Chapter 11 #4
Sitting there, right where he’d said, was the same striped mug I’d used the first time we’d had coffee together, weeks ago, after a painful night and Jack’s unexpected kindness.
My hand trembled slightly as I reached for the handle of the mug—my mug, apparently.
I didn’t even have a mug that I considered mine in my own home.
I just used one from a four-pack I’d bought at the grocery store after I realized that Danny had taken the ones we’d accumulated over the years.
The handmade mugs from Bramble Pottery that I’d loved.
The ones we’d bought at Dollywood when we were dating that had our names on them.
Any number of various vacation souvenirs. All gone.
But I had a mug at Jack’s apartment. The existential-crisis mug struck again.
The sugar and half-and-half awaited me as well. Only this time, I knew that Jack drank his coffee black, so he’d set them out for my benefit.
I pulled myself together as I stirred and washed my spoon before making my way carefully to the couch, coffee in hand.
Jack looked up from his book as I sat. Then he slid his bookmark between the pages and placed the paperback on the low table in front of him. It was a popular sci-fi title that I made a mental note of for my Tbr list.
I noticed that the snacks from last night had been cleaned up. The popcorn and candy and soda that he’d gotten with me in mind.
Maybe there was something to be said for pen pals or long-distance letter writing.
It helped you get to know someone—from the minor and the mundane to the big, messy life events.
The text imprinting thoughts and ideas in your mind with a certain clarity that speaking on the phone couldn’t quite accomplish.
Aside from a shared experience, it could be argued that exchanging written words was the best way to get to the heart of someone.
A search refined. The essential pieces narrowed down again and again until the truth could be neatly and efficiently extracted.
Jack and I had been texting for a while now, and he . . . knew me better than almost anyone, at least the current version of me. The one who was a little messy and heartsick, adrift in a way I didn’t quite know how to reconcile.
Maybe it was silly of me to reread our messages to one another, to comb through all his favorite things. But when I considered last night and the ease with which I’d settled in here, I didn’t think it was silly at all.
“What do you have going on today?” Jack asked politely after I’d been quiet for too long, lost in thought.
“Not much. I’ll probably drop by my classroom and prep some projects for the week. Then I have trivia tonight at Trailview.” I have a stolen rabbit to check on, too, I didn’t add.
He paused with his coffee halfway to his lips. “I think my grandmother is on a trivia team there.”
“Oh. Which one?”
“I’m not sure,” he said thoughtfully. “I just found out about it.”
I briefly considered prying, but I knew that Jack was private as well as protective of his grandmother. What we’d done last night had been pretty intimate, but somehow I didn’t think that sex automatically qualified me for personal details.
“Well, I’m sure her team routinely kicks our butt. Mac is usually so focused on beating Brady that she gets so distracted our team usually loses or gets kicked out because of their bickering.”
He smiled and finally took a sip. “They play on opposing teams even though they’re dating.”
“Oh yeah.” I shook my head, recalling their antics.
“It’s a whole thing. They’re hypercompetitive nutballs.
I think it reminds them of when they hated each other, but in a fun way.
Or maybe they just like the trash talk. Either way.
I’ll be at Trailview later attempting to answer trivia questions until Mac gets us disqualified. ”
Jack laughed, lines deepening on his stubble-covered cheeks.
Silence descended as we drank our coffee. He didn’t reach for his book again, and I felt the weight of all that attention focused on me.
I’d had sex with this person, and now I wasn’t sure what to say as we sat next to one another in his living room.
Despite the awkwardness, I was grateful. He’d taken my request in stride, and, more than that, he’d taken care of me, made sure I’d enjoyed myself. I’d more than enjoyed myself.
“Hey,” I said abruptly.
Perhaps he read my intent or knew me well enough to expect the words that were about to fly out of my mouth, because Jack’s eyes narrowed and he interrupted, “Don’t. Do not thank me for last night.”
My mouth snapped shut audibly.
Gaze intent, Jack uncrossed his legs, placed his mug on the table, and leaned forward. He snagged my free hand and held on tight. “The same way I don’t want your apologies, Clyde, I do not want your gratitude. You had fun, right? Last night?”
My cheeks burned. “Yes,” I managed, voice a mortified choke.
“So did I. We’re friends, like you said. Let’s just keep having fun.”
I nodded. It sounded simple when he said it like that.
He hadn’t been lying last night. We’d been up for hours, exploring and tasting, getting comfortable with each other’s skin.
I’d asked for what I needed and accepted what he’d offered.
No strings or expectations. Jack had made it his mission to wring every ounce of pleasure from me until I’d collapsed in a boneless heap sometime around three thirty.
He’d been intense and focused but also gentle and fun.
We’d laughed over awkward positions, and he’d teased me over the scratch marks I’d left on his backside.
I felt connected to him in a way I couldn’t explain with words.
That was the magic of intimacy. It turned you into different people, the kind who were unknowable to anyone outside your perfect bubble.
Honestly, I wasn’t sure where we went from here, so I was glad he’d addressed it head-on.
I’d like more nights like last night. More of Jack’s unwavering attention, his rough stubble on my skin, his strength combined with tenderness, the rough sounds he’d made when I’d touched him, and the feel of him all around me.
But then my attention snagged on the wrinkles of my dress.
I’d be leaving here in the same outfit I’d arrived in yesterday.
I thought about how I’d parked my car two blocks away from Magnolia to save us both from the rumor mill.
I wasn’t ready for what everyone would say about me this soon after my divorce.
Plus, I got the impression that Jack didn’t really date, so I didn’t want to cause trouble for him.
He’d had to deal with enough gossip over the years.
“That sounds good. To keep having fun,” I clarified. Then I added quickly, just to dispel any fears he may have, “And I’m fine keeping this just between you and me.”
A beat passed, and I wondered if I’d misread the situation.
“Of course,” he replied after a moment.
I frowned. I’d thought for a second there’d been something on his face. An emotion, there and gone before I could identify it.
Jack brought my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the inside of my wrist. Then his grin turned roguish, the devil peeking through bright hazel eyes and gold-rimmed glasses. “Can I interest you in a tour before you go?”
My brows furrowed in confusion. “A tour?”
“Yeah. You saw the bathroom last time—mostly the floor.” He grinned. “But I don’t think you got a good look at the shower.”
Realization dawned. “Oh, well. I’d hate to think I missed something. Is this a guided tour?”
He nodded sagely before standing and pulling me with him. “Very intimate. Highly personalized. Just you and your tour guide.”
Heat and anticipation became an insistent tug. A pleasant warmth shimmered across my skin, like a hot afternoon in the middle of summer. The lure of Jack in the shower was undeniably inviting. Wet hair, slick skin, and the promise I read in his eyes was more temptation than I could resist.
So I didn’t bother trying.
I slid closer to him, bringing our bodies flush before saying without a whisper of uncertainty, “Lead the way.”