Chapter 18 Cynthie #2
Jack seems to accept the answer, or at least he doesn’t pry further. He only lifts his brows and says, “So do you want to eat these in here, or do you want to face the screaming hordes?”
I lick my ice cream thoughtfully, and it’s so delicious, I moan in appreciation. Beside me, Jack flinches like he’s just received an electric shock.
“What?” I ask, startled.
“Nothing.” He clears his throat. “Brain freeze.”
I wince sympathetically. “The worst.” The photographers hover outside the window. “I think if you can bear it, we should go and walk a bit. After all, the more pictures they get now, the better.”
“Sounds good,” Jack replies easily.
“And then we can… you know… what we talked about,” I manage, and I want to kick myself, because instead of sounding cool and nonchalant, I sound like a twelve-year-old girl, and I just know that I’m blushing, too.
To his credit, Jack tries to hide his amusement when he says. “Kiss, you mean?”
I blush harder. “Er… yeah,” I mumble.
Jack makes a thoughtful noise. “Have you ever seen While You Were Sleeping ?”
“What?” I ask, thrown by the seemingly random segue.
“ While You Were Sleeping ,” he continues. “It’s a film—”
I cut him off. “Um, yes, I have seen the seminal 1995 classic While You Were Sleeping ,” I huff. “And it’s not just a film ; it is a work of cinematic perfection. Hannah and I watch it every Christmas. Why?”
Jack’s smile is back, the really good, charming one, the one that makes it feel like we’re in cahoots. “Because I was thinking instead of kissing, I could just… lean.”
My breath catches. “You mean like Bill Pullman does in the movie?”
“Yeah.”
My brain goes fuzzy, because while what Jack is suggesting might sound like it’s a step down from kissing, everyone knows that the Bill-Pullman-Leaning scene in While You Were Sleeping is the hottest thing to ever happen.
“?‘ Leaning ,’?” Jack says, directly quoting the film, his voice going soft and gravely like Bill’s does, “?‘ involves wanting and accepting …’?”
Dead. I am dead.
“Yes, I know the line,” I say breathlessly, aiming for brisk. “I know the scene, and I guess it could work. It could be better, I mean. I don’t know. Ha. Hahahaha.” Now I am laughing, and I sound like I’ve been sucking down a load of helium.
Get it together, Cyn!
“Cool,” Jack agrees, politely ignoring whatever is happening to me. “And what if we hold hands? Holding hands isn’t really a big ‘friend’ thing once you’re over the age of seven.”
“I don’t know,” I point out. “You are eating a bright blue ice-cream cone.”
“With rainbow sprinkles,” Jack adds. He puts on his sunglasses and holds out his free hand to me. I look at it for a second, and then, carefully, tentatively slide my fingers through his.
“Ice-cream cones and hand-holding,” I say. “This is a very wholesome date. Is that for their benefit? It’s a clever idea,” I add quickly, so he won’t think I mind.
“Honestly, I wish I could say I’m that Machiavellian,” Jack replies after a moment. “I just wanted to get you an ice cream.”
That makes me smile.
“Right.” I draw back my shoulders. “You ready?”
“Let’s do it.”
When we go back outside, it seems like the paparazzi have been spawning, and we make a truly ridiculous picture as we walk down the pavement, eating our ice creams, holding hands and pretending we don’t notice the horde of screaming people dogging our steps.
Thankfully, we’re both exceptional actors.
We wander aimlessly, under a brilliant blue sky.
The road is full of little shops, and occasionally we stop and pretend to look in the windows.
There are palm trees lining the street, and a gentle breeze takes the worst of the bite out of the blazing sun.
All in all, it’s a perfect day, and I suppose that we look perfect too.
We didn’t coordinate on purpose but even our outfits match: Jack’s white T-shirt and worn Levi’s fit him like a dream; he’s left his face unshaven again, and with the tousled hair and sunglasses he looks alarmingly handsome.
He tugs my hand, pulling me into the doorway of another shop, and holds his ice cream out toward me.
I’ve already demolished mine, but he’s taken his time, there’s a little left at the bottom of the cone.
“Before I finish this off, I think you should try it, given all the hard time you’ve given me over my flavor choices. ”
I roll my eyes, but take a bite. Sugar explodes over my tongue, and I experience a little thrill about putting my mouth where his mouth has been, which might be a new low.
“Well?” he asks, polishing off the last bit.
“I think I need to book a visit to my dentist.”
He reaches out, and his thumb brushes the corner of my lips. “You have a little, just here,” he says, his voice rough, and then, slowly, he lifts his thumb to his mouth and sucks it clean.
“Thank you,” I manage. I’m glad that my eyes are hidden behind my own sunglasses, because I can only imagine how wildly horny they are. Suddenly ice cream and hand-holding don’t seem wholesome at all. Suddenly this seems like the most startlingly erotic date imaginable.
He presses me farther back into the doorway, crowding me in a way that leaves me breathless.
“Oh!” I murmur. “This is it, right? It’s happening? The lean, I mean.”
For a moment—somehow—I’d forgotten the photographers clustered a few feet away, but Jack obviously hadn’t. The ice cream–sharing thing probably looked very effective. It’s a good job that at least one of us is focused on the task in hand rather than just melting into a useless puddle of hormones.
“It’s happening,” Jack confirms, and his hand goes up to rest on the wall next to my head.
He leans .
I wonder if Gayle will be upset if I faint in front of the cameras. Jack hasn’t kissed me… He’s actually not touching me at all. His chest is separated from mine by a few precious millimeters, though even that distance is almost closed every time I inhale.
His sunglasses slip down his nose, just a touch, and I glimpse amusement in his eyes before they move to my mouth and his face grows serious.
We stand like that for a while—I don’t know how long—looking at each other, and I can’t seem to steady myself.
I need to catch my breath, need to be able to think straight. This whole thing is supposed to be a business arrangement, but it’s day one, and I already feel wildly out of control.
It’s this realization that helps me recover my grip on what remains of my sanity.
“I think that’s probably enough leaning, now,” I say, keeping my voice under rigid control.
He freezes. The hand near my head peels slowly away from the wall, and he pushes his glasses back up, shielding his expression.
“Yes, they should have what they need, don’t you think?” he asks mildly, like he’s commenting on the weather.
He pulls away, and the distance he puts between us isn’t just physical; it’s something else too, like the barriers have gone back up. It’s a firm reminder that what we’re doing is only acting. We’re playing pretend for an audience. Jack Turner-Jones isn’t my lover; he’s not even my friend.
“Yes. That’s plenty for today,” I agree. “I’m going to head home.”
When Jack sees me to my car, I get in and drive away.
And I don’t look back.