Right Kind of Wrong(3)
My eyes drift over the crowd and fall on a tall figure in the corner. Gunmetal-gray eyes. Tousled black hair. Tattooed arms and broad shoulders. My body immediately goes on alert.
Jack Oliver.
It’s not surprising he’s here. He comes to the bar all the time, but usually he’s with his friends and in a good mood. Right now, though, he’s talking on the phone and seems very upset. His gray eyes are narrow slits and his jaw is clenched. But I’m not going to lie. Angry looks good on him.
At over six feet tall, with his broad shoulders and endless tattoos, Jack looks intimidating. But really he’s a big softie. I hardly ever see him in a mood other than happy. So this angry version of Jack is a new experience for me. A very hot experience.
He catches me looking at him and tips his chin. His anger dissipates for a brief second as a lopsided smile hitches up the corner of his mouth, but then he turns his attention back to his phone and clenches his fist before ending the call.
In-ter-est-ing.
He shoves his phone into his back pocket and heads my way.
“What’s up?” I say. “You seem upset.”
He shrugs. “Nothing. Just family shit.”
I snort. “God. Yes. I have plenty of that.”
He nods and our eyes lock and hold.
One beat.
Two.
I hate this part of our friendship; the part that reminds me of what happened between us last year when we got drunk and carried away one very steamy night. The memory shouldn’t still turn me on like it does. But Jack and those gray eyes of his—eyes rimmed with pale green and flecked with dark flints, looking almost silver at times—are hard not to respond to.
We never talk about it, which is better, but in moments like this, when his eyes are on mine with such command, I can almost feel his hands back on my body. Fingertips running the length of my skin. Palms brushing my curves—
“Here you go.” Cody returns with the schedule book for me to sign and I silently bless the interruption.
No good comes from me reminiscing about Jack’s hands. Or any of his other body parts.
“I switched our shifts and marked you down as on vacation,” Cody says.
“Thanks,” I say, taking the book and initialing by my traded shifts.
“Hey, Jack.” Cody nods at him. “What can I get you to drink?”
“Just a beer,” Jack says, sitting in the barstool next to me. He’s so close I can smell his shampoo. It’s a wooded scent, like sawdust and pine, and it plays at my memories in a way that makes my heart pound.
He looks at me. “So where are you going on vacation?” His warm breath skitters over my shoulder and sends a jolt of hot want through my veins.
Damn him.
On second thought, damn me for being such a swooner.
I’m not usually like this. I swear it. Guys are the last thing I give priority to in my life. It goes: chocolate, tattoos, a hundred other things… and then men. Because a woman doesn’t need a man to have a full life. And I’m living proof of that.
I keep my eyes on the book. “New Orleans to visit my grandma.”
He nods. “Is she dying again?”
Even my friends know how ridiculous my grandmother’s yearly death threats are.
“Yep.” I pop the p. “The drama queen just won’t hand the spotlight over gracefully.”
He smirks. “Like you’d wait to be handed anything.”
Jack and I met two years ago, when I first started working at the Thirsty Coyote and Jack was my trainer, but we became friends almost immediately and now he knows me well enough to know that I’m not very patient, and if I want something I usually just take it.
Cody sets Jack’s beer down and asks me, “Are you flying out tonight?”
“Nah.” I finish signing the book and hand it back to him. “I’m driving there so I’ll leave in the morning.”
Jack swings his head to me and a slight wrinkle forms between his eyes. “You’re driving all the way to Louisiana?”
Jack and I are both from Louisiana. I’m from New Orleans and he’s from a small town just north of there, called Little Vail. The fact that we grew up so close to one another, yet met on the other side of the country at this bar in Arizona, was one of the first things we bonded over. That, and tequila.
“Yeah. Pfft. I’m not spending hundreds of dollars on a last-minute plane ticket. Grandma needs to give me at least a month’s warning next time she decides to keel over.”
Jack takes a swig of his beer, but continues looking straight at me, displeased.
“What?” I snap.
He shrugs. “That’s just a long trip to make on your own.”
“Yeah, well. Good thing I don’t mind driving.” I look at Cody. “Thanks for covering for me. I owe you. Later, Jack.” I turn to leave just as a drunk guy stumbles into me, knocking me back into Jack’s chest.