Jenny. He groaned and threw his arm over his eyes. No one, not even Pepper at the very beginning when everything was so damn hot, no one had ever gotten under his skin as fast as Jenny did today. How was it possible he’d only met her—he rotated his wrist to check his watch—six hours ago? It felt like he’d known her far longer. She was totally and completely genuine. You wouldn’t feel as though you actually knew someone who was less real.
He replayed Jenny moments from today like a slideshow in his mind: angry Jenny click-clacking through the halls at the courthouse, embarrassed Jenny when he took out his wallet, furious Jenny when they learned the wedding couldn’t take place, smiling Jenny who rocked his world as they left the courthouse, frightened Jenny gripping the steering wheel of her car, concerned Jenny who apologized to him while still shivering from her spinout, gullible Jenny whose voice was so nervous over the phone, townie Jenny walking through the streets of Gardiner, kind Jenny telling him her church prayed for Kristian every week, righteous Jenny at dinner staring down Tess, giggling Jenny when he lost their deal, poignant Jenny not wanting to take wedding vows more than once and finally, the Jenny who checked him out as he lay half-asleep on her couch. That was the Jenny whose hand he had kissed. He thought of her trapped between his body and the wall and felt a rush of blood heading to his groin. He groaned again, wishing it away. At ease, pal. Not happening tonight.
He smiled. She was fascinating; he never knew what she would say or do next, and it was drawing him to her like a magnet after years of hearing girls saying what they thought he wanted, or what they thought sounded cool or sexy. Jenny was so authentic, it was separating her from the pack, making him want to take a closer look. His smile turned into a chuckle as he thought of her embarrassed face when he caught her checking him out, and then his chest rumbled with laughter remembering her admission of guilt. Man, she sure keeps things interesting.
They were different, for sure. She was from a small town, a regular churchgoer, a schoolteacher. She was so genuine, so real, and she didn’t try to hide her emotions behind some aloof veneer. Sam admired those qualities. He had seen her be kind to people today, interested in their lives, and he was sure he’d see more of it tomorrow. She was a good, solid person and it didn’t hurt that she was also so pretty.
She was more pretty than cute, but something about her unaffected wholesomeness made her cute, too. It dawned on him that maybe, quixotically, it was her wholesomeness that made him so hungry for her. He was caught off-guard by his reaction when he kissed her hand: his blood had heated up in an instant and his heart had raced because he wanted her, and the surprising thing was, cute really wasn’t his style. Then again, he thought with growing uncertainty, maybe it was.
Before today, he had been enjoying his post-Pepper freedom. He’d had a few dates, mostly set up by well-meaning friends, and what he had really enjoyed was the thrill of meeting new women. Every pretty girl was a possible “someone,” and he found it exciting. In just a few hours Jenny was redefining everything he thought he was looking for, which was, in a word, disconcerting. It led to a thought that was not only incredibly inconvenient, but theoretically distressing: he couldn’t possibly be genuinely interested in her, could he? Sure, something about her might resonate in him, but he wasn’t actually falling for her, was he?
He got up and washed his hands and face, looking at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. No, you’re not. You’re not, Sam. You could really hurt someone like that if you’re not careful.
He massaged his jaw between his thumb and forefinger. You don’t belong here, and she certainly doesn’t belong in Chicago. Two different worlds, brother. Not to mention, this isn’t the type of girl you pursue for a weekend of fun, Sammy, and you know it. This is the marrying kind of girl. And if you’re not interested in that—and, let’s face it, you’re not—she’s not for you.
He took off his pants, sweatshirt and t-shirt and slung them over the desk chair, then slipped into bed. He turned the bedside lamp off and settled back on the pillow, lacing his hands under his head as he had at her place. When he closed his tired eyes, he saw her face in his head: those searching blue eyes so close to his face, staring into his eyes when he opened them. His gut constricted for a second with unfamiliar longing and he threw his pillow across the room in frustration.
She not for you, man. She’s not for you.
***
When she got home, Jenny flopped back on her bed without taking her coat off, her keys still jingling in her hand. She let them fall to the floor with a clunk. Still reeling from her time with Sam, she raised her hand to inspect it and with her other hand she gingerly touched the spot where he had kissed her, imagining it still tender from his lips. She circled the area with a feather touch, then closed her eyes and pressed it to her own lips, lingering for a moment before rubbing it gently back and forth against her cheek tenderly. Goosebumps popped up along the back of her arm, and her belly tingled unfamiliarly as she flashed back to his eyes opening under her frank assessment. How could she have been so forward? Alone in her room she felt her cheeks burn, remembering.