Life in a Rut, Love not Included (Love Not Included series Book 1) (11 page)

Hitting the last step, I stop to admire the view and take a good look at him. His presence sends warm chills down my lady parts. He has changed into a button-up charcoal shirt and a new pair of jeans. His black blazer hangs just right on his broad shoulders. His dark hair, still damp from a shower, is combed back in a messy wave.

I can tell my mom hears my arrival because she wraps up her praises and excuses herself into the kitchen. I hit the bottom step and see Jack turn his attention to me. Our eyes connect and for a moment he just stares at me.

“Everything OK?” I ask, nervous that I might have toilet paper stuck to my face or something.

“Wow,” he says, still staring.

“Is my shirt inside out?” I instinctively look down, feeling my shirt for outside seams.

“No, no. You just look . . . stunning.”

He starts to walk towards me. As I step down the last stair to walk his direction, he stops in front of me. “I’m sorry.” He pauses. “I just wasn’t expecting . . . Wow.” He looks at me in bewilderment. The warmth and satisfaction I feel at the way he is looking at me is so fulfilling, knowing I am finally showing the real me.

“Apparently I need to clean up more often around you then,” I say to break the ice.

Jack wraps his hand around my waist and bends his head down to my ear. “I would have taken you either way,” he whispers. Then he pulls away, now rendering me speechless, and begins to lead me towards the door. I think I say goodbye to my mom, but I’m not sure. I might have actually floated out of the house with him, to his truck.

A
FTER JACK HELPS ME
into his manly macho truck, we head to the next town over while we discuss our evening plans. He insists on taking us to a nice restaurant, but I insist we not. We settle on a tavern in mid-town that has great pool, all the beers on tap you can think of, and an even better bar food menu.

We are seated at a table closer to the back, by a waitress who seriously needs to get her manners in check. Ogling at my date the whole way to our seat is not getting her any brownie points with me. Note to self: Skimp on her tip.

Not even noticing the Skanktress, Jack pulls out my chair for me to sit. “What can I get you to drink?” the McSkanktress asks, looking only in Jack’s direction.

“Whatever she wants and then I’ll have the same,” Jack says, looking at me with a devilish grin. So maybe he is not completely blind to this skanky waitress’s antics. Good boy.

After making her recite every single beer on tap, which was about twenty-one, then asking her to repeat them all, due to my poor memory of course, I order us two Belgian brewed taps and send her on her skanky way.

“Bad memory huh?” He laughs, settling in his chair.

“That will teach her to work a little less hard for her tips,” I tell him, and we start laughing, both witnessing the scowl on her face as she stands by the bar reciting our order.

“So . . .” I begin. “How did you or your dad get into the construction business?”

“Well, my dad inherited the business from his dad. Started out small and local. Would do just small jobs for locals, neighbors, you know. Then my dad turned a few jobs into a lot of jobs, and saved every penny to begin his own separate company building houses and taking on bigger jobs here and there. I would work for him during the summers when I was home from school. Then the summer after I graduated college, he had a heart attack while driving to a site, and died. Left me everything. I couldn’t let all his years of hard work die with him, so I basically picked up where he left off.”

Wow. I was not expecting it to get so deep, so fast. It makes me feel sorry for Jack, losing a parent. It makes me want to comfort him for his loss and his sacrifice. “I’m sorry again to hear about your dad.”

“Don’t be, it was a long time ago. He was a great man.”

I try moving us along to lighter topics. “You said after college . . . What did you get your degree in?”

“I graduated from MIT with a degree in Architecture,” he answers back with nonchalance in his voice, but I can sense a bit of regret in his tone.

Our bar maid at this moment decides to return with our drinks. She hands Jack his first of course then puts mine by me without even looking my way. “Is there anything else you need right now?” she asks, practically batting her eyes him. Is this chick for real?

“Nope, I have everything I want right in front of me,” he responds without taking his eyes off of me. Bar Hooch clicks her tongue in annoyance and turns her tail back to the bar. I think I’m in love with this man.

We spend the next two hours talking and getting to know each other. Jack is simply amazing. I learn that he and I share the same interest in basically everything. I also learn sadly that after college he had landed a major spot in a huge architecture firm but had to walk away from it when his dad died. He told me he lived just across town in a small ranch that he and his dad built. He said it was still a work in progress, and he was only able to work on it when business was slow, which wasn’t too often the last couple of years. I told him about my reckless college bar stories and what I thought I might want to do with my life, though I wasn’t quite sure anymore. He asked about Aunt Raines, and I gave him the full story, happiness, Uncle Merle and all.

Three games of pool, a few lagers and a really grouchy waitress later, I am feeling relaxed and carefree. “You up for one more game of pool, or are you done having me whoop your ass?” he says.

I giggle at his comment, because it’s the truth. He washed me of three straight games. At this point I’m not only feeling carefree, but I’m also feeling a little bold. That’s what international lager will do to you. “Oh, you betcha.”

Jack laughs. “Good. I’m going to run to the bathroom real quick. Get the table ready for your last and final defeat.” At that I stick my tongue out at him. Because it’s mature and I’m well on my way to being a bit drunk. I watch Jack walk away and fail to take my eyes away from his swaying ass. What I wouldn’t do to wrap my hands around those tight cheeks and squeeze, while under
. . . Geez, get your head out of the gutter, Sarah.
I turn to the table and begin to gather the balls.

“Hey sweetheart, you look like you can use a friend.” Startled, as hands wrap around my waist, I whip around to face a dude I do not recognize with a smirk on his face.

“Get your hands off me,” I say a bit nervous, because this guy is huge and doesn’t look like he knows the word no.

“Why don’t you and I have a dance or two and get to know each other better?”

Debating how fast I can take my pool stick and bash it across this guy’s face and run, I thankfully sense Jack as he steps possessively behind me. “You need something, buddy?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Looks like this little lady needs some company and you seemed to have left so I’m steppin’ in.”

“Are you kidding me, pal?” Jack spits out. There it is. That anger. The same anger he directed at me the first day I met him on the street. Being on the other end of his anger now, I can’t help but feel completely turned on by his dominance. Jack grabs at my hand in an attempt to guide me behind him, most likely in case fists are to be thrown down.

“I ain’t kiddin’ man, you wanna go?” the creepy dude asks. “I’ll take you out for a piece of that ass.”

Just then, Jack lunges at the guy. Taking his fist swiftly to the guy’s nose, I watch as the guy’s head jerks back and slams against the wall. “You want more, pal? Or did you want me to explain to you a little bit more that she is taken, and it ain’t by you.”

“Fuck you, man! You just broke my nose!”

Jack goes to strike again, when another guy approaches in an attempt to break things up. “Dale, it’s OK man, let it go. Let’s get out of here.”

“Yeah
Dale,
” Jack says. “I think it’s time you get the fuck outta here. “

The guy spits out blood that is dripping from his nose.

“Fuck you and your fucking whore.”

Before Jack can lunge again I step in front of him and place both of my hands on his chest. The guy’s buddy drags the other guy away, out of the bar, and leaves us standing by the pool table. Jack is breathing heavily. If I’m not mistaken, he seems to be shaking. He takes both of his hands and swipes his fingers through his hair, then he steps out of my reach and goes to sit back at the table. I stand there, debating on when is a good time to intercept his mood. I walk slowly back to the table and sit down in my seat across from him.

“Hey, you OK?” I ask. He doesn’t respond. “You wanna talk about what just happened?”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “If I ruined the night and you want me to take you home, that’s fine—”

“No, it’s cool,” I say. “I love when men get all caveman on me. I just wanted to make sure you’re OK. You got pretty angry back there.”

“I’m sorry. As you have witnessed enough by now, I have a bit of a temper. I guess I am no better than you with my experiences with people who can’t keep their hands to themselves. I don’t want to get into it, but obviously there’s an ex . . .” Jack takes a deep breath to calm himself down, but I can tell he’s still in his head while he tries to finish with his explanation. I feel the need to shift the mood immediately, because this sore topic is not one that either of us wants to dwell on, I’m sure.

Since I have had a lot to drink tonight, I think to do the only thing I know will calm Jack down completely, and the only thing I know I’ve been aching to do since we got to the bar.

I stand up, failing miserably in my attempt not to stumble, and walk around the table to Jack’s chair. He slowly turns so his legs are now out from under the table, and I step in closer to place my hips in-between his thighs. I raise my hands and wrap my arms around his neck.

Jack stares at me, his eyes glazed over with desire. Obviously fighting back the urge to take over, he allows me to follow through with my mission. Once I get a good grasp around his neck, I lock eyes with him.
God, he is beautiful.

Slowly, I lower my head and press my lips against his. His mouth is warm and inviting. I’m pretty sure we both feel the spark that shoots through us once our lips touch, and our tongues connect. Just then, he decides he can’t stand back any longer and takes control, deepening our kiss.

Jack raises his hands and wraps his strong warm arms around my waist, tugging me closer in-between his thighs and against his chest. I just can’t get enough of this man. I tighten my hold on his neck even harder and press my body into his. I can feel the massive delight straining his jeans. Our tongues connect for round two and that erotic spark goes off again. I’m pretty sure a moan just uncurled from the back of my throat and escaped my mouth.

This might be the hottest thing that I have ever done. Openly making out in a bar with a gorgeous guy! I mean, I am participating in PDA and it is so hot. My inner self takes a spin and bows. Just as . . .

“Sarah?” I hear from behind me.

I break away from Jack’s mouth and gasp for air. With him still holding me close, I turn around.

Stacey.

What the hell is she doing here?
I look past her to see a private table, with a group of clients—by the looks of them. I forget not everyone is unemployed. I turn my eyes back to Stacey. She stands looking at me a few feet from our table, holding the Gucci clutch purse that hangs from around her shoulder. Her shiny hair is in a perfect ponytail, and she’s dressed in what is most likely an Armani skirt and blouse. Looking not a stitch out of place, she radiates as if life has been nothing but great for her. I feel my body stiffen in Jack’s arms.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she says. “I saw you just as I was on my way out. I was going to leave but I wanted to see if maybe, hopefully, we could talk.”

This is not happening.
She has to be kidding me right now! I am literally speechless. Four months away from them, away from that job, that life, and I come face-to-face with Stacey in some random bar while on my first date with Jack. I assume Jack can feel me start to shake because he suddenly holds me tighter.

I dreamt about this moment for months. The things I would say if put in front of her. I would ask her how she could have done that to me. Years and years of friendship, worth nothing because she chose to throw it all away. Now that it’s happening, I don’t even know where to start, what to do. I just freeze.

“Sarah, are you going to say anything? I’m sorry, please talk to me. You don’t understand. I miss you! I messed up, I’m so sorry . . .” Then she begins to softly cry. Waiting for me to say anything at all, she continues. “You just left, and didn’t give me an opportunity to explain. Steve lied to me too. He made all these promises to me and—”

That. Is. It.

The only instinct that kicks in is my arm movement. I raise my hand and smack her across the face. The sound echoes throughout the bar. People turn and onlookers stop playing their games and turn toward us. Stacey grabs her face while staring at me in complete shock.

I watch Stacey’s mouth gape open at the realization of my actions, and she steps towards me. “How dare you! You ungrateful—” she begins, and I go to raise my hand again for round two. That’s when Jack stands up, grabs my arm and braces my body against his. I fight against his hold to get at her because I am going to claw her goddamned eyes out!