Freeing Destiny (Fate #2) (5 page)

Of course I knew what she meant, but I liked playing with her. She was easy to tease and it was even easier to make her smile. Knowing I was responsible for painting her already flawless face with happiness—that was empowering. “I’m kidding, doll.”

“I don’t like it when you call me that.” It came out in a rush, her hand flying to her mouth as if she regretted saying it. “I’m sorry. That was rude.”

“No, it wasn’t. Giving you a generic nickname was rude. You deserve something far more illustrious, like
darling
or
my beloved
.”

Stella giggled, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth again. “Those are too haughty-taughty. I want unique, not something you call
all
the girls.”

“All the girls, huh? What has Caleb told you about me? He make me out to be some man-whore, or something?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“As a matter of fact, I would. What did he say about me?”

She pursed her pretty pink lips and winked. “He told me you’re a good guy.”

The seduction on her face nearly compelled me to jump out of my seat and kiss her the way I’d been yearning to, but knowing she’d cared enough to ask Caleb about me stimulated me in a different way. “So you
did
speak of me. Oh, to be a fly on the wall while you and your new stepdad chatted about yours truly.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Jack.
He’s a good guy
was the extent of the convo.” I could tell by the way she shrugged her shoulders that she was lying, but decided not to press the issue. I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, and I didn’t want to talk about Caleb. I wanted to know more about her.

“So, where’s this hooker lounge you speak of, d—?”

“Jack!” She scolded before I could make the mistake of calling her
doll
again.

“Oops, sorry! I promise to have something more fitting for you by the end of our night together.” It would have to be something special. Her name reminded me of
A
Streetcar Named Desire
but I was sure she’d had her fair share of idiots screaming out her name like a crazed Marlon Brando in the past. I’d have to be more creative. She deserved that and the lasting impression I planned on leaving her with once she left my heart in San Francisco.

Stella

The exotic, vanilla-honey smoke of the hookah clung to our conversation, adding to it a warm, comfortable, carefree flow.

I could watch Jack for hours as he inhaled the smoke and manipulated the cloudy haze, skillfully expelling it from his plump lips in unusual and impressive shapes.

“How do you do that?” I finally asked, wondering if his tongue had some magical powers.
Don’t go there, Stella. You know you wish that hookah pipe was
not
a hookah pipe.

“I don’t really know,” Jack admitted, shrugging his burly shoulders. “I guess it just comes naturally.”

“You smoke often?” I didn’t like the idea of him poisoning himself with cancer sticks, but there had to be some explanation as to why he was such a vapor contorting expert.

“Never. I hate cigarettes, but hookah is just—”

“Relaxing, right?”

“Exactly! You took the words right out of my mouth.”

I’d like to take that pipe right out of your mouth and replace it with my tongue.
Snapping back to our friendly conversation, he continued to ask me about school and my career.

“You plan on being the next Versace? Caleb told me about your . . .
penchant .
. . for fashion.” He said it with a silly French accent. It made me giggle.

“Pfft! I wish! That would be a dream come true, but Nina’s the one with the creative eye. Some of her designs are just so . . . fresh . . . they belong on the runway. That’s why we’re moving to New York. It’s best for us.”

Jack cocked a brow and scooted closer. “Where do
you
fit into Nina’s designs?”

I’d spent my life explaining this sort of thing. At first glance, people probably thought I was riding on my sister’s coattails. But what they didn’t see behind the scenes was that each of us thrived off the other. What she couldn’t do, I could and vice versa. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m pretty creative myself, but I love numbers and people. I’m the brains behind the operation—don’t you
dare
tell Nina I said that! We want to go into business together. I really think we can make an impression on the fashion world. At least that’s what we’re hoping for.”

“Lots of hopes and dreams,” Jack mused, exhaling another cloud of sweet smelling smoke. “I admire that in you. You have your whole life ahead of you.”

“And you don’t?” It wasn’t like he was much older than me and he was established in his career.

“Of course I do, it’s just—it rolls differently off you. The confidence, the hopefulness.” He passed me the pipe and used his free hand to tuck a piece of my hair behind my ear. “It’s just another one of the things that make you so damn attractive.”

My skin broke out in prickles. His words, his touch,
him.
I could sit here all night and enjoy this easy conversation forever. It felt—comfortable. Like I’d already known him forever. But his closeness and the way he made my body react to the littlest of things scared me. I liked this guy. I could
really
like this guy if I spent more time with him. Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option. So I ignored the sparks Jack ignited in me, and turned the attention to him.

“So, real estate. When should we expect to see your face on the next episode of
Million Dollar Listing
?”

Jack inhaled from the pipe again, choking out his answer. “Ha! Now
I
wish! I’d love to get my hands on those kinds of listings, but alas, Davis Realty deals mostly with middle class, first time home buyers
growing
their nest egg not spending the whole shebang on an empire.”

Sucking in the vanilla aroma and allowing it to sit on my tongue before releasing it, I thought about the kind of man Jack was based on what he’d shared with me so far. “Don’t sell yourself short . . . pun intended,” I giggled. “Helping people find a dream home within modest means—that says a lot about the person you are. Those silver spoon, trust fund baby brokers don’t know the first thing about the thought that goes into buying your first home. They’re only concerned with the big commission at the end, playing with their clients’ money like some Monopoly game. What you do is far more admirable. Your clients are lucky to have someone like you handling such a special time in their lives.”

“That’s really sweet of you, Stella. I always thought I was a pussy for thinking that way.”

“I call bullshit on your pussy.” I clearly hadn’t thought that out before saying it.

Jack was bowling over with laughter, the curtains of our little private lounge area swaying because of his animation.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe that came out like that.” Heat rose to my cheeks, the tips of my ears tingling with embarrassment.

Jack’s laughter roared through the tiny bar. People had to be wondering what was so funny. I hated being the center of attention, so I silently thanked God for the opaque curtains that shut out the rest of the hookah smokers.

When he’d finally controlled his fit of amusement, I eyed him with disdain. “You done now?”

Making a show of catching his breath by hugging his middle and sucking in slow intakes of air, he raked a hand through his hair and smiled. “You are something else, Stella. Why didn’t I meet you sooner?”

Of all the things to say after I’d just made a fool out of myself with a verbal blunder. Was he kidding? What was so special about
me
? “Why, because I amuse you. Like a clown?”

“Calm down, Joe Pesci.” He waved his hands in the air and then scooted closer to me on the plush, velvet cushion. “Not only are you fucking gorgeous, but you’re smart, funny, witty, and you make me want to talk with you for hours. I can’t wait to hear what’ll come out of those perfect lips next, and I love watching your emotions dance in those chocolate eyes of yours when you tell a story.” All humor gone from our moment, the air now heavy with ardor and flirtation, Jack laid his hand back on my knee—I was beginning to think this was his favorite part of my body—and fixed his eyes on mine. “Don’t go, Stella. I don’t want you to leave.”

Jack

I was melting for a girl I hardly knew, and right before her eyes, no less. I didn’t want Stella to bear witness to my obvious weakness, but she was it—my downfall. It had taken twenty-seven years and my best friend’s wedding to a widowed, middle-aged mother of two, to find the one girl I couldn’t imagine slipping away. I didn’t want to lose her now that I finally found her, but I was coming on too strong. Even I knew it. Stella’s deer-in-the-headlights expression wasn’t even necessary to set my emotions in check.
Slow your roll, Jack. You hardly know the girl. You sound like a kid with a crush. Get a hold of yourself!

My inner man—aka my dick—was right for a change. I couldn’t lay it all out there only to have it taken away in two weeks. It wasn’t fair to either of us to put this kind of pressure on Stella, especially not on our first (and possibly
only
) date.

“I’m jonesing for something sweet. Want a Diet Coke, or a slushy?” I deflected the message my pounding heart was sending my brain and rose from the couch.

“Just a water,” she whispered, and went back to playing with a loose strand of golden hair.

I’d made her uncomfortable. Shit, I made
myself
uncomfortable. A trip to the bathroom before getting our drinks would probably be best. “I’ll be right back. Going to the little boys’ room first.”

She nodded, then focused her attention on the ornate hookah.

“Fuck me!” I growled and punched the stench-filled air of the cramped restroom stall. I was fucking this up.
Me!
The guy who was called Mr. Suave all throughout college. I couldn’t keep my cool around Stella and it was totally unnerving. Like choking your nutsack in a vice unnerving.

I drained my snake and splashed some cool water on my face. Looking at my reflection in the mirror, I commanded myself, “Be cool! Stop this pussy talk.”

The thought of the word pussy brought me back to Stella’s joke that had me in tears from laughing so hard. It was so easy with her. Everything—talking, smiling, laughing,
being.
I’d never felt this comfortable with someone I just met and I hated that we had a time limit hanging over our heads. I didn’t like being rushed into
or
out of anything. I liked things to flourish or expire in their own time, not because of some stupid circumstance that ultimately had the power to be changed.

Staring at the hopeful man in the mirror, I promised myself that one of two things had to happen before Stella left for New York.

One, I had to convince her, without her knowing she was being persuaded, that she had to stay in California.

Or two, I had to stop all this wishy washy crap
now
and never let this connection go past the fun, fast friendship we’d already managed to establish.

My heart was leaning toward option one, pumping imaginary ventricle-like arms in the air and chanting ‘do it, do it, do it!’ over and over again. But my brain—the always sensible part of Jack Davis’s anatomy—knew that option two was the only way to go.