by Tessa Bailey
Jack slides closer and after a small hesitation, puts an arm around my shoulder. “So this adventure list . . .” His fingers skim my arm, just a brush, but goosebumps break out on every available inch of my flesh. “Is it meant to make up for lost time?”
“Yeah.”
Those green eyes slide over me and he nods once. “Well we better make sure there’s music, then.”
Against my better judgment, I lift my head and bring our noses a couple of inches apart. “What do you mean?”
“Look, Snaps.” His cockiness is back, but I get the feeling it’s more for my benefit than his. As if he wants to distract me. “You probably haven’t figured this out about me, but I hate to brag.”
All the pain of my confession flies off into the night sky. I’m battling laughter after talking about my brother and father—I can’t believe it. “There are none so humble as Jack Garrett. That’s what all the other recruits say when you’re not around?”
Eyes closed, he nods sagely. “You bet. And they speak the truth.” He stands, bringing me to my feet as well and turns me to face him. “One of the things I never brag about is my singing ability, but I’m going to make an exception tonight.” He spreads his arms out to the sides. “I’m fucking brilliant, honey.”
“Oh, really?” My cheeks twinge, my smile is so wide. “Did it come naturally or were you classically trained?”
“Neither.” Is it my imagination or does a dark shadow cross over his face? I must be mistaken, because he’s still smiling like an overly confident pirate. “I did some entertaining when I was younger. No places you would know. But I was huge in the underground scene.”
I cross my arms, mainly because I’m worried he can see my heart pounding against my ribcage. Why does he have to be gorgeous and funny? “And how is this talent of yours going to help me dance in a fountain?”
He tilts his head and grins. “Are you all ready to go?”
I look around at the handful of passersby and squeal a little, hopping on one foot. “Yes, okay. I guess it’s now or never.” Kicking off my runners, I toe them towards my backpack where I’ve stashed a hotel towel. Then I strip off my jeans. The laugh that’s been dying to escape finally erupts when Jack’s eyebrows shoot up. “Relax, I’m wearing shorts underneath.”
“I wasn’t going to complain.” His eyes are fastened on my legs and doing that melting thing they did last night. “But it was going to be a lot tougher keeping our agreement if you started dancing around in nothing but panties.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
He makes a pained sound, but appears amused as I stuff my jeans into the backpack. “You really thought this through, didn’t you?”
“I know what you’re thinking. You didn’t know planning could be so sexy.”
There’s a breathtaking glint of mischief in his eye. “Do you really think planning is sexy?”
“The sexiest.”
“Then get ready to swoon, honey.” He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket. “Told you I had a feeling this fountain dancing adventure was Friends-related, didn’t I?” He pulls a small umbrella out and hits a button, making it bloom. A red one, just like Rachel held in the opening credits dance. “How’s that for planning?”
It’s another sign from the universe, but this one isn’t so easy to write off as a fluke, is it? This moment—Jack smiling under the moonlight and holding out a red umbrella for me—it feels important. Like I shouldn’t just brush it off and move on. But Jack’s smile is beginning to lose some of its power and I don’t want that. I don’t want him to think I’m not grateful that he thought to bring along the umbrella for me. “Thank you, Jack.” He nods, relief making his cheek tick. “Total Ross move.”
He scoffs. “We both know I’m a Joey.”
Joey wasn’t near as hot as Jack, even in the first couple of seasons, but I’m keeping that to myself. Besides, he already knows. “Okay, here goes nothing.”
Jack takes my arm and helps me into the fountain. The water is a lot colder than I was expecting, but I don’t mind. Exhilaration climbs up my calves, making the night real. I’m standing in a fountain in Central Park, the sky above me looks massive and I’m free. Right now, I’m completely free. I’m creating a snippet of time, all for myself. No one else. And then Jack starts to sing and I’m pretty sure it’s one of the greatest moments of my life, right up there with the Olympic podium.
“So no one told you life was gonna to be this way . . .”
Someone behind me, one of the milling strangers, does the clap-clap-clap-clap with perfect timing and I double over laughing. I’ll probably die in a fit of giggles about it for years to come, but right now I have to grab the seconds before they pass by—or I get arrested, whichever comes first. Jack’s voice is rich and low, sweeping along the courtyard as I dance around the center statue in circles, twirling the red umbrella over my head like I’m leading a parade. When I circle back around to Jack, he’s launching into the second verse and he’s looking at me the funniest way. As if I’m an amusing puzzle he can’t decipher.
Cushy abandon whips up inside of me. But memories of my brother linger, too, making me twirl even faster, kicking a splash of water into the air, because I’m living for two of us. The gravity of that, coupled with the unfamiliar flying around me is too much, stunted energy making my insides seize. I’ve been forced to dwell on the past so long, the future burns too hot and overwhelming. I need an anchor before I fly into the bright flames and I don’t think, I simply step out of the fountain and drop into Jack’s waiting arms. And they were waiting, like he knew I was going to need them. Even when I didn’t?
“Sorry about this,” I mumble into his neck, pressing my nose against the warm leather of his jacket. “Thank you for singing. Your voice really is lovely. In a manly way, of course.”
His arms close around me slowly. Closing and closing until they’re airtight. “So why did you stop?”
My knee-jerk reaction is to make a joke, but I’m already being cradled like a baby with my feet dangling in the air, so I might as well go for broke. “I was supposed to dance in this fountain with my brother. He was the reason those Friends reruns were so comforting. We used to watch it together.”
Slowly, he sways us side to side and I close my eyes. “What happened to him, Katie?”
I blow out at breath. “Drunk driver.”
All at once, he’s stiff. We’ve stopped swaying and his heart has ramped up double time against mine. “That’s why you don’t go into bars.”
The tension in his voice causes me to look up. His brows are dark slashes over burning green eyes and our earlier conversation comes rushing back. “Oh. I didn’t . . . yes, Sean is why I don’t go into bars. Just the smell of booze and wondering how everyone is getting home. Seeing people lose control of themselves. It makes me feel . . . resentful and angry and . . . I hate that. Maybe someday I’ll be able to go into a bar and relax, but not yet.” Jack seems to be holding his breath and I think I know why. “I wasn’t judging you this morning because of my hang-up, though. That isn’t why I asked you not to participate. It’s not as if you do that regularly or anything, right?”
Several beats pass during which I can hear the leaves rustle above our heads. “No. Not a regular thing.” His lips barely move. There’s a prickling along my spine as he says it, too, putting me a little on guard. “I won’t drink around you again, Snaps.”
“Don’t change anything for me.” We’re swaying again. “You would just have to rearrange yourself right back, since I won’t be here very long.”
The reminder seems to jerk him out of a trance, but his expression remains troubled. “Right. And you’ve got a list of adventures to complete before you head back to the motherland. What’s up next?”
“There are only four items on the list. Visiting my famous mob hit sites, fountain dancing . . . and I’m not ready to reveal the other two yet.”
“You’re killing me here.” He rolls his tongue around his mout
h, dropping his attention to where our bodies press together. “But I’m going to let you slide for now. On account of me getting to hold you when I didn’t think you’d let me within two inches tonight.”
“I really shouldn’t, recruit.”
His teeth flash white across his shadowed face. “Don’t give me that disapproving frown, Instructor. I’m being a good boy, keeping my hands above your waist and everything.”
I peek to the side to judge how high off the ground he’s holding me. “Aren’t your arms getting tired?”
“Nope. I can hold you up as long as it takes.”
“As long as what takes?”
Hunger sparks in his eyes. “Tell me the no making passes at Katie deal is off and I’ll demonstrate.”
That awful, terrific clench happens between my thighs again and I bite back a moan just picturing what Jack means. Sex standing up. With me. As long as it takes for me to . . .
Right. “Well if dancing in a fountain didn’t get me arrested, that definitely would.”
Jack presses our foreheads together on a pained laugh. Up close, he studies me, lips parted. I can practically feel him needing to move, to touch me everywhere. Not acting on those impulses is like denying his second nature. “Come on, Katie. We can fly under the radar for two weeks.” His gaze is searching. “I like being with you.”
“I like it, too,” I murmur, honesty escaping against my better judgment. Probably because his erection is pressed to the front of my shorts and maybe it’s ridiculous, but I swear he would feel a lie if I told one. And I keep snagging on that tingly premonition from before. When he told me drinking in the morning wasn’t a regular thing for him. My body’s intuition might be the only thing forcing me to keep a level head here. Hello reality check. “I’m not a rule breaker. I made the plan for tonight before we knew I’d be working at the academy. Now that we know . . .”
His breath coasts over my lips. “Nothing has to change.”
“See, this is no big deal to you. Because you’re the Big Bad Wolf.”
“I’m what?” His laugh is full and aching. “Ah, Katie. Is that just because I want to eat you so bad?”
My mouth drops open. “I definitely feel like Little Red Riding Hood when you say things like that.”
Jack turns serious. “Look, I didn’t hear a lot of fairy tales growing up, but I know the wolf is dangerous. Whatever I might sound and look like to you . . .” He shakes his head. “I want to protect you from danger while you’re in town. Not be the danger.”
“We might have different definitions of danger,” I murmur.
“Maybe.” He searches my eyes. “You’re not scared of being alone with me, are you?”
“Terrified.” I wish I could snatch back my answer when he flinches. “You said it yourself. Most girls don’t want heart-to-hearts in the park with you. What if that’s all I can offer?”
“Then that’s all I’ll take.” He’s vehement. “But I know we both want more.”
My stomach hollows out and it takes me a beat to respond. “I have to give you a grade, Jack. It’s a conflict of interest.”
Slowly, he sets me down on my feet, but keeps me gathered close. “The only interest I have is this. Right here.” He licks his lips and moves in, all slow and seductive and full of gruff whispers. “Talking to you about everything and nothing in the park at night. Watching you dance around like some kind of hot fairy princess. Having those eyes on me and nobody else.” His throat works. “The academy is conflicting with our interests is how I see it.”
It’s a good thing he has hold of me, otherwise I might do something undignified. Like fly away on a winged team of hormones. But his sweet confession also reminds me what he said before. How much it contrasts to him saying he enjoys talking to me, watching me dance. And my pointless quip gets stuck in my throat. The possibility he lied to me earlier rears its head and I’m a little too distracted by it to flirt. Hands on his chest, I move free of his hold and he lets me go, though I can see it costs him an effort.
His hands drop with a curse. “Look, is this really about the academy finding out about us. Or me being the Big Bad Wolf?”
There’s that insecurity in the lines of his body again. The one that messes with my equilibrium. “A little of both.”
He levels me with a look. “You ever stop to think the wolf is a little scared of Little Red Riding Hood, too, honey?” When I can only stare, he stoops down and picks up my discarded jeans, kneeling down and holding them for me to step into. His forehead wrinkles in concentration the whole time and while he does sneak longing glances at my legs, he seems more concerned with getting my pants on correctly. His knuckles warm me there as he slides up my zipper, his chest rising and falling quickly, fingers skillfully locking my button in place while I hold back a whimper. When the task is complete, he slides my runners onto my feet and ties them tight, surveying his handiwork and nodding with approval. Then he stands up, reaches out and takes my hand. “Come on, Snaps. I want to make sure you get home all right.”
We walk a few yards before I finally find my voice, my heart is pounding so loudly in my ears. I have the sense I’ve hurt his feelings and it doesn’t sit well. At all. “Jack?”
“Yeah?”
“Either way . . . whatever happens, you need to make up the class you missed.” I don’t miss the leap of his dimples, but I pretend not to notice. “On Wednesday after you’re finished, I can meet you to make up the range time.”
The smile he sends me is blinding. Outwardly, at least. Maybe it’s my imagination or the earlier tingle still cooling my spine, but I swear I detect just a hint of uncertainty . . . and nerves . . . beneath his perfect veneer. “I’ll be there.”
Chapter 7
Jack
When my roommates walk into the kitchen Wednesday morning, they stop in their tracks and stare at me as if Jesus Christ Himself has descended to make them pancakes. To be fair, me getting up early and making breakfast is as regular an occurrence as a solar fucking eclipse, but they don’t need to rub it in. I pull my weight in other ways, don’t I? When Charlie was messed up over Ever, who was the wingman who helped him drown his sorrows? Jack. When Danika needs something off a higher shelf? You guessed it. This guy.
All right so maybe me making pancakes is a tad unusual, but I’m on a roll in the unexpected department. I haven’t had a drink in two days, since Katie was introduced at the academy. It’s no secret that I’m the least dedicated recruit and yet, getting asked to leave a training exercise was kind of a gut punch. Even then, staying sober wasn’t the plan, but . . . it’s weird. I can remember ever single second of being in Central Park with Katie. Every word spoken, every gust of wind is still so clear in my mind. It doesn’t take a MENSA member to realize the clarity came from being sober. I liked it.
Not that remaining this way has been easy. My skin feels too confining, my throat has an itchy soreness going on, even though I’m not sick, and I can’t seem to relax. This anxiousness isn’t like me. At least, I don’t think so. It’s been a long time since I allowed the numbness to wear off for such an extended period.
Lying there in the darkness last night, I was too aware of my thoughts. Without the benefit of passing out, too many memories bombarded me until my stomach began a sickly clench. My head drummed. The bedclothes beneath my tossing and turning body felt like sheets from a different time and place. Sweaty, scratchy ones that rubbed redness into my back and arms. Echoes of feminine laughter and the smell of stale, floral perfume made the half a bottle of Ketel One under my bed seem like a land mine, just waiting for me to step on it. At least if I blew myself to pieces with the contents, I wouldn’t have to think anymore, right?
Not knowing how Katie has spent the last day and a half has not helped whatsoever. I’ve cursed myself a hundred times for not getting a contact number for her in the park. If that oversight doesn’t tell you my game is missing in action around this girl, nothing will. The way she knocks me off balance already has me at a disa
dvantage without adding booze to the equation. This jumpy, anxious state I’m in will be worth not having to retrace my steps tomorrow or attempt to recall things I said. I made a promise to Katie, too, and I can’t fuck that up.
Those old memories aren’t going anywhere, though, making this new clarity a double-edged sword. The more my interest in Katie grows, the more worried I get over the prospect of sleeping with her. Does thinking about it get me hot? Better believe it. Hotter than I’ve ever been for a girl. But will I feel shitty afterwards? I really don’t want that to happen with Katie.
Bottom line? I need somewhere to funnel my energy. So. I’m making some fucking pancakes. And if Charlie and Danika don’t rave about them, I might move out.
“Ever,” Charlie calls over his shoulder towards the bedroom. “You have to come out here and see this. Jack appears to be sleepwalking.”
“Funny, dickhead,” I say. “Guess who’s getting the burned pancake.”
Charlie’s blonde girlfriend, Ever—a catering chef—hops out of his bedroom while putting on a sock. “Need a hand? I have macadamia nuts in my bag.”
“Oh my God.” Charlie slaps both hands over his face. “That’s so cute, I can’t stand it.”
“Those aren’t the only nuts she’s carrying around,” I remark.
Ever lays a smacking kiss on Charlie’s cheek, then slides towards her purse, courtesy of her socks on the hardwood floor. She joins me in the kitchen a moment later, using the end of the knife to crush the nuts on a paper towel, since we don’t have a chopping board. I notice Charlie’s eyebrow raised in my direction from where he sits—arms crossed—on one of the kitchen stools, beside an observant Danika. That eye-off-my-girl expression gives me the urge to fling some batter at him. “Jesus. If you want me to put on a shirt, go grab one off my floor.”
Until now, with all this annoying clearheaded thinking I’ve got going on, I’ve never really stopped to wonder if Charlie actually thinks I’d make a play for his girlfriend. It started as kind of a joke, but right now, his usual territorial pissing around Ever makes me kind of . . . uncomfortable. Look, I get it. Everyone and their mother views me as nothing more than their guide to a sinful good time. But ever since Katie called me the Big Bad Wolf, I’m not sure I find that label so harmless anymore. Not that I haven’t earned it. I’m just not sure I like it now. Especially when it keeps sending my redhead running in the opposite direction.
