He ignores me. “Why? I told you I’d be here.”
“What if I got sick?”
He grins. “I’d take care of you.”
“Vomiting?”
“I’d hold your hair back and bring you a washcloth.”
I narrow my eyes. “What if I had uncontrollable, raging rabbit squirts?”
He stops in his tracks, his eyebrows arching.
Good, maybe he’ll take off, running for the hills and for sexier more alluring women. I don’t have time for him. There are other men who actually want more than just a slick pussy to dip their dicks into.
Then his grin returns as he shakes his head. “You know, I like you. I think we could be friends.”
Friends? What the for-reals fuck?
I narrow my eyes. “There is actually something seriously wrong with you, isn’t there?”
He tosses an arm around my shoulder, drags me to his chest, and rubs noogies on my head, like a ten-year-old boy. “Probably. But you’re the one who calls diarrhea rabbit squirts.”
I pull away from him. “How old are you?”
“Old enough to know better…”
I roll my eyes. “…still too young to care—ha ha. Cute, but so cliché.”
“So, want to go to my place?”
I let out a sigh. “Jack, this probably isn’t a good idea. I mean, I’m supposed to see Dave sometime this week for a tennis date.”
Jackson rubs his hands together. “Perfect. Ask me in, and you can tell me all about Dave and your date.”
I pull the little camera loose from my collar and hand it to him. “Watch the video.”
“You know you want to invite me in.” He flexes his pecs and they ripple beneath his almost too-tight T-shirt.
My inner slut demands her moment in charge. I clear my throat. “One drink, and that’s it.”
He nods. “If that’s what you say.”
“That’s what I say.” Even if my throbbing clit says anything you want as long as you kiss me until I die.
I pull out my keys. Jackson takes them and unlocks the door, escorting me inside with the flourish of his hand. “After you.”
“Thank you.”
He shuts the door and whispers, “So, if Shayna’s car is here, does that mean she’s here?”
“I’m not sure. Sometimes she calls a cab. Why?”
Even with only the dim nightlight, the mischief is clear in his expression. “Oh, I just don’t want to wake her.”
“As long as Dickey Bird doesn’t start squawking too loudly, it’s fine.”
“Is he yours?”
“No. Shay got him when she was a teenager.” I drop my purse and jacket on the table next to the sofa, and then I plug in the Christmas tree lights.
Jackson stands in front of the cage. Dickey’s been confined since his last disappearing act. The bird turns his head sideways, staring at Jack.
Jackson pokes his finger through the side of the cage.
I dart to him, dragging his hand away. “Oh, you don’t want to do that. Birds can bite.”
Dickey grumbles, making little clicks and whistles, but nothing too loud. Then Dickey starts the vibrating sounds he’s recently added to his repertoire.
Oh, good God. Heat flushes through me like a firestorm. Stupid bird.
“But I think he might like me. He’s all fluffy and cute. And he’s purring. I didn’t know birds could purr.” Again he reaches up.
I grab his hand and pull him away from the cage. “Sorry, but that’s not what they do when they like someone.”
I lead Jack to the wet bar on the far wall. “Do something else with your hands, and maybe your fingers will stay intact. I’m going to change.”
He takes a glass from the shelf and pulls down a bottle, turning it to inspect the label. “What do you like?”
“An amaretto sour would be great.” I head down the hallway.
Shay’s door stands open, lights out. Not home. Damn. Can’t depend on her to interrupt before I’m too far gone.
Okay. What to wear?
In all the tabloid pictures I’ve ever seen of Jackson, he’s got serious arm candy in slinky dresses hanging off him. I pull out a pair of downy pajama pants, bright pink with gaudy red hearts. The matching top boasts two furry teddy bears appliquéd right over my boobs. There. Not sexy in the least.
I pull on the comfy clothes and check myself in the mirror. All I need now is… I dive to my closet.
I slip on my fuzzy slippers with giant red lips across the tops. Perfect.
This should keep things platonic.
Jackson stands in front of the birdcage, talking to the parrot. “And who’s a pretty bird? Do you talk? Repeat after me: Jackson’s a handsome bastard.”