Way to go, El. Open mouth, insert foot.
‘Sorry. I didn’t mean that. I probably just seem like some drunk asshole tourist, eh?’
‘I wouldn’t say that.’
‘That’s not a no.’
He grins. ‘No, it’s not. Drunk tourist, maybe. Asshole… I think you’re probably OK there. For now, anyway.’
‘Oh. Good.’ I pause, swaying slightly. ‘You know, I’m not usually like this. Back home I’m a lawyer. I’m responsible.’
He steers me out of the path of an approaching lamppost and smiles. ‘I bet you are.’
‘I am. For real. I’ve got all my shit together.’
‘Is that so?’
‘Mm-hmm. In a big ol’ pile. Mostly. This is just me…’
‘Blowing off some steam?’ he suggests.
‘Exactly. Blowing off some steam. Just blowing off everywhere.’ I take a deep breath, pucker my lips, and make the face of a cartoon storm cloud from a weather report. ‘Whoosh. See?’
Jack smiles, probably despite himself. ‘Oh, I see. You’re a hard woman to ignore, Ella… what was your name again?’
‘Mossberg. Eleanor Elizabeth Mossberg.’ It always sounds so clunky when I say it out loud – the sound of a young girl in trouble for breaking something. It’s a name to be yelled down stairs and out into parks. It never really seemed to fit somehow. Even less so tonight.
‘Eleanor Elizabeth Mossberg,’ he says, letting the words trip over his tongue, rounding out the vowels, embracing the sibilance and shaking hands with the plosives. It sounds a lot better in Jack’s voice than it does in my own. ‘Well, you managed to make quite a splash this evening, Miss Mossberg.’ He pauses. ‘Miss, right?’
‘Hmm?’
‘Miss Mossberg?’
‘Oh. Yeah. Definitely.’
Jack smiles again. ‘Oh good.’
‘Is it indeed?’
He shrugs. ‘Well, I wouldn’t want to feel like I was stepping on anyone’s toes. You might have gone for the jealous type, I don’t know.’
‘Jealous of you walking me home?’
‘Stranger things have happened.’
Yes… yes, they have. God only knows what Carter would make of it if he could see me walking down the street, arm in arm with a man who – let’s not mince words, here – is definitely in the top-tier of attractiveness. I’m even grateful for the chill in the air, and the fact that Jack took the opportunity to slip his jacket around my shoulders. It’s slim-fit on him, perfectly tailored, but so loose on me that I look like a little girl who’s playing dress-up in daddy’s wardrobe.
Then again, what Carter thinks doesn’t make a damn bit of difference now. He made his choice. Perhaps it’s the drink, but the thought doesn’t sting quite as much as it did earlier. Neither does the back of your head, I think to myself, but you know as soon as the booze wears off they’re both going to sting like a bastard.
But that’s a problem for tomorrow. The night is still young.
‘It was nice of you,’ I say. ‘Really nice.’
‘What was I going to do, just leave you there?’ He grins. ‘You’re a paying customer, after all. We can’t go letting the clientele come back all broken and bruised. Bad for business.’
‘Oh yeah? So walking me home is all just part of the package?’
He shakes his head and smiles. ‘Nope. Platinum service, for our most esteemed guests.’
‘Like who?’
‘Oh, responsible people. Lawyers. Folks who really just have their shit together, you know?’
I furrow my brow. ‘You’re mocking me.’
‘A little.’
‘I don’t like it.’
‘Yeah, you do.’
‘Yeah, I kind of do. Is that weird?’
‘I don’t think so. It’s a good look for you, Eleanor. Shows you’re letting your hair down a little bit. Letting your guard down. Maybe New Orleans is rubbing off on you after all.’
I snort, despite myself. ‘And look where that’s got me? Robbed in a street. I almost lost pretty much everything I had with me, and God knows what I would have done then.’
‘But you didn’t.’
‘Only because you were there. You and your big Dark Knight schtick.’
‘I thought we settled on Superman in the end?’
‘Pssh. Gotham. Metropolis. New Orleans. Same difference. Say what you want, Bruce, but nothing good happens when you let your guard down.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Mm-hmm. Bad things sneak in. Every time. It’s just asking for trouble.’
‘Well, you ain’t wrong there,’ he says. ‘But in my experience, a lot of good does too – and the good almost always outweighs the bad. That’s just the way it tends to work out.’
‘Ever the optimist, aren’t you?’
He shrugs. ‘Seems to be working out for me so far. Got me here, didn’t it?’
‘Flatterer.’
‘Always.’
‘You know, you’re really very nice, Jack.’
He grins, and presses a wounded hand against his chest. ‘Just what every guy wants to hear.’
‘It’s true. You’re nice. You didn’t have to walk me home, but you did. Because you’re nice.’
‘Knock it off before someone hears you. I’ve got a reputation to maintain. You know how many muggings I’m going to have to stop to keep my street cred now?’
‘Nice, nice, nice. Nice.’
‘Stop.’
‘Nice, nice…’
‘No, Ella. Stop. Stop walking.’ He points upwards, and I see the ornate doorway of the Hotel Belle View looming over me. ‘We’re here.’
Well, shit.
‘This is your hotel, right? You’re staying in the same place as the others?’
I look around, but Lauren and the girls are nowhere to be seen – although I’d give good odds that if any of them have a front-facing room, they’ll be staring through the window, jostling past each other to see just what me and Jack are getting up to.
Nothing. We’re not getting up to anything. Everything’s perfectly normal, thank you very much.
‘If I say no, do we get to walk around a bit more?’
Jack smirks at me. ‘You really think you’ve got it in you? Ten minutes ago you couldn’t even get up off a couch, and now you want to go walking around the city at night?’
‘Why not?’
‘Don’t you have wedding stuff to do? You and the blushing bride?’
‘Eurgh. Don’t remind me.’ Tomorrow – today, technically – is the rehearsal dinner, and everything that entails. Drew and his family, Lauren and hers, interminable speeches…
‘You sound thrilled.’
‘I know. I am, really. It’s just…’ It’s just that every time I think about Lauren and Drew, I think about me and Carter, and the absence of my ring seems to burn. ‘It’s nothing. Just me being a sap, that’s all.’
‘I hear that’s contagious around weddings.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Sure. One person starts getting all romanced-up, and then it spreads. Before you know it, the entire wedding party has broken out in floral displays and ugly bridesmaids’ dresses.’
‘How do you know the dresses are ugly?’
‘Because they’re supposed to be. That’s the golden rule of weddings, see: no one is allowed to look better than the bride.’
‘You seem to know an awful lot about weddings, Mr. Robichaux.’
He shrugs. ‘Sure, a little. You pick stuff up. Little bits here and there.’
‘Any personal experience?’
‘Is that you asking me if I’m married?’
‘Is that a yes?’
‘That’s a very forward question.’
‘Well, I’m in a very forward mood.’
It all slips out before I’m even sure what I’m trying to say. Am I… am I flirting with him? Really? No, I can’t be. I haven’t flirted with anyone new in years. I should be out of practice, but…
&nb
sp; But it’s easy – too easy. Is it that it’s with Jack, who has a strange way of making me feel at ease while he still manages to keep me forever on my toes? Or is it just that it’s not Carter? Would anyone do? If I hadn’t turned down that asshole at the bar, would it be him I was standing with here right now, pressed up against in the dim glow of the streetlights outside the Hotel Belle View? Would it have been him I found myself praying would give me the answer I was hoping for?
‘No,’ he says. ‘No, I’m not married. Never have been.’
‘Not the marrying kind?’
He shrugs. ‘Never figured that the juice was worth the squeeze, if you catch my drift.’
‘Not even a little bit. But that might be the booze.’
Jack smiles, softly. ‘I never found anyone that I really clicked with,’ he says. ‘Turns out, playing jazz in dingy bars isn’t really a lifestyle choice that’s conducive to healthy, stable relationships. Who would have thought, eh?’
‘Pssh,’ I say. ‘That’s not so bad. Better than being a lawyer, anyway.’
‘You reckon so?’
‘Mmm-hmm. Burned out by the time you’re twenty-five, always in the office. You try having a relationship like that.’ Let alone one that lasts and lasts then falls apart at the last minute for no good goddamn reason, leaving you to realise just how pointless it all is and how alone you are. I didn’t mean to snap, but the words come out with a salt-rim despite myself. ‘Sorry. Rough night. Rough week.’
‘Hey,’ he says. ‘You doing OK?’
‘Yeah. I’m fine.’
‘Touchy subject?’
‘Something like that.’
My mind drifts back to Carter, and how he’d react in a moment like this: Carter, who could never let anything drop, who always had to know everything. We were so alike in that respect; a perfect match, in fact. He’d needle away at me until I told him what was wrong, and then – if it didn’t match his definition of important enough – dismiss it entirely as me being too sensitive.
Jack just leans forwards, gentle puts his arms around me, and gives me a reassuring squeeze. It only takes a second, but there it is: a moment of simple human contact, just enough to make me feel better without a single word being uttered.
God, I could use some better right now. No matter where it comes from, some better would go down real smooth.
Now or never, I think. Say it. Say it before you lose your nerve.
‘Do you want to come up?’ I ask.
Chapter Nineteen
‘Nice room,’ Jack says. From almost the minute we walked through the door – once I’d fumbled my way through the whole business of the key card, that is – his eyes had been stuck on the grotesque swan picture by the window. By night, the view of New Orleans is pretty sweet, I won’t lie, but there aren’t many views that wouldn’t compete with the kitsch décor of the hotel room. Like a car crash on the highway, no matter what else you might prefer to be looking at, you still find your eyes drawn towards it.
‘I know, right? It’s like living inside a Hallmark card.’ I sit down on the bed and stretch my arms out wide into a theatrical yawn, first for show and then – irritatingly – for real.
‘Tired?’ he asks.
‘A little.’
‘I should probably go. Leave you to it. You’ve got a busy day tomorrow.’
‘I’m fine. Really. I promise.’
He doesn’t look convinced.
Shit. I’m losing him. Think, think…
I turn away from him, and gesture to the zipper on my dress, halfway up my back. The perfect excuse.
‘Give me a hand?’ I ask, looking over my shoulder with what I hope is a coy smile. There’s no way of mistaking that as anything other than a come on, surely?
There’s a moment of hesitation before he steps up to the plate, and I feel his fingers press against my skin as he reaches for the zipper. All of a sudden, that take-charge, do-anything attitude seems to have deserted him. Gone is the Jack who barrelled into the alleyway to save me from grievous bodily harm, who might have made a mean linebacker in another life; in his place is someone who seems determined to take things slow, to linger in the moment.
‘You OK there, champ?’ I ask.
‘Yeah. Sorry.’
Whatever daydream he was in, I’ve snapped him out of it. His hand moves down gently, pulling the zipper down, down, following the path of my spine until it comes to rest just above my ass.
Much better.
When I turn around, he’s averting his eyes. Just do it, I think. Let the dress fall down around your ankles. I almost do it, too; the only thing that stops me is the knowledge that as soon as the dress is off, he’ll completely have the upper hand. He’ll be able to see everything. It’s a long time since someone new has seen me naked outside of a doctor’s office. Carter used to tease me about growing a little thick in the middle, and how it didn’t really bother him, but…
It was a lie, of course. Just a joke; Carter’s sense of humour always was a little cutting. And besides, so what if it spurred me to head to the gym a little bit more? I enjoyed the workouts, even if I was never going to be as stick-thin as Lauren and Jess.
And fuck that guy from earlier, too. Fat indeed. Like his opinion meant anything.
What if Jack feels the same way? What if I drop my dress and his reaction is one of complete disinterest? Of disgust?
Perhaps it would be better to leave that for when the lights go down. I have other ways to get him in the mood. I can make it so that my flabby middle is the last thing he’s focusing on.
‘Easy, there,’ he asks, before I can close the short distance between us. ‘How much have you had to drink tonight, Ella?’
‘Why? Do you want a nightcap?’ I spin away from him and start checking out the room. ‘There’s probably a minibar around here somewhere…’
‘No,’ he says. ‘And I don’t think you should either. Time to go to bed, maybe?’
Thank God. Finally.
A second later I’m leaning in for a kiss, eyes closed, mouth ready and eager for him, and…
And nothing. Where there once was Jack, there’s only air.
He smiles silently, and gently brushes a lock of hair behind my ear. I can’t even remember the last time Carter did something so simple, so… weirdly intimate. But it’s not a kiss. Not even close. It’s not what I need right now, and he knows it.
‘You don’t want to kiss me?’ I ask.
Jack laughs, a harsh little burst of disbelief that takes me by surprise. ‘Are you kidding me? I’m sitting on a bed with a pretty girl whose dress is halfway to the floor. Of course I want to kiss you. And that’s just for starters.’
Promises, promises, I think. ‘But?’
‘But it’s three in the morning, and you’re still real drunk. You get me started, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop myself from taking things further, and that’s probably not the right call right now. If I have the choice, I’d prefer Sober Ella. Gotta make sure she’s down with the idea too.’
‘Oh, she’s fine. She’s super into it. She told me so.’
He smiles at me. ‘You know, something told me you were going to be a troublemaker. Right from the minute you walked into the bar.’
‘Me? I’m not a troublemaker. Good as gold.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Cross my heart.’
‘Well then it would be pretty terrible of me to take advantage of your sweet and innocent nature, wouldn’t it?’
‘Not that terrible…’
‘Maybe not,’ he says, ‘but still no.’ He stands up, and kisses me softly on the forehead. Up close I can smell him, the sweat from the club and the delicate scent of his cologne. All I want is for him to join me, but the kiss is so chaste, any desire that might have been lurking under the surface, that even I can’t miss that signal.
The night is over. Ah, well. It was fun while it lasted.
Jack turns away as he sees me reach for my pyjamas, ever the gentleman. ‘You k
now,’ I say as I pull the shirt over my head, ‘when I said you were nice, I didn’t think you’d be this nice.’
‘Is that so?’
‘Mm-hmm.’
‘Disappointed?’
‘A little.’ I yawn, stretch, make sure the material of the tank top rides up just enough to display a flash of stomach; I worked hard for that tone, damn it, and it’s a shame not to use it. I feel an odd sense of satisfaction when I see Jack’s gaze linger. ‘Eyes up here,’ I say. ‘You had your chance.’
But say the word and I’m sure I could reconsider. Just say you’ll stay. Say you’ll stay, and I’m all yours… if you want me.
He stops staring, eventually, and grins. ‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘Was I really that obvious?’
‘Hey, you made your choice, buddy,’ I say. ‘Nice, nice, nice. Now you’ve got to live with it.’
‘And you’re going to make me regret my decision?’
‘Oh, every last second.’
He laughs, throaty and deep. ‘See what I mean about you being a troublemaker?’ he asks.
I shrug, and pull back the bedsheets. The bed feels large – too large for once, that’s for damn sure. The sheets spread out around me like a vast plain, an oasis of comfort. ‘You sure I can’t convince you to stay?’ I say. ‘Just for a bit. No funny business. No ulterior motive. It’s just nice having someone here.’
Nice, nice, nice.
Jack smiles an avuncular, annoyingly sexless smile; if I had the energy, I’m sure I’d hate it. ‘Sure thing,’ he says. ‘For as long as you need me. How does that sound?’
Sounds pretty fine to me. ‘You won’t slip out while I’m getting ready?’
‘Promise.’
He watches me stumble around the room, make a complete farce of brushing my teeth in the too-small bathroom sink, before I collapse in a heap of limbs back on top of the bed that – if I’d had the foresight to put a plaque up beforehand – would have fit right in at the MoMA.
‘Come on,’ he says. ‘Into bed.’
‘Doctor’s orders?’
‘Band leader’s orders. We’re much stricter.’
I blow him a raspberry that comes out messier than I had intended. ‘You’re no fun,’ I say.
‘Yep, that’s me. What can I say? All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.’
Smooth: A New Love Romance Novel (Bad Boy Musicians) Page 11
