3. JACK
3
JACK
I park up outside the Clapham house. There isn’t a soul on the street, given the weather and the time of night. It’s not raining anymore, but the streets are slick and water runs in streams at the sides of the roads, trickling down into the drains.
I get out of the car at the same time as Elly does. I grab her guitar from the backseat and in a moment, the two of us are standing at the front door of the three-storey townhouse. Elly and Kate share the top floor flat. Normally, I rent the other floors, but they’re already empty given my intention to renovate. No lights shine from any windows. The house looks deserted.
Standing side-by-side, I’m struck by how tiny Elly is compared to me—she barely reaches my shoulder. Her enormous curls are slicked down in winding strands at the side of her head, and her coat is soaked through.
Guilt hits hard. I was supposed to watch this woman perform tonight and I didn’t stay. I’d kinda hoped I could swing back to the Marchmont and Elly would still be playing, but I’d totally lost track of time, although God knows why because my date with Lydia was a disaster. I had to follow through on our agreement to attend the party with her, but I dragged her to the Marchmont first because I told Elly I’d be there.
Fucking pointless, the whole thing, given I never got to hear Elly sing. I would have been better off not going to the Marchmont at all, or cancelling the date with Lydia, but I didn’t want to show up solo to hear my sister’s friend perform because that seemed way too intimate. Too much pressure. Lydia was a buffer, of sorts.
When I extricated myself from her clutches, I drove back to the Marchmont. I figured that, maybe, Elly might still be there, and I could apologise, but the place was locked. I didn’t lose my coat. I never even took one out tonight. I don’t know why I lied, but I’m not about to tell Elly that I came back for her.
Seeing those cowboy boots splash through the puddles, and that tight little body all wrapped up in a giant raincoat, wild blonde curls poking out from beneath the hood, I knew it was her immediately. It was like my guilt had willed her into existence, right when she needed me.
She holds out her hand for the guitar. “Thanks for the lift.”
I’m about to hand it over when a thought occurs to me. I pull the guitar back out of reach. Elly’s shock is clearly etched on her face.
“Not so fast,” I say. “This guitar could be ruined. That was some pretty severe rain. I think you should check. In fact, I think you ought to take it out and play.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She stretches for it again. “It’s late.”
I keep it out of reach. “I know. But apparently, I don’t know what I’m missing.”
Elly gives a cute little smile, obviously recognising her words from earlier. “And now you won’t ever find out.”
“But I really want to know.” I hold the guitar up in the air, vaguely aware that whatever the fuck is happening here is a lot like flirting… but not the regular, banter-filled flirting I engage in with Elly, where we wind each other up, knowing it will never go anywhere. There’s a subtle difference, and right now this feels like actual flirting. Feels a lot fucking like it, especially given the way she’s standing on tiptoes in those little boots trying to reclaim the guitar. She hasn’t a hope of reaching it unless she wants to climb me.
Why does that not sound as bad as it should?
Fuck. I am flirting.
Better draw it to a close, pronto. I take a set of keys out of my pocket, intending to unlock the front door, but I can’t resist the urge to add, “And I always get what I want, El.”
She’s right behind me as I stick the key in the lock. “Hey, it’s not legal for the landlord to enter the premises without permission.”
I glance over my shoulder at her. “Bad storm. Roof could be leaking. It could be an emergency. I’ll need to check.”
I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing here, but before I can think too hard, I’ve shouldered the front door open and traipsed up the stairs to the first floor.
It’s only when my key is in the door to the flat that I realise I could be about to open the door to find my sister. Or even Nico.
“No one’s here,” Elly says like she’s read my mind. “But I didn’t invite you in. And for the record, I’m not inviting you in. And as for us having sex tonight, just because you picked me up in the rain, that’s definitely not happening.”
My jaw almost drops to the floor. She’s totally called me out on every possible outcome that I may or may not have conceived, subconsciously or otherwise, when I refused to hand her back the guitar. “Woah—”
“I’d rather eat raw fish than sleep with you,” she quips.
What the hell ? “Sushi’s a delicacy. You know that, right?”
She wrinkles her adorable nose, and the piercing on her left nostril catches the light. “Just because your date with Lydia didn’t go well doesn’t mean you can force your way into the flat and seduce me. I know your game, Jack Lansen.”
I ignore the fact she’s accusing me of trying to fuck her, because talking about sex with Elly feels… strange . A bit dangerous. Kinda like skating on thin ice. If we walk out on it, we’re going to plunge right through the surface. Not that she’d come with me, but fuck it . Elly Carter is hot, and I wouldn’t say no if she asked.
I pull my thoughts back in line. “How do you know my date didn’t go well?”
She puts her hand on her hip. “Seriously, Jack.” She pauses as though I should immediately understand where she’s going with this, and when it’s apparent I don’t, she blows out a sigh. “You don’t want to date anyone who treats servers like shit. That’s the biggest red flag there is.”
I mentally replay the interactions between Elly and Lydia. “You think she treated you like shit?”
Elly averts her gaze as if this line of questioning makes her uncomfortable. “She wasn’t nice.”
I shrug because I don’t really care what Lydia’s like as a person. I figured I’d get laid and go home and that would be it. Never see her again. But the thing is, Elly has a point. Only a few hours in Lydia’s company and I could already tell she was more self-obsessed than I’d have liked.
But really, it didn’t matter. I would’ve fucked her anyway—and she was keen. She made that pretty clear when she slipped onto my lap and started grinding her arse against my cock at the after show—but for some reason, I didn’t feel like it tonight.
Elly pushes past me with the most irritating smile on her face, like she’s won whatever game we’re playing, but she stops abruptly, spinning back to look me up and down. “But seeing as you’re my best friend’s brother, you’re soaked through and you brought me home out of the kindness of your heart, I’ll make you a cup of tea.”
Without waiting for me to reply, she steps across to the open plan kitchen, fills the kettle, turns it on, and gets out two mugs from an overhead cupboard. The handle falls off the cupboard door as she closes it, landing with a metallic thud on the linoleum floor. She picks it up and fixes it back without a word of complaint, making me feel like the worst landlord in history. Christ, this place is a dump . The sooner her lease ends, and she's out of here, the better.
I follow her into the flat and let the door close behind me. She grabs a tea towel that’s hanging off the oven and chucks it at me. “Dry yourself.”
“I’d rather take my shirt off.” I undo the top button. “It’s very expensive. I’d like to lay it flat to dry.”
Elly points a finger at me. “Don’t you fucking dare. I’ll throw your arse out onto the street if you even think about undoing another one of those buttons.”
I lean against the kitchen counter, but I can’t help smiling at her as I dab myself dry with the towel. “You seem very convinced that I have an agenda in being here tonight.”
She sucks the spoon she used to stir our tea, then puts it on the side of the sink. “That’s what you do, isn’t it? Jack Lansen. Top class womanizer.”
Shit . She’s not holding back. “First, you don’t know I didn’t already get laid tonight. I could be totally sexually sated right now. Second, I came up here to hear you sing, because I felt bad about what I said yesterday, and then about leaving before your set tonight.”
She hands me a mug, and I let the towel rest on my shoulder so I can take it.
“Is that an apology?”
“No. I stand by everything I said. You can’t sing at Nico’s party.” I tap two fingers against my lips, then point them at her. “At least not before I’ve heard you.”
“Hmm. Okay. Let’s say, hypothetically, you’re telling the truth, and you have no ulterior motive in forcing your way in here other than to hear me sing. I’ll play for you. But I should warn you, you will want to fuck me afterwards. Can you handle that?”
Woah . That was not what I expected her to say, but there’s a challenge in her eyes I can’t resist, and the smirk of amusement that tugs at one side of her mouth seals the deal.
Her lips are so pink… naturally full and pink . How have I never noticed that before?
“Yeah,” I say. Casual . “Course. But you should know that I always get what I want.”
“You said that.”
I nod slowly. “Right. So, if you’re about to do something that’s going to make me want to fuck you—”
She inhales, the sound so close to a gasp that it cuts me off. “For that to ever happen, I’d have to want it too.”
This brings me up short. I definitely didn’t mean to imply I’d ever take something that wasn’t being willingly given. “Well, yeah. Of course.” I flash her a smile, the one that ordinarily has women simpering, but Elly’s expression doesn’t shift. Awkward . “I’d just wait for you to realise it was mutual,” I tease in a bid to lift the tension.
She rolls her eyes, but thankfully looks more amused than annoyed. Phew . “You really are the most arrogant arsehole out there. But it’s after 3 am on a Saturday, so I’ll forgive you.” She rubs her eyes, stretches the lids wide and blinks a few times, as though she’s waking from a dream. “This is surreal.” She blinks again. “Is this weird for you? I mean, what happened tonight? How are we both here, soaked to the bone, in the middle of the night?” She squeezes strands of her wet hair in fisted fingers, letting a few droplets of water fall to the floor. “Let me get changed, and then I’ll play.”
She potters off towards her room, and I sit on the sofa.
She’s right. This is surreal. I shouldn’t be here. Just as I’m wondering if I should leave again, Elly reappears wearing blue pyjamas with stars on them, and a pair of pink slippers that look like two electrocuted rabbits dipped in neon dye.
I refrain from commenting on them, but Elly must see me looking because she pauses and shakes a foot in my direction. “Sexy, huh?”
I swallow. “Yup. Hot stuff.”
“They’re my backup. For when you do want to fuck me.” She smirks and it’s hard not to smile back. “I figure a man like you isn’t coming anywhere near these things. They’re the fabric equivalent of pepper spray.”
I laugh, because… damn it, she’s funny. I feel way too comfortable right now, joking around with her. “Yeah, those are pretty hideous.” But it would only take me half a second to rip them off.
She picks up her guitar and unzips the case, pulls the instrument out, fixes the strap around her neck, and sits in a chair opposite me.
She strums a few chords and makes some adjustments to the strings.
Anticipation fires through me. Part of me hopes she’s bad, so I can stand by the things I said last time I was here. The other part is just plain intrigued.
She tilts forwards on her chair a little, and her pyjama top gapes at the neck. She’s not wearing a bra . The shadowed curve of her breasts is clearly visible. Even the outline of her nipples is clear from where I’m sitting. I’m instantly assailed by images of me sucking her little pink nipple between my teeth, and a shot of heat goes right to my groin.
Shit .
I shift in my seat, mentally warning my dick not to go getting ideas. I’m not about to give Elly the satisfaction of being right. Worse than that—I might actually want to fuck her before she starts singing, pink slippers and all.
She sits up, and my gaze slides off her breasts and up to her face. She arches a brow at me. “Ready?”
I nod, and she begins. Her delicate fingers move across the strings, plucking and strumming in a miraculous pattern that weaves a sweet tune throughout the room. I don’t know the song, but the combination of chords has chills running up my spine, and when Elly opens her mouth and starts to sing, goosebumps scatter over every inch of my body.
The sound is so sultry, so low and sweet and intense that I swear her voice filters straight through my ears and directly into my bloodstream.
By the time she crests to the peak of the song I’m convinced that I’m sitting before the sexiest woman I’ve ever met.
How the fuck did I not know she could do this?
I’m barely breathing, held completely captive by Elly and her singing and the notes and her voice, which is like a scrawl of molasses over the carpet between us. I want to sink in it, bathe in it… drown in it.
She strums the last few notes, letting the sound echo in the air before she places her hand on the strings to still them. Neither of us moves.
“This really is surreal,” she mutters.
A gulping affirmative pops in my throat.
Get a grip .
I propel myself off the sofa. I need to get out of here before my dick gets hard. “It’s official.” I fist a hand and press the knuckles to my lips, then release it. “You definitely can’t sing at Nico’s party.”
A scandalised look crosses Elly's face. “Why not?”
“Because everyone in the room is going to want to fuck you. Including Nico.” If the tension wasn’t thick enough before, it increases tenfold. I’m going to fucking choke on it. The colour drains out of Elly’s cheeks. “And that really wouldn’t be fair on Kate.”
She’s staring at me like a startled deer, her blue eyes all wide and… scared ?
“I should get going,” I say, edging towards the door.
Her brows draw together, and she continues to stare at me as I move away. I’m convinced she’s not going to say a word, not even goodbye, when she speaks. “Hey, Jack?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s not real. What you’re feeling right now… it’s not real. It’s just the music.” She knows . “It wears off a few minutes after the song is over.”
I want to tell her that I’ve listened to a lot of music, and I’ve never felt like this before. But instead, I say, “So I can go ahead and growl, then?”
If she looked scared before, she looks worse now. Blotches of colour appear on her throat, rising up her neck, and she presses a hand to her cheek. “Gosh. No. Don’t do that.”
She’s flustered. Seeing her that way, and knowing I caused it, thrills me so much that I have to smother the grin that tugs at my mouth. “Okay. But you should probably keep those slippers on until you hear me drive away, just in case.”
I don't hang around to hear her response because, honestly, I might be a little fucking flustered too.