Chapter 12
Jack sparkles like a Vegas showgirl. His face, his forearms, his hands, even the clothes he changed into after work, are coated in way more metallic glitter than I anticipated would make it to six thirty in the evening.
His dark hair is positively diamond-dusted.
And that hair is rumpled, as if he’s been self-consciously running his fingers through it all day.
He looks irked. He looks like a fancy chandelier. He looks…
Kind of fucking hot. I lick my lips and pretend to peruse the three tools laid out on the floor.
What the shit was that errant thought? I push it away and debate whether or not to play “Golden” by Harry Styles on repeat for him tonight.
The look in his eye suggests that I should maybe save that one for another time.
He rolls up his shirtsleeves and rips down a torso-size strip of what looks like rigid wire mesh. “I had court today.” His tone is deceptively mild.
“Cool.”
“No. Not cool when you’re advocating for someone to stay out of prison and you look like you’re about to whisper, ‘This is the skin of a killer, Bella.’”
Excuse me, what now? He knows Twilight?
“Oh. You’re not…the world’s most dangerous predator.” I feel bad. Did I cross a line? I think I crossed a line. “Why are you covered in glitter?” I try.
His steely gaze cuts me off.
I will bluster through this. “You aren’t blameless, you know. More broken toes and birdseed in my future?”
“You don’t want to know what’s in your future.”
“Oooh, so scary, M. Night Shyamalan.”
My door buzzer’s high-pitched whine scares the shit out of me, but it heralds Margie and Avery’s arrival, a welcome buffer. I wait for them at the top of the stairs.
I hear Margie giving Avery advice regarding his troublesome colleague before they round the landing and come into view.
“Sexual tension,” she says.
“God no,” Avery mumbles.
“We both know you don’t do casual, so you—”
“Not true. There was Tabitha.”
Margie purses lips as red as her tight crimson pants and continues her climb.
“Oh my God, Avery Vaughn. A one-night stand you ended up dating for two-and-a-half years is not casual. You don’t do casual, so you need to get yourself into a relationship.
It’ll remove the pressure of your office crush. ”
“Rivalry. Not crush.”
“Sure. Hey, Pen. He retaliate yet?”
“No,” I whisper. “He’s doing the whole psychological warfare thing right now, making me anticipate it.
Why are you dressed like you’re gonna sell crêpes along the Seine later?
” I take in her black-and-white-striped top, jaunty black cap, and the very-appropriate-for-construction six-inch heels.
Avery has, of course, showered after work, but his pullover is wrinkled, and he looks uncharacteristically disheveled.
“Why are you wearing a push-up bra to work on a wall?”
I fold my arms protectively across my tight and tattered purple college tee, a lie on the tip of my tongue that I just can’t dislodge.
Margie exchanges a look with Avery. “No comment,” he says, holding his hands up as he slips by me into my apartment. But then he quickly adds, “Except to say that those are not usually hanging out so close to your chin.”
“Help me take down this wall already.”
Avery and Jack exchange pleasantries. Avery spares a single amused glance at Jack’s razzle-dazzle but remains mercifully silent about it.
Margie is not so tactful.
“Shine bright like a diamond,” she murmurs when she sees him, a laugh in her voice. Jack gives her a withering look.
Following Jack’s lead, Avery dives in to help with the wall.
Margie carts bags of garbage down to the basement, clomping down the hall in a borrowed pair of my sneakers.
I never once look in Jack’s direction, which is immensely satisfying.
The work is going so well that I have to force myself not to remark on it for fear of jinxing it.
And then it’s jinxed.
Jack’s buzzer goes off, and a few minutes later, Anna floats into his apartment like a pollen-riddled spring breeze. “Why do you look like you’re about to take me to Neverland, Jay?” she asks.
Margie’s laugh rings out all the way from the stairwell.
“Anna, hi!” Avery calls out.
She beams when she sees him and scuttles over to my side of The Wall to reach him. She pauses when Margie reenters the apartment, recognizing her immediately. “Oh. My. Lord. You’re Linkletter! I watch you! My fiancé Seth loves your show.”
Margie arches an eyebrow. “Not you, though?”
“No! I do, too, totally—”
“I’m teasing. I’m Margie. Nice to meet you. You must be Jack’s sister.” She glances at Avery. “Heard too much about you.”
She says it so quickly and casually that only I pick up on the “too.” She loves doing that—subverting what people expect to hear.
I once heard her tell some difficult restaurant patrons at the place she worked in college, “Fuck you very much,” with a tremendous smile and wave as they were leaving.
The guests thanked her and smiled back. She said it was a test of her acting.
“Are you going to be at Avery’s parents’ anniversary party?” Anna asks Margie. I frown. Why is she talking about the party? At Margie’s nod, Anna claps a hand over her mouth. “Seth is going to be so upset he can’t come.”
“He’s not coming?” Avery’s expression is as far removed from disappointed as it can possibly be. He must realize that because he quickly blanks his face.
I, on the other hand, want to stamp my feet and scream. My worlds are colliding. What the hell is Avery doing inviting the enemy’s sister? I mean, Jack feels less like the enemy than before, but he’s plotting my downfall! That’s enemy-adjacent, at least. I drop down heavily onto the sofa.
“No, he has a thing with his old high school buddies. But Jack agreed to be my plus-one.”
All eyes snap to Jack, but he only has eyes for me. The demon is smiling. Smiling. He knows I’m irked. I don’t want him there. I may throw him off the ship. Launch a cannon or whatever at his head. He doesn’t want to be around me and defunct museum weapons.
“Can’t wait to come and celebrate true love,” Jack says, bending to rest his arms on the back of my couch just behind me.
And then he reaches deep into my cushions and pulls out Pirate Duke.
Motherfucker. “We’re all just looking for a love like this, amirite?
” He stands tall and waves the book and its tawdry cover around.
My cheeks are fire hose–worthy, heated to a fever. The woman on the cover has a shredded pirate’s flag draped strategically over her privates, one leg wrapped around the Pirate Duke’s waist as she arches toward him. The eponymous hero looms over her on a bed, his lips pressed against her cleavage.
Jack opens the book. “‘One hand palms the globe of her—’ Holy shit, this is explicit.”
I leap up, round the sofa, and snatch it from his hands with a glare. Margie’s snort barely penetrates my anger. “The only thing you’re in love with is yourself,” I hiss.
Jack’s gaze flits over the room, taking in the fact that everyone else is pretending to be engaged in conversation. He leans forward, perilously close, and pins me with his gaze. “Do you blame me? There’s so much to love.”
I roll my eyes, and his stupid fucking dimple brackets appear. “This wasn’t your punishment, by the way,” he says in a purr that slides up my spine.
I stretch up, until there’s nothing but a breath between my lips and his. I see his gaze slip, a darting look as I tug my bottom lip in with my teeth. “Will I enjoy this punishment?” I whisper.
His eyes widen and dilate, gray overtaken by black. His chest expands with his surprised breath. “That can be arranged.”
My pulse is a battering ram. I’ve been sucked into a spell of my own making. Almost. I straighten and force out a laugh. “I could die of cringe for you. Guys are so predictable.”
He opens his mouth to respond, but I run to a far corner of the wall. And then I slowly release a breath, trying to get Pirate Duke and Jack out of my head.
Once again, it ends up being Jack and me doing actual demolition and Avery, Anna, and Margie sitting around my apartment.
Avery and Anna laugh and swap stories, while Margie looks up every once in a while from a script she’s reading to interject amusing anecdotes of her own.
It would be a fun and lively environment if I didn’t want this flipping wall to come down and be put up again as soon as humanly possible.
It isn’t until the food arrives that I realize those bumps on a log ordered takeout.
Jack and I reluctantly halt our work to eat.
Jack sits on my sofa with Anna, my coffee table pressed up close to their knees.
Avery sits in the armchair closest to where Anna is seated.
He offered the chair to me like the gentleman he is, but I declined in favor of sitting cross-legged on the floor. He and Jack talk about work.
Margie is in my other armchair, legs draped over the seat’s arm, her back against the other. She’s still reading.
I throw a veggie egg roll and a scallion pancake down my gullet and chase it with a bite of chicken and broccoli. “Latest episode?” I ask her, leaning over to look at the script.
“No. It’s for a movie. Lucas is in talks to star as the lead, and there’s a part for me, he thinks.”
“That’s awesome!”
“Yeah. It’s violent, though. But kind of camp. I’m into it.” She hands it to me to review.
The meal feels too cozy. Like a real group of friends hanging on a Thursday night. This is unacceptable. I shake off the trance, force myself to stop watching Jack’s mouth move as he speaks, and stand, tossing the script onto my kitchen counter.
“What’s that for?” Anna asks, pointing to the jumbo package of Command hooks I’m opening.
In response, I set up a little ladder Gence loaned me and attach a hook to the ceiling, right near our dividing wall.
“The wall is filled with lots of holes going straight through now. Temporary fix.” I ascend and descend a bunch, attaching a handful of hooks at regular intervals.
And then I go to the hall closet and retrieve the discount grommeted curtains I bought.
I attach the first set of curtains to the hooks and survey my work.
Though The Hole is still the only place to get through to either apartment, the holes everywhere, even covered with mesh and bits of plaster in some cases, left me feeling too exposed.
The black curtains now hang floor to ceiling and do an admirable job of blocking the entire wall.
Avery stands to help me set up the other hooks and curtains, and that seems to be the cue for the others to begin cleaning up for the evening.
When all is swept and vacuumed, I set our plates in the sink.
Jack’s shirtsleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and he rinses and puts dishes into my dishwasher without a word.
The kitchen feels even smaller than its tiny size warrants, the air heavier than it’s ever felt.
Jack brushes behind me to grab paper towels, and it’s the equilibrium-upsetting equivalent of being electrocuted.
He shows no sign of having the same reaction.
Anna interrupts our flow, insisting to her brother that the night is young and a bar is in order. Again.
Avery, of course, enthusiastically agrees and insists we go, even though going out on a work night is so unlike him, let alone twice in one week.
Margie turns to me and shrugs, grabbing her purse with a raised eyebrow.
I pretend to be engrossed in the button panel on my dishwasher, privately hoping they’ll have all gone away by the time I look up.
That is, until Jack presses the wash cycle button and towels off his hands, leveling me a flat look.
“Complicated, finding that wash button.”
“Yeah, I’m not going out, sorry. Work tomorrow, and I’m on point for a big project. And then I have an after-work thing before the party,” I announce.
To Avery, I offer an apologetic look. “I just have to put in an appearance at a dinner, and then I’m coming straight to your party. Okay? I tried to say no, but Rochelle wouldn’t let me. I couldn’t avoid it.”
Avery looks momentarily aggrieved, but it’s gone in a blink. “All right. Just don’t miss my speech? I have to point to you in the crowd for a joke at the beginning.”
“Of course!”
Everyone files out of my apartment, and I move to make way for Jack to do the same. But he stops next to me, as if this was a party we hosted jointly and we’re seeing our guests out. Alarm streaks through me. He was supposed to leave!
He smiles and then dips down to whisper, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of my earlobe, “Nice try, coward. I’m not going anywhere.”