No, he didn’t imagine it would. “I’ll be okay if you slow the damn car down.”
“Fine, fine.” Steve shot him a grin. “I saw enough of you tossing your lunch last week at the bachelor party.”
Jack groaned. “Don’t even bring that up again.”
The memory made his head pound. After spending a lonely night wondering why the heck Jamie had left him, he had gone to the bachelor party and had proceeded to drink himself under the table. Literally.
He hadn’t done anything that stupid since he was twenty-one.
Steve wasn’t finished razzing him, though. Shifting gears, he said, “I’ve never seen anybody throw up down the front of a stripper before.”
“It was an accident.” One that held no comedic value for him, despite the laughter in Steve’s voice. He didn’t imagine the stripper had found it all that funny either. It had taken a profuse apology and a five-hundred-dollar tip to keep the whole bachelor party from being thrown out of the club.
But he hadn’t meant to do it. He hadn’t been interested in the stripper at all, in fact, had waved her away. She had persisted, shaking herself and her red-tasseled breasts in his face. His perception had already gone the way of the whiskey, and she had made him dizzy with all that wobbling. And then an image of Jamie wiggling out of her jeans topless had risen in his mind, and before he even knew what was happening, he had thrown up, splashing those tassels and her red high-heeled shoes.
Not one of his finer moments.
“It was disgusting,” Steve said with relish.
Jack wasn’t going to argue.
Nor did he feel like discussing it any further.
Pops, who had been making his way through a bag of peanut M&Ms in the front seat, added his two cents. “Bad chicken? Bah. Looks like girl trouble to me.”
“Are you supposed to be eating those?” Jack asked, grabbing for a subject change.
“Do I give a shit?” Pops threw a green one in his mouth and chewed defiantly. “I don’t have a peanut allergy. And stop changing the subject. If you’re pissed that Jamie dumped you, you should do something about it. A hard-on girl doesn’t come along every day.”
Steve let out a laugh. “What in the hell is a hard-on girl?”
Jack considered crawling under the seat to avoid this conversation. Pops shared none of his embarrassment.
“A girl who gives you a hard-on just by thinking about her. Jamie does that to Jack.”
He swore under his breath while Steve nearly ran them off the road from laughing so hard. “He’s pitiful, isn’t he?” Steve asked. “You should have seen him begging her to meet for coffee. It was sad to see how far the mighty have fallen.”
“Fuck off.”
Steve only laughed harder. “Come on, Jack, even you have to admit your strategy didn’t exactly work.”
“So what do you suggest I do, since you’re such an expert?”
“You can stop being so dramatic for one thing. No chick is going to like a puppy dog following her around with hopeful eyes.”
Pops nodded. “Kid’s got a point. And I read that metrosexuals are on their way out of favor. Women want manly men, who take charge.”
Oh, good God.
“So stop acting like a crybaby and seduce her,” was Pops’s conclusion.
“Seriously,” Steve added. “And drop the whining about being rich. Makes you sound like a spoiled brat.”
Wow, the sympathy pouring forth from his family was just overwhelming.
The evening stretched ahead of him, long and unpleasant.
And he couldn’t even seek solace in the wine.
With his luck, he’d throw up on the entire bridal party.
But maybe Steve and Pops had a point, when you waded through the useless crap they had spouted. Maybe he needed to stop moping like a bad cliché and do what had always come naturally to him—take action. Meet the challenge head-on and emerge triumphant.
As he hit the button for the car window to go down, he pictured life without Jamie in it. Desolate, empty. Siberia of the heart. Nope, that just wasn’t going to happen.
He would love her, damn it, and she’d learn to like it.
Chapter 15
“Oh, my God, what is he doing here?” Allison said as she opened the door of a cab. “Quick, get in before he sees us.”
“Who?” Jamie turned around and spotted Beckwith. He was kind of hard to miss, wearing that floral dress and Charro earrings. “Maybe he was just in the neighborhood.” She waved at him.
Allison grabbed her hand and yanked it down. “Stop that! He’ll see you, and we’re on the verge of being late to the rehearsal. Caroline will have a cow if we’re late.”
“Jamie!” Beckwith spotted her and waved both hands. “Don’t leave, I have to talk to you.”
“Who cares?” Allison got in the cab. “Come on, Jamie. Tell him to call you later. Like next year.”
But Jamie didn’t like the look of concern on Beckwith’s face. Even his lip liner couldn’t keep his mouth from turning down in a pinched frown. “What’s wrong, Beckwith?”
The cab driver yelled out the window, “You going to stand there, lady, or get in the car? I don’t have all day.”
“We can get another cab,” Jamie said to Allison, feeling a little guilty, but needing to see what Beckwith wanted. She couldn’t just blow him off without spending the whole night worrying about him.
Allison sighed and opened her purse. She handed the driver a ten. “Here. Give her five minutes.”
“Five minutes. No more,” came the gruff, staccato reply.
Allison rolled her eyes. “Listen to this guy, Jamie,” she said out the window. “He sounds just like a Speak-N-Spell. It’s amazing.”
But Beckwith was now in front of her, thick hand resting on his heaving chest. “Girlfriend, I ran three blocks in these heels. Nearly broke my fucking ankle six times. And now I have sweat stains. Do you know when sweat dries on rayon you can still see the circle? This is a new dress, too.”
“Did you need something, Beckwith? I’m on my way to Caroline’s rehearsal dinner.”
“You need to stop this wedding.”
“What? Why? I can’t do that.”
“He’s going to hurt her, sugar. I mean, rip her heart out and feed it to the fishies.” Beckwith wiped the dew off his upper lip.
Jamie believed him, and was sorry for it. It made her ache for Caroline, but she also knew Caro was not the type to believe a cross-dresser’s vague warning, even if his predictions for Mandy and herself had come true. Well, hers had been only partially accurate. Man of her dreams might have been a stretch.
“I can’t stop the wedding. Caroline has to want to stop it, and trust me, that’s not going to happen.”
Beckwith grabbed her arms, shook her just a little. “Then you have to be there for her when the ax falls.”
“Okay. Okay. Of course.” Jamie bit her lip. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” He let go of her. “Oh, and sweetie, I was right about Darth Vader, wasn’t I? But this isn’t about your father, remember that.”
“What is it about?” she asked, frustrated. “Knowing my destiny is a bad idea, Beck, because I just feel like I’m spinning in circles trying to decide what it is.”
“Well, stop it!” Beckwith said, squinting against the sun. “Stop thinking! Just listen to your heart.” He grabbed at his chest, clasping his faux breast.
If he broke out into a love song, she suspected she was going to be embarrassed.
“Just trust me, sweetie.”
Jamie jumped when the cabbie blared his horn. “Your time is up. Get out of the car.”
“I will not,” Allison declared, but she did lean out the door and call to Jamie. “Come on, we’re going to be late.”
“I have to go…”
Beckwith squeezed her hand. “Don’t let him drive at first. He’ll take wrong turns.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Be happy, precious.”
Then he turned and w
alked down the street, limping as if his open-toe sandals were pinching his feet.
Jamie slid into the cab. She didn’t even have the door half closed before the car ripped away from the curb and merged into traffic.
Beckwith’s words rang through her head. How could Beckwith be so sure when she was so confused?
The cards were wrong. They had to be.
Jack was from a different world than she was. She had only scratched the surface of knowing and understanding him.
“We are going to be so late.”
“I never told you this…but Beckwith said Jack is the one he saw in the cards.” Jamie turned to Allison, wanting to accept her destiny, terrified she’d make a false move and get hurt.
“You have a big red lip print on your forehead.” Allison reached out and rubbed it off. Then her brown eyes softened. “Maybe Beckwith isn’t so crazy after all. I’ve never seen you like this over a guy.”
“It could never work, Allison, you know that.”
“I don’t know that.” Allison was wearing a plum-colored sheath dress, her dark hair pulled back from her face, chandelier earrings swinging as she shook her head. “It can work if you want it to. Jonathon doesn’t need fixing like your other guys. He’s in move-in condition.”
“He’s attracted to me because I’m different than his usual type.”
That was her real fear. That he would dump her when the novelty wore off and go on with the rest of his life. Just the thought of it had fear clawing up into her throat. She wasn’t afraid of a lot of things, not even spiders or dogs over seventy pounds, but the thought of giving Jack her heart and having him reject it made her feel downright sick.
Part of why she dated the men she did was because she knew there was no permanency there. She knew the relationships wouldn’t work, and when they split, and he went off to a better life, like Scratch had, she’d felt happy, not sad.
But it wouldn’t be that way with Jack. It would be like losing her father all over again.
“What makes you think he would walk away?”
Plucking at her skirt, she shrugged. “When you strip away the lust and the fascination, what is there? What do we have in common? Nothing.” She stared out at the piles of garbage lining Bleecker Street. “I wish you hadn’t talked me into wearing this dress. I feel ridiculous.”
Jamie rolled her shoulders in the floral dress in agitation. Instead of being long and loose like the dresses she normally wore, it was short, with a high waist. It was a fun, flirty, summer look, and now she just knew it would send the wrong message to Jack.
Like, Look at me, I’m a silly goofball.
Black would have been better.
“My legs look like cracker barrels in this dress.”
Allison’s eyebrows rose. “What is a cracker barrel? Never mind. I don’t want to know. And stop pulling on the neck-line. The dress looks great. You look great. You look sophisticated. Tall.”
It was easy for Allison to look sophisticated at five-footten with long, straight, dark hair. Jamie had to work at it.
Gripping a crystal worry stone she’d pulled out of her purse, she tried to think serene, calming thoughts. Waterfalls, dolphins, daisies. Nothing helped. She was hysterical.
“You were right, Allison. We should have never gotten our fortunes read. Now I have all this horrible knowledge weighing down on me. I feel burdened.”
What would she have done differently if she’d never known anything about her destiny? How could she possibly face Jack knowing that she’d been acting like a fool?
And in this stupid, clingy, short, short dress?
“I feel late,” Allison said, grabbing her purse. “Check your boobs and get a grip. You have to walk down the aisle with Jack, and I have to spank an Irish cousin if he gets out of line.”
Jamie glanced down at her cleavage, saw too much of it, and yanked her dress up. “Can we switch places? You walk the aisle with Jack, and I’ll spank the Irish cousin?”
“No way. Spanking is more my style than yours.”
An image of Jack behind her, giving her a playful swat, rose in her mind, and she flushed. That was not what Allison meant, and here her mind went right in that direction. Dang. Her dress was too clingy, and her willpower too shaky to be having thoughts like that.
“You’re right. No spanking for me.”
Jack busied himself chatting with Pops and ignoring his mother.
It was a bit of a challenge since she kept approaching them to fuss over Pops and criticize both of them, but he was making an effort. This was his sister’s wedding rehearsal, and he was in church. He’d be charitable, no matter how difficult it was.
“Jonathon, I’m so glad to see you got a haircut. You were looking absolutely slovenly.” His mother reached out as though she wanted to straighten his tie, then thought better of it. His mother led the family in questioning his sanity.
“I’m thinking of growing it out, Mom. Going for a retro beach look. Taking up seashell collecting and opening a hot dog stand.”
She darted a quick look around before whispering fiercely, “I’m sending my therapist to you. He can fix your little crisis.” Her hand went up to pat her hair, check her earrings. She was perfection as usual in an ivory dress, minus the suit jacket that accompanied it. It was sleeveless, to show off the biceps her personal trainer, Rafe, was carefully sculpting.
“I’m not having a crisis. I’ve made a lifestyle change.” It was probably cruel to push his mother’s buttons like that, but he was feeling downright put upon. No matter what he did, it was wrong.
His mother wanted him rich. Jamie wanted him to be broke. Meredith wanted him back at the firm.
And he wanted what he couldn’t have.
“Margaret, lay off the kid. This is your daughter’s wedding…can’t you just pull the stick out of your ass for twenty-four hours and enjoy yourself?” Pops looked disgusted, and his words were firm, despite the slight slur that was still present in them.
Jack’s mother clamped her jaw shut. “You should have brought a nurse with you, Dad. Who is going to keep an eye on you?”
“I don’t need a goddamn nurse. I can even wheel this chair around by myself.”
“I’ll stay with him,” Jack said, so they wouldn’t cause a scene. Not to mention that it was still something of a secret that Pops had moved in with him the week before.
“Oh, wonderful. The blind leading the blind. I’m so reassured.” With that, his mother turned on her heel and left them.
Pops smacked Jack’s thigh with his right, stronger arm. “Don’t let her get to you, Jack-o. She’s just trying to get a rise out of you.”
But Jack only half heard his grandfather because Jamie had just walked into the church and was coming down the aisle. Wearing a dress that clung to her impressive breasts and sort of shifted and floated all around her. It reminded him of lingerie, soft and delicate, sexy as hell. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, spilling over her peaches-and-cream skin.
He’d never seen her wear shoes with stiletto heels, but these were some serious Barbie sandals. They sent her two inches higher and showed off every bit of her legs from the knee down.
“Wow,” he said, gripping the back of Pops’s wheelchair.
He’d seen Jamie naked, touched every inch of her, and watching her walk down that aisle brought it all back to him in excruciating detail. What he’d had. What could never be his.
“What?” Pops followed his gaze. “I still can’t believe you’re actually interested in the con’s daughter. She’s a little porky for your tastes, don’t you think?”
Porky? The very word offended him. Jamie was gorgeous. “No, I don’t think that! Watch your mouth, Pops.”
The old man just laughed. “There’s nothing like a hard-on girl, is there?”
“She’s much more than that.” Though he did have a hard-on, right as he was speaking. Fortunately, the back of Pops’s head was blocking his crotch from general view.
Jamie looked
stunning.
“Well, roll me over there and let me chat with her. Barely had time to talk last week, what with her all upset over her father. And I’ve always liked girls with curves. More to squeeze.”
“Pops…” Jack was not in the mood to joke about Jamie. “Seriously, don’t, okay? This isn’t funny. I have a lot of respect for Jamie.” Even if she had brushed him off. Twice. Even if she obviously didn’t love him the way he did her, or she would have had more to say than thank you.
He wasn’t sure how to fix what was between them. How to show her that there could be a relationship between them.
He’d never wanted anything in his entire life—not a deal, not money—the way he wanted Jamie Peters.
Not to possess, but to please, share his time and life with.
Maybe she wouldn’t agree with him, but he had to at least try and plead his case.
Will Davidson sobered up. Tried to glance at his grandson over his shoulder, very interested in the tone of voice Jack was using. “Alright, I’ll lay off. I was just joking.”
The girl was nothing in a million years like the kind of woman Jack usually would be interested in. She was pretty, very natural, looking a bit shy as she made her way toward them. Curvy. Very Chelsea or the Village, without a drop of Wall Street in her.
Will had met two or three of Jack’s previous girlfriends, and they were all cut from the same cloth—skinny blondes with careers in finance. But none of them had put that arrested look on Jack’s face. Personally, even after five minutes, Will had thought Jamie was Jack’s best pick so far, and given his reaction when Will had yanked his chain about Jamie’s weight, Jack thought so, too.
Jamie stopped in front of them, biting her lip and tipping her ankles off her heels. “Hi there, Jack. How are you?”
And damned if she wasn’t a southerner on top of it all.
Her gaze shifted to him, and she smiled. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Hathaway.”
“Call me Will, please.”
“Alright, Will.” Jamie had stuck her hand out to shake, which pleased Will. She was talking to him as though he was an intelligent person, not the senile old coot everyone seemed to think he was lately. He was only seventy-seven, and that damn stroke had jerked with his body parts, not his brain.
Unwrapped Bundle with You Don't Know Jack & Bad Boys in Kilts Page 42
