Jack Who? (Book 1 Draft Version)

CHAPTER 17

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Pouring spiced creamer into her cup, Olivia stirred, without a word, and I knew what she was thinking. 'And look how that worked out.' But, Jack was not like Kel. In just a couple of days of being with him, and a couple of weeks on the phone, I found him to have an integrity that so many men were lacking. He just needed to understand that when he took me seriously, I would take him seriously. Actually, what he needed to understand was that he wanted something serious with me, the thought pricked.  Regardless, I thought maybe it was important that he see that I had options; that I was not some desperate white trash mom, or some grown up groupie.

“Fine,” Olivia drug the word out, and promptly punched in the call to her husband. Less than an hour later, it was set up; a double date with the four of us, Olivia, Michael, Joel, and me; an innocent meal at an upscale Italian restaurant. Reconciled to the date, she took in my appearance and asked, “Want to raid my closet?”

I did more than borrow a slinky black dress from my friend. Olivia sat with Tristan the next day while I sat in a salon having professional highlights streaked through my hair, and a trim to the long layered length. On the day that Jack was to arrive, I did my own nails while Tristan napped off his Tylenol. The physical therapy session that morning had shown optimistic improvements. Tristan was moving about with his crutches better than ever before, and, seeing that, put a happy spark in my eyes.

Jack sent a text that he was on the ground and I knew that soon he would be in a rent car navigating an electronic map to our little house. Pulling a clean shirt from the dryer, I tossed it to Tristan, who was in his tiny recliner with his tablet.

“Why do I have to wear this?”

“Because Jack is coming over and you need a clean shirt.”

At the reminder of Jack's visit, his eyes lit, but he stubbornly pushed the shirt away. “I want my red shirt.”

As always, the red shirt with the flaming guitar across the front. Pulling at the skirt of the borrowed black dress, which had a tendency to hitch up, I rooted through the drier for the requested shirt. He had just pulled it over his head when the door bell chimed.

Shoving the two shirts Tristan was not wearing, deep down in the side cushion of the couch, I pulled my skirt to where it touched a few inches over my knees, and crossed with a click of my heals across the hall floor to the door.

Peeking though the peephole was a mistake. The effect of seeing him never lessened, and I froze for a moment taking in the same basic ensemble as both visits to the hospital; jeans, teeshirt, jacket, and hair in a ponytail. A couple of necklaces, one long and one short, was a new addition, as well as an onyx looking stud in each ear.

Arcing the door open, I stepped back with a smile of greeting, but he hesitated a moment before stepping over the threshold, his dark eyes heating up, as they moved on me from head to toe, lingering here and there. A flush flamed my entire body when his gaze hit mine again, with a distinct spark of admiration.

As he passed, I received a husky, “You are so rocking that dress, Mariss...”

When he paused, in my personal space, I felt a kiss coming on, and I used closing the door as a diversion, hollering down the hall to Tristan. “Look who is here!”

Tristan, as it turned out, was avidly watching our exchange and for the first time in his young life, his expression was not transparent to me. There was nothing I could even liken it to.

Jack went directly to Tristan, bumping fists in the manner that he had taught him the day in the hospital, and they immediately began to chatter, as long-lost friends. Jack's eyes continually strayed my way as I moved around making sure to stay in his line of vision. Bending, I picked up hot wheels cars, and filled Bally's water bowl, bending again to set it on the floor.