“And then if dinner works out…” She lets that statement hang and my heart beats triple time as I wait for what comes next. “We can talk about dessert.”
“We can talk about dessert now.” I’m transfixed by her and the idea of exploring our new dynamic.
“Ohmygod.” Her eyes go wide. “Would he say that?”
I give myself a mental shake when I realize I was caught up in the conversation. It was one I wanted to be real, and she was thinking about Running Man.
“Probably,” I say, the spell broken. “Guys are assholes. Like I said.”
I lean back in my chair, find a TV, and stare blankly.
“But if that’s the case, I’ll have to have sex with him sooner than I planned.”
“No, you won’t, Jackie.” I hear the anger in my own voice. Because…“You don’t have to have sex with anyone. You could go to drinks, dinner, and dessert with this guy—you could end the night with tonsil hockey on your front porch or his, and you can still say no.”
She purses her lips. I hate the idea of her kissing that jackass. No matter what kind of person he is—even if he’s a volunteer firefighter who raises orphaned squirrels so they can perform at the local senior center—I hate him.
“Tell me you know that,” I say.
“I know I don’t have to. That’s not what I meant. I don’t want to chicken out. I want to get the first one over with. Like you did.”
I tip my head back and groan aloud. I can’t help it. I’m the example for her return to the dating world? Much as I don’t want to admit it, fair is fair. I salved my wounds with girls like Polly, so why can’t Jackie do it with J.T.? Jackie’s my friend and I care about her. I can’t make a double standard now.
“Besides, he’s really hot,” she says, her face going glowy.
“Spare me.”
She grins. “Thanks for the help.”
“Anytime.”
She looks over her shoulder then back to me. “Does it bother you that Davis is hitting on Polly?”
I look at Jackie like she’s grown a third eyeball. “Why would it?”
“Because you and she once shared…” She gestures instead of explaining, and I’m glad. “Do those feelings come back when you look at her?”
I know what she’s really asking, and it has nothing to do with Polly and me. I lean forward and break the act when I put my hand over hers. “You were married, Jackie. Lex vowed to be with you for the rest of his life, and then he broke those vows. I promise you, no matter what he says about how happy he is with his current wife, when he thinks about you, his heart hurts. Guilt follows him everywhere. He knows he blew it with the best girl in the world.”
Her eyes glisten with unshed tears and she gives me a damp smile. Then she turns her palm up and holds my hand. Our fingers weave together like our hands were made for each other. Sappy, but no less true.
“I know Leslie thinks about you that same way. She never deserved you.”
I nod my agreement, though I’m not sure it’s true. Jackie and I hold hands for a few more seconds before she untangles her fingers from mine and swipes her eyes. Grabbing her purse, she thanks me again before promising to see me at work tomorrow.
Then she’s gone.
I’m not sure how I feel about this. About any of it.
Jacqueline
I watch out the window, heart hammering. Wondering if I’ll be disappointed when I end up talking to J.T., or if he’ll live up to my fantasy. If we’ll have a drink or dinner. If I’ll ever kiss him…or more.
Which is why, instead of enjoying him running by wearing a pair of black shorts and a gray sweat-marked T-shirt, I watch feeling like there’s a boulder in the pit of my stomach.
He vanishes around the corner and Vince puts his ass on the desk next to mine and stares out the window with me. After a silent moment, I turn to him.
“You smell nice,” I say.
“Thanks.”
“What’s with the scruff?” He’s close, so I can see every whisker on his firm jawline. “Is this a new you?”
“I’ve grown it out before, Butler.” He swipes a palm over his cheek, and the rasping sound of his whiskers against his hand sends shivers down my spine. Ever since we pretended to contemplate going home with each other at the bar, I’ve noticed a lot of little things about Vince I normally allow to roll off me.
Like the way he smiles with his whole face when he finds something funny. Or the habit he has of doodling in the margins of his notebook during meetings, yet follows whatever’s being said. His solid, comforting presence is nothing new, and neither is his standing close to me, but today he’s especially comforting. Especially solid. I don’t like noticing all of these things. My sights are supposed to be set on my fantasy man—J.T. Who, yes, looked as gorgeous as ever today, but my heart isn’t lodged in my throat now that I’ve seen him. Maybe it’s because Vince is here, and I’m embarrassed.
That must be it.
When Vince scrubs his face again, I shudder. “Don’t do that. It’s like nails down a chalkboard.”
Totally untrue. But I have to find “normal” with Vince again before I ask out my dream guy. Gulp. Such a horrifying prospect.
“Some women like facial hair, you know.” He gestures out the window. “Unlike the hairless wonder out there.”
Defensive, I turn on him. “What are you talking about? J.T. has great hair.”
“He waxes his chest.” Vince’s dark eyebrows rise in the sincerest look of concern. “That’s not right.”
“So do swimmers. They wax everything. And cyclists! They wax!” I continue. “It helps with the wind resistance or something.” My eyes go to Vince’s buttoned-up shirt and I consider the fact that in all the time I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him without a shirt. He wears one when he jogs. “Do you have hair on your chest?”
He raises an eyebrow and a puckish and damn sexy expression crosses his face. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
I let out an exasperated sound—the one that every woman lets out when men are being…men…and push off my desk. In truth, I’m a little warm at the thought. A little too warm.
“When are you going to talk to him?” Vince asks.
I shrug, but I’m relieved we’ve shifted focus. What I’m not relieved about is Vince pushing me.
“Butler.”
“What about you?” I ask instead of answering.
“What about me?” He shrugs, still leaning on my desk, arms folded all relaxed and casual.
“Who are you going to ask out?”
“You now know getting back on the horse postdivorce isn’t my particular issue. You, on the other hand…You’ve been benched too long.”
“How do you know?” My cheeks warm and I decide to talk my way through the uncharacteristic reaction. “Maybe I had a secret affair and you don’t know about it.”
He snorts. “You tell me everything. I know you had a few dates at the beginning and I also know you were unsatisfied with all of them.”
He’s right on all counts. I’m too transparent. I should have more secrets.
“Tomorrow morning,” he says. “You said he jogs at your apartment complex on Saturdays. Ask him out then. Bump into him and say hi.”
“And then what?” Fear coats me like a lozenge. “Tell him I’m the moron who didn’t speak to him before?”
“Trust me, he knows who you are. And he doesn’t think you’re a moron.” Vince gives me a gentle smile. “He thinks you’re the hot neighbor who won’t give him the time of day, and I’d bet my chest hair”—he rubs his shirt—“that he can’t figure out why.”
“Pfft,” I say, broadcasting my disbelief. But Vince’s face is scary serious.
“Don’t explain yourself,” Vince says. “Just be yourself.” He stands and walks to my office door. Before he leaves, he points at me and ends with “Ask him out.”
Chapter 6
Vince
I lied and told Kayla I had a website question
, so now I’m standing next to her desk, watching out her office window, my heart jackhammering.
Jackie ignored my advice and didn’t talk to J.T. Saturday morning. Last night over beers and pizza, she sat on my sofa and promised she was going to do it “tomorrow.”
So here we are. Monday, aka tomorrow.
“My God, she’s doing it.” Kayla sounds proud, and when I take in her beaming expression, I see she looks it too.
“Yeah,” I mutter, one arm crossed over my chest and my other propped on it as I pinch my bottom lip. I’m trying to remember why I thought this was a good plan in the first place.
Outside, Jackie gestures, water bottle in hand, then smiles and offers it. J.T. smiles, nods, and accepts the water. But he doesn’t jog on, no no. He cracks the top, takes a swig, then stands taller, pushing his chest out.
What a dick.
“Vince!” Kayla reprimands. I must’ve said that out loud.
“Well…” I point to the window but she shushes me. We continue watching, Kayla with rapt attention and me in abject horror.
Jackie wears a respectable black wrap dress and heeled sandals. Her long hair flows over her shoulders in waves. She gesticulates wildly now that she has nothing in her hands, and the action is so her, I wedge my molars together in frustration. She’s giving J.T. the real Jackie. The guy she’s supposed to be using and leaving.
I didn’t give the real me to the girls I jumped into bed with. Don’t get me wrong—I didn’t lie. But I wasn’t the me I was with Leslie. I was infinitely smoother, careful to hold back. I focused on them, asking questions and striking up conversations. Just like J.T. is doing with my best friend.
I can tell the moment Jackie gets nervous because she uses both hands to push her hair behind her ears. She shifts her weight from foot to foot and J.T.’s smile fades into a look of mild concern.
Tell her no, tell her no, I chant silently.
He isn’t going to say no. Jackie looks beautiful today, and she could disarm a nuclear warhead with that smile. Fuck.
Predictably, J.T. nods, grins, and then offers a hand, which she shakes. He lifts the water bottle in a Hey, thanks and jogs away. Jackie turns toward the window and gives two very vigorous thumbs-up.
Groan.
“Yay! I knew she could do it.” Kayla turns and faces me. Her expression changes so subtly it’s like watching a question mark form over her head. “You seem awfully invested in how this goes. What gives?”
“She’s my friend.” I sound defensive, which is no good. The last thing I need is for our coworker to suspect something is up. “Butler’s my friend. Guys are jerks.”
“Not all guys,” she tells me.
“No, Kayla. Not Kevin.” I mean it. Her husband is a hell of a guy. “You caught a good one.”
“Yeah.” Her smile turns wistful for a moment before she says, “The Runner might surprise you and be The One for Jacqueline.”
I nod, but I don’t trust myself to say anything nice, so I turn and exit Kayla’s office. Jackie steps back inside but I don’t wait for her to spot me. Instead I angle for my own office and pick up the pace.
—
“I don’t get it,” Davis says from his seat at my right elbow. We’re at McGreevy’s at the bar per our usual, except he’s ignoring the TV for a change.
“Don’t get what?”
“If she doesn’t trust this guy, why did she go out with him?” He turns his attention to the mirror with a beer brand etched in the middle, eyeing our reflections.
“She trusts him, but it’s a first date and she needs backup.”
I look over my shoulder to where Jackie and J.T. sit, coincidentally at the table where Jackie and I sat the other day and practiced her asking him out. Except she’s in the seat I was in, and J.T. is in the seat she was in. She asked me to hang out in the “background” while they have their drinks in case he’s a complete creep. I agreed, and Davis practically lives here, so I knew I wouldn’t be alone.
Jackie looks happy.
J.T. looks like a tool.
“Are you crazy?” Davis asks. I rip my glare away from the happy couple.
“On occasion. Like whenever I wonder why I’m friends with you.” I lift my beer and drink. Davis lets the insult glance off him.
He shakes his head. “You set up the girl you like with another guy.”
I sputter into my mug and do a good job of getting beer on the bar and on my shirtsleeve.
“Gracie Lou!” Davis shouts.
Grace gives him the stink eye.
“Bar towel, darlin’.” He snaps his fingers.
Grace flips him off.
I’m not sure what is going on with those two, but I’m not getting into it now. I have enough girl trouble of my own.
Grace delivers a towel and tells me, “Your friend is a horse’s ass.”
“She loves me,” Davis says when she walks away.
I dab the foam off my shirt and from the bar top. Thankfully I didn’t go full-on Old Faithful. No one other than Davis seems to have noticed.
“And you love Jackie-O.”
“The first lady?” Grace quips as she sweeps by.
Davis opens his mouth and I interrupt with, “Yes. She’s a classic.”
Grace winks like she knows more than she lets on, and given a woman’s superpower of always knowing what’s going on, I figure she does.
“Carson.” Davis says my last name with such low command, I give up and look him in the eye. “What’s going on with you, man?”
It’s rare to see him concerned, but he has that layer. When Leslie left me, he was more to me than “let’s go get drunk” guy. He knows what heartache feels like. Right down to its ugly core. We didn’t have many heart-to-hearts, but there was a time or two when we talked about the suckage of being the dumpee.
I keep my voice down but answer his question truthfully. “Jackie doesn’t date. If I can get her over that hump with someone harmless, once it’s over, she’ll consider going out with me.”
“Or you could just ask.” His mouth twists with disappointment. But I’m right. He doesn’t know Jackie the way I do.
“I have one shot at this, Davis. She has to see me differently than a formerly married guy she works with.”
We both look over our shoulders at the horror unfolding. Jackie leans heavily on one fist, batting her lashes the way she did with me. Her focus is locked on J.T. and he hasn’t broken eye contact with her yet.
“You better formulate a plan to split them up soon.” Davis turns back to the television and lifts his beer. “Before your girl runs off and marries him.”
Jacqueline
“Married?” J.T. asks.
“Once. We divorced three years ago,” I answer. “You?”
“Never.” He shakes his head.
“Engaged,” I guess.
J.T.’s smile turns schoolboy charming and he cocks his head. Some of his blond hair slides over his forehead and I take a moment to admire his ocean blue polo shirt and the way it Vs over what I know is a gorgeous chest. No hair, but that’s okay. Though I wonder what Vince’s chest looks like by comparison.
I blink a few times to reroute my brain. Where did that thought come from?
“How’d you know?” J.T. asks.
“Know what?”
His smile slips. “That I used to be engaged?”
“Oh! It was the way you said ‘never,’ like maybe you had a close call.”
He nods but offers no further intel. That’s okay. It’s the first date and there’s no reason to divulge all of our secrets. Especially if we aren’t going to last any longer than a few encounters.
“Last question,” I say. We’ve been peppering each other with the get-to-know-you stuff to get it out of the way.
“Shoot.”
“What’s your name?”
He laughs a throaty, full, gentle laugh. It’s nice.
“J.T. isn’t good enough for you?” He licks his lips and fiddles with the cocktail nap
kin under his beer. “Guess.”
Vince’s voice tramples through my head. Judson Taylor. Jaundice Toejam. Jeremiah the Bullfrog.
“Jerry?” I say before I blurt out one of those options.
“No.”
“Judson?”
My date shakes his head.
“Jeremiah?” I squeak.
“No.” His laugh eases my nerves. “Jack. My middle name is Taylor.”
“Oh, my God!” Vince was right about Taylor! At Jack’s confused look, I cover with “I was totally going to guess Taylor.” I lift my wineglass and take a gulp.
“I apologize for not giving you the opportunity to shine.”
We hum to ourselves and the conversation goes limp. I tune in to my surroundings, the TVs over the bar flashing, the din of voices and glassware clinking around us. Davis. And Vince—who sends me a wink and a casual thumbs-up.
J.T. notices. “Friend of yours?”
“Oh, yeah. Yes. He uh, he’s the vice president of the firm where I work.”
“I thought you were VP.”
“We both are. We share the title.”
“That’s weird.”
My defenses rise. “Not really.”
“The boss couldn’t choose, or did they not think one of you could handle it alone?”
“The position changed when the former VP left. The workload would have been too much for either of us to handle solo.”
J.T. shrugs. I’m being oversensitive.
“We work well together,” I mumble.
“That’s what matters.” His affable charm returns. I’m being too critical of him, of us. My expectations for this date have run the gamut. I’ve considered everything from his leaving directly after this drink to his leaning forward and saying something along the lines of “Let’s get outta here.” Both sound appealing for different reasons.
He drains his beer and I glance over at the scant half inch of wine in my glass. This was the only commitment we made. One drink at McGreevy’s to see how things go. We’re at the end, and I’m still not sure how they went.
“Jacqueline Butler,” he says, smiling his white-toothed smile.
“Jack Taylor.” I smile back and wait. For what I don’t know.
Eye Candy Page 4
