Complicated Creatures: Part One
Page 29
“Nah,” Willa answered. “I think I’ll let myself down.”
“Willa…”
She knocked back the rest of her wine. “We’re fucking depressing for a Saturday night. Let’s go out.”
“Willa—”
She slapped her hand onto Sam’s and mock-glared at her. “I don’t want to get drunk on your couch and do therapy while I drool over the Roman brothers at the Bulls game I should be at. Let’s go dance to whatever’s going on at Wild Hare and flirt with boys that are far too young for us and do shots of something we’ll regret tomorrow.”
Sam grinned at her. “Let me change into something appropriately slutty.”
Willa smiled back at her, her bright blue eyes flashing. “Now you’re talking!”
*
November—An hour later
Lincoln Park, Chicago
S A M A N T H A
“All right! All right, where you from?” Willa asked, pointing at the first guy in the row of four good-looking twenty-somethings lined up at the bar. She’d just teed up four shots in front of each guy. Sam figured they were either going to have a great night or get so blind drunk, they couldn’t remember it. Whatever the case, whenever Willa was serving up, there was rarely anyone turning them down.
“Chicago!” The first one answered. He sported pretty blue eyes, a head full of soft curls, and wicked little smile.
“Good, you stay,” Willa declared, pointing to the next. “You?”
“St. Louis,” the second guy replied, flashing a sexy smile with his rock-boy look and the sexy bedroom eyes.
“Eh. I’ll let you stay one round,” Willa shrugged. “Don’t disappoint me, St. Louis. How about you, bachelor number three?” she asked.
“Evanston!” the cute Asian guy replied, his dimples deepening.
“Barely counts as Chicago, but what the fuck, I’m in a good mood and you’re adorable. And you, lover boy?” she asked, looking at the final guy.
He grinned. “Kingston,” he answered with a gorgeous Jamaican accent and a vivid white smile set off by flawless dark chocolate skin.
“Ooooh, a tropical brother, I like it!” Willa grinned, clapping. “Okay, boys! My lovely partner-in-crime Sam and I have served you up shots of Cuervo Gold as a thank you for your participation.” Willa paused for dramatic effect, winking at Sam. “We do four rounds of trivia across sports, music, and whatever-we-feel-like. Last two standing get to dance with us! You ready?”
“What kind of music?” guy number two asked. He had a mop of dark hair, and Sam was willing to bet he was a musician with the skinny dark jeans and lashes so thick he looked like he was sporting boy-liner.
“Whatever kind we feel like testing you on, St. Louis,” Willa answered saucily.
Wild Hare was already packed, people surrounding the bar chatting or dancing to excellent dancehall. With Barrington Levy blaring, it was impossible not to be in a good mood.
“You’re not drinking with us?” the Jamaican asked.
Willa smiled. “We’ll toast the winners before we dance, Winston.”
“My name’s not Winston. It’s Quince,” he answered, looking confused. Albeit hot and confused. Sam grinned behind her hand as she leaned on the bar.
“Not tonight, baby. You’re how Willa Got Her Groove Back right now. So—first question! What was the last year the Chicago Cubs won the World Series?”
“1908!” Chicago guy and Evanston guy shouted simultaneously.
“You two,” Willa pointed at St. Louis and Winston. “Drink!”
Chicago and Evanston high-fived.
“To how bad the Cubs suck? Sure!” St. Louis smirked, knocking his shot back.
Willa glared.
Sam smiled. “How many albums did Bob Marley make in his career?”
“Does that include with the Wailers?” St. Louis asked.
“Yup,” she nodded. “Answers?”
“Six.”
“Over a hundred.”
“Fifty.”
“One hundred and ten,” Winston/Quince answered confidently.
“That’s hardly fair!” Evanston disputed. “Of course the guy from Jamaica knows that!”
“Like you’d know when the Cubs won the World Series?” Sam laughed. “You’re in a reggae bar, Evanston. Don’t be an asshole. Drink up!”
Three guys took their shots in quick tosses, a couple gasping while Winston/Quince grinned.
“Name the top three scorers for the Bulls this season,” Willa asked.
As the guys started naming players, Sam felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. She pulled it out of her jeans—it was Jack.
Dove è il mio tesoro?11
Sam smiled.
Wild Hare. Up to no good, she replied.
I’m all about you and no good, he answered. May I join?
Sam chuckled as she typed, Depends. You dance to reggae?
Definitely. Be there in a few.
“St. Louis, you’re an embarrassment!” Willa laughed beside her. “Drink! Drink! Drink!”
“At least I’ll get drunk fast tonight,” St. Louis grumbled, coughing a little on his third shot.
“Sam, get off the damn phone. Pay attention to our contestants. What’s the final question?” Willa asked.
Sam tucked her phone back in her jeans, considering the guys. “All right, this is a Chicago Blues Brothers question. What kind of car was the Bluesmobile?”
“A Dodge Monaco,” Chicago guy answered.
“A 1974 Dodge Monaco,” St. Louis added, looking smug.
“What he said,” Evanston laughed.
“Yeah, that’s what I was going to say,” Winston/Quince answered, looking confused.
“Not enough swagger to save you two cheating cheaters,” Willa laughed. “Drink up!”
They shrugged, tossing their shots back.
“So Chicago, you get your pick of which of us you want to dance with,” Sam told good-looking guy number one. “We have a lighting round now between Evanston and Winston,” she declared.
“I’m Jerry,” Evanston answered readily.
“And I’m still Quince,” Quince added.
“And I still don’t care, Winston,” Willa sassed. “Okay. Final round…you ready?”
They nodded.
“Name four famous rappers from Chicago!”
“Common, Kanye West, Twista, and Lupe Fiasco,” Evanston answered, ticking them off his fingers.
“Common, Kanye, Twista, and J Dilla,” Quince said, also looking confident.
Willa’s brows shot up. “Figures a cute Asian guy from Evanston knows his rappers. Winston, I’m sorry to say…J Dilla was from Detroit. Console yourself in tequila, Winston!”
Sam and Willa picked up Chicago and Evanston’s remaining shots and toasted, knocking them back.
Sam felt the buzz slide down her spine. She was officially ready to party.
“Now come claim your prize!” Willa declared. They made their way out to the dance floor, which was packed with enthusiastic, like-minded revelers. Chicago danced with Sam and was shockingly good. His curly hair fell over his brow as he twirled her around and brought her close, dancing front to back before twisting her around to face him. They danced for several songs before she saw Quince cut in to dance with Willa. Even in her buzzed state, she saw Quince impressing the hell out of her with his moves. Willa was hooting and hollering along with several spectators.
At some point, Sam felt an arm slide around her waist, tightening and pulling her back against a hard body. Sam was getting ready to push away when she caught Jack’s scent. She closed her eyes, tilting her head back and smiling.
“Hey there, darlin’,” she drawled, relaxing into his arms as they danced.
“She’s with me,” Chicago protested.
“Sorry, man,” Jack replied, tightening his arms around her waist. “But this is my lady. I was at the Bulls game. Thanks for holding my place,” he smiled, holding out his hand in thanks.
Chicago’s eyebrows popped
up. “Who won?” he asked as he shook Jack’s hand.
“We did.” Jack smiled. “You can see how I’d want to celebrate with my girl.”
“Holy shit, it’s Jack Roman!” Willa shouted over the music, throwing an arm around Jack’s shoulder.
Jack directed a dazzling smile her way as Chicago snuggled up to a different dancer. “And you must be the indelible Willa Carter,” he replied.
“That smile should be a registered weapon,” Willa accused, clearly buzzed off her ass.
“Only in Cook County,” Jack quipped.
“We met at a fundraiser years ago. I don’t remember you being this good-looking,” Willa flirted.
“I’m not, actually,” Jack lied, winking outrageously. “You’ve just got really good liquor in your system.”
Willa chuckled, swirling back to Quince while Jack danced with Sam.
Jack ducked his head to kiss her neck.
“Mmm. You smell good,” Sam sighed, drawing her arms up and around to twine in his hair. “Must be the pheromone of your favorite team winning.”
Jack laughed into her nape. “Eau la victoire. You been having fun, tesoro?”
“Just indulging in a few bad decisions and a little regrettable behavior,” she murmured, tilting her hips into his pelvis as he groaned into her hair.
“Keep doing that, and I’m going to spread you like butter,” Jack said in her ear, his breath hot.
Sam twisted, turning to face him as she slid her arms over his shoulders, her fingers twining into his hair. “Darlin’, you say the sweetest things,” she replied, her voice a little hoarse from the tequila.
Jack kissed her hard, his mouth hungry. She thrilled at the feeling, pulling him closer as they moved to the music. They made out like teenagers until Sam registered Willa hooting and hollering in the background. She pulled back, flushed from too much liquor, the dopamine coursing through her body, and the heat of the dance floor.
“DAMN, you two! I think I had an orgasm by proxy,” Willa teased, fanning her neck. “Let’s get drinks!” she said, dragging Quince off the dance floor.
They ordered another round.
“What should we toast to?” Willa asked.
“I’m not drunk!” Sam declared.
“‘I’m just drinking!’” she and Willa shouted, laughing at the old Albert Collins blues line as they toasted Jack and Quince.
Jack shook his head, knocking back his shot with a smile. “How long have you two been at it?” he asked.
Willa leaned toward him, poking her finger in his chest. “We saw you on television at the game. Floor seats, Jack-Be-Nimble? Niiiiice. And your baby Jack-Be-Quick brother? So fiiiiiine,” she told him in a superior, albeit drunken, voice.
“You watched the game?” Jack asked.
“Only part,” Willa admitted. “But really we just talked shit about you two. Damn your fine asses! Right, Sam I Am?”
“She gives you weird nicknames when she’s drunk,” Sam confided to Jack in a loud voice.
“Hey, I heard that!” Willa argued. “And Winston here—” She reached back, groping the air for the Jamaican.
“It’s Quince,” he corrected again.
“Right, whatever,” Willa replied. “And Winston here loves my nicknames!”
“Actually—” he started.
Jack grinned at Willa as she mock-glared at poor Quince. “As I was saying, Jack, you’re friggin’ HOT. H-A-W-T, hot,” Willa spelled, weaving a little. Jack gripped her elbow to steady her. “And my girl here,” she continued as if nothing could stop her. “Digs you. Like…really digs you, get me?”
“I think you need another drink,” Sam grumbled, interrupting her.
Jack looked bemused.
Sam signaled the bartender.
“No, you’re not hearing me, Jack Daniels,” Willa insisted, leaning toward him a little, clearly feeling the effects of the shots piling up. “I’ve been friends with this one for years, and she has never, never talked about anyone like she talks about you. Ain’t that right, Sam-ilicous?”
Sam rolled her eyes, picking up her shot. “Jack, ignore her. And it’s your turn to toast.”
He looked down at her, his expression gentling. “Cento di questi giorni…con me.”12
Willa looked perplexed. Sam tried to translate through the tequila haze. Quince just shrugged and shot, dragging Willa back out on the dance floor.
“It’s unspeakably sexy to hear you bullshit me in Italian,” Sam told him, wagging her finger. “I bet you speak bella Italiana to all the girls.”
Jack smiled, kissing her mouth again. “You taste like tequila and bad decisions, tesoro. Now how about a little regrettable behavior?”
“You’re a bad man, Jack Roman,” she whispered against his lips.
Jack pulled back, eyes twinkling. “As long as I’m your man.”
Sam was admittedly pretty lit up, but Jack was a seriously good dancer. And though she would never have guessed it, he was obviously very comfortable in the raucous scene that was typical of the Wild Hare on a weekend. His moves were fluid and teasing, and he made her laugh more than once as he sang along with a pseudo-Islands accent that was more entertaining than it was embarrassing.
“How are you as comfortable at a reggae bar as you are at a gala at the Art Institute?” Sam asked in drunk wonder.
Jack grinned. “Same as you, I suppose. You grow up in both worlds.”
“You grew up near the Wild Hare?” Sam asked in bewilderment.
“Close. I went to Northwestern,” Jack laughed. “Mitch and I used to go to their old location. And you and I both know no self-respecting college guy doesn’t know the bar scene.” He grinned, remembering something. “And I snuck into this place when the Fugees played a concert here while I was in high school. God, I had the biggest crush on Lauryn Hill.”
Sam laughed in disbelief, eyes wide. “Holy shit, you continually surprise me, Jack.”
“Why?” he asked. “Cause I liked Lauryn Hill?”
“No. She’s gorgeous. Hell, I like Lauryn Hill. I’m just surprised you know who the Fugees are.”
He laughed at that, pulling her closer to him as his thighs brushed hers. The secure hold of his arms around her felt so incredibly good. Sam realized with the insight a little too much alcohol can expose that she was in real danger of losing a part of herself to this man. And perhaps more astonishing, she wasn’t worried about it. The thought was so surprising that she stilled for a moment, looking up at him dazedly.
“You okay, tesoro?” Jack asked, running a thumb across her cheekbone.
Sam nodded mutely, cupping his arms. She fished around for the ensuing dismay that would have her making her excuses before she quickly extracted herself, but it wasn’t there. She wondered if the absence of panic was caused by the dancing and the buzz of that elusive, just-the-right-amount of alcohol filtering through her system. She felt softly-edged and loose-limbed, but she knew it was more than the alcohol… it was the relaxation that accompanied trust.
They danced together for a few more songs before he edged them toward the bar. “You ready to go, or do you need more feel-good libations?” Jack asked in that teasing, sexy voice of his.
Sam tilted her head back. “I want you to take me home and make me scream your name and see the Holy Trinity.”
Jack’s smile was immediate and dazzling. “I’ll get Willa. We’ll drop her off on the way.”
“You think of everything.”
Jack brushed his thumb over her mouth, dipping it in ever so slightly. “Apparently, I only think about you.” He smiled wickedly. “And making you cry out my name. And see God and the Holy Trinity.”
“Be careful, Jack,” Sam laughed, tilting her head. “I might think you’re falling in love with me.”
“It’s done, tesoro,” he replied, pressing his lips to her temple. “It’s already done.”
*
November—Hours later
The Whitney, Chicago
J A C K
“So brave,” he whispered, opening his eyes to look at the marks he stroked. “So strong.”
“No.”
Jack lifted his head. Samantha watched him, her eyes black.
“Yes,” he argued gently, pressing his lips to her shoulder. “You’re one of the strongest people I think I’ve ever met. A warrior,” he told her softly, hand ghosting over her hair.
“Jack—no,” she breathed, closing her eyes, her face tight, as if she were in pain. “They’re reminders. For bad mistakes I’ve made.” Samantha turned her head away. “I’m not proud of them.” She spoke so softly that he almost missed it.
“They’re reminders that you’ve survived.” He turned her gently, holding her back to his front. His hand slipped up until he found her steady, assuaging heartbeat. When she said nothing, Jack pressed his face to her hair. “Will you tell me about them?” he asked.
Samantha remained silent for a while, slipping her hand over his, resting on her heart. “I can’t,” she whispered into the darkness.
“Can’t or won’t?” he whispered back, lips against her hair.
“Both,” she admitted softly. “There are things—I can’t tell you. Others…” Samantha took a breath. “Other things, you wouldn’t want to know.”
Jack pressed his hand flat on her heart. “I find that hard to believe, tesoro. I’ve never wanted to know more about a person.”
Samantha squeezed his hand gently. “Don’t venerate me, Jack. I’ll only disappoint you.”
He laughed.
She turned in his arms. “Why are you laughing?”