by Laura Drewry
Chill out, woman.
And to give herself time to do just that, she made a sweep of the room, collecting empties and chatting with everyone. The turquoise pendant Delmar’s wife wore needed some admiring, and the coffee table needed to be shifted and rearranged so Jules could set her glass down.
By the time she made it all the way around the room and deposited the empties in the bin by the back door, Carter and Regan were the only ones still filling their plates, and Tory was talking into the mic clipped at her shoulder.
A second later, she set her plate down, and walked straight toward Carter and Regan, who nodded and waved as she headed for the door.
With nothing more than a raised brow, Jack motioned toward the table and he and Maya finally made their way over. Drops of gravy and cranberry sauce stained the tablecloths, there was a lone bread crumb in one of the bowls of stuffing and someone had absconded with the turkey fork, sure signs people had been hungry.
“So,” she murmured, leaning toward him as she scooped some brussels sprouts onto her plate. “Looked like you and Tory hit it off.”
Jack glanced over his shoulder and chuckled low in his throat. “She was telling me about Ellie. Sounds like Brett wasn’t the only cop who got told where to shove his badge.”
“No.” Maya laughed. “I think Ellie made that suggestion to most of the local cops at one point or another.”
They both reached for the potato scoop at the same time, then immediately drew back as though they’d been burned.
“Three feet, Jack,” she murmured. “Do I need to get you a meter stick?”
“Maybe it’s the way you go back and forth between imperial and metric that’s confusing me.” His quiet groan rippled around them. “But just so you know, I haven’t taken a single step since we walked over here, Snip. You’re the one not respecting the gap.”
After a quick survey of the space around the table, Maya dropped her chin to her chest and snorted quietly. He was right. Where her plate held a little bit of everything, Jack’s only held things he’d been able to reach from his spot at that end of the table.
His glance flicked past her briefly, and by the time it returned, his grin had gone from goofy and warm to tight and forced.
“Ellie’s staring at us.” He said it through that same tight smile, his lips never moving.
“Relax, she doesn’t know anything.”
“But Jayne—”
“Doesn’t know everything,” she clarified, making it seem like she was having trouble picking out just the perfect Yorkshire pudding, then held one out to him. “So stop grimacing, grab your beer, and let’s go.”
Maya left him standing at the end of the table and leaned herself against the doorframe, plate in hand. When Brett waved her over to take his spot on the armrest he’d perched on, she just shook her head. From where she stood she could catch more of the different conversations going on around her—like how Nick’s niece, now two, was already giving her parents a run for their money, and how Delmar and Sharice were planning a trip back to Jamaica in the new year to see family.
Jack had made his way into the room, too, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Duke, and it wasn’t long before Carter and Nick focused the conversation on him and the Apollo games.
“Apollo3 comes out December first, right?” Carter asked. “So how’s the fourth one coming along?”
“What he really wants to know,” Regan said. “Is if he can get an advanced copy of the third one and why it’s going to take so long for the fourth one. He doesn’t care how much work it is, as long as it happens soon.”
“I’ll see what I can do about the advanced copy,” Jack said, running his hand down Duke’s long ear. “But the Apollo4’s going to be a while yet.”
“Are you giving out hints on what the new missions are going to be like in 4?” Carter asked hopefully.
“Nope,” Jack sighed. “Mostly because I haven’t figured out what the new missions are yet.”
To look at him, you’d never know it bothered Jack, but Maya noticed the way his jaw had clenched ever so slightly.
“It’s no wonder,” she said, bringing everyone’s expectant gaze off Jack for a second. “I bet federal prisons have better views than what Jack’s hotel room has. Not exactly inspiring.”
“No it’s not,” Jack said, his grin a little cynical. “But Stephen King wrote Carrie hunched up over a typewriter in his laundry room with a view of dirty socks and dryer lint, so I really can’t complain.”
“I’m not complaining either,” Nick said with a shrug. “Don’t get me wrong, I can’t wait to get my hands on that game, but we’re getting shit done having you help us down at the site, so it’s all good.”
Carter had a different opinion on what was more important—getting the game or the office finished—so while he and Nick squabbled over that, people started heading back for seconds.
The rain hadn’t let up in days, so Ellie’s much-anticipated football game was postponed, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t watch a game on TV while they ate dessert.
“I think two kinds of pie would have sufficed.” Regan laughed as they laid out clean plates and cutlery. “You didn’t have to make all this.”
“Not everybody likes pumpkin,” Maya said. “So I thought I’d bring a variety.”
Regan slapped her hand against her chest dramatically. “Not like pumpkin? That’s sacrilege.”
Maya smiled, shrugged, and winked at Jack when he moved right past the pumpkin pie and loaded his plate with lemon tarts and a slice of rhubarb pie.
Chapter 9
“Now, do you think his ‘love stick’ can be ‘liberated from its denim prison’?”
Rachel Green, Friends, “The One with Mrs. Bing”
With his criminal record check back, Jack was finally able to help Will with volleyball practices after school, which was great, because it gave him more time to be around Will, and to see him as he used to before everything went to shit with Maya.
And the truth was, Will was a good guy, especially with these kids. Patient and funny, he not only engaged and encouraged them, he made sure they engaged and encouraged one other, which wasn’t always an easy thing to do when you were dealing with hormonal teenagers.
The youth center was a little different; about half of those kids showed up simply because they had nowhere else to go or they just wanted to get the hell out of their houses. As part of his volunteer work, Will tutored kids on whatever subject they needed help with, but instead of sitting at hard, square desks, they lounged on beanbag chairs, where they were comfortable and relaxed.
Jack wasn’t much help in the tutoring department, but he was an instant hit in the games room because he knew all the shortcuts and cheats for the Apollo games.
There was a small kitchen area in the southwest corner of the main room where the kids could get free snacks, and it wasn’t hard to see that for some of them those granola bars and apples were probably the only thing they’d eaten all day, which explained why Will had brought along half a dozen large pizzas. Plenty for everyone, with enough left over for them to take some home, too.
Jack and the kid he was playing, Chase, were about halfway through Sector Camyra when the door opened. Chase, who might have been fifteen, tops, took his eyes off his controller long enough to see who it was, then shook his head slowly and muttered something too low for Jack to hear.
“What was that?” Eyes forward, Jack wasn’t about to give the kid an advantage by losing his concentration for even a second.
“Miss Atkins,” Chase breathed over a groan.
“What about her?”
“Did you see her?” It was amazing how he could stay focused on both the game and whoever this Miss Atkins was.
“No. Why?”
In one fluid motion, Chase hit pause, set down his controller, and pushed himself to his feet. “Come on.”
Jack followed him toward the art room in the back, where a few kids were working on different
things: two were painting, one was working a pile of clay around on a pottery wheel, and the other two were threading beads onto long pieces of wire.
A quick elbow to his ribs brought Jack’s attention to where Chase thought it should be: on the woman with her back to them over at the big paint-stained work table. Her long dark hair hung almost to her butt, which is where Chase was focused until Jack elbowed him back, and she was dressed in some kind of long, flowing tie-dyed dress.
“Hey, Miss Atkins.” A minute ago, Chase’s voice sounded like every other fifteen-year-old’s; now he’d pushed it a couple octaves lower. “This is Jack. He’s Mr. C’s buddy.”
She turned slowly, her eyes narrowing like a cat’s, as her painted red lips curled upward.
“Hello, Jack. Goodness, you’re a big one, aren’t you?”
It was all Jack could do not to grab Chase by the scruff of his neck and march him back to the games room. Instead, he stepped forward, shook her hand and tried not to cringe when she slid her thumb over his hand and wouldn’t let go.
“Miss Atkins,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Oh, please.” It was like she purred more than spoke. “Call me Delilah.”
Jack was pretty sure he heard Chase whimper. Finally able to pry his hand free, Jack stepped back so he was next to the kid again.
“So you’re the art teacher are you?” he asked.
“No.” Her laugh sounded like it belonged to a creepy Disney villain, like the one with the dalmatians, and tossing her head, Delilah sent her hair back over her shoulder. “I’m not a teacher; I’m an artist.”
“She volunteers,” Chase said, his awe-filled voice breaking.
“That’s great. Good.” Jack clapped his hands together and smiled. “Well, it looks like you have things to do tonight, so we’ll let you get back to it. Chase here’s about ten minutes shy of kicking my butt, anyway, so—”
“Five minutes.” Had the kid even blinked since they walked over there?
“Okay, five. Just trying to save a little of my dignity, Chase. Thanks.” Laughing shakily, Jack pinched Chase’s sleeve between his fingers and tugged him back toward the game.
The kid stumbled along beside him until they were back in front of the console, controllers in hand.
“Babe-a-licious that one.”
“Hey,” Jack warned.
“Am I wrong?”
Jack managed to catch the “yes” before it screamed off his tongue, and instead managed to find something adult to say.
“What’s wrong is disrespecting any woman with talk like that.”
“Oh, come on, dude, she’s—”
“A teacher, so watch it.”
“She’s not a teacher,” Chase said, grinning like the fifteen-year-old boy he was. “She’s an artist.”
Wasn’t long after that Chase’s mom showed up, honking from the parking lot, louder and longer until he got out there. With the rest of the kids doing other things, Jack made himself useful by tidying the place up a little.
“So, Jack.”
Without Chase or any of the other kids around them, he didn’t have to pretend anything, so he kept his voice flat as he looked up from the sink.
“Delilah.”
“We should go for a drink after.”
“Thanks,” he said. “But I have work to do when I’m done here.”
“Work?” She leaned her hip against the cupboard next to him and crossed her arms just below her breasts, pushing them up a little. “What do you do that keeps you working so late into the night?”
“I’m a writer.”
“A writer.” Her perfectly waxed brow arched high. “So you’re another artist; we could get together and talk about what inspires us. Or even better, I bet we could find all sorts of ways to inspire each other.”
“I don’t think so.” Pulling the plug in the sink, he rinsed the cloth out and draped it over the faucet. “But I appreciate the offer.”
“Is she hitting on you already, Jack?” Will stood behind them, chuckled quietly, then held up a hand to prevent the conversation from going any further. A second later, the two girls he’d been tutoring came up behind him, chattering about something that sounded an awful lot like what shade of lipstick looked better on them.
“Halloween dance at school’s coming up in a couple weeks,” Will explained, then turned and waved as the girls made their goodbyes. “Apparently there’s never enough time to pick out the right shade.”
“It’s true,” Delilah sighed. “Sad, but true.”
They hung around the table for a couple more minutes until the last of the kids left, and the second the door closed, Delilah started.
“Tell Jack he should come out for a drink with me.”
“Jack.” Will laughed. “You really should go out for a drink with her.”
“I’m sorry,” he lied. “I really can’t. I need to get some work done.”
Delilah’s full bottom lip came out in a red pout. “You sound just like Will, always working.”
Jack flashed a look at Will, but he was laughing at Delilah. “It’s called being an adult, D.”
“Even adults need to have fun once in a while,” she said, running her finger down the length of Jack’s arm. “You know what they say about all work and no play.”
“Yeah,” Will snorted. “We know: It makes Jack a dull boy. But I think this Jack likes being dull, so say goodnight, Delilah.”
“Goodnight, Delilah.” With a wink, she trailed her finger down his arm one more time as he hurried past her. “And goodnight, Jack. Hope to see you again soon.”
“Rather slam my dick in the sliding glass door,” he muttered when they were out of earshot.
Will was still laughing when Jack dropped him off a couple minutes later.
“She hits on anything that’s male and walks upright,” he said. “Just ignore her.”
“Yeah,” Jack grunted. “I plan to.”
“On the other hand…“Will had one foot out the Jeep door when he stopped and looked back at Jack. “When was the last time you got laid? I mean, come on, she’s not exactly the kind of woman who’s looking for anything long term, and if you’re going to be here for a few more weeks anyway…”
“Shut up.”
“What?” Will laughed. “I’m just sayin’…tap that a few times while you’re here. She’d be happy to oblige, you know.”
“No thanks, I’m not quite that desperate yet.”
“Never say never, buddy. Volleyball practice for the senior boys tomorrow, you coming?”
“Yeah, see you there.”
As Will closed the Jeep door, Stella opened the front door, waved at Jack, then beamed at Will when he wrapped his arms around her and swung her around in a half-circle. It wasn’t until Jack had pulled out of their driveway and headed for the hotel that it struck him.
Delilah must have hit on Will, too. She said it herself, that Jack was just like him, and Will even said she’d pretty much hit on anything that was male, so it only stood to reason. If Delilah had been telling the truth when she said Jack was like Will, it must mean that Will turned her down, too, right?
“Don’t go there,” he muttered. “Just leave it alone.”
With the wiper blades beating out a steady rhythm, he made his way back to the hotel, where poor Pete had been locked up for the last couple of hours. A quick run and then Jack would take another stab at the game.
The run was quick enough, thanks to Pete’s growing dislike of the rain, but the stab at the script felt more like a slice and dice of his gut. Why the hell couldn’t he do this? A couple months ago if someone had asked him what he thought about writer’s block, he would have told them it was nothing but bullshit, that a writer writes, no matter what.
But now…jeezus…he couldn’t come up with an original idea for a grocery list if he wanted to.
Grumbling, he brought up the display on his phone to check the time. Was it too late to call Maya?
“Damn—”
He swallowed the rest of the curse as her face beamed up from his now ringing phone. Not just ringing, though. She was FaceTiming him—even better. “Hey Snip.”
“Hi. Sorry, I know it’s late.” From the angle of her phone, it looked like she was in her living room leaning over the table looking down at something. Probably some of those magazines she seemed to have so many of.
“It’s fine.”
She sat back so he could see more of her, from the waist up anyway, and that was a hell of a lot more than what he thought he’d see today. Her blond hair was piled on top of her head with one of those big claw clips and it looked like she was in some kind of nightshirt…one she obviously didn’t get from Victoria’s Secret. It looked more like…wow…like a flannel tent.
“I’ve never used this stupid app before,” she said, bringing her phone closer to her face. “Why can’t I see you? All I see is the edge of that big ugly mirror above the headboard.”
Jack shifted his own phone over, standing it upright against his empty glass from earlier, giving his camera a clear shot of his big ol’ mug, and just like that her frown vanished.
“There you are. Hi.” How the hell did a smile that soft and slow make him that hard so fast?
“Hi. Nice nightshirt.” He didn’t even care that his smile was so stupid-looking. “It’s no wonder you’re single.”
“Shut up!” she cried. “It’s comfortable.”
“Well, I guess that’s something,” he said, shaking his head. “What’s up?”
“I was wondering if you’re free on Saturday.” She moved her phone even closer to her face until all he could see on his end was her left eye and the side of her nose.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to see you better,” she said. “You look far away.”
“Oh my God.” Laughing, Jack picked up his phone and brought it closer to his face. “Better?”
“Oh! Yes, much better. Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Hi.” She’d said that already, several times, actually, but it was almost like she didn’t even realize it. “So, Saturday. Are you free?”
“Yeah.”
“Want to do something?”
