Page 66 of Worth Every Game
Mr fucking Moneybags.
The thing is, I don’t want his money. I wanthim.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
I look up to find Jack staring at me across the kitchen island. It’s Saturday morning, and he’s heading to the gym and is wearing shorts and a t-shirt, muscular arms and legs on display. It’s a good look on him, and I can’t decide if I prefer this version of him to the suited one. They’re both yummy.
Over the last couple of weeks, we’ve slid into this semi-awkward but friendly rapport. He hasn’t given up making suggestive comments, but he’s also sweet and kind and thoughtful, and he leaves little notes for me in the kitchen on the mornings I’m not awake before he leaves for work.
He stares at me, waiting for an explanation for my unfocused expression. But I can’t tell him that all I’m thinking of is him,and how I’m wishing I hadn’t turned him down on that offer to have more ‘fun’.
What am I frightened of? Would being one of Jack Lansen’s many women really be that bad?
I’m all too aware of his reputation, but for some reason, he feels like a safe space. Somewhere I could let loose sexually. Like he could hold it all, and let me be what I’m meant to be. And I’d love it. I know I would.
I’d get invested.
I would fall for him, and he’d walk away like it was nothing more than sex. Good old physical fun times. I’d end up with a broken heart and he’d move on to the next woman on his list.
I can move on from a blow job in the kitchen, but not from heartbreak.
Jack brings his coffee over and sits next to me at the kitchen island. “Well?”
Shit. Sitting next to him has my nerve endings blasting off like a firing squad.Lethal.
Just have sex with him. You know you want to.
He’s still waiting for my explanation. I have to give him something else.
“Lydia told me not to touch you.” The comment is out before I can stop it.
Jack’s lips pucker as he tries to restrain what I assume is a smirk. “Before or after you took my dick in your mouth?”
My face immediately gets hot. “Can you please not throw that into casual conversation?” He chuckles, low. “Are you sleeping with her?”
Jack tenses and everything feels awkward. “No. And I haven't slept with her.”Fuck.This is a definite reminder that I should not get involved with someone like Jack Lansen. Too many women, too much baggage. “When were you talking to Lydia?”
“I bumped into her at the supermarket, and she told me to ‘keep my hands off Jack Lansen’. In fact, she said, ‘Don’t. Fucking. Touch. Him’. She looked like she might kill me if I disobeyed.”
He barks a laugh. “You didn’t listen, did you?”
“This is serious.”
Jack shrugs, his eyes halfway to rolling. “I was joking. I agree, it’s a bit odd. But so what? She can’t touch us here. We can do whatever we want.”
“I guess so.”
“But you don’t want to do what I want to do, so…” He raises a suggestive eyebrow. “We’ll have to do something else.”
My skin prickles.What is he up to?“Oh, yeah?”
“You’re performing for Nico’s party, right?”
“Yes.”
“Are you ready for it?”
I wince, recalling how I wept in Jack’s arms about the Marchmont and being pelted with tomatoes. I’ve been back to the bar since then, but my performances have been shaky and subpar. And without fail, my mediocrity raises the memory of my disastrous non-interview with Robert Lloyd, like a vampire clambering from a coffin I thought I’d locked, seeking to suck the fucking life out of me…