by RC Boldt
“I know. I wish you didn’t.”
Her lips tip up. “Me, too.” Kissing me one last time, she opens the door and steps into the hallway. “Good night, Jack.”
“Night, Sunshine.” I pause. “Text me when you get home safely.” She nods with a soft smile and disappears down the hallway, heading to the elevator. And it fucking sucks to watch her leave. Part of me wants to chase after her and get one more kiss. Just one more taste…
Screw it.
I jog down the carpeted hallway, my shoeless feet soundless, and approach her right as she steps into the elevator. My hand slips around to stop the doors from closing, and her startled eyes lock with mine.
“One more kiss?”
Her features soften, and she steps forward to briefly press her lips against mine. Backing away, she gives me a smile I know I will store in my memories. Tender, intimate, affectionate.
“Bye, Jack.”
I step back, allowing the elevator doors to close, and stand here for far longer than I’d care to acknowledge.
I don’t care how much of a pussy it makes me to admit it, but I fucking hate saying goodbye to her.
If I had my way, I’d do everything in my power to ensure I’d never have to.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Sarah
After a long weekend filled with crazy hours and, in some cases, equally crazy patients and their family members, I have plans to go home and enjoy some one-on-one time with myself.
In case you’re wondering, yes, I got a new vibrator and new batteries. I’m not about to worry about round two of what felt like electricity zapping my clitoris. Nuh-uh. No siree.
I need some stress relief, and since I’m off for the next four days, what better way to set the tone than masturbation? Not only does it relieve stress but, according to some medical studies, it can also help to boost the immune system—post-orgasm, of course. So, ultimately, I’m doing a great service to my body in more ways than one. Considering I work in a high-stress environment and am constantly around sick people, this is a brilliant life choice.
Okay, so I’m probably laying it on a bit thick, but you have to admit I’m bringing up some valid points right now.
My game plan is to head home, read some hot romance novel, and break my new vibrator in. Oh, and I’m going to order some takeout—pad thai from the place two blocks away. I know, I know. I sound like some perverted frat boy, don’t I? I can’t help it.
I settle on my bed, propped up slightly on my pillows, and then start my vibrator. Thumbing the keys on my phone, I pull up the Kindle app, so I can get back to the hot scene in the latest book I’d been reading.
Except something goes terribly awry and, as I adjust the vibrator’s placement against my clit, I glance over to start reading and don’t see a page of the book.
I see Jack’s face staring back at me.
“Oh shit!” I’m trying to cover the screen but lose my grip and my phone lands right over my freaking vagina.
My vagina is officially FaceTiming Jack.
That slut.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” Oh my God. I’m never showing my face again. I’m taking a nursing job in Nairobi next.
Grabbing the phone and tugging it from where it’s nestled between my thighs, I rush to shut off the obvious sound of my vibrator. With a wince, I bring the phone up to my face.
“Hello, Sunshine.” Without opening my eyes, I can hear the humor in his tone. “I certainly hope that’s not how you greet everyone on FaceTime. Not that I’m complaining, of course.”
I open my eyes to squint at him. “A gentleman wouldn’t mention that to a lady.”
A smile stretches his handsome face. “Never claimed to be a gentleman, now, did I?”
“Jack.” I draw out his name, my tone one of warning.
“Sunshine,” he counters playfully. “So I guess I know what your plans are for the night, huh?”
He’s enjoying this far too much.
“And I must say, I’m quite impressed with your recent wax job.”
Seriously?
“Maybe I can come over and check it out in person.”
“Jack Westbrook.” I stare at him grinning back at me. “Do you really expect that to work with me?”
He offers me a sheepish grin. “Not really.” His smile dims slightly, and his voice drops, sounding huskier. “You should know by now that I love teasing you.”
I release a tiny sigh. “Since I’m clearly not going to molest myself right now, do you maybe want to come over for some pad thai and to watch a movie?”
His eyes narrow playfully. “Depends. Are we watching your favorite movie The Princess Bride?”
I roll my eyes with a smile. “As you wish.”
“I’ll be over in a few.” He winks at me. “Put some clothes on, Buttercup.”
* * *
“As many times as I watch this movie—and I never tire of it—I still think she should have been nicer to him and admitted her feelings.”
“Women are sometimes slow to realize a guy likes them.” Jack’s pointed gaze is telling.
“Ah.” I nudge him with my shoulder. “Touché, Westbrook.” Rising from the couch, I head into my small kitchen to put my container of pad thai in the refrigerator. They always give such large portions, so I’ll be eating on that for a day or so.
“I think I’m going to head home.”
Jack’s subdued tone makes me turn to find him leaning against the wall in my kitchen, watching me. Something unreadable flickers in his eyes, and I can’t deny a part of me wants to ask him to stay. But another part of me is afraid. Because every single time we get together in a sexual way, it’s trouble. Mayhem ensues. And I’d really like to end our evening on a good note and not tempt the universe to throw us another major curveball.
“I’ll walk you out,” I say softly.
As we head over to my door, I wait for him to put his shoes on and pull on the hooded sweatshirt to ward off the slight chill in the night air. He steps closer, his eyes warm, a soft smile playing at his lips, and he slips a hand to the small of my back.
Dipping his head, he dusts a gentle kiss on my lips. “Thanks for having me over, Sunshine.”
“You’re welcome,” I whisper back.
He releases me, backing away to pull open the door, and bids me good night. When he steps over the threshold, I stop him before he can pull the door closed behind him.
“Wait.” I detect the urgency in my tone and catch his worried look when he turns back. Reaching my hands out to hook in the pockets of his hooded sweatshirt, I tug him toward me, lifting to my toes and pressing my lips to his.
As if he had been anticipating my move, one of his hands cups the back of my head, slanting his mouth to deepen our kiss. His other hand lands on my hip, tugging me closer. I’m not certain how long we kiss until a door down the hall sounds, the light slam startling us.
Breaking the kiss, he looks down at me tenderly before pressing his lips to mine one final time. “Good night, Sunshine.”
“Night, Jack.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Sarah
I’m having one of those rare nights when I feel pretty. You know, the ones where your makeup—specifically an attempt at creating smoky eyes—doesn’t actually look like a toddler loopy on Benadryl applied it to your face. I haven’t had any unfortunate wardrobe malfunctions to speak of, either, so that’s a total win in my book.
Not to mention, these shoes. Sigh. The shoes Jack bought for me along with the tiny clutch purse are the icing on the cake.
I’d also like to point out that I deserve a huge pat on the back along with a double high five for not being that girl with her cell phone out, glancing every two point five seconds to see if the guy has messaged her.
But it did cross my mind. Once or twice.
Ooookaaay, fine. Maybe a hundred times, but who’s counting?
Tonight, we’re barhopping as Maggie completes her bachelorette party scavenger hun
t assigned to her by Ry’s twin step-cousins, Molly and Masey.
Oh, wait. They’re his step-cousins but “twice removed,” whatever the hell that even means. In my book, either you’re a cousin, or you’re not; there’s no in-between.
I can also confirm that by my second drink (I’m such a sad lightweight when it comes to drinking), I’ve given up on trying to tell them apart and have begun to call them “M” individually and together “M and M.” Luckily, they think it’s cute. Judging by the number of feather boas they have draped around their necks (five each, in case you were wondering because “no one can ever wear too many boas”), the way the corners of their eyes are, in fact, bedazzled, combined with their favorite conversation topics of Perez Hilton and what he’ll report on next, the “on the edge of your seat” debate topic of whether One Direction will ever reunite, and their recently “learned” benefits of swallowing semen, I’m ready to put my beverage straw to good use and gouge myself in the eyes—and possibly eardrums, as well—within an hour.
Maggie’s far too sweet and tries to partake in their conversation a bit. All seems fine and dandy—dun, dun, dunnnnnn—until M and M have a few too many buttery nipple shots and miraculously scrounge up a “legit stripper” named “Magic Mikey.”
Right. And I’m a legit porn star named Jenna Jamestown.
Magic Mikey proceeds to try to display his skills, jiggling his leather-clad ass all around where we’re seated before hovering over Maggie’s lap. It’s all fun and games at first until he contorts himself in a way which brings his crotch far too close to my best friend’s face.
“Okay, thanks! Um, that’s enough.” Maggie carefully backs her chair away from the man.
Unfortunately, he suffers a syndrome some guys tend to have around women in bars or dance clubs in which they have total delusions of grandeur. These delusions are triggered when a woman offers a polite denial to any of the following, which, in turn, is interpreted as the woman playing hard to get:
a) They offer to buy you a drink.
b) They insert themselves suddenly—and rudely—into your conversation with your friends.
c) They invade your personal space on the dance floor and proceed to grind their junk all over you like an animal in heat.
Then they take it as a sign to try harder and continue with their above actions. This is what clearly plagues Magic Mikey.
“Yo, Mikey.” I pinch the guy’s ear between my finger and thumb and yank hard enough to get him to move in the direction I want—away from the vicinity of my best friend’s face. “Thanks for the dance, but my friend has reached her maximum crotch-to-face quota for the evening.” My sugary sweet smile along with finally releasing his ear gets through to him.
Rubbing his ear, he eyes me warily before his gaze flits over to the M and M twins. “Think they’d be up for some fun?”
“Probably. No, scratch that. Definitely. Just woo them with talk about Harry Styles or bedazzling or—wait for it—how healthy they’ll be after swallowing your semen tonight.”
Just kidding. I didn’t really say that to him. But I reeeeeallly wanted to. Instead, I told him he’d have to ask them.
Yeah, I know. I went the responsible adult route. And it was painful as hell.
Within thirty seconds flat, as I confer with Maggie about heading to the next bar, M and M swarm us.
“OH. EM. GEE!” one of them exclaims.
In case you’re thinking I’m making this up, nope. Not even.
“You’ll never guess what just happened!” The two of them squeal the way teenage girls do over Justin Bieber.
I gasp melodramatically. “I’m dying to know, girls!” Maggie elbows me, trying to mask her snicker which the twins, thankfully, don’t pick up on.
“Magic Mikey asked us to go home with him toniiiiight,” they answer in unison with their high-pitched, sing-song voices. “And he lives with, like, five other guys!”
My head snaps to look at Maggie with wide eyes. “Did you hear that, my friend? You know what this occasion calls for, don’t you?”
Maggie stares at me warily. “Um, no…”
Abruptly, I hold up both hands, wiggling my fingers and turning to the twins. “Spirit fingers!! Woohoo!” The twins totally dig this move and mimic it.
I think it’s safe to say they love me.
“We hate to leave you on your special night, Maggie, but—”
“But Magic Mikey’s semen is calling.” I don’t know how I say this without laughing. It will remain one of life’s biggest mysteries, I’m certain.
Flashing a pleading look at my best friend, I add, “Surely, you understand the urgency of this matter.”
Maggie covers her mouth with her hand, and I instantly react, putting my arm around her shoulders and tugging her close to me. “Go,” I tell the twins, patting Maggie’s back as if I’m comforting her, “I’ve got this, girls.”
As soon as they disappear in the crowded wine bar, I give a final pat on her back. “All clear.”
Maggie lifts her head, wiping tears of laughter from the corners of her eyes. “Sarah!”
“What?” I smile innocently. “They’re going to have the best night of their lives, thanks to me.”
She shakes her head at me and checks her phone. “Ry and the others are at the whiskey bar two blocks over.” Raising her eyes to mine, she arches an eyebrow. “Feel like crashing their party?”
“Is the Pope Catholic?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Jack
There must be some crazy beacon when a group of guys heads out to a bar. Women immediately approach us to ask if we’re out for a bachelor party and take it as some sort of challenge to see if they can seduce the groom.
Well, joke’s on them since Ry’s so far gone over Maggie, it’s not even remotely funny. We’ve barhopped and are at our final stop while the girls are off on their own little excursion for the evening.
And I don’t want to admit how much distaste I have at the idea of Sarah being around strippers. Maggie’s never been the type to be into that kind of thing, but who knows what goes on at bachelorette parties. I’m sure they’re having fun and enjoying a lot of laughs. Hell, I feel a smile tug at my own lips, imagining the way Sarah’s face lights up with laughter and the way her blue eyes sparkle.
“What’s with you two?” I turn to find Ry’s quieter cousin, Aaron, eyeing me curiously. “Well, I get him”—he waves toward Ry, who’s currently regaling the small group of women with stories about his early days with Maggie, before turning his attention back to me—“but you’ve got a similar sappy-ass grin on your face.”
Startled, I run a hand over my face, scrambling to come up with something, an excuse of some sort.
Instead, I come up with absolutely nothing.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath. Because, yeah, I’ve got it bad. She’s got me sporting a stupid smile like some lovesick fool who’d do just about anything for her…
Except, it’s true. I would.
“Ah, so that’s the way it is, huh?” Aaron leans back in the plush chair of the classy whiskey bar we’re in. His smug expression says it all. “You just had the revelation I take it?”
It figures that I’d attract the married cousin who apparently takes pleasure in harassing other single guys.
Taking a swig of my whiskey, I attempt to ignore him, but my lack of response serves as no deterrent. Aaron simply continues. “Tell me about her.” My sharp look only causes him to smile. “What’s she like?”
Knowing the likelihood of him letting this go is slim to none, I heave out a breath, staring into my glass. While I try to think of what to say about Sarah, I feel the upward tip of my lips.
“She’s mouthy, sassy, and funny.” Peering down at my glass of whiskey, I swirl it slightly. “Smart as hell, too.”
“And gorgeous, I assume?” he asks, humor lacing his tone. “With blond hair, blue eyes, and long legs.”
“Yeah,” I say with a sigh. Fuck if I don’t mis
s her like hell right now.
God, I’m a sad excuse for a best man tonight.
“And when she looks at you, it’s like you’re the only guy who exists?”
Something in Aaron’s tone draws my attention from my glass of whiskey to him. “Exactly.” Except he’s not looking at me but gazing over my shoulder with an amused smile.
A second later, two delicately soft hands cover my eyes and a voice whispers in my ear, her hot breath washing over my skin. “Guess who?”
“Amber! I’m so glad you made it!” I can’t help but tease her.
Sarah lets out a huff, her teeth nipping lightly at my earlobe before dropping her hands from my eyes. “Amber,” she mutters with playful disgust. As she rounds my chair, intent on claiming the available one across from me, I snag her wrist and give a gentle tug, causing her to spill onto my lap.
Her blond hair is loose and falls forward like a silky curtain. Reaching up to slide it back and tuck it behind her ear, I drink in the sight of her. She’s wearing a cute little fitted blue dress that accentuates her narrow waist. The dress has long sleeves which have embroidery and some beads adorning the cuffs with the neckline dipping into a sharp V.
Her eye makeup is heavier than normal, but it makes her blue eyes much more pronounced, and her lips are a subtle shade of red. Her eyes crinkle slightly at the corners. “Hey, Jack.”
“Hey, Sunshine.”
She reaches into her small clutch, diverting my attention, and when I look down to see her extracting a small foil-wrapped chocolate, I can’t resist a chuckle. That ends quickly, though, when I catch the sight of something in my peripheral vision, sparkling in the lights of the bar.
My eyes track from the bottom hem of her dress which hits at her knees, traveling down along her long, silky smooth legs to find her wearing the sparkly shoes I bought her that first day we were “assigned” errands for Maggie and Ry’s wedding preparation. Smoothing a hand down her leg, I smirk. “These are damn fine shoes.”
“Aren’t they, though?” she asks smugly. “Some guy bought them for me.”