All Jacked Up (7 page)

“About what?” Darcy stared at him across the table, her expression almost challenging.

“About…this.” He pointed at himself then at her. “About us.”

“Jack, there is no
us
. Don’t even use that word.”

He got up to fetch the coffee carafe and refilled both of their cups. “What word should I use? We can’t seem to keep our hands off each other.”

“It’s sex,” she told him in a firm voice. “Just good old-fashioned sex.”

He grinned. “It’s damn good, I agree, but there’s nothing old-fashioned about it.”

“Whatever you want to call it, that’s all it is. A physical itch that we just need to scratch.”

“Hey.” He sat across from her again. “I’m not any happier about this than you. But it is what it is. Tell me you don’t feel the same lust swamping you that I do and I’ll leave it alone. Go ahead. Say it.” He waited one second. Two. “See? You can’t, can you? I made my point.”

“We have absolutely nothing else in common,” she reminded him. “I’m not sure we even like each other once we get out of bed.”

He gave her a rueful grin. “Maybe. You sure aren’t my idea of the woman I’ve been waiting for all my life.”

The minute the words left his mouth he wished them back, especially when he saw the brief flash of hurt across her face before she composed herself.

“Wait. I didn’t mean that quite the way it sounded.”

“Yes, you did.” She glared at him. “I am who I am, Jack. Take it or leave it. And I think you should leave it.”

“Darcy,” he began.

She held up a hand. “Don’t say it, whatever it is. The only thing worse than being insulted is being placated. So just shut up.” She took a sip of coffee. “You aren’t my ideal dream man, either, so I guess that makes us even.”

“Oh?” Not her dream man? The insecurities he battled constantly rose up like a demon wave. “And exactly what would your dream man be like? Some freak with tattoos on both arms and hair down to his shoulders? Maybe a big motorcycle to ride you around on? I’ll bet he brings you wine in a box.”

Jack had an image of a muscular alpha male, six-foot-four, swallowing Darcy up in his arms and for some reason it made his stomach hurt.

“What?” She jerked in her seat, nearly dropping her coffee. “That’s some classy image you have of me. But at least that would be a real person. You keep waiting for plastic Barbie to come along and I’m here to tell you that you’ll be waiting a long time. Besides, Barbies stink in bed. It’s all about
them
. And they have a vocabulary of exactly six words, which is all their teeny-weeny brains can handle.”

He tamped down the anger threatening to engulf him, clenching his jaw and studying the female sitting across the table from him. She was wearing one of his dress shirts, almost dwarfed by its size, and her crazy hair stuck out in spikes all over her head.

“Did you ever think of actually combing your hair?” he asked.

He thought he could actually see sparks sizzling from her body.

“What’s wrong with my hair? I pay good money to get it styled like this.”

He snorted. “Then you’re wasting your money. And maybe you should think about wearing real clothes.”

“
Real
clothes? Do you always have so much to say about the way the women you sleep with look?”

“Usually they look normal. Not weird.”

Darcy looked as if she might explode in her chair. “
Weird?
I have a distinctive style.”

Jack knew he was shoving his foot deeper in his mouth but he just couldn’t seem to stop himself. It was like if he tore her apart it would somehow excuse his sleeping with her. And chase her away so she wouldn’t tempt him anymore. “It’s not distinctive. It looks stupid.”

“My
hair
looks stupid? At least it’s smarter than you. I wasn’t all alone on my birthday while everyone else went home with someone.”

Jack felt the words almost like a body blow. Even with the lustfest he’d fallen into with Darcy he hadn’t been able to get away from that one miserable fact—he was alone and likely to stay that way for at least the foreseeable future.

Why was it that all his friends had been able to find someone to share their lives with but not him? Where was the woman he’d been waiting for? Certainly not sitting across the table from him, looking like a greeting card pixie with a sharp tongue.

He shoved the chair back from the table and stood up. “Get dressed. I’ll take you back to your car.” He walked over to the sink and dumped the rest of his coffee.

“Jack, I—”

“Don’t apologise.” He stood with his back to her. “You’re right. Let’s just chalk this weekend up to one big mistake and go back to our regular lives.”

“Jack,” she began again.

“Get dressed, Darcy.” His jaw was clenched so tightly he thought it would break. “It’s Sunday. I don’t know if you have things to take care of but I sure do.”

Yeah, sure. Like sitting around with Mr Big and feeling sorry for myself.

He heard the scrape of her chair as she got up. Then she was beside him, rinsing out her cup.

“I’ll just be a minute.”

He stood by the front door, jingling his keys impatiently, until she emerged from the bedroom, teetering on those impossibly high heels.

“And get yourself a decent pair of shoes before you break your neck.” He yanked the door open. “Let’s go.”

The silence in the car on the drive to Eli’s was so thick a knife could have cut through it. Jack had nothing to say and obviously Darcy didn’t, either. How the hell had he got himself into this situation, anyway? But even as he berated himself his cock was very much aware of her presence and was pushing hard against the fly of his jeans to get out. And get in. Her. Again.

Shit, shit, shit.

He was relieved when Eli’s finally came into view and he wheeled into the car park.

“And another thing,” he said. “Who in hell drives a purple car?”

“You already asked me that once, and I told you. I do. Get over it.” She climbed out of the car. “At least it shows people I’m not a stick in the mud, like people who drive dull black.”

She slammed the door of his black SUV and stomped off to her car. If indeed you could stomp on those heels.

The side door was propped open again only this time Eli was standing there, watching with interest. He waved for Jack to hold up as he walked over to his vehicle. Irritated at being unable to just peel away, Jack rolled down the window.

“What?” he snapped.

“My, my, aren’t we in a jolly mood today.” Eli grinned. “This is getting to be a habit.”

“What is?”

Eli laughed. “Don’t give me that. This is two nights in a row you brought Darcy O’Connor back to her car, and I’m assuming you didn’t just find her standing on a street corner.”

“I have to go, Eli.” Jack shifted into Drive.

“It’s okay,” the bar owner said. “You need to lighten up your life a little. And Darcy’s just the one to do it.” He had his hand on the frame of the open window so Jack couldn’t just pull away. “A word to the wise, my friend. Forget that attitude she wears like a suit of armour. Darcy’s really a nice lady. I’d hate for someone to use her up and toss her aside like a piece of used Kleenex.”

Jack goggled at him. “What the hell are you talking about? Darcy and I barely know each other.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Anyway, don’t you know me better than that?”

“I hope so. Just sayin’.” He tapped the door. “See you later.”

Jack drove home in a foul mood, trying to decide if he was angrier with himself for getting caught in this situation or with Eli for having such a low opinion of him. And what was so special about Darcy O’Connor? She was just a quirky little female.

Who makes my dick so hard if I bump into a wall it might break off.

Well, no more. Never again. If he had to stay out of Eli’s for a month so they didn’t cross paths, he’d do it.

His cell phone rang just as he got out of his SUV.

“Jack! My man!” Mike’s cheerful voiced boomed out at him.

“Hey, Mike.” Jack wished he hadn’t answered the phone. Good cheer wasn’t on the menu for him today.

“Where are you? We tried the house first but no answer. You never go out on a Sunday morning.”

Never go out on a Sunday morning? Jesus, was he that predictable?

“I decided to throw caution to the wind and actually leave the house today.” He didn’t even try to keep the surly tone out of his voice. He was already pissed off at so many things he’d given up trying for a pleasant attitude.

“Whoa. Sorry, buddy. Did I hit a sore toe or something?”

Jack sighed. “What is it, Mike? I have things to do.”

“Oh.” Mike sounded startled. “Well, we decided to throw a barbecue together at the last minute and I wanted to be sure you got the word. Five o’clock. Bring beer.”

A barbecue. Just what he needed. Socialising with a bunch of happy couples.

“I don’t think so, Mike, but thanks anyway.”

“Oh, come on,” Mike coaxed. “You’ll just hang out with Mr Big or some shit like that. And Carly’s making that great cake that you love.”

“I’m really not in the mood to socialise much,” he told his friend. “I’ll take a pass this time.”

“Think of it as an extension of your birthday party. Come on,” he wheedled. “Carly will be pissed off at me if you don’t show. She said she won’t have a good time thinking about you sitting home alone if we’re having a cookout.”

“Home alone?” Was that how his friends saw him? “I’m not her project,” he growled.

“Listen, just come on over, okay? You can even sit in a corner and not talk to anyone. Well, maybe not. We’re gonna play a little touch football and beat our chests.”

Suddenly Jack felt tired of arguing with him. And Mike was right. He really didn’t have any plans for the day.

“Okay. What time?”

“Five o’clock. And don’t forget the beer.”

* * * *

Darcy kicked off her stupid shoes, threw herself backwards on to her bed and stared at the ceiling. What the hell had she gone and done? Bad enough she’d slept with Jack Manning once, though she could chalk that up to accidental circumstances, alcohol and a bad day. But this time she’d done it deliberately. He’d actually asked her to go home with him and she’d said yes.

I am the stupidest woman on this planet. I am an idiot. I should be committed.

But that wouldn’t change the fact that the man seriously rang her chimes. Or that he was absolutely the very wrong person for her. Darcy liked her life. Such as it was. She could be the free spirit she’d always wanted to be. Wear crazy clothes. Have a crazy hairstyle. Eat popcorn for dinner and Chinese food for breakfast.

She’d bet every dime in her slowly growing bank account that Jack Manning had never in his life coloured outside the lines. That he had created an image of himself that overcame whatever his insecurities were and his ideal woman was an extension of that image.

Well, that was fine. She had no intention of ever seeing him again. She had enough stress with Hugh Rodgers who refused to give her the title of director without taking on a relationship with a man who she had nothing in common with.

And speaking of Hugh, she planned to attack him again first thing Monday morning. She knew she did damn good work. Her résumé was the credits on the video she directed. If he wasn’t going to let her put director next to her name then she wanted more money. So she could get a better leg-up to leaving and forming her own production company.

She groaned when the phone rang. She was in no mood to talk to anyone today. She wanted to soak in the tub then bury herself in a huge container of vanilla bean ice cream.

“Who is it?”

“Nice, Darcy. That how you greet everyone? It’s no wonder you can’t get a decent date.”

Oh, god, her sister Tricia. The icon for suburban soccer moms. Just what she needed right now. Not. She closed her eyes and threw her arm over her forehead.

“Hi, Trish. What’s up?”

“I haven’t heard from you in two weeks. I’m just checking to make sure you’re okay.”

Darcy swallowed a sigh. “I’m fine, Trish. Really. Just working a lot.”

“Aha!” Tricia sounded as if she’d just struck gold. “I knew it. You never get out of that mouldy studio. You have no life.”

Darcy sat up, rubbing her forehead. “The studio isn’t mouldy and I do so have a life, I just don’t discuss it with you.”

“Because all you date are those weirdos?” Trish’s voice held just a tinge of disapproval.

Darcy wondered how two sisters had grown up so differently. One had graduated college with a degree in finance and married an attorney. They had the requisite two perfect children (well, okay, not perfect—snotty little brats), and lived a magazine life. While Darcy was…Darcy.

Maybe it had to do with the fact Trish was five-foot-six with cascades of burnished gold hair and boobs to die for. And smart on top of it. While Darcy was the shrimp in the family with breasts that were too small and hips and thighs that had got all the flesh she should have had in her boobs.