings. "When Mark said he wanted to fix me up with an accounting major, I was expecting a nerdy intellectual who would regale me with stories of Math Camp and instead I get the sexiest woman I've ever met.”
"I'm not disappointed, quite the opposite," I say quickly, regaining a bit of my senses. I look into those chocolate eyes and I'm fucking ecstatic. "I wondered if I'd luck up and see you again."
"I'm sorry about how I left you at the club. I thought you were giving me the brush off." He looks a little sheepish and a little injured.
"I thought you weren't all that interested in me because you didn't ask for my number." I shift in my seat; my nerves are humming a different tune now as I respond to Jack's proximity.
"How could I not be interested?" Jack asks. He smiles at me and I stare at those thick lips.
The server arrives, interrupting us before I have a chance to answer. "Hello, Mr. Webster," he says, nodding at Jack, "Miss," he says, turning to me. "My name is Brent. I'll be your server this evening. May I suggest something off the wine list?" He produces a long skinny piece of parchment.
"I'll have a double Jack Daniels on the rocks, no wine, please," I say quickly.
Jack's eyebrows go up in surprise. "I'll have the same, please."
"Very good," Brent says. He turns and vanishes from the table.
"You shaved," I say.
Jack rubs his naked chin. "Don't you like it?"
"It looks good on you, Jack," I say. "Shit, I'm sorry. I just can't get used to calling you 'Robert'."
"You can call me Jack," he says. "Lots of people do." He leans back in his chair and looks at me. "I'm going to call you Carlene, though."
He's messing with me and his eyes are full of impish light.
"Please, don't. I'm named after my grandma and I've always been just 'Carly'."
"Well then, 'Just Carly'," Jack says, leaning in toward me. "I'm so glad you turned out to be you."
I can't recall the last time I blushed. I mean, full on, red cheeks, intense burning in the face blushed. I can't talk about anything sexual without pause, but a compliment from Jack has me fluster
ed. "I'm glad you're you, too."
"Like I said earlier, you look gorgeous tonight.” The maroon dress wasn't a waste at all, it turns out.
"Thank you," I say. Brent returns with two glasses, the ice clinking in the tumblers like a melody.
"Ready to order?"
I haven't even opened the menu. "Would you like to suggest something, Jack?"
He wrinkles his mouth for a second, those plump lips twisting into a pucker before he speaks. "Let's have the pecan caramelized brie to start with, followed by lobster tail and apple dumplings for dessert." Jack holds the menus out to Brent and he gives a polite nod before disappearing again.
"That's an awful lot of food," I say. "What makes you think I'm going to stay for three courses?" I smile at him and I watch his eyes come to rest on my lips.
"That smile makes me think you're going to stay," Jack says. "That smile makes me think a lot of things."
Again, I blush.
"How'd your friend fair the other night?" Jack takes a drink from his glass.
"She was a little ill for a couple of days. She thinks that guy roofied her."
"I hear that's happening a lot around here lately," Jack says.
"Men are dicks and that's all they think with," I say automatically. It's my usual response when someone tells me something shitty a guy did.
"Hey now," Jack says, throwing his hands up in mock defense. "Not all men. Not me, for example. I'm as pure as a field of daisies and I rarely ever think with my dick."
I have to give him the laugh he earned with that daisy remark. "Sure, and you're not thinking with it right now, either, are you?"
Jack's eyes flit to my cleavage and a broad, guilty smile spreads across his face. "I said rarely, not never."
"It's okay. After that dance last weekend, I'll let you look on occasion." I smile at him and let my eyes drink him in.
"You are a little pistol," Jack says, his grin going lopsided and sexy again.
"You have no idea," I say. I tip up the Jack Daniels and take a sip. "So what's it like, owning a sawmill?"
Jack launches into conversation about his mill and I can see he has a real passion for it. He talks about being the largest mill in the Mid-Eastern part of the U.S. I watch his mouth as he speaks; those perfectly carved lips and how they shape his eloquent words. His eyes are the greatest enhancement to his face, coming alive and flickering with each expression.
Save Me (Saved Series, Book One) Page 5