by RC Boldt
“I asked what movie you planned to watch,” I lie.
“I was thinking of 17 Again.”
Walking over to the living room, I peer out the large windows overlooking the busy street and nearby shops.
“Sound good to you?” he asks. I hear his footsteps approach and catch the sound of him inserting the movie into the Blu-ray player.
When I turn around, however, I feel like Jack’s trying to pull out all the stops with me today.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, now. Hold on a second.” I toss my hands up. “You never once told me about these”—I circle an index finger in the direction of his face where he’s now wearing black framed glasses—“delightfully sexy spectacles of yours.”
He runs a hand over his jaw, the sound of his scruff rasping softly against his palm. With a small laugh, as if slightly embarrassed, he shrugs. “I only use them to give my eyes a rest from my contacts.”
“Also”—I step closer to him, waving toward his now-covered abs—“I have to tell you, I’m pretty sure you’re single-handedly responsible for causing global warming with those abs.”
Jack makes a dismissive sound, and I realize that, deep down, he must still see himself as the nerd he was back in the day. I know Maggie has mentioned something about Ry’s stories of first meeting Jack during his freshman year in college and how clueless he was. Not to mention, Jack also mentioned something in his toast at their wedding.
For whatever reason, I feel a fierce need to try to get him to realize—to understand—that he’s not the geeky, easily overlooked guy anymore.
Placing a palm against the firm wall of his chest, I tip my head to the side contemplatively. “I must say, I really like this more relaxed version of Jack Westbrook.” I wiggle my eyebrows. “A lot.” Tapping a finger to my lips, I exaggerate a thoughtful expression. “Maybe we could play incredibly sexy nerd entrepreneur who catches his secretary late at night while she’s bent over the filing cabinet.”
Something flickers across his face, and he looks at me oddly. “You like the whole nerdy thing?”
It’s not so much his words as it is the way he asks that gives me pause. It’s clear there’s something more—there’s weight behind the question itself.
“I might,” I answer slowly. Trailing my index finger down the center of his shirt, I peer up at him. “So, you were a hot nerd back in the day, huh?”
Something sounds off with his laugh, and he avoids my gaze. “I don’t know about the hot part of it, but I was definitely a nerd.”
“Well, maybe you just hadn’t hit your prime.” One of my palms slides over his firm pectorals before smoothing down over his abs, the muscles contracting beneath my touch. “I’m sure I still would’ve been all over you back then.”
His eyes crinkle slightly at the corners. “Think so?”
I nod, my voice soft. “Definitely.”
“Well, it just so happens I received an invitation to revisit my days of full-on nerdiness.” There’s a hint of derisiveness in his voice.
Peering up at him curiously, I draw my words out. “An invitation?”
His lips twist. “My ten-year class reunion.”
“Ah.” I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t envy you. High school was painful enough the first time.”
“Exactly. But,” he hesitates, averting his gaze, “a small part of me wants to go and show all those snotty, rich kids I’m not the same scrawny, nerd who had no sense of style.”
The way his blue eyes cloud with what appears to be unhappy memories makes my heart ache. “When is it?”
He snaps his eyes to me. “Two weeks from today.”
Mentally running through my work schedule, I pat his chest. “You’d better R.S.V.P. right now.”
A crease pops up between his eyebrows. “What are you talking about?”
“We’re going to that reunion, Jack. And we’re going to rock their worlds.” I nod as if to punctuate the sentiment.
He lets out a long, resigned sigh. “Sarah. You don’t have to go with me. I didn’t bring it up to con you into going.”
I don’t know what it is, but I find myself disliking any time he uses my name instead of the usual “Sunshine.”
Rising on my tiptoes, I press my lips to his in a gentle kiss before moving to settle on the couch. “It’s a done deal. Do it now and then put on the movie.”
Shaking his head with a chuckle, he heads over to where his laptop is sitting on the dining room table, likely pulling up his email and sending off his quick R.S.V.P. Turning and walking over to me, he centers his warm gaze on me, and I’m relieved to see the shadows are gone.
“All set, Sunshine. Now”—he settles onto the couch, slinging an arm around me—“it’s movie time.” He picks up the remote, and I snuggle into his embrace as he starts the movie.
And I’m not sure I’ve ever had a better time simply spending time with a guy.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Jack
This reunion is a train wreck. A colossal train wreck of epic proportions. I knew it would be, but I think even I underestimated how narrow-minded and caught up in the past people can actually be.
The one major plus is that I have Sarah by my side. She looks so fucking gorgeous that when she opened her apartment door, I nearly swallowed my tongue. Sure, she’d told me earlier that she was pulling out all the stops, but hell. She’s wearing this long-sleeve burgundy dress with a hem that ends just above her knee. The top part is nude, and consists of a deep V-neckline which has a lace overlay.
“You’re the most beautiful woman here, Sunshine,” I murmur against her temple before pressing a soft kiss to it.
Her lips twitch with a sexy smirk. “It can’t be because I’m the only one without oversized breasts,” she whispers back.
Tipping my head back, I can’t hold in my laugh at the truth in her observation. It’s as though the bulk of my female classmates had taken advantage of a two-for-one breast implant offer and had gone the “make them as large as possible” route. Many of the women appeared far too top-heavy and unnatural.
Sarah’s lips part in response, but she’s interrupted by a blonde I still recognize even after ten years have passed; Naomi, who pronounces her name “Nay-oh-mee,” Salinas.
Naomi and her high school boyfriend, Timmy Collier, enjoyed making fun of me and the fact that my father—a single dad, struggling to make ends meet—drove a beat-up Honda Civic and normally chauffeured me to and from school each day.
In Saratoga Springs, where it seems everyone has money coming out their ears, my accountant father tried his best to give me what I needed. However, he could never afford the latest fashions, let alone afford to buy me my own car.
I was the stereotypical nerd who had big, thick glasses, wore pants that were always a little too short, and was never great at socializing. I had a paper route for extra money to help at home and often watched our high school’s football games on the local TV station at home on Friday nights. Make no mistake; I was an outcast to the nth degree. The guy who didn’t come from a wealthy family, the guy whose family didn’t own a large business or profitable restaurant in the area. The guy who couldn’t get a girl to look twice at him.
Luckily, that all changed when Ry took me under his wing in college.
Naomi, in a black miniskirt paired with a ridiculously low-cut pink shirt, swoops in and snags me and Sarah approximately thirty seconds after we enter the banquet room where the reunion is being held. This time, however, instead of staring at me with utter disdain, Naomi’s eyeing me like a starving dog eyes a thick, juicy steak.
The moment she catches sight of my name tag is the best, though.
“Hello there, you two. Be sure to sign the—” She abruptly stops once my name registers. Her eyes flicker from the tag to my face, back to the tag, then up to my face as if trying to determine whether it’s a joke.
“Jack Westbrook? Is that really you?”
I muster up a polite smile. “The one and only.”
&nb
sp; “Wow,” Naomi remarks slowly. Then she turns to call out to a balding man standing a few feet away. “Honey, get over here and say hi to Jack!” There’s no mistaking the false cheerfulness in her tone.
The guy strolls over with one hand in the pocket of his ill-fitting pants, name tag declaring him “Timmy.” Huh. Why am I not entirely surprised?
His eyes pass over me, landing on Sarah, and I watch with growing irritation as his gaze travels to her chest, pausing for far longer than acceptable before dropping down the rest of her body. When his eyes drift back up her legs, eyes widening in obvious appreciation, and he licks his lips and grins lasciviously, I feel my entire body grow taut. The fierce possessiveness that washes over me is potent.
The fingers of the hand I have at Sarah’s waist flex, and she puts her hand over the top of mine immediately in response.
I reach out my other hand to Timmy, fake smile in place. “Hey, man. Good to see you.”
The man shakes my hand, and I catch sight of the wince, barely able to hide my satisfied smile at the result of my punishing handshake.
“Wait a minute.” It seems Timmy has finally made the connection. Good to see he’s still as sharp as he was in high school. “You’re Jack Westbrook? The one we—”
“Made fun of every chance you got back in high school? Yep.” I release Timmy’s hand.
“Wow.” The other man gapes. “You look different.”
“Doesn’t he, though?” Naomi chimes in. “Who knew you were hiding this handsome guy beneath that horribly dressed nerd?”
I feel Sarah stiffen beside me as I answer in monotone. “Yeah, it’s crazy.”
“Hey, remember that time I stuffed you into a locker freshman year?” Timmy laughs boisterously. “God, that was hilarious.”
Great. Exactly what I wanted to do; take a stroll down memory lane with this asshole.
My voice is flat. “Hilarious.” Shifting my attention—and hopefully the conversation, as well—to Sarah, I introduce her. “This is Sarah Matthews.”
If I’m not mistaken, there’s a glint in her eyes, which means I’m almost certain she’s out for blood.
Time to sit back and watch my woman do her thing.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Sarah
I threw up in my mouth. And not a little, but a lot.
These two are one episode away from a Jerry Springer special. Luckily, I’m trained to deal with people who are hot messes in general, who are a few sandwiches short of a picnic, or those of the mean variety. Working with the public and in a hospital setting has helped me perfect those skills.
There’s a small difference here, though, because once they started in on Jack, they changed the tide. My claws have officially come out. No one messes with my Jack.
Wait, what? I mean, er…no one messes with Jack. I don’t know where that whole possessiveness thing came from.
“So great to meet you both.” With an overly bright smile, I reach out a hand to shake Naomi’s. “Naomi.” I purposely mispronounce the other woman’s name as “Ny-oh-mee,” re-enacting my own version of the scene from the movie, 17 Again.
Her expression turns steely. “It’s Nay-oh-mee,” she corrects.
Never allowing my saccharine sweet smile to slip, I mutter beneath my breath, “Don’t care.”
“Timmy.” I reach out my hand to her husband.
He tugs my hand, causing me to stumble toward him. “I prefer hugs,” he says as he pulls me closer. This is when I “accidentally” drive the sharp, pointed heel of my shoe into his foot.
“Ouch!” He instantly releases me, stepping away with an accusing look. Like he wasn’t the person attempting to be inappropriate, and like I hadn’t caught his eyes lingering on my chest. Gross doesn’t begin to cover that. It’s even worse since homeboy, here, is married to Naomi, and he’s clearly a dirtbag.
“So, Jack…” Naomi practically purrs, eyeing Jack. “When did this transformation happen?”
Can I punch her in the throat? Pretty please?
I fix my attention on Naomi before directing an adoring look at Jack. “You dying to take a bite out of him and these amazing pecs, right?” I run a hand over his chest.
Covering one side of my mouth as though I’m telling her a secret, I lean in and add, “And let me tell you how grateful I am you didn’t discover back in the day what he’s packing below the belt. Know what I’m sayin’?” I flash her a dramatic wink.
Then I let out a whimsical sigh. “It’s like, sometimes, he’s just too big, you know? Like he hits all the right places and makes me orgasm”—I pause to add further emphasis to my next words—“over and over again.” Another long, dramatic sigh. “It’s so exhausting.”
Naomi sputters, and Jack interrupts me before I can elaborate. “I think I see someone we should say hello to, Sunshine.”
I pout at Naomi. “Awwww, sad!” Jack snags my wrist and begins to pull me away. “Come find me later,” I call out to her as I’m being led away. “We can talk more then, Ny-oh-mee.”
As soon as I turn my head in the direction Jack’s leading me in, I hear the woman call out, “It’s Nay-oh-mee.”
And in perfect unison, Jack and I both mutter, “Don’t care.”
* * *
“Where are you leading me?” I ask as Jack guides us out of the banquet room and down the large hallway of the resort.
“Away from this place.”
I stop in my tracks, tugging on our joined hands. “Hold up.”
Spinning to face me, Jack’s expression is somber. “Sunshine, I’m sorry, but I really don’t want to spend the night with those assholes.”
Stepping up to him, I slide my hand up to the side of his face and gaze into the depths of his dark blue eyes. “I know that, but,” I say softly, “you’re forgetting where we are.” Confusion etches his features, so I elaborate. “We’re at the resort.” When it appears that my words are still not getting through, I add, “There are multiple banquet rooms for events like reunions.” I pause to flash him a meaningful look. “And weddings.”
Dawning interest lights his eyes. “What are you suggesting?”
“I saw that table back there.” I wave in the direction near one particular banquet room entrance we just passed. “There are quite a few name tags laying out.”
He leans in, and his eyes sparkle with mischief. “Are you suggesting we impersonate guests and crash a wedding?”
“I am.” I grin up at him, challengingly. “Are you in?”
“Maybe.”
Stepping back over to the table where I spied the adhesive name tags with a silver embossed outer edge and the table number designation listed in small print at the very bottom. I scan the names before plucking two and hold one up for Jack.
“How about it, Michael Wilis?” I raise my eyebrows in question.
Crossing over to me, his eyes flicker to the name tags. “Let’s do it.”
Peeling the backing from Jack’s new name tag, I affix it to the top right area of his button-down shirt. Smoothing it firmly, I recall what I have in my purse. “Ooh! Wait a minute.”
Digging into my rectangular clutch, I tug out what I keep handy.
“You keep monogrammed cards in your purse?” Jack asks slowly.
I quickly write a congratulatory message to “Jen and Donny” before withdrawing my checkbook.
“Sunshine.” My eyes dart up to find Jack watching me with amusement. “Why do I get the feeling you’ve done this before?” I finish writing the check out for enough to cover our catered meals and open bar before slipping it inside the card, placing it in the envelope, and sealing it.
Closing my purse, I peer up at him with a smug smile and tap the envelope against his chest. “Ready to make our way to table forty-seven, Mr. Wilis?”
* * *
“I think it’s safe to say that we chose wisely with this wedding,” Jack murmurs to me before taking another bite of his seared sea scallops.
“Dang straight.” I cut into my st
uffed chicken breast. “But,” I lean in to whisper discreetly, “I’m not sure which wins out, the company or the food.”
As he chews, the edges of his lips tip up at my remark. Before I can elaborate, it’s as though the universe wants to reinforce my observation because the best man gets up to make what appears to be an impromptu toast, judging by the surprised expressions of the rest of the wedding party.
The best man is tall and gangly looking, his hair slightly mussed. “For those of you who may not know me”—he gestures with his champagne glass—“I’m Ron, best man, and I’ve known Donny since we were seven years old.” He stares down into his glass before returning his attention to the rest of the guests. “To be honest, I wasn’t even sure if I’d be able to make it here because I was in my tenth stint in rehab for my Manga porn addiction.”
“Manga porn addiction? Comic book porn?” Jack hisses in my ear, but I wave him off.
No chance in hell I’m going to miss this speech.
Ron goes on. “He helped me pack each time I went to rehab.” The man appears to get choked up on the memories. “He even got tough with me when he caught me trying to smuggle some Manga in my suitcase.” He swipes at a tear before continuing. “I’m so grateful for him, though. Because he got me through, and I feel better.” Ron affirms this with a nod before turning to address the groom. “I know that you and Jen will have a happy life together, man.” Then he leans toward the groom, obviously forgetting he still has a microphone in his other hand. “That Asian you banged last night has nothing on Jen. She’s way hotter.”
Ron turns to the front again, raising his unsteady glass to toast. “To Jen and Donny!”
“Ho-ly shit,” I breathe, watching as the bride loses it. She flies out of her chair and begins to interrogate Donny while the majority of us sit, stunned.
“This is why I flew in from Florida. Knew it would be worth witnessing in some way.” This comes from the woman seated to my right who goes by the name of Randi.
I should also mention that Randi is the self-proclaimed outcast of the family who, at one time, used to be Randall. She grew up outside Saratoga Springs, but after finally declaring to her family that she felt more comfortable as a woman than a man, she relocated to Panama City Beach, Florida, where she currently lives.
