by Lily Kate
Jack shakes his head, murmurs politely to the host, and slips him a tip right off the bat. For this, we’re upgraded to primo seating and a complimentary glass of wine that’s delivered the second we sit down.
“Rule Number 14,” I say. “Make sure your date’s here before you start drinking. Doesn’t look good when your date shows up and you’re already three sheets to the wind.”
Jack raises his glass of red wine. “I haven’t been three sheets to the wind since your mom got that bottle of Grey Goose for a Christmas present when we were too young to be buying alcohol.”
A little of my sass calms as the bright and bubbly memory floats before me. Christmas Eve, Jack Darcy and me under the mistletoe taking our first foray into the boozy world of vodka. All had been going swimmingly until yours truly decided three shots in a row was the best idea ever invented. Jack had leaned in under the mistletoe, those gorgeous eyes just as bright and as sweet as they are now, and went for the kiss.
I’d proceeded to duck out of the way and vomit profusely on his shoes.
That’s the last time he’d tried to kiss me. That’s also the night I’d drunkenly told him I loved him and asked him to marry me. That might be what I’d referenced when Caroline asked if I’d ever given him a sign.
“Maybe that’s your problem,” I tell him, sitting back in my chair and waving a finger at him. “When’s the last time you did something a little reckless?”
“Allie—”
“Note!” I cut him off with another sharp wave of my finger. “I did not say stupidly dangerous, I just said a little reckless. You know, something on the edge.”
“I’ve grown out of that.”
“Correction: you never grew into that.”
“I’ve been reckless.”
“No, Jack, you’ve always done what everyone expects you to do. I’m not saying that it’s a bad thing because it’s not. It’s amazing; you’re an incredible doctor, a great friend, a good son...” I say with a teasing wink. “A pretty good son, usually. But what about doing something for you? For sheer fun?”
“It’s not me,” he says, leaning forward on his elbows. “I’m not the reckless type.”
“Rule Number Fourteen: You must—”
“You already said fourteen.”
“I did?” With a frown of confusion, I glance at my wineglass to find it moderately empty. I nod at it. “When did that happen?”
Jack looks at his watch. “Since we’ve been waiting half an hour.”
Apparently, we’ve been talking and swapping stories for thirty minutes, and I hadn’t bothered to notice that my date hadn’t yet arrived. Neither had Jack’s, so at least we were even on that front, though I’m not sure what it says about my observation skills. Or what it says about the fact that I’m having more fun than I ever thought I’d have tonight.
“Number fifteen?” Jack prompts.
It takes me a minute to remember what he’s talking about. Eventually, it hits me, and I give a decisive nod. “Rule fifteen: When falling in love, one must be just a little bit reckless.”
“Oh, I disagree—” Jack begins, but he’s interrupted by a blonde woman who pulls up a seat next to him and lays a hand on his.
“I completely agree,” the newcomer says, her eyelashes sparkling with silver glitter as she flashes them my way. “You’re Dr. Jack Darcy, right? And that would make you Allie?”
She purses her lips and nods to each of us in turn. I’m more struck by the confidence with which she walked over here and joined the conversation than anything else. It’s only after I’ve nodded and shaken her hand that I’m able to take in the rest of the package. And what a package it is.
Her hair is so blonde it’s nearly silver, and it’s pulled tightly back from her face in a sweeping updo. Her dress is slinky and maroon, and even though it flows all the way to her stilettos, she’s got more skin spilling out of her dress than I do by a long shot. It’s just that all the skin showing on her is up top.
I sort of ogle her chest and wonder how a woman so thin can have breasts of that size. I halfway want to ask if they are real, but in my head I’m already stating Rule 16: Don’t ask a woman if her boobs are fake on a first date.
When I rejoin the conversation, our new friend, Delilah, has already introduced herself to Jack. And by introduced herself, I mean she’s made herself completely cozy in his lap. She’s somehow wiggled under his arm and forced it onto the chair behind her, and she’s got a hand resting on his thigh.
I raise my eyebrows and look away, tempted to ask if they need some privacy. The only thing that holds me back is the murderous look on Jack’s face.
Leaving the two to cuddle, or whatever it is they’re whispering about, I take to coloring Rule Number Negative 1 on my napkin. Quietly, I slide it to Jack.
He takes one look at the page, and ever so slightly, one eyebrow inches up. He raises his gaze to meet mine and there’s a fire behind those blue sapphires that send fissures of current through my veins.
I shrug and pull the napkin back. NO SEX ON A FIRST DATE, it screams. At this rate, it’s going to be harder for Jack than he expected; his date is about ready to start foreplay here at the dinner table.
“I agree,” a voice says from behind me. “But why do you have negative rules?”
I freeze, one hundred percent mortified. Probably a hundred and fifty percent mortified. So mortified I order another bottle of wine from a passing waiter before turning around to find my date—Theodore Anton Hamilton—standing behind me.
“How about we don’t mention this to my dad?” I tell him, standing and giving Theo an awkward hug. “I’d hate for this to pop up in conversation at our next Christmas party.”
“Hate for what to pop up?” Delilah asks, purring as she looks across the table at Theo. “What rules?”
Theo reaches across the table and sends the note to Delilah. “Rule Number Negative One.”
“Oh,” she says with a pout. “I don’t see anything wrong with sex on a first date.”
At this, Theo plops into the seat next to me and orders yet a third bottle of wine for the table, looking mighty interested in the woman across from him. The two guests have been here all of seven minutes, and already, Jack is right. Things are a disaster.
Luckily, Theo brings a pleasant distraction to dinner. The distraction is himself. Apparently, his father works in entertainment law in the thick of Hollywood, and Theo is considering a jump to the career himself. Which he explains in detail by name-dropping every client his father has ever seen.
“Pretty sure my dad was a lawyer on Michael Jackson’s estate,” Theo says, leaning back half an hour later. “I don’t remember the details.”
“Oh. My-God,” Delilah says, as if it’s all one word. She’s said this no more than a hundred times tonight. “Tell me more.”
“Please don’t,” Jack says.
I kick him under the table, even though I can’t agree more. The question I’ve been puzzling over the past hour or so is how on earth my dad thought this Theo could ever potentially be a good fit for me. Unless this really was all just a setup to help Jack—that had to be it.
I’m still puzzling out how Delilah fits into Kathleen Darcy’s mold for what a wife to her son should look like, and the only thing I can think of is that the two women have never met. There’s no way in hell the esteemed Kathleen Darcy would choose Delilah for her son. Delilah might be nice and all, but she’s not hitting the medical school track anytime soon.
It’s mid-daydream when I finally realize that Delilah is excusing herself to use the restroom. With a tittering laugh, she evacuates her seat and sends a finger wave back to Jack. I glance next to me and find the chair empty.
“Where’d Hollywood go?” I ask, noting Theo is also gone. “How did I miss my date leaving?”
“And I’m supposed to be learning from you?” Jack asks. “He’s been gone for five minutes. I don’t know where—restroom, I suppose.”
“This isn’t a real
date for me. It is for you.”
“It’s practice for me. It’s not real.”
I lean across the table. “What were our parents thinking?”
Jack gives a shake of his head. “Let me remind you, I’m the one who said this would be a disaster.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t disagree with you.”
“I can’t even get a word in edgewise,” he says with a shift in his seat. “How am I supposed to practice?”
“Ask Delilah some things about herself. See if you can get her to open up about something—anything—aside from her desire to listen to Theo’s Tales over here.”
“It doesn’t matter; I’m not interested in her.”
“I understand, but you can work on getting to know her. What if there’s more than meets the eye?”
Jack doesn’t look convinced. He raises a wineglass to his lips, then pauses and extends it to me. “To horrible dates.”
I raise my glass to find it empty. “Yikes,” I say, before pouring one glass more. “It’s been awhile since I’ve been on a date that required three glasses to get through it.”
“Four.”
“Three. How much have you had?!”
“I’m babysitting half a serving,” Jack says, swirling a microscopic amount of red liquid around in his glass. “I’m on call tonight. And, not that I’m counting, but this is your fourth,” he adds with a sly smile. “Not that I’m complaining. Your cheeks look cute when they get all pink.”
“Cute?!” I slap at my face, wobbling the wine around as I pull out my phone. “Maybe that’s why Theo’s talking to Delilah more than me. I wasn’t going for cute, I was going for sexy.”
“Can’t you be both?”
“I don’t know.” I hesitate as Jack’s eyes, ever-so-slightly, stray to my cleavage area in a very un-Jack-like way. I don’t know what’s gotten into him, so I wave my hand in front of his face. “Hello, Jack. You’re on a date with Delilah? Don’t look at my boobs.”
His eyes snap to my face, and he’s got a sheepish expression as he finally takes a sip and passes me the glass. “Have mine; I wasn’t planning on drinking it anyway.”
Theo and Delilah rejoin us at the table just as our entrees arrive. Our table is divided with our choices: I’ve got the steak and fries, as does Jack. Delilah went for the chicken salad, as did Theo.
“I’m vegetarian,” Delilah says, taking a huge bite of salad with a grin. “But that steak smells incredible.”
“Uh, there are—” Jack begins, but I issue him another kick from underneath the table before he can finish his thought.
I know exactly where he was going with it: he’d been just about to point out there were huge hunks of bacon on top of the chicken salad, and Delilah had eaten at least three of them with her first bite. They are impossible to miss. The salad description is called the bacon bleu cheese chicken salad. I’m simply trying to train Jack to comment less on a woman’s choice of food.
Rule 17, I think. Never comment on a woman’s eating habits. There is no good outcome. Mention she eats a lot, and she could get a complex. Say she eats too little, and that’s annoying. I jot this down for Jack and pass him the note.
Theo and Delilah don’t notice, as they’ve returned to chatter about the Hollywood scene.
I lean forward and whisper to Jack. “Remember what we talked about?” I add a huge head nod toward Delilah. “Get to know her.”
“So, Delilah,” Jack says, during the first break in conversation. “What is it you do?”
“Do?” She stares blankly at him. “Do...?”
“For work? Career or school or...?” Jack is drowning here, and he looks to me for help.
I don’t give him any—not yet. On a real date, he’ll have to get himself out of these holes, and I won’t be around to clean up his messes.
“For work?” Delilah repeats, as if the very question itself is puzzling to her. “Oh, you know, I help run my parents’ company.”
“And what do they do?”
She stares at Jack. “They own the club.”
The club. The words sink in like a stone, and my gaze links with Jack’s for just a moment. Everything is suddenly clear. Delilah might not be a brainiac surgeon, but she comes from royal blood in the scheme of the Darcy’s circles. It would be an arranged marriage for the books: the brilliant doctor and the beautiful socialite.
As owners of the club, her family must know everyone who’s anyone. It also probably helps that they’re likely loaded. Kathleen Darcy has surely considered this.
“That’s great,” Jack says. “What sorts of things do you do for them?”
“Do?” she parrots. “For who?”
“Your parents.”
I can sense Jack beginning to lose his temper with this conversation, which earns him another swift kick to the knee. Jack simply cannot afford to blow this date like he normally would; it’s different this time. Word will get back to his mother, and she’ll be a lot worse to deal with than a wine stain on his shirt.
“Do you handle the finances?” Jack asks, forcing the politeness into his voice. “Or the event planning?”
Delilah rolls her eyes. “Ugh, never. I hate numbers. And details. And planning.”
Jack stares at his plate, seemingly at a loss for words.
“I am the resident shopper,” Delilah says with a smirk. “I handle the credit card.”
“You shop for the club?” Jack latches onto the tidbit she’s given him. “You mean, decorations, themes, supplies—”
“Stilettos, maybe,” Delilah says, and extends her leg to the side of the table and above so we can all see the red-bottomed heel. “I’ll get an inheritance from my parents. I’m not an idiot; why would I work if I don’t have to?”
Jack makes a strangled sound in his throat, and I move to kick him again in the knee. I’m doing this for him, I really am. I don’t personally care if he goes home tonight with Delilah or if he sends her running away in tears, but his mother sure will, and she’ll make things miserable for both of us. Best to end things on a polite note or, better yet, have Delilah end things.
But my plans are foiled. From underneath the table, Jack’s hand snakes out and grabs me by the ankle as I’m mid-kick. He catches me there and holds tight, leaving my leg bent in an awkward position as a satisfied smirk curls over his face.
“I see,” Jack says to Delilah, still holding my ankle captive. With a flick of his thumb, my high heel falls to the floor. “That’s nice.”
“It is,” Delilah says with a purr. “Then again, I’m one of the Monroe ladies. Monroe women never work. It’s not in our blood.”
“Of course not,” Jack says, a sure sign that he’s not listening to a word she says. “Makes sense.”
I wiggle a bit and try to yank my leg back, but it’s stuck pretty good in his hand.
“What about you?” Delilah turns her gaze my way and chooses this very moment to speak to me for the first time all night. “What do you do?”
“I’m a, uh...” A grunt sounds as I try to yank my leg back, but I’m unsuccessful. I smile at Delilah while simultaneously punching my foot forward toward Jack’s crotch. “I’m a kindergarten teacher.”
Jack’s too quick for me and deflects the kick so it bounces off his thigh. His nicely defined, very muscular thigh. My toes approve.
“Ew, kids,” Delilah says. “Not for me.”
“You don’t want kids?” Jack turns to Delilah, dragging my foot with him as his body shifts. “I want six kids.”
I know Jack’s lying; we’ve talked about this, and we both agree that three is the perfect number. Not that it matters whether we agree on such details. It’s not like we’ve ever discussed having children...together.
“Six?” Delilah wrinkles her nose and turns to Theo. “What about you?”
“I’m not interested in children at the moment,” Theo says with a huge grin. “I’m focused on my career.”
“Is that right?” Delilah murmurs, leaning across the ta
ble. “Tell me more about what you do.”
While Theo launches into another story, I slide my chair back as far as possible, but Jack’s hand cinches tighter, now easing up my calf. He pulls so tight that eventually I have to inch my chair back toward the table so I don’t tip everything over.
Then, Jack’s hands start to move. At first, I’m too stunned to say anything, so I sit and wait for whatever’s coming next. His fingers dig gently into my calf, and it’s one of the most incredible sensations. A leg rub. Why have I never gotten a leg rub before?
I lean back, arms crossed, surveying Jack. I’m not sure what he’s playing at, so I’m hesitant to show him how nice this feels. It’s no use, however, because his hand inches higher and squeezes in a way that makes me gasp just a bit, drawing the attention of Theo.
“Wine is sour,” I say, inhaling a gulp from my glass. “Carry on.”
Delilah stares a second longer at me than necessary, but eventually she’s drawn back into Theo’s stories about boy bands and their licensing rights.
I fix a glare on Jack, but it’s too late. He knows he’s won this round, and he’s not showing any signs of giving up the game yet. Sucking in a deep breath, I prepare for a counterattack when suddenly, he leans forward and murmurs for my ears only.
“Try,” he whispers. “Kick me one more time, Allie.”
I lean forward, too, oblivious to whatever’s going on around me. His eyes are locked on mine, burning with a challenge. I bite my lip, unable to back down, and send my heel crashing into his leg.
He’s faster, once again, and drags his thumb under the sole of my foot. It’s the most sensitive place on my entire body. He knows my weak zones, and he’s not afraid to use them.
I shriek, yelping as I fly backward. My knee bangs against the table, sending a glass of wine flying. It lands on Jack’s shirt, soaking him thoroughly as Delilah leaps away from the table with a look of utter disdain on her face.
“Sorry,” I grimace. “I thought a spider touched my toe.”
Delilah gives me a look that says I’m about as awesome as pond scum, and Theo takes the opportunity to move around and make sure Delilah’s okay. It seems that everyone’s forgotten who’s on a date with who here.
