Chapter 11
My hand hovered over the phone, debating whether to answer, and all the while, the opening riff of “PRTY GRLS” played.
I could just let it go to voicemail. But, most likely, he’d just keep calling.
I should just answer and get it over with.
Did I want to talk to him? No, definitely not.
He was annoying. I didn’t have space in my life for him. But those eyes, those curls…Yes.
I swiped to answer the call and using my coolest tone, I said, “Hello, Jack.”
I heard his ridiculously cheerful voice. “Hi Eve. Took you long enough to decide.” Why did my body get all goose-pimply? Didn’t it get the memo that this man was seriously annoying?
“What do you want, Jack?” I know my tone was snappish, but on the inside my fangirl was swooning like a lovestruck teen. He called! He called! He hadn’t ridden off in his taxi forgetting all about me!
“I seem to recall, Eve, that I promised to introduce you to New York’s best pizza. Want to go get some for dinner tonight?”
My heart lurched sideways. He was asking me out?
A date? Not forced by circumstances but, presumably, because he wanted to see me?
I took a deep breath and reminded myself of all the reasons that this was a bad idea.
1–He was the most annoying person I knew.
2–I was very busy with work. 3–I knew that if it went farther than casual dating, he’d gut me like a fish.
Well, emotionally speaking. I didn’t actually think that he was a murderer. Other than murdering my reputation.
“Hello, are you still there? Having more decision constipation, Eve?”
I rolled my eyes, even though he couldn’t see me. “I’m sorry, Jack. I’m working late, so that’s not possible. Thank you for the offer, though. Consider your promise fulfilled.”
“Not by a long shot, hon. I’ll be seeing you.” And he hung up. No good-bye, no “are you available later in the week,” just click. OK, Jack. Play it weird and cryptic. It’s what you’re good at.
I shrugged off the conversation and tried to focus back on my work.
The sooner I finished up this portion, the sooner I could get home to my…
oh boy, what did I have in my fridge that I could eat for dinner without cooking?
Um, yogurt, I guess. It didn’t sound enticing, but it sounded better than having to go out and pick up something.
I was scanning the columns of numbers, looking for inconsistencies, when I heard a rap on my office door.
I’d watched Diane leave, so I had no idea who it could be.
I opened the door and a pizza delivery guy with a red and white striped shirt and an Authentic Vinnie’s Pizza ball cap on his head was standing in the door holding a large pizza box and an Authentic Vinnie’s Pizza tote.
“I’m sorry, you must have the wrong office,” I said, although the pizza smelled so good that I was practically drooling.
The delivery guy had his head bent over the receipt taped to the top of the box. “Nope,” he said in a gravelly voice, “It says this order is for Eve Lambert, and that’s what the office door says.”
“Oh,” was all I could manage, surprised. Had, perhaps Jack done this sweet thing for me? Ordered dinner, since he knew I was working late? “Well, come in and set it down over on the coffee table. How much do I owe you?” I turned to get my wallet out of my purse.
The guy kept his head down and said, “It’s all been taken care of, including the tip.”
“Oh,” I said, again. I’m quite the wordsmith when I’m surprised. “Well, thank you.”
As I was turning back, he said in a softer voice, “Can I share it with you, Eve?”
My heart raced as I heard that voice. He lifted his head, and I couldn’t help laughing out loud at Jack. He looked so pleased that he’d fooled me. I rolled my eyes again, since he could now see me, nodded my head, and said, “Sure Jack. You may share the pizza you brought me.”
He was grinning at he opened the tote bag.
“It’s not just pizza. I brought the works.
We’ve got some red wine, some wine glasses, sorry they’re plastic, some salad, in case you’re fanatical about greens, breadsticks, and some of those amazing little Italian lemon Amaretti cookies.
” He spread out the feast on the coffee table, including a generous stack of napkins, paper plates, and forks.
We sat side by side on the couch as he lifted the lid on the box.
A wave of delicious pizza smell hit me—smokey, like it came from a real wood-fired oven, yeasted dough, tomato sauce, oregano, basil.
Drool. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until I took a whiff of it and had to hold myself back from diving face first into the box.
Jack lifted a generous slice onto a plate and handed it to me. “I hope you’re not picky about toppings.”
I took a bite and might have moaned. It was SO good. His eyes twinkled as he watched me eating. I chewed and swallowed. “I can handle anything on a pizza except anchovies. They’re way too salty.”
“Good thing I, too, am averse to small salty fish. Zero anchovies on this baby.” He took a large bite and made similar noises of appreciation.
“You weren’t kidding when you said this was the best pizza in New York.
It’s amazing! How did you find it?” I was already eyeballing a second piece.
I’m sure the salad was nice, but it could easily go spend the night in my fridge.
This warm pizza with the gooey cheese would not wait.
I helped myself to a piece that had a particularly dense sprinkling of olives.
“It’s a place near where we practice, so the band hangs out there a lot,” he answered, pulling a long string of cheese off his chin. He wiped his hands on a napkin and said, “Wine?”
“Yes, please!” I wasn’t going to ignore a single aspect of this glorious feast. Except maybe the salad. I’d already had a salad today, and I needed to save room for the cookies.
While Jack poured us generous glasses of wine, I kicked off my shoes and tucked my feet beside me on the couch. I took a moment to appreciate the wine, smelling and sipping. A great deal could be forgiven with the offering of pizza and a good wine.
“So, long time no see, Eve. Did you miss me?” Jack’s eyes crinkled up as he smiled while taking a bite of pizza.
“Wow, it’s been almost a whole three days, Jack. In that time, I only had to call the suicide hotline twice. But I think I’m handling the separation a little better now.” I’m pretty sure he picked up on the dryness of my tone.
“Now that I’m here, you mean.” His face showed he was only too pleased with himself as he reached across me to grab a breadstick.
“Of course that’s what I meant, Jack. How could I possibly survive without you?” I asked sarcastically.
“Well, besides pining for me, what have you been doing?” he asked with raised brows.
“It’s been just like an amusement park. Laundry, shopping, hitting the gym, calling my grandmother. You know. Your basic thrill ride.” I sipped my wine and helped myself to a cookie. Dang these were good! They just melted in your mouth with a whisper of sweetness.
“Calling your grandmother? Did you tell her all about me?” His waggling eyebrows showed he was amused.
And possibly referencing the fact that we’d shared a bed for two nights.
Little knowing that was something she’d cheer on.
Grandmère was always worried about my love life, wanting to see me settled with someone.
“What have you been doing, Jack?” It struck me that while he knew quite a bit about me, I knew very little about what his life was like.
“Oh, mainly practicing. We’ve got a concert coming up and the guys aren’t too pleased that I took off. I’ll have to do a bit of groveling, and a lot of practicing, to get back in their good graces.”
“Where do you practice?” I wanted to get a clearer picture of what his days were like.
“We’ve got a great converted loft space. You should come see it sometime!”
I took another cookie and another sip of wine. “That would be fun.”
He flashed me a smile, pleased with my answer. Seeing that I was on to dessert, Jack closed the lid on the pizza box and turned to me. “Do you like to dance?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” My college boyfriend and I had loved dancing together.
Jack stood up, wiped his lips and fingers on a napkin and held out his hand to me. “May I have this dance, Miss Lambert?”
I laughed. “What? Here? We have no music.”
“Easily remedied,” he replied and pulled out his phone. Flicking through several screens, he found one that made him smile and hit play. I took his hand and rose as the lilting melody of Michael Bublè’s “Everything” filled the room.
Jack drew me toward him and placed his free hand on my waist. In such close proximity, I was overwhelmed by his masculinity, his firm yet gentle grip on me, his woodsy cologne, and his dark eyes, looking intently into mine. My heart rate accelerated, and I felt a bit dizzy.
To lighten the moment I said, “Michael Bublè? I wouldn’t have figured you for a fan.” My voice sounded high and breathy.
“I love good music. All kinds of music. Some more than others, but I appreciate lovely tunes and well-crafted lyrics. And I’m somewhat lazy, so I appreciate it when someone’s already put my thoughts to music.
” I mulled that over as I listened to the words.
Did he mean that he’d chosen those words for me?
He pulled back and gave me a careful spin before clasping me in his arms and swaying again.
With a smile he asked, “What? Did you think I only listen to my own music? That’d be a bit narcissistic, wouldn’t it?
” Pulling me closer, he rested his head on top of mine and I leaned my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
Being in his arms felt incredible, like I was safe and warm.
He gave me another spin and then ended the song with a low dip.
As he pulled me up, I was laughing and flushed, both from the wine and the dancing. And his touch.
He picked up his phone, turned off the music and pocketed it. The silence blossomed between us. I felt unsure what to do. Was he expecting something from me? He gave me a considering look then went over to the coffee table. We’d polished off the bottle of wine, but there was still pizza in the box.
“Would you like this?” he asked politely.
“No thanks. I’m full.” I answered, still feeling awkward.
“Ok, I’ll feed it to Animal.”
“Animal? Is that your dog?”
He laughed heartily. “No, Animal is my drummer. He has wild, red hair and is a little bit crazy, so I call him Animal, like the Muppets. He’s also my human garbage disposal.
He’ll eat anything. If I bring him cold pizza tomorrow, he’ll treat me like a king.
Well, in reality, that means he won’t throw his sticks at me when I piss him off. ”
“Sounds like your band relationships are…interesting.”
“You have no idea, Eve,” he chuckled.
He stepped closer and my heart sped up. Was he going to try to kiss me? Should I let him? The question was settled when his lips brushed my cheek.
“Good night, Eve,” he whispered in my ear, sending chills skittering down my spine. He grabbed the pizza box and with a parting wink, walked out of my office.
I sat down at my desk, flummoxed. Obviously, I wasn’t going to be getting any more work done tonight.
My brain was totally occupied with Jack—the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed, the way his hands holding my waist felt strong and warm, and the intensity in his eyes when he dipped me.
And that song—had he meant those words for me?
The chills returned and had nothing to do with the temperature in my office.
I sighed, packed up my briefcase, and headed home.