“Huh?”
“Date, Butler. With J.T. What is it? Lunch, dinner?”
“Oh, um. Coffee. Tomorrow afternoon.”
“Afternoon coffee?” Vince winces. “You’re backtracking.”
“No, I’m not. He’s busy.” But that sounds like an excuse.
“Don’t worry. I’ll help you turn coffee into dinner.”
“He can’t. He has to meet with a client at four.”
Vince slides his glasses on and sits at his desk again. He regards the papers but speaks to me. “He can and he will. I’m the coach; let me take care of the details.” He looks at me over the rims of his glasses, which is as erotic and distracting as the rest of him. “Deal?”
I want to say no, but I’m so thrown, I agree.
“Deal.”
Chapter 12
Vince
Jackie and I are at Three O’Clock, a hipster-styled coffee spot we both prefer. Yeah, they serve “flat whites,” but they also serve a mean cup of black coffee or, as Jackie prefers, one with a gallon of almond milk in it.
I’m on my second mug, legs kicked out and crossed at the ankles while Jackie grimaces at me over the first cup she’s nursing.
“This is dumb,” she states.
“What’s dumb?” Me, at the moment, I answer myself. Or at least, I’m playing it.
“I don’t want to practice having coffee with J.T.” She gestures, hands flared outward in exasperation. “I know how to have coffee.”
Despite her gesticulating, her voice is quiet.
“I don’t want to play games, Vince.”
Neither do I, but my being Mr. Available fast-tracked me to the friend zone. I can’t let that happen again. That’s why I’m behaving like an aloof coworker.
“I didn’t invite you here to frustrate you, Butler. I invited you here to help you. Do you want to advance beyond coffee and lunch dates with this guy or what?”
I won’t lie. Her hesitation tempts me to smile. She’s unsure about Jaundice and that’s some great fucking news.
“Yes. I mean, I want to spend more time with him.”
Ouch. But I keep my poker face. This is the play, and though I’m toying with fire running a game on Butler, I justify it by telling myself it’s for her own good.
“Okay.” I sit up and lean my forearms on the table. “Stand up, walk out of here, and we’ll start over.”
“Are you serious?” She gives me a bland blink. Too bad for her I’m as serious as Jim Carrey in The Truman Show.
“You’re twenty minutes late,” I instruct her, giving her a detail to work with. “You’re wearing a flowery dress with ruffles on it.”
“That’s specific.” She’s actually wearing black pants and a button-down shirt, but I need her to glide in here if this is going to work.
“The blue one.”
She holds my eyes, her lips parting at my comment. Hell, yeah, I was specific. She walks like she owns the world when she wears that dress. That’s what I want to see—confidence.
“Tell me you’re sorry you’re late and you want to make it up to me with dinner at Chez Chandon.”
“Why am I late?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“It matters.”
Of course it does. Details are Jackie’s bag. “Fine. You were held up at work. Tell him I made you help me with a report I couldn’t figure out.”
She laughs, which lights her eyes. I love that sound.
“So it’s your fault. I can work with that.” She stands and leaves the coffee shop. I watch her walk, her measured steps professional and thoughtful. Outside, she walks past the windows and out of sight. The next time I see her, it’s a new Jackie.
Her chin is high, her arms swinging. She’s wiggling her ass like she’s working that blue dress we decided on. Inside, she pretends to look around and I play along, raising my hand to wave. The smile she wears when she approaches is staged and almost apologetic.
“I’m late. I know.” She bends down and grazes the side of my mouth with her lips. The touch is too brief but enough to send my mind spinning. “Vince kept me late because he needed help with the quarterly reports. Again.” She adds an eye roll. “I don’t know what he’d do without me.”
I break character to grin before resuming my role. “You’re forgiven. Have a seat. I still have ten minutes.”
She sucks air through her teeth. “Actually, I don’t. I have to get back. Tell you what, let me treat you to dinner at Chez Chandon tonight.” She sighs, her shoulders pulling down with the breath. “Now what do I say? I know he has a four o’clock appointment.”
“You say, ‘Meet me there at six. I’ll be the one in red.’ ”
“Why would that work?” She sits, giving up the act.
“It might not. But if he likes you enough to cut his meeting short, then you’re one step closer to sealing the deal with him.” She won’t, though. Not as long as I have anything to say about it.
“Chez Chandon at six.” She lifts her purse from the back of the chair she previously inhabited and lowers her voice to a sensual husk. “I’ll be the one in the short, tight, red dress. Don’t keep me waiting.”
I’m transfixed. Jackie has morphed before my eyes yet again.
“Six,” I repeat. “I’ll be there.”
She leans forward and I think she’s coming in for a kiss goodbye. Instead she whispers, “Now what?”
I snag her purse strap and pull her closer. “Now we get back to work, and I’ll see you tonight at six.” I release her without taking the kiss her eyes promised.
“What do you mean you’ll see me at six? Are you pretending to be J.T., or are you you?”
“Chez Chandon, Butler.” I stand and walk to the door, holding it open for her when she follows. “You invited me. I accept.”
A smile tickles the side of her lips. I like that look on her a lot, and if my calculations add up, I secured date number two.
Damn.
Davis was right.
Chapter 13
Jacqueline
It worked.
I’m sitting across from J.T. at Chez Chandon. He’s in slacks and a button-down dress shirt—no tie as per his usual. Vince was totally right. I almost didn’t listen to him when it came time for the coffee date with J.T. but decided that yes, I would honor his hypothesis and arrive twenty minutes late.
I did the whole thing. The I-have-to-get-back-to-work thing, the let-me-treat-you-to-dinner thing. And here we are. At seven instead of six like Vince and I practiced last night, but I doubt an hour is going to make a difference in the outcome.
What has made a difference was the dinner with Vince last night. Well, not so much the dinner but the drop-off. Vince walked me to my stoop, stopping at the threshold of my apartment.
“I had a lovely evening, Jacqueline,” Vince says, his voice syrupy. I can’t help but smile. He’s taking this whole coaching thing really seriously.
“So did I, Jack.”
Vince’s mouth twists. “You can’t actually believe things will work out between you two when you have virtually the same name as his.”
“Vince!”
“Okay, okay.” He closes his eyes and reopens them, and I can’t help but compare Jack and Vince. Especially with Vince looking at me in a heated way that I can’t tell is for show or not. “I’ll call you soon, Jacqueline,” he says. I recognize this play voice because when he’s pretending he’s very formal. When he’s himself, it’s “Butler this” and “Butler that,” paired with a cheeky grin that hints at something more sinister beneath.
He steps closer and cups my waist with one hand, leaning in. Before his lips press to mine, I rest my palm on his chest.
“I don’t need to practice this part with you,” I breathe, my heart hammering. If I have a prayer of focusing on J.T., it’d be best if I didn’t practice with Vince.
He doesn’t answer, only tugs me the rest of the way and kisses me, his mouth firm against mine.
I sigh and lea
n in for more. The pretense of our coaching date withers as I go up on my toes to get more of his mouth. He tastes amazing. I don’t want him to stop.
But he does.
Just shy of slipping his tongue into my mouth, he finishes us off with an audible smooch and I lower to my heels. Once he’s sure I’m steady, he backs away from me with a wink.
“Damn, Butler. You’re right. I don’t think you need the practice.”
That was it.
After the kiss, Vince left and I wandered to the bathroom to take out my contact lenses and brush my teeth on autopilot. The only thought in my head as I lay down to go to sleep was how sorry I was he hadn’t kissed me longer, deeper….
“…and so I told the guy I’d be happy to put every window he wanted in the house, as long as he was sure he wanted full sun blaring into his bedroom each and every morning.” J.T. is shaking his head and smiling in that cordial way he has. He’s been talking about work for some time, and I’m spacing out to visit the memory of Vince kissing me.
“What did he decide?” I palm my wineglass and focus on what he’s saying.
“After a lengthy discussion and review of my plans…”
Nope. It’s no use. My mind is wandering already. The words are glancing off me, but I smile and nod, figuring it doesn’t matter. A sneaky, unpleasant thought creeps in. I was right. I was right about how I shouldn’t have met my fantasy man.
J.T. jogging by the window in all his perfection was one thing, but him in the flesh is another. He’s not as interesting or comfortable as Vince. He’s not as charming or as relaxed as Vince. He’s…
Wait.
I can’t keep comparing him to Vince. I’m not dating Vince. I was for a few hot seconds…sort of, until Vince pulled the rug from beneath my feet and claimed he never meant it. Claimed that he was swept up and jealous. This is a game to him, or maybe he’s simply being a good friend—and here I sit with a viable and attractive dating option in J.T. and I’m being a total bitch, not listening to him.
It’s time to seize the day. J.T. deserves a fair shot.
“It’ll cost him an extra five thou,” he says now, “but to him, it’s worth it.” J.T. shakes his head and saws into his pork chop. “The customer is always right, right?”
I nod as he takes a bite. He has great manners. No elbows on the table; he keeps his mouth closed when he chews. I could do a lot worse. And that body. I bet he knows how to use it. My mind flits to Vince and I think of his body. Lean, muscular, and the way he held me against him made me feel safe.
I silently scold myself. If I’m going to compare them, I need to compare everything. With the memory of Vince’s kiss so fresh in my mind, it’ll be easy to tell if J.T. can one-up him.
“Would you like to come back to my place?” I blurt.
J.T. chews a little slower, then swallows, then grabs his napkin to swipe his mouth. After he licks his lips, he tilts his head and smiles. “I would.”
“Great,” I say before I lose my nerve. Then I refill my wineglass to ensure I don’t.
—
We don’t rush out of there.
Nearly fifty minutes pass from my invitation to J.T. to his parking in his numbered space across the lot. I follow in my car. Since he met me at the restaurant, we drove separately. I park in my numbered space and watch as J.T.’s limber, long-legged stride eats up the sidewalk as he makes his way to me. Not gonna lie, that’s a nice visual.
I’m waiting on my stoop when he arrives, not the least bit out of breath. He smiles back at me as a soft summer breeze lifts the front of his blond hair. My heart kicks my chest in anticipation.
“Thanks for coming by,” I joke. We live so close, it was no more than a walk across the street to get to my house.
He steps closer, his cologne strong but not in a bad way. He does that thing where he pushes his fingers into my hair and cups my jaw like I’ve seen in the movies, then he kisses me. It’s warm. It’s…nice.
My anticipation fizzles into acute disappointment as J.T. goes one step further and slips his tongue into my mouth. I kiss him back but can’t seem to shut off my brain. And my brain is reminding me that as nice as J.T.’s kiss is, it’s nowhere near as satisfying as Vince’s. My body is cadaver stiff. Standing here, making out with him feels almost…wrong.
What the hell?
He pulls back and regards me sweetly, brushing his thumb over my bottom lip. “You are truly beautiful, Jacqueline Butler.”
The compliment works. I smile easily as I lean my cheek into his hand. I’m being overly critical. I need to be more like Bethany. Seize the day! Do not overthink.
I open my mouth and, “Would you like to come in?” falls out.
His smile broadens into a toothy grin. I’m not sure my timing is right, but I am sure I need to kick my sex life into high gear. Starting with this guy couldn’t hurt no matter what happens.
“No.”
Since he’s still smiling, his negative response throws me.
I frown and repeat, “No?”
“I remembered on the drive home that I have to work tonight. I shortened the meeting to come out with you, which means I’m behind.”
Geez. What a catch-22.
“That’s okay.” I force a smile, unwilling to be deterred. “What about tomorrow or Sunday?”
He shakes his head. “No can do on either of those days, but I can take you to lunch on Tuesday.”
My heart falls. Lunch on a weekday. I blew it. Maybe Vince was wrong. I do need the practice.
“Good night, Jacqueline.”
“Good night, Jack.” I should also thank him for dinner—Vince was right about J.T. paying, even though I promised to—but I’m so thrown by how my charms worked up until the point he kissed me. Nothing makes a girl feel unsexy like being turned down, especially after a kiss that should have sealed that deal. Either J.T. has a tireless work ethic or I’m completely undesirable.
That last thought stings with the memory of when Lex left me. I felt about as attractive as one of those hairless cats there at the end.
J.T. walks away and I watch, fiddling with my keys in indecision. He doesn’t turn to wave or look over his shoulder, but he does pick up the pace and run away from me.
After watching him run every day, I know his form. It’s not as attractive when he’s leaving me.
I go inside and shut the door, standing there for a moment with a frown on my face. I consider another glass of wine. Why not? Glass poured, I light a candle and search for a movie. A romantic comedy, I decide. Something that will boost my spirits and give me pleasant dreams.
I will not dwell. I will not dwell.
Hell, I’m not even going to change out of my dress. I feel pretty (oh so pretty) and I’m having a glass of wine and an elegant evening and…aha! Sex and the City reruns. Jackpot! I settle in and watch a string of them, three total before my eyes grow heavy. The candle I lit is burning low and the one glass of wine I poured helped the sleepy set in. I extinguish the tiny flame, flip the TV off, and walk my empty popcorn bag to the trash can.
It smells…not good. One of the downsides to being single: Lex always took out the trash. Then he dated her, but that’s a joke for another time. Ha.
I slide my feet back into my heels and gather the kitchen bag. It’s been a week of microwave meals and frozen pizza, so it’s mostly packages and not that gross. I gather the bag and carry it to the dumpster, my mind returning to my date.
It didn’t end the way I planned, but it wasn’t like it was bad. J.T. has to work, and I can’t fault him for that after I tricked him into cutting his meeting short to go out with me. I drop the lid of the bin and look toward his apartment, and then my optimism shatters into a million pieces.
From this side of the lot, I have a perfect view of J.T.’s third-floor balcony. Through the sliding glass door I make out two figures. One of them is sliding her hands around his neck as their faces come very, very close together. By the time he gathers her closer, bends and lifts he
r into his arms, and carries her away from the window, I can’t feel my face.
I stare a few seconds longer, but my peep show is over. He and the blonde—the tall, lithe blonde—have disappeared into parts unknown in his apartment. Frantically my brain tries to concoct a reasonable scenario to explain what I saw, but that tongue dive pretty much ruled out that the blonde was his sister. Which means J.T. turned me down because he had another woman coming over.
I trudge back to my apartment. My high heels clack on the asphalt, a lonely sound in the quiet night. On my short walk my feelings shift from sad to angry.
Before I overthink my actions, I snatch the keys from the coffee table and grab my purse. I hazard one more glance at J.T.’s place before I climb into my car, but his window is dark.
My imagination ramps into high gear despite my attempts to silence it.
I drive to Vince’s house, anger raging through my bloodstream. I need to talk to my coach. I need someone to tell me what to do now that I’ve been cheated on again. Sort of. Vince’s comment about whether or not I was sure J.T. and I were exclusive echoes through my brain.
I wasn’t sure. Now I am.
My anger fades and by the time I park in Vince’s driveway, I’m embarrassed. I hesitate a full five seconds before propelling myself out of the car. I have no one to talk to unless I make a phone call. I don’t need a phone call. I need…a hug.
God. I’m a mess.
At his front door I knock nonstop, my knuckles smarting from each rap-rap-rap against the wood. The longer I knock, the more my embarrassment transforms into rage.
Vince opens the door wearing cutoff sweats and a T-shirt. His eyebrows are down, his scruff in full force, his tattoos on display. Seeing him look this good without trying fuels my anger.
“Thanks a lot, Coach.” I push past him and toss my purse onto his loveseat.
“Won’t you come in?” He’s being sarcastic since I’m already in.
“I did everything you said. I showed up late. I invited him to dinner. I invited him back to my place. I kissed him like we practiced.” I tick off each item on my fingers while Vince stands at his ajar front door, his hand on the knob.
Eye Candy Page 9
