by Lizzie Shane
Jack managed not to openly scoff at that. As if five feet of clearance was going to give him the opportunity for an intimate first meet.
“I know it seems impossible now, but by next week you won’t even notice us.” She bounced in her heels—definitely high on something, or maybe it was just the thrill of the show. Miranda did love her job. “After the First Meets, we’ll collect all the girls together for the first challenge. They’ll think they have to write you a little time-capsule note that you will open together on the last date, if they make it that far, but really there won’t be enough capsules for everyone and it’s a chance to see how they handle that. And how they interact with one another since that will also be the first time the girls will be seeing one another. You should be able to observe a lot from the spy room we’ve set up for you.”
Jack’s stomach turned a little at the idea of spying on his possible future wife, but he reminded himself that on this show nothing was ever private.
“After that there will be a brief cocktail party, when all the girls get a chance to vie for your attention and then it’s on to the Elimination Ceremony. You’ll cut eight tonight. Don’t worry about names, we’ll help you if you forget. Just let yourself be in the moment. We’ve gathered thirty of the most extraordinary women in America for you, you lucky bastard.”
Jack forced a smile, but he didn’t feel lucky. He felt trapped. He reached into his pocket and ran his thumb over the charm bracelet. Lou’s face rose in his mind, along with Emma’s, TJ’s and visions of home. What was he doing here?
Before he could wave the white flag and call it all off, Miranda was striding away, off to conquer Rome and someone he couldn’t see was yelling, “Cue Josh!”
The former game-show-host Josh Pendleton stepped out of the Suitorette mansion with his overly suave smile firmly in place.
“Welcome to a new season of Marrying Mister Perfect!” he exclaimed, and Jack wasn’t sure whether the host was talking to him or the home audience. Pendleton launched into his spiel, strolling across the courtyard with a measured gait so he reached Jack’s side at the right moment in his speech. He ran through the agenda for the night for the cameras and Jack tried to remember to beam and look like Mr. Perfect rather than a deer in headlights.
Everything seemed to be moving at light speed. Before he knew it he was being guided along a garden path along to the pool where the first Suitorette waited for him. Pendleton dropped back, waving him ahead, and Jack stepped through an archway and onto the tiki-torch lit pool deck.
And standing in the middle of the flickering light, a golden vision posed with a sultry smile in place on her lush lips.
Hello, Marilyn. Jack’s higher brain functions melted.
Playmate curves were barely contained by the short, shimmery, spandex-tight dress. Suddenly Jack felt nervous for a whole new reason and his feet stalled. She didn’t seem to mind. She strolled toward him, full mouth open slightly, her heavily-shadowed eyes never leaving his as her platinum blonde hair swished around her hips. The smoky intensity of her gaze had him shifting nervously in his excruciating shoes. This woman was too gorgeous. Movie-star hot and focused like a laser beam on him. He felt like he’d been bodyslammed by her sheer sex appeal. What had he signed himself up for?
She paused in front of him, licked her lips and smiled a slow, sensuous invitation of a smile. “Hello, Mister Perfect. I’m Katya.”
Chapter Ten
Lou was not waiting by the phone. She wasn’t. Just because it was Friday morning. The morning after Jack’s first meeting with his dream women. Just because she was desperately hoping he would call her and tell her they were all awful and he was coming home…
She most certainly was not waiting by the phone.
The kids were at school and Lou lingered in the kitchen—because she was washing the sticky oatmeal bowls from breakfast, of course. It had nothing to do with a need to remain within lunging distance of the landline. The cell phone was tucked into the back pocket of her jeans.
She plunged her hands into the water, swirling the sponge around inside an already spotless bowl.
It was that damn kiss. Their accidental goodbye kiss haunted her.
Had she squandered an opportunity there? Should she have taken the chance to kiss him properly? Sure, Jack had never thought of her that way, but that didn’t necessarily mean he never would. Didn’t the best relationships grow out of friendships? People were always saying that. There had to be some truth in it.
If she could just get him to stop thinking of her as Lou the buddy, Lou the friend, maybe she still had a chance.
Provided he hadn’t already fallen head over heels at first sight with a supermodel he first laid eyes on last night. For all Lou knew he was in Vegas with Miss Perfect right this instant, getting married by Elvis in front of a row of cameras and a dozen giddy television executives. If only he would call…
The house phone rang. Lou dove for it, splashing soapy water all over herself. “Jack?” she gasped breathlessly into the receiver.
“He still hasn’t called?” The sound of Kelly’s voice sent Lou’s spirits plummeting. “Drat. I wanted all the gossip. He met them last night, didn’t he?”
“That was the plan.”
“You sound awful. Don’t worry. He’ll be great. He was born to be Mr. Perfect.”
“I know.” Which did nothing to raise Lou’s spirits. There was nothing like being reminded the man was completely out of her league.
“You wanna come over? I’m making double fudge brownies. Chocolate therapy.”
Lou didn’t want to go anywhere until Jack called, but admitting that to Kelly wasn’t high on her wish list.
Though Kelly was the expert on Marrying Mr. Perfect. Maybe she could help Lou figure out how to sabotage the show so Jack would have to come home and fall in love with her instead.
Yeah. Like that was ever going to happen.
“I don’t know, Kel—” The phone beeped against her ear. “Oh God, Kelly, that’s the call waiting! I’ve gotta go.”
“Call me ba—”
Lou hit the button to connect the new call, cutting Kelly off mid-word. “Hello?”
“Lou.”
Her knees turned to jelly and she sank down onto the nearest chair, melting into a puddle of relief. “Jack. How are you? You just missed the kids. They’ve already left for school.”
After a slight hesitation, he said, “Yeah, I’m still getting used to the time zones.”
He sounded wrecked. She glanced at the clock, quickly doing the math. “It’s gotta be seven fifteen in the morning there. Don’t tell me you haven’t been to sleep yet?”
He groaned an affirmative. “Miranda wasn’t kidding when she said the hours were insane.”
“You should get some sleep. I’m sorry you missed the kids, but I’ll tell them you called.”
“No.” He grunted groggily. “I mean, yes, tell them I called, but I was hoping we could talk for a sec. Just you and me?”
Her relief that he’d called morphed into something stronger, a pleasure that hummed through her heart. “Absolutely. Whatever you want.” Especially if he what he wanted was her. “How did it go last night?”
Please let him say it was awful. Please, please, please.
“It was… overwhelming. Definitely more of an assault to the senses than I was expecting.”
Lou held her breath. What exactly did assault to the senses mean? Was that a good thing? A bad thing? “Oh?”
“It’s insane. Thirty drop-dead gorgeous women vying for my attention, crawling all over one another and clearly willing to scratch one another’s eyes out for a chance to sit down next to me for five minutes.”
Lou tried to read his voice without success. Was that exasperation or was he flattered by the attention? He just sounded exhausted.
“I think there was a PA whose entire job was to make sure everyone had a fresh cocktail all night long and it went on for hours. We started at dusk and didn’t wrap photogr
aphy until the sun was coming up.”
Miranda had said the first night was a marathon, but that sounded like a nightmare.
“The Elimination Ceremony was the worst.”
This time she had no trouble reading his voice. Irritation twined around the tension in his words.
“They’re rings, Lou. Did you know that? Actual rings. I give each girl a gold ring and ask her if she will accept it as a token that I would like her to continue on the journey toward marriage with me.” He groaned. “Half of them were tipsy by then, a few were flat out drunk, and they were all so nervous it was like I was calling out the names of the last few people to get on the lifeboats for the Titanic or something. I’d call out a name and she’d rush forward. Every single time I had to say the line and then Josh—that’s the host—would say, ‘You are still in the running for the final ring.’ It was creepily ritualistic. And we kept having to wait for them to set up shots and angles. I couldn’t remember half of their names, so one of the producers would run over between set-ups with a picture flip book and remind me who was who. It took forever. By the time I got to the last girl, four of the ones I hadn’t called were in tears. I thought this one girl was going to attack me with her stiletto if I didn’t call her name.”
Lou muffled a giggle, feeling more giddy with every negative word he said about the show. “Did you?”
He snorted. “God, no. She scared the crap out of me.”
“So it was awful?” Lou asked, knowing she sounded a little too hopeful, but unable to help it. All he had to do was say yes and she would remind him he could always come home. No creepy ring ceremonies. No high-heeled attackers. Just the two of them living happily ever after. Even if it was just pretend…
“Well, it wasn’t all bad. Some parts of it were actually pretty fun.”
Those words made Lou feel like the foundations of her world were sliding precariously to the side. “Did you kiss any of them?” She couldn’t help the little catch in her voice. She just hoped he didn’t hear it.
All night she’d lain awake, tortured by the thought of kisses. For every one time she’d thought of their awkward goodbye on the porch, there had been five times she’d visualized him locking lips with some hand-picked size two knockout. She’d pictured every possible variable—sweet kisses, steamy kisses, playful kisses and kisses with frenzied groping hands. Sometimes the girl in her head was a tall, svelte bleach blonde with a spray-on tan. Sometimes she was a Mediterranean beauty with dark flashing eyes and a lush figure. A Nubian goddess with sleek limbs and pillowy lips. The only constant was that she was a Perfect 10 and she was kissing Jack.
And when she asked him if he’d kissed any of them, he hesitated. Shit.
Lou closed her eyes and pressed a fist against her heart. “Jack?”
“Only a couple,” he said slowly. “And I didn’t keep them just because they were forward.”
Her heart thudded ominously against her fist. “So you kept them?”
“Well, yeah, but I just really liked their confidence.”
And I’m sure the fact that they had their tongues down your throat had nothing to do with it. “Kel says the first kissers are always in it for publicity. Are they wannabe actresses or something?”
“One’s a lawyer.”
“And the other?
He hesitated again. Damn it.
“Swimsuit model,” he admitted grudgingly.
Lou felt ill. Physically ill. “Swimsuit model. I’m sure she’s just dying to move to the suburbs and live on a diet of mac n’ cheese and chicken tenders.”
“She seemed very down to earth,” Jack said and Lou heard the lie in his voice. “And she isn’t the only one I kept. Another one, Kim, she’s a single mom, so she knows all about chicken tenders.”
“Kim.” Lovely. Now he was calling them by name. Why did he have to give them names? That made them seem like real people.
“Angela—she’s the lawyer—she just goes after what she wants. No holds barred. But Marcy…”
Lou felt pressure start behind her eyes at the way he said that name. Like he was smitten already. She swallowed thickly. “Marcy?”
“She’s not at all what I expected. Not that she isn’t gorgeous, but there’s no pretension in her. When I saw her, I thought she was going to be just like the others. This petite, very put together brunette with her hair in one of those bun things you wear sometimes when we go out to nice dinners.”
“A chignon.”
“Yeah, that. But then we started talking and, I don’t know, Marcy has this sort of self-deprecating thing going on. She’s a romance novelist, if you can believe it, but she’s the first one to joke about it when the other girls get all holier-than-thou about her writing ‘smut’. She says they’re just jealous that she has an unfair advantage because love is her day job.” His low chuckled rippled through the phone.
Lou decided she hated Marcy. Where was a voodoo doll when you needed one?
“I think you’d really like her, Lou. There’s just something about her. She’s so natural. I felt comfortable with her right from the get go. And she was amazing at diffusing the other girls’ drama—especially during the challenge. My night could really have been hell without her there.”
Lou wrapped her arm around her abdomen and tucked her knees up to her chest, curling into a ball on the chair. He was supposed to be missing her. He was supposed to be fixated on how lost he was without her, not gushing over some self-deprecating, down-to-earth portrait of perfection who could de-drama any situation.
“I really do think you’d love her, Lou.”
And somehow, I really doubt that. “She sounds great.” Lou forced a note of cheery sincerity she didn’t feel into her voice. She had to get off the phone. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could pretend to be happy for him and Marcy. “You can tell me all about her when we visit this weekend, but you really should get some sleep, Jack. Miranda’s probably going to be demanding you do push-ups in a Speedo later and you need your beauty rest.”
He gave a short laugh. “You’re right. You know, when I called I was this close to calling it quits and coming home, but you’ve made me feel a thousand times better. Thanks, Lou. You’re the best.”
She bit her tongue on the urge to make a snide remark about how apparently Marcy was the best. “That’s what I’m here for.” Apparently. “Sweet dreams, Jack.”
“Love you, Lou.”
The connection clicked dead. And Lou’s heart stopped.
He didn’t mean it like that. She knew he didn’t mean it like that. But had he ever said it before? Jack wasn’t much for confessing his feelings. She knew he loved her, just like she loved him—in a purely friends platonic way. Anything else was just wishful thinking. But he’d said it. He’d said it now.
Why now?
Lou replaced the receiver and sank back down onto the uncomfortable kitchen chairs. Her head felt like it weighed a million pounds. She dropped it onto her hands and groaned.
Jack was infatuated with some goddess on the show. The producers would do everything they could to foster that infatuation and turn it into something more. Exotic locales, candlelit dinners, romantic getaways. Jack’s heart didn’t stand a chance under that kind of strategic assault.
Lou couldn’t take much more of this emotional yo-yoing. For years she’d loved him with a quiet, steady heart, but in the last few weeks she felt like she was on a rollercoaster—up and down and inside out. She kept telling herself she was over him and it was for the best, but it just didn’t stick. She loved him, then she gave up on him loving her back, but hope kindled again at the slightest provocation, only to be smothered again—but it never totally died. That stupid hope was bulletproof.
She needed advice. She needed reality to slap her in the face.
Confession was good for the soul. And so was chocolate.
Chapter Eleven
“So let me see if I have this straight. You think you’re in love with Jack.”
“Y
es.”
“In fact, you’ve always been in love with Jack, but now he’s a thousand miles away mooning over some Hollywood trollop and sucking face with a bunch of other size zero tramps, so you’ve decided next weekend in LA is the perfect time to unveil your hidden passion for him, even though you have no idea if he will reciprocate your feelings and cameras for a primetime television show are currently stalking his every move.”
Lou’s stomach rolled. When Kelly put it like that, her plan sounded mildly psychotic. “Yes?”
“Louisa Tanner, I have three words for you.”
You’re out of your mind? No, that was more than three.
“About damn time!”
Kelly beamed at her. Lou leaned against the counter in Kelly’s designer kitchen while Kelly drizzled gooey ropes of fudge sauce over the sinful chocolate explosion that was her Double Fudge brownies.
Lou groaned. “This is a terrible idea, isn’t it?”
“Nonsense.” Finishing the fudge-drizzle with a flourish, Kelly shoved the thickly coated wooden spoon at Lou. “Here, lick this before you give yourself a nervous breakdown. Chocolate is the world’s best antidepressant.”
“I’m not depressed.”
“Whatever. Eat the fudge sauce. It’s a natural upper. It’ll keep you from freaking out when I tell you my plan.” Kelly smiled wickedly, her eyes lit with unholy glee.
“I don’t need a plan. I’ve decided I’m not really in love with Jack. Never was. Must have been indigestion.”
