Jack Who? (Book 1 Draft Version)

CHAPTER 18

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“It won't be a problem,” his assurance was accompanied by a naughty look. “I will think about you. I have a good imagination, and even better memory.”

The implications of those words had me flushing for so many reasons and my rejection and dejection must have been plain on my face because empathy replaced the evil smirk in his eyes.

“Get some sleep, okay? I know you've been stressed.”

“So de-stress me,” Keeping my voice light, I tried not to let the desperation show. Even though making out with Jack on the couch had not been a part of any imediate phase, I was ready to roll out a future phase and roll with him. “You owe me. Remember? Stage fright cure?”

This drew a smile and encouraged, I bribed, “I'm wearing red...”

A couple of steps brought him closer where he hooked a finger in the neckline of the dress enough to peer inside. Upon finding that the lingerie matched the dark dress, he only raised challenging brows.

“Well I was hoping you would figure out the truth in a more fun way... “ 

Insane that his nearness and just the barest brush of his finger on my skin could turn me into some harmonal teenager.

“That's how you roll then?  Just let people figure out the truth?"  Lightly, he bantered back; his gaze holding mine a slight second.

There was a tone in his voice and I stepped back, although he was moving away.

“What?" I wondered and nervously fiddled with the bracelet cuffed on my wrist.

Remaining quiet, he grabbed his jacket from the arm of the couch, and as I watched his decorated arms slide into the sleeves, a horrible feeling stained my senses. The idea that his light words were anything but.

“What did you mean by that?” Letting him leave, without opening this can of worms, is what I should have done. But, at the hospital he had hinted of an issue he had with me, then backed away from the topic.

“Nothing, I was joking around...”  Crouching, he laced up his shoes.

Dubiously, I stared, feeling on the brink of some major something in our relationship that had nothing to do with my planned phases. Or was I reading too much into it? When he glanced at me again, I saw in his eyes, the same fleeting shadow I had glimpsed a few times. In agitation, my arms folded across my heavy chest.

Relenting with a last tug of a shoelace, he straightened and spoke.  His tone was turbulent like my feelings, “It seems like just when I feel like something is happening between us, I get mad at you all over again.”

'Feel like something is happening between us...' My heart thudded with happiness then dropped to the pit of my stomach as the rest of his words sank in.

“Mad? At ME?!”  My voice incredulously cracked.

“It's hard not to be when you hid my son from me for almost five years.”

The accusation reeled harder than a slap and I shouted, “I thought you would be mad if you knew! I thought you would think that I was an--an opportunist!” When his eyes remained stormy with accusation, I steamrolled on, “You were so afraid of being screwed over you required a- a sex contract!

“That piece of paper has nothing to do with this! This is about the fact that I would have never known I had a son if he hadn't needed this surgery!”  His voiced raised in anger to match mine, and he punctuated his sentence with an aggrieved sigh.

The guilt pricked.  Slipping out of the uncomfortable 'FM shoes' was the first thing I had done upon returning home, but now I stubbornly dug self-righteous heels into his dirty charges.   “You didn't want to know. My phone calls to you are proof of that!” The memory, of the call he had finally answered, opened a floodgate, and it all poured out; how with a few choice words and a dropped call tone in my ear, he had made me feel like trash.

“I wouldn't have hated on you like that if you would have told me about this,” Squatting, he picked up the tiny crutches from the floor for emphasis.

“You didn't give me a chance. And if you didn't believe what I was telling you, about Tristan being yours, then all the rest was kind of moot wasn't it?”

Heading to the hallway and down it, he stopped in Tristan's room, quietly placing the walking sticks within reach of the bed. Automatically, I followed, holding a few paces back as he pulled the blankets higher over Tristan's tiny body and brushed a gentle hand through his hair. Closing the door, all but a crack, he traipsed toward me, and I led the way back to the den.

Once we were safely out of earshot of Tristan's room, he said, “I told you already. I'm sorry about that call. You've got to understand, my entire life I've been in the limelight, in one way or another. And when you live that way, someone always wants a piece. You discover there are fewer people you can trust, than those you can. All I can do, at this point, is apologize and try to make it up. But you act like your part in this doesn't even matter.”

Taunting my memories was another phone call. The one where I lay on the couch five months pregnant, longing to tell him the secret he was seeking; fantasizing of creating a family with him and not just from him.

“I couldn't tell you!” Shoving the words through clenched teeth, I sought to make him understand. “You are freaking famous--”

“Doesn't change the fact that I am a father.  And I had a right to know it!”

“Okay! Okay. I'm sorry. If I was wrong and you would have wanted in, all of this time, I'm sorry.” Fully aware that it was a crappy apology, I couldn't meet his eyes, and my gaze settled instead on the shelving where Tristan's baby book of milestones was the top of a book stack, instead of buried within it. Obviously, Jack had read through it.

“Dammit, Marissa!” The sofa table was between us, and he rounded it to stand before me. “I don't know what I would have wanted. The point is, I was never given a chance to find out. I do know that no matter what I wanted when it came to a kid, I would have dealt with it. One thing I do know, I wanted you...”

He bent for a kiss, and confused, I jerked away. Insistent hands clamped on my upper arms, holding me in place for the next attempt. Turning my head only resulted in his kiss hitting one of the sweet spots of my neck, and it wasn't long before I turned into it. Just as I lost myself in it, he straightened. When I pulled at him attempting to steal another one of those kisses, he resolutely pulled away. Just as before!

Irate, I gaped, “You don't get to do that. Just because you are stronger, and taller. That's not fair! I wasn't finished.”

Flashing a cocky smile, he yanked at the zipper of his hoodie. “I'll call you tomorrow before I head over. Maybe pick up a pizza on the way?”

“You better call,” I obstinately agreed.

“Why? Going somewhere?” His taunt was soft, and slightly amused that I was mad. Ignoring him, I scooped my shoes from the floor and flipped off a lamp in preparation for bed. As he moved to the door, he reminded, “And don't forget, if Tristan feels like it, we are all going out. He said he might want to go to a movie.”

This was a conundrum. Because no matter how peeved I was at Jack, from now on, no matter what happened, there would be Tristan to consider. It was then that it hit me. Jack was in my life for good. Whether as a lover or an ex one had yet to be determined. 

My Lanta, I couldn't even think about staying in touch with him, but never touching him.

Watching him until he was in the car, I resolved to do everything in my power to win him over. This new layer, uncovered tonight, was as provocative as it was asinine.  I found that my fury with him was only matched by my desire for him.

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