You Don't Know Jack. Erin McCarthy
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wanted to groan, but instead gestured to the grouping of four chairs to the left of the mail slots. “Let’s just sit for a minute.”
The chairs were really damn uncomfortable—minimalist, armless jobs with stuffing that felt more akin to steel. It was like perching on a big bar of red soap, but at the moment, he couldn’t care less. Jamie was licking her lips again, and she tucked her feet under her legs on the chair.
“Our names both start with J-a,” she said, distracting his attention from her lips. “Is Jack your real name?”
He didn’t care what his name was, but he thought it was cute the quirky things Jamie said sometimes. “My real name is Jonathon.” He couldn’t force another lie past his mouth. “Is Jamie a nickname, too?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Jamie Lynn, that’s me.”
Jamie Lynn. It fit.
As he studied the upturn of her nose, the wild auburn curls, he wondered which name was the real him. Was he Jonathon or was he Jack? Jonathon at work. Jonathon with his parents.
He was Jack with Pops. And definitely Jack with Jamie.
“Well, Jamie Lynn.” He tried to remove the flatness of his Connecticut-raised voice and inject some Kentucky into it. “That’s a mighty fine name.”
She giggled. “I don’t like southern boys.”
He lost the accent. “I’m all New York, honey. But I bet you broke a bunch of good ole boy hearts when you left Kentucky.”
Rolling her eyes, she smiled. “If I broke Dale’s heart, it recovered quickly. Two months after high school graduation he married Trudy Wythbodden, who some girls used to call Trudy Wide Bottom. He wanted me to stay in La Grange and get married, but I had to leave, had to see a bit of the world for myself. I wasn’t trying to escape Kentucky—I loved growing up there—but I don’t know, I just needed some independence.”
“I never thought about going anywhere else. I grew up forty miles from Manhattan, and I guess it seemed stupid to go anywhere else, especially since I wanted to get into finance. But maybe it would have been smart to explore a little more. Maybe I wouldn’t have found myself so tired and burned out.”
Certain that there was more to life than making money. Winning.
Something he had never admitted to himself was that he had suddenly looked in the mirror and wondered if he was destined to grow old alone, a miser counting his coins.
It had scared the shit out of him, and then some.
But what was even scarier was that a year later he was no closer to content, despite ditching the career. When was he going to be done? Ready to stand still.
In his head he practically heard the screech of subway brakes. Now. He was ready now.
“Maybe this is your time to explore,” Jamie said.
“Aren’t I too old to do that? I’m thirty, for God’s sake. Isn’t there like a statute of limitations on finding yourself?” Jack grinned. “Bet old what’s-his-name isn’t interested in backpacking Europe or taking up yoga.”
“Yeah, but he wasn’t worth the spit for the shine, which he proved by falling into Trudy’s arms about a minute after I left.” Jamie fiddled with her necklace, a twisted rope, kind of a knot with green stones in it. “But most people are like paintings…they take forever to create, and every time you look at them, you discover something you didn’t see before.”
Very true. Jack was noticing that the green in Jamie’s necklace perfectly matched her eyes.
And she had freckles. Right across the bridge of her nose.
Freaking adorable, every inch of her.
Eight hours later, the end table next to them was littered with paper coffee cups, their rims going soft, the liquid contents cold, the aroma stale. Jamie’s legs were stiff, her neck tired, her voice scratchy, and her butt numb from the ridiculous scoop chair she’d been sitting in all night.
Yet, she wasn’t the least bit interested in leaving. She had spent the whole night in the lobby talking to Jack, who was funny and kind and extremely smart.
She was going to have to name her first-born child after Beckwith.
Okay, so maybe it wouldn’t go that far, but it wasn’t like she could name her first orgasm or anything, and she was sure that was coming soon, pun intended. The point was, she was falling for Jack. She wanted him more than Derby pie, and that mile-high gooey chocolate dessert was never to be underestimated.
Admittedly, she was a tumbler, falling for various guys and their hard-luck stories, but inevitably, her legs got caught up in the skirt of half-truths, and she fell on her face. For the most part, she’d never minded, because she had never fallen in love.
It was possible she’d done just that in one night.
Or at least taken a serious turn in that direction.
That was the only explanation for the way she felt—sort of inflated and overaware, her skin prickling everywhere, her throat tight, breath anxious. Excitement and pleasure rushed through her, and an irrepressible giddiness made her feet tap rapidly, her heart race.
At some point she was going to have to leave and go home, but for now she didn’t want this night, this moment, this feeling, to end.
Jamie tucked her legs over the back of the chair and leaned backward, observing Jack upside down. No one else was stirring in the lobby at six in the morning on a Saturday. “So, what’s your one big regret in life, Jack?”
His eyebrow went down, or actually up. “Besides that perm in the seventh grade?”
She laughed, holding her hands over her stomach so her shirt wouldn’t ride up. “Fashion faux pas don’t count.”
“I don’t have a one big regret,” he said thoughtfully. “More like a series of little regrets. You know, like when you were six and you went along with the kids when they picked on the kid who was overweight. Or when I blew off this girl in high school who asked me to the prom. The time I forgot my sister’s birthday. Stuff like that.”
Even though the blood was rushing to her head, Jamie stayed upside down. It was an interesting perspective, watching Jack lean closer to her, his hands resting on his spread legs. He had a nice strong jaw.
Jamie’s necklace fell over her mouth, and she let the stones slip between her lips, then bit. She was a chewer. Pen caps, sweatshirt strings, fingernails, her hair.
“I know exactly what you mean,” she said around the necklace.
His arm came toward her, and his finger brushed across her lip, pulling back the obstruction. “Say that again? I couldn’t understand you.”
“Sorry. Bad habit. I’m always sticking things in my mouth. I’ve always been very oral.”
He started laughing, and she suddenly realized how that had sounded. Oh, Lord. She blushed. Especially since he’d moved in closer and she was about an inch from his chest, his fingers still tracing over her mouth, her hair brushing down over his waist.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“What? I didn’t say anything,” he protested, a grin still on his upside-down face.
She needed to right herself before her eyes bulged or she did something crazy like lick his chest. Smiling herself, she tried to sit back up, but she was stuck in the chair, Jack too close for her to swing her legs back around.
“Geez, I’m stuck.” Her back was kind of spasming now, too, protesting the awkward position. But she wasn’t even sure she cared. She just felt too darn good to worry about spinal damage.
Besides, Jack already had it under control. With a few gentle pushes and pulls with those impressive biceps, he had her right side up and facing his