Page 31 of Worth Every Game
The whole time I’m up in my room, I’m listening for noise downstairs.Is he going to fuck her? Are they going to keep me up all night?Lydia looks like a screamer. A grab-the-headboard-and-yell-the-house-down kind of screamer. My stomach churns at the mere idea, and it occurs to me that I hadn’t thought this whole housemate thing through. Jack’s going to be bringing woman after woman home, and I’ll be sitting here alone, listening to the noise.
What a thought.I’m not sure I can eat at all now, and the plate of food is stinking out my room. I open the window, but it doesn’t help.
I creak open my door. Downstairs, heels clack out into the hall, and the front door opens and closes.Has Lydia gone? Has Jack Lansen, the ultimate womanizer, sent her away? Surely they can’t have eaten all that sushi already?
Now I’m curious, anddammit, I don’t want to sleep in here with a full plate of food.
Taking my plate, I creep downstairs, barely breathing in case Lydia is still here. If she is, she’s probably laid out naked on the island with sushi all over her.
The kitchen door is ajar, so I reason that she probably isn’t in there. But then again, she and Jack together are probably a pair of exhibitionists. Just in case, I close my eyes as I knock.
“Yeah?” Jack replies.
Keeping my eyes closed, I push the door open and tiptoe into the room, my free hand extended before me. “Is it safe? Are you naked?”
Jack chuckles, and the deep rumble of it makes my previously churning stomach flutter. “No.”
I pop my eyes open, only to be greeted by Jack’s gorgeous smile, and I can’t help but grin back at him as an unreasonable wave of giddiness surges over me. He’s sitting at the island, digging into a huge bowl of my stew, with a side of cumin potatoes and tabbouleh.
“Sushi didn’t do it for you, then?” I ask.
“I had a more appealing option. Something more to my taste.” His tone is so suggestive that a blast of heat sizzles through me.
I arch a brow, keeping my voice casual. “We still talking about food?”
“Were we ever?”
I can't keep the smile off my face as I say, “You’re a bad man, Jack Lansen."
“What?” he asks with false innocence. “I’m beginning to wonder if you have a one-track mind.”
“Me? If I do, it’s because you—”
His eyebrow creeps up again, cutting me off. “I what?”
I don’t dignify the question with a response. “She’s gone, right?” I ask after a moment. “She’s not in the bathroom or something?”
Jack laughs. “She’s gone.” Then his face turns serious, and he glances at my full plate. “You didn’t eat either?”
“Didn’t feel like it.” He lets that one settle for a moment, the slight frown on his face his only response. “Can I join you?”
He pats the stool next to him, and I drop onto it, and that giddy, happy feeling at being next to Jack washes over me again like it never left. I put my bowl next to his and we eat side by side.
“I can’t believe she showed up like that,” I say, after swallowing a few mouthfuls.
One edge of Jack’s lips tilts up. “Just a regular Friday night for me. Normally, there’s a queue all the way down the street.”
“Bullshit,” I exclaim, and his smile expands. “It’s five degrees out there. She must have been freezing.”
“Says you in your tiny skirts.” He nods at my bare thighs. I press them together, trying to ignore the stirring of heat between them that answers his glance.
“Eyes up, Lansen.” The reprimand elicits a short rumble of laughter from him, which delights me. “I’m wearing my skirts for me, not you.” We eat together quietly for a few moments. “I thought you weren’t interested in Lydia.”
Jack side-eyes me. “I’m not. I told her as much at the racetrack, but she evidently chose not to hear me.”
I muse over this for a moment. “Definite red flag, right there.”
“You got a thing about red flags?” His eyes narrow, but there’s a teasing light behind them, which makes my stomach flip. “You’re not worried about me, are you?”