Have Me. Jo Leigh
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toward the front table where the cards were spread out for the taking, indecisive about putting Gerard back into the mix. For a moment, she was tempted. Tempted to forget she’d decided only minutes ago that she was done with all this. Maybe one more try? But that thought was dismissed the moment she remembered what she had waiting for her back at the office. Even if she wanted to try again, now wasn’t the time. The dinner, which was more of a banquet complete with orchestra and dancing, was in just over a week, and if she found time to sleep between now and then, it would be a miracle.
Someone—Bree?—pushed into her from behind into the long table. “Hey, jeez.” What was this, sale day at Barneys? Rebecca dropped Gerard’s card on top of the pile and was in the process of getting out of the way when a tiny little tap stopped her.
She picked up the trading card resting against her hip. Then she stared. The name on the top was Jake Donnelly. The picture made all her female parts stand up and take notice. So to speak. Because he was the single most attractive man she’d ever seen. Ever. He wasn’t the handsomest, but handsome was easy, handsome was proportions and ratios and cultural biases. No, Jake Donnelly was the man who fit her. She hadn’t realized until right now that she’d carried a blueprint in her brain, made of exacting specifications down to the texture of his eyebrows.
They were on the thick side, dark. As dark as his hair, which was parted, long on the collar, unstudied, and, oh, who was she kidding, it was his eyes. They were an astonishing blue. Not pale, but a vibrant, piercing cerulean. The rest of his face was great, fabulous, a perfect frame; rugged enough that the parts of her that weren’t transfixed by his eyes were doing a happy dance about the rest.
A happy dance? Okay, so it wasn’t a sale at Barneys, it was high school and she was swooning over the quarterback. Even when she’d been in high school she hadn’t swooned. This was unprecedented in every way.
She blinked. Took in a much-needed breath. Looked around. Just like in the movies, sounds returned, the picture in her hand wasn’t the only thing in focus and she was Rebecca once more.
Almost.
She turned the card over, found out Donnelly had been recommended by Katy Groft. Rebecca made her way through the tightly packed crowd and sidled up to Katy, an NYU postgrad studying physics.
“Oh, you found Jake.”
“Please tell me he looks like this picture.”
Katy grinned. “Oh, he’s even better.”
“Oh, God.” Rebecca didn’t dare look to see which category he fell in … marrying kind, dating or one-night stand. Not until she asked “Is he already taken?”
“Nope. You’re in luck.”
“Thank God. Because wow. He is …”
Katy sighed. “It pains me, it truly does. Because he’s a sweetheart and he’s funny, decent and very discreet. But he doesn’t want a relationship at all. He’s extremely private, too, so if that’s going to bother you—”
“Private’s good. Private and discreet is even better. Can you call him? Oh, he’s probably at work now.”
“Did you not read the back of the card?”
Rebecca felt a little blush steal across her cheeks. “Um …” She turned it over.
* His favorite restaurant: Luigi’s Pizza in Windsor Terrace.
* Marry, date or one-night stand: One night.
* His secret passion: No idea. But he’s renovating his father’s house in Brooklyn between jobs.
* Watch out for: Nothing, actually. He was great. I found him through my uncle whom I trust beyond measure.
* Why it didn’t work out: Nothing scary here. Hot and fun. He’s not sure what he’s going to do with his life.
Katy laughed, which made Rebecca tear her eyes away from Jake’s picture.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Katy said. “I’ll call him right now.”
“That would be very, very good.”
THE SINK WASN’T COOPERATING. It was a heavy sonofabitch, and he couldn’t just drop it into the new vanity, but the guy on the DIY DVD was talking too fast and Jake needed to rewind to get that last bit. He shifted the sink in his arms until it was balanced between him and the wall, unfortunately on his bad leg, then reached for his laptop. A second before his finger reached the touch pad, his walkie-talkie squawked. “Jake?”
Jake swore, which he’d been doing a lot this morning. This week. This month. It was his father. Again. About to tell him another idiotic cop joke.
Jake would have preferred not to hear another joke. Not while he was installing his old man’s sink in the new master bath. In fact, not while he was still able to hear. But that’s not how this gig worked.
He paused the DVD, lowered the sink to the floor and pressed the transmit button. “Okay, let’s hear it.”
There was a muffled giggle, a hell of a sound coming from a man who was sixty-three years old. “How many Jersey cops does it take to screw in a lightbulb?”
Jake sighed. This particular joke seemed to be stuck on repeat, as this was the third time he’d heard it in so many days. “How many?”
Now the laughter wasn’t subdued and it wasn’t only his old man laughing. The other two voices belonged to Pete Baskin and Liam O’Hara, all old farts, retired NYPD, bored out of their stinking minds and drunk on nothing but coffee and dominoes. “Just one—” his dad said.
“But he’s never around when you need him,” finished Liam.
The three of them laughed like asthmatic hyenas. The worst part about it? Someone had to be pushing the transmit button the whole damn time in order for Jake to hear it.
“Yo, Old Men?” he said, when he could finally get through.
“Who you calling old?” Pete yelled.
“You three. I’m trying to put in a sink. You know how much this sink weighs? I don’t want to hear one more goddamn cop joke, you got it? No more. I swear to God.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Liam said. “Mikey always said you had no sense of humor.”
“Well, I think he’s damn funny looking, so I guess he’s wrong about that, too.”
“I can still whip your ass, Jacob Donnelly,” his father said, “and don’t you forget it.”
Jake went back to the computer, replayed the section about the plumbing, then squared off against the sink. It hung off the wall, so the wheelchair wouldn’t be an issue. In fact, the spigot was motion-controlled so his dad wouldn’t have to touch anything if his hands were acting up.
Jake had already widened the door leading into the new master bath. It used to be a guest bathroom before his dad’s rheumatoid arthritis started getting so bad. The wheelchair wasn’t a hundred percent necessary yet, but soon his father wouldn’t be able to make it up to his bedroom on the second floor, even with Jake’s help.
He picked up the damn heavy sink and moved it over to the semipedestal, the plumbing all neatly tucked behind the white porcelain. It actually set easily, and since he’d been getting better with this plumbing business, he didn’t find it necessary to curse the entire time he secured the top to the pedestal.
The problem wasn’t the tools, but the pain. As soon as he could, he stood, stretching out the damaged thigh. The bullet had been a through and through, but what they don’t say on TV is that it goes through muscle and tendon and veins and arteries on its quick voyage into, in his case, a factory wall. At least the thigh was less complicated than the shoulder wound.
Sometimes he felt as if it would have been better for everyone if the bastard had been a better