Why not? I start toward the kitchen. “I’ve got some open Chardonnay.”
“Still?” His voice is warm and teasing. “I thought for sure you’d have polished that bottle off after I left the other night.”
“Switched to hard stuff.” I should have, anyway. There’s less than a quarter of a glass when I pour it, going so far as to hold the bottle upside down for the last drops.
“Heroin? Yeah, me too.” I can hear the bottle cap coming off and then the sound of Jack taking a long swallow. For a second, I wonder whether he’s leaning back against that ginormous island they showed in the spread from his kitchen. I can see him, standing like he was last night in my kitchen, legs crossed at the ankle. But shirtless. His hair mussed. Hand running low over his abs.
What the heck?
Shaking that image from my mind, I draw up one from when we were eight and he sat there staring at me with that intense little smirk as I put my jacket on, reached into my pocket, and found my hand filled with frog.
“What’s that laugh about?”
“Just thinking about that time I filled your pockets with worms.” Payback’s a bitch.
He laughs too, and I have to admit it’s a good sound.
Bringing my pitiful glass of wine back to my room, I sit back, propping myself up the way Jack had been earlier. I guess I’ve let go of all that steam, because I take a picture of my glass of wine and text it to him.
“That pour’s a crime against wine drinking.”
Then I have a picture of his beer. Condensation covering the dark glass, his fingers wrapped around a funky label I’ve never seen before.
“Is it good?” I ask.
“Little hoppy.”
“Mmhmm.”
“Look, Laurel, I knew kissing you like that—without any courtesy warning—would get a rise out of you. But for what it’s worth, I tried to keep it as brief and chaste as possible.”
I let that soak in, grudgingly acknowledging that he didn’t try to stick his tongue down my throat or really touch me more than strictly necessary. His hands didn’t wander. And the whole thing probably lasted less than a few seconds.
“You said chaste,” I say with a quiet snicker.
“So I did. Here’s the thing, Laurel. From where I’m sitting, the occasional well-timed kiss is part of the fake-relationship package.”
“Pretty sure I didn’t sign on for that.”
“Let me ask you this: how many couple friends do you have that never kiss in front of you?” When I don’t say anything, he continues, “I’m not talking about sucking face for three-quarters of dinner. But if you think about it, the more physically comfortable we are with each other, the less there is to set off alarms the next time we go out with someone that really matters.”
What he’s saying makes sense, even if I don’t love it. He’s right. If we want to convince the people around us that we’re a couple, we need to be convincing.
“Fine.” I sigh. “It’s not real. You know it, and I know it. I guess a few fake kisses aren’t that big of a deal.”
“That’s the spirit. So now that we’re engaged, I’m thinking maybe we should nail down some of the details on how we got there, yeah?”
He’s right. Even if he remembered every word he said to Clarence, most of what we fed him were insults aimed at each other. “You mean there’s more to this love story than incontinence and adult-sized floaties?”
There’s that low chuckle again. What is it about his laugh?
“I know. It seems like it ought to be enough. But on the outside chance it isn’t… Let’s start at the beginning. We met when we were six. You were attached to the pretty brown pigtails I was partial to pulling.”
“Was?”
“Am. But for the purposes of this story, let’s leave it in the past.”
This time I’m the one laughing. “So we have a colorful past between us, but we hadn’t seen each other since high school.”
“And then a few months ago…” he prompts, but I don’t have anything. This is the part that’s pure fiction and I never actually had to come up with details before.
“Maybe we should get out our calendars to see what we’ve been doing around our timeframe? Make sure there aren’t any conflicts, you know… you were at the CIBC for Hamilton when I’m claiming we were out on the lake.”
I’ve already got my phone opened to the calendar, when I realize what that noise is in the background.
“You’re laughing?” I want to be indignant, but for whatever reason, the sound of Jack laughing so hard he can barely breathe teases my own laugh free to mingle with his, even as I try to justify my suggestion. “It’s a good idea, Jack. What if—”
“What if someone asks for a ticket stub? Or has video surveillance from the ATM across from the marina? Damn it, Laurel—were we going out of Diversey or Belmont Harbor?”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t fight the grin on my face. Because he’s right. “Fine, fine. I’m making this into a bigger deal than it needs to be.”
“Yeah, well, you’re the cautious type.” His laugher is little more than an echo behind his words now, but it sounds good. He has a nice voice. Deep and strong. “And neither one of us wants to put this kind of effort into something just to see it fall apart because we got careless. But Elle, I think a vague description, minus dates or times, will get us where we want to go. And even if we slip up and contradict each other, couples bicker about how shit went down all the time. You should hear Wagner and Abby go round.”
The affection in his words is obvious, and I find myself curious about the friends this man has remained so close with. “I never knew Hank that well. He didn’t hang out with Law very much back in school.”
“Different crowds.”
And yet Jack was a part of all of them. Sure, I knew Abby and would say we’d been friends. But more the kind of friends who had fun when circumstances drew us together than the kind of friends who made it a point to hang out all the time. But Jack was relentless in maintaining his friendships, no matter how far apart life took them. Jack was the guy who always drew them back together. At least, that’s how Law described him.
“Is it weird having friends with the media spotlight on them all the time?”
He’s quiet a moment, and I can practically see him tipping his beer back, that contemplative look he sometimes gets in his eyes. “Not really. I mean, Greg had all that attention back in high school even before the draft. And Hank, hell, anyone with a pair of eyes could see it coming. Besides, it’s not like I’m the one who has to deal with it. Sure, once in a while there’s some local attention, but it’s pretty minor.”
“I guess, even if there was, you’re such a transparent guy. I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who so unapologetically says what he means.”
Again there’s that beat of silence. “Life’s a lot less complicated when people are honest and upfront. But everyone has their secrets.”
The laughter is gone when he says those last words, and crazy as it seems, I miss it, want to bring it back. “Heck, look at us, right? Hacking into the marina’s ATM surveillance and scouring the city’s underbelly for forged ticket stubs.”
“There you go.”
“Okay, so we’ll keep it simple.” I snuggle deeper into my pillow and take a sip of wine. A small one so it lasts a little longer. “A few months back…”
“You walked into the bar where I was hanging out with some mutual friends.”
“You asked me to join you.”
“And you were so struck by how the years had improved me—by how handsome and funny and strong and smart I was—that your grade-school crush fired back up.”
“Wow, all that?”
“We’re keeping it real, Laurel. Stick to the program.”
It’s times like these that I can see why Jack has so many friends. He’s ridiculous, and he makes sure everyone knows it.
And even though I don’t necessarily want to admit it out loud, only a dea
f, mute, and blind fool would miss how handsome and funny and strong and smart the guy is. And yes, even more so than in high school.
That doesn’t mean I have a crush on him.
“Of course, of course. So for the first time, I notice that you aren’t a seeping eyesore, and I’m shocked when you make me laugh.”
He mutters my name a few times. “No, babe, you were shocked when, at the end of the night, I kissed you.”
Heat pushes into my cheeks, and my belly tenses at the low churn within. I’m glad Jack can’t see it because I honestly don’t quite know what to make of my reaction. But rather than come back with the requisite low blow that’s always come standard with our relationship, I move on. “So when did we see each other again?”
“As soon as I could come up with an excuse to justify it.”
“So you told me you needed a favor.”
“I needed a date.”
Again there’s that low hum I don’t quite know what to make of in my belly. “And the rest is our not-entirely-fake-after-all history.”
“Indeed.”
“I like it.”
There’s nothing fake about the yawn that slips free or the laugh that filters through the line.
“Go to bed, Laurel. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
6
Jack
This is going to be awkward. Not in the usual way meeting a girlfriend’s parents is. Hell, I probably spent as much time at the Matthews house as I did at my own growing up. Not even because Laurel isn’t my real girlfriend. What’s got me shifting where I stand at the front door to their downtown condo—a good address in a neighborhood where values have been holding strong—is that I’m pretty sure I’ve seen Laurel’s parents more times in the last year than she has in the last ten.
Things were always different between Laurel and her parents than they were between Law—or even me. I never really understood what caused the friction, but something happened toward the end of high school that caused the rift to grow to the point where, at eighteen, Laurel cut herself off from her parents’ support completely. She gave up the Ivy League education that had been a part of her plan for as far back as I can remember, got a fulltime job, moved into an apartment in the city with five other roommates. Eventually she put herself through college—while Law went on to get degrees from top schools in the country, and a gift of the townhouse he lives in now for graduating.
Beverly Matthews greets me looking like her usual million bucks, with a chiding smile on her lips even though I haven’t been here long enough to get into any trouble. Unless, of course, you count the ring on her daughter’s finger. And yeah, while I don’t get a lot of press, the stunt last night garnered at least one mention in today’s paper… so chances are good she knows about it.
“Jack, darling,” she says, arms open as she greets me. I step into her hug and catch the familiar scent of Estée Lauder she’s been carrying since my head only came up to her waist.
“Good morning, Beverly.” Laurel’s mother is a more delicate version of her daughter, but with a blonde blowout and light blue eyes. “I was hoping for a moment to talk with you and David, if he’s here.”
“On the terrace with his papers,” Beverly says with a wink before slipping her arm through mine and starting through the apartment toward the open slider. “He was very interested in something he read in the paper this morning.”
I bet he was.
Outside, the sun shines bright and warm over a seating area set with coffee and all the appropriate papers. David puts the Journal aside and stands to greet me with a firm handshake and skeptical grin. “I’ve been telling Beverly not to get her hopes up all morning, that you’d never take that kind of step without speaking to me first. But I’m guessing you can tell by her smile, she hasn’t listened.”
Laurel’s mother is beaming at me, and now that I look more closely, there’s a bit more hope in her eyes than I feel good about.
“I’m sorry. As lucky as I would be to call you my in-laws, Laurel’s just helping me out.”
David straightens his shoulders. “See? What did I tell you?”
Hands waving through the air, Beverly laughs lightly. “I know, I know. You were right. Of course you were.” Then, flashing me another one of those smiles usually reserved for the naughtiest of boys—one I’m very familiar with—she adds, “But a mother can hope, can’t she?”
David holds up his hands to his wife, all there-you-have-it before dropping back into his seat. Beverly sits beside him as a middle-aged woman wearing khakis and a plain light-blue blouse slips silently onto the terrace and places another setting in front of me. I thank her and turn to Laurel’s parents.
“So what’s the story?” David asks. “Laurel helping you dodge an ex or something?”
Beverly’s eyes go wide. “That Tina Lambert still holding out hope for a reunion?”
I laugh, feeling sorry that the girl from middle school I couldn’t shake would forever be remembered for her unfortunate crush.
“Beverly, give the man a chance to explain.”
She makes a show of locking her lips with an imaginary key and tossing it away. Another difference between mother and daughter. I can’t even imagine someone talking to Laurel like that, but if they did, she sure as hell wouldn’t be the one locking her lips after.
Giving Beverly my warmest smile, I assure her Tina has long since moved on and is happily married, living down in Greenville, South Carolina, with a couple of rugrats to boot.
I meant it to put her at ease after David’s little shutdown, but one look at her face tells me I’ve touched on a sore spot.
“Her parents must be so pleased to have her settled,” she says quietly, and again I wonder what could have come between Laurel and two doting parents so clearly capable of love.
David reaches over and pats his wife’s hand before leaning back in his chair.
I smile myself, happy to toss Law under the bus. “Don’t worry. Law will settle down soon enough. He just needs to find the right girl.” And stop sleeping his way through Chicago. “I bet you guys know some nice women looking to settle down.”
Fine, so I’m a little bit of a dick.
I wait for Beverly’s gasp of delight. Her thrown-wide hands doing that little snappy thing that happens as the ideas start to come. Laurel would kill me for pointing it out, but when she gets really excited about an idea, she does the same thing. Or at least she used to. I kind of hope she still does.
But the snappy hands don’t come. Beverly shakes her head. “I suspect our Law will let us know when he’s ready to settle. And call it maternal instinct, but I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he didn’t have a special girl in mind already.”
I sure as hell hope not with the way he goes through women.
“It’s Laurel that keeps us up,” David says as Beverly refills his coffee from the insulated carafe. “You know what she’s like. Defiant, stubborn as hell. Confrontational. Unyielding.”
Yeah, maybe. But mostly because I’ve given pretty good reasons for her to be like that with me. From what I remember in high school and the way Law talks about her, she’s not really like that with anyone else. Which makes me wonder if maybe her parents have given her a reason too.
Beverly puts her hand over her chest. “We love her so much.”
“But she’s been acting out for so long, throwing the education she could have had away like garbage,” David resumes. “I’m afraid she’ll realize too late that her actions have consequences. What’s she going to do when she realizes she wants the life we tried to give her, and she’s too late?”
Acting out? And what kind of actions are they worried about causing consequences?
“Laurel seems like she’s doing all right.” She looked more than all right. She’s got a good job she loves, with a stable company that pays her enough to afford a nice apartment in a good neighborhood. She has friends. And that fire inside her—hell, it’s burning as bright as ever. “Law says she’s ha
ppy.”
They ought to be proud of her independence and success.
“She’s throwing her life away,” David snaps. “Squandering the opportunities we gave her. Have you got any idea how embarrassing it is for us when every single year we have to make up some excuse for why our daughter isn’t at our table for the Cliff Holland Benefit? You know how dedicated Beverly is to the cause.”
I do. My parents buy a table most years. But it’s my memory of the last time Laurel attended that has my chest tightening like it does every time I think about that night.
Laurel’s tear-streaked face.
Her shoulders trembling within my arms.
“Please, just take me home.”
“I’m sure she has her reasons,” I offer diplomatically, but there’s an edge to my voice that wasn’t there a minute ago.
I don’t like to think about that night. I don’t like that I still don’t know what happened.
And I don’t like to think about what happened next. How I gave Laurel every reason to hate me all the more.
Clearing my throat, I force a smile for Beverly and David. “Anyway, I just wanted to stop by and make sure you knew not to read too much into what you hear about Laurel and me over the next couple of months. This is a favor. It’s for appearances only.”
Beverly seems to have frozen in place, her coffee cup stalled halfway to her lips. “Months? And when this little farce is through, no one will know it wasn’t the real thing? Everyone will still believe you were engaged?”
I nod, not crazy about the look she’s exchanging with David. “Eventually it will get out that she ended the engagement. But there won’t be any tarnish to her reputation.”
“Her reputation?” Beverly’s smile is growing by the minute, and even David seems to be sitting straighter. “Jack, at this point, an engagement to you is probably the only thing that could salvage her reputation. You won’t get any resistance from us.”
I’m not sure how I feel about the idea they think Laurel needs to salvage anything, but I smile anyway. “I appreciate that.”
Beverly reaches for my hand. “There’s just one thing…”
Dirty Bad Boy Page 4