Life in a Rut, Love not Included (Love Not Included series Book 1) (12 page)

While trying to maneuver my whaling body, Jack flips a bunch of bills on the table, then throws me over his shoulder and starts walking out of the bar. Before making it to the door, I lift up my head to stare Stacey down. Facing our way, she is still staring at us, her open mouth gaping like a fish out of water.

“I feel sorry for you, Stacey. You can have him!” I spit out, right before we step out of the door.

Jack carries me until we are just outside his truck. He slowly sets me down and holds both hands around my shoulders to assess my mood. He’s probably debating if he should let go or not, whether I am going to bolt and go back inside the bar for a final blow.

“Are you OK?” he asks, measuring my mood.

“I’m great,” I say. “Couldn’t be better.” Lie.

If I let you go, are you going to start running?”

“No.” Lie. Lie.

“Are you lying to me?”

“No.” Lie. Lie. Lie. Man, is he like all in my head right now?

I can’t seem to catch my breath. I feel my fight dying off and giving in to the sadness and regret that I feel. Then my shoulders slump on Jack’s hands and I lay me head on his chest. I begin to cry, because I really don’t know how else to express my overwhelming emotions right now.

Jack adjusts his arms and moves his hands from my shoulders so they are now wrapped around me. Beyond my soft cries, I can hear him telling me it’s OK.

I knew this day would come, I just didn’t know how hard it was going to be. To look Stacey in the face and hope to see the guilt wash over her features. The shame and the admittance of what she did to me. All which after seeing did nothing to erase what happened. The worst part of it was that she thought she could just come to me and apologize and as always I would be the pushover and accept. Brush it under the table and we can go on being who we were. It makes me sick to think how fake our friendship actually was.

I gradually pull myself together, and stop crying. I look up at Jack and his eyes are so soft and understanding. He helps me in the truck and shuts my door for me. Seconds later, he climbs in the driver’s side and starts the car.

“I’m sorry . . .” I say while looking away from him.

“Don’t be. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not sure there is anything else to add in. I’m sure you got the gist from good ole’ Becky the other day. I met Stacey and Steve pretty much right out of college. Stacey was my roommate and best friend. Steve was my boyfriend for seven years. We worked together. The corporation I worked for was actually owned by his father. We were together for close to seven years. Now that I look back, I’m not sure how many of those years we were actually exclusive. I came home one day to find Stacey and Steve in bed together, in the nice apartment I shared with Stacey. Neither one attempted to save grace. They let me leave. I showed up at work a few days later, and went bonkers on Steve in front of the entire board. Threw a few harsh words around, vocally gave my resignation, and walked out. Then I paid a service to pack my things out of the apartment, and ended up on my parents’ doorstep a little while later. Go figure. The one place I was so eager to get away from.”

Jack doesn’t say anything back. He just listens. At some point in my explanation he had taken my hand in his.

“I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“Don’t be, please. I don’t need anyone’s pity,” I say, then I snatch my hand away from his. That was not the response I was looking for.

“I didn’t say it to feel sorry for you, Sarah. I said it because I’m sorry you had to go through that. I’m
not
sorry you are not with someone anymore that could have just thrown something like you away.” When he finishes, he grabs my hand and places it back in his. Then he pulls our joined hands to his lips and presses a gentle kiss to the back of my palm. He looks me in the eyes and squeezes my hand.

We are silent for some time before I break the ice again.

“I’m sorry, Jack. It’s just hard to have people look at me as the pathetic one who had to crawl back home. I have spent too much time over the past months feeling sorry for myself that I just can’t have someone else joining in on the pity party.”

“Then stop letting it,” he says.

“Excuse me?”

“Stop feeling sorry or pity for yourself. You didn’t do anything wrong, Sarah. You were sideswiped by two individuals who didn’t think past themselves. I’ve known you less than two weeks and all I can focus on is your charm and humor. You’re beautiful and smart. Your ambition and success is all because you pushed yourself and you got there. I see nothing but amazing. You should too. If they didn’t, then screw ’em.”

I stare at him. Simply stare.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

Jack lets out a soft chuckle. “You don’t need to thank me either, Sarah. I’m just telling you what I see.”

I am not sure anyone in my entire life has said something so kind and so genuine. I think I definitely love him. And every time my name leaves his tongue it sends a jolting spark straight down my stomach, right to my golden spot.

Jack finally pulls into my driveway and sets the truck in park. He adjusts his body so he is slanted in my direction and starts to speak. Like a wild tiger, I jump over the seat and throw myself onto his lap. I crush my lips to his and nonverbally thank him for his kind words. He responds instantly and grabs my hips and crushes my body to his. I can’t get enough of his mouth. He tastes so good. I feel like I say that a lot.

“I can’t get enough of your mouth,” I mutter between tongue lashes, not certain it sounds like more than a muffle.

“You taste so good,” he responds while adjusting my mouth to kiss me deeper.

“It’s probably the aftertaste of the hops.
No one
can resist a good lager,” I say breathlessly then reconnect with his mouth.

He pulls away just a hair to speak. “No, it’s you. You taste fantastic. The smell of your skin. The feel of your tongue. I’m not sure I’m going to be able to stop kissing you this time.”

My heart abruptly stops. I pull away and stare into his beautiful eyes. At this point they are blaring black orbs, screaming desire for me.

Jack takes his hands and puts pressure against the back of my head to bring me closer to his mouth. “I thought I just told you I didn’t want this kiss to stop?” he says teasingly in a bit of frustration.

“I don’t know where you came from, but thank you,” I tell him quickly and place my lips back where they belong. He opens my mouth with his tongue and we reconnect with a spark that sends both of us moaning. He slides one hand down my back and connects with my butt, then lightly squeezes. This may be the hottest thing I have done ever. I thought the bar scene was hot, but this might be topping it. I am straddling this hunk of a man in his macho truck, while he does his magic to my mouth and my body.

My head is swimming, I am so lost in emotion. My body is screaming to be ravished right in this truck. My heart is aching to just hold on and my brain is, well, mush at this point. I am like a wound-up alley cat in heat, ready to explode.

Anxiously, I push back from him and send my shaky hands straight to his pants. I make a weak attempt to unbutton his pants, while his free hand moves to the front of my stomach and inside my shirt.
Oh, heavens above.
His hands are so hot on my skin, I’m sure that he is going to leave marks. While he moves upward towards my Bs, I push my butt back to get better access. If I don’t touch goods in less than five seconds, I’m going to cry. I jerk my butt back further which lands on the steering wheel, sending the horn honking dramatically into the night. We break apart, startled by the unwanted sound. We are both breathing heavily and are struggling to get our crazed emotions in order. We take the next couple of seconds to stare at each other before I break the silence.

“Holy cow,” I whisper very slowly.

Jack’s only response is a soft chuckle. He takes his hand from under my shirt and presses the lever on the side to adjust the seat back.

Then, in the distance, we notice the front porch light turn on. Probably my mom wondering why there’s a blaring horn going off outside the window. I take one last look at Jack and separate my lower self from his lap. I may have groaned out loud at the loss of his warm body. We both sit in his truck staring forward for a minute until the light goes off.

“Well,” I say. “I’m not sure where that came from, but thank you.”

Jack laughs again. “Well, you’re welcome, and come back soon.”

I giggle in return. We fall silent again.

“I should go inside. My mother is probably sitting there peeking out the blinds, waiting to catch me in action. Unfortunately I lacked adolescent outbursts when I was younger. This might be making up for all the lost years of catching her teenage daughter in the act.”

“Sure.”

“Thanks for the wonderful, albeit eventful, evening. I’ll . . . uh . . . I’ll see you around,” I say, pretty sure with a blush in my cheeks.

Jack nods at me in amusement.

Seeing as it’s my cue to exit stage left, I open the door and jump out. I walk to the front door and look back at Jack who is still staring my way. I give him the lame-o wave, because at this point my brain has taken a sabbatical, and walk inside.

I shut the door behind me and lean against the wooden frame. I stand there until I can no longer hear the purrs of his truck engine. After what feels like ages, I take in a huge breath and exhale. The light in the living room suddenly shoots on, and I jump up probably three feet in the air. I see my mother crouched over by the couch in a lean-to position.

“Oh boy, does that man look like a nice kisser . . .”

I gape at my mother in horror. “What?! You scared the hell out of me!”

“Well that would seem to happen, when your head is stuck in the gutter, dear,” she says, and then she climbs off the couch, walks past me, and up the stairs back to bed.

Mental reminder: Move out of my parents’ house.

I
LOVE DREAMING. I
was always one who could dream all night and be able to remember them when I woke up. Depending on what was going on in my life, the food I ate, the drinks I consumed, my dreams were always so wild and out there, but they always felt so real. At my current state of dreaming, I am in the most wondrous position you can think of. Lying on my back, I have Jack on top on me, and my legs are wrapped around his strong waist. My hands are working their way down his bare chest. The touch of his hard body sends a wave of ecstasy down my spine.

I work my hands down past his hard abs and make my way to his backside to grab his firm ass. Oh god, he is so hard and delicious, and oh god, I can feel his bulge press against my lady parts as his head dips into the curve of my neck and he begins to nibble his way up to my ear.
Oh god, I love dreams.
I can hear his voice calling my name and it’s the one thing that is going to send me over the edge.

“Sarah?” I hear it again, and holy mother does his voice feel real and hot against my ear, moving his way around my neck.

“Oh Jack . . .” I whimper, possibly out loud since this is getting way too intense.

His hands feel so real, grazing against my cheek. “Yes?”

What the hell?

My eyes fly open to a very close, very real-life Jack leaning over me with a guilty twinkle in his eyes. My reaction is swift and not smooth, as I fly up head-first straight forward, making contact with his head. We both touch our heads.

“Ouch!” he says. “Why did you just head butt me?”

“What are you doing in here?” I say quite frantically, rubbing at my forehead. How long has he been in here? Oh god, was I just moaning his name?

“Well, you were moaning my name,” he echoes.

Kill. Me. Now.

“What are you doing in my room?” I sit up, pulling my blankets closer to my chest.

“Your mother let me in. Her and your father went for breakfast. Wanted me to let them know when you got up. But I see that you were busy enjoying yourself.”

Has anyone ever actually died of embarrassment? Because I think I’m about to be the first.

“I’m not really sure what you heard or think was going on, but I was just having the most horrible dream.” Yep, I’m going to try and play this one off.

Jack bursts out laughing.

Fail.

Moving on. “So why are you up here, Jack?” I attempt to regain control of the conversation.

“Well I was thinking about your list. And I wanted to make you an offer.” He sits down on my bed and adjusts his waist to face me. “Now hear me out before you jump the gun and say no . . .”

“OK, do I want to know where you’re going with this?”

He grabs one of my hands that’s clutching the blanket and pulls it down and squeezes. “So,” he begins, “I think I have some ideas to help you conquer some of your list. Starting with: Complete a goal. Now hear me out. I have some small projects that have been sitting on the backburner at the site. They could use your eyes and expertise. I was hoping that in-between job and soul searching, you could spend some time helping me with these projects. I will pay you of course. And I will also make sure you don’t stop until they are complete. We both win. I get work that’s been building up completed and you cross completing a goal off your list.”