Summer Kisses (314 page)

Jack, TJ and Emma sat on the edge, dangling their legs in the hot water. Jack immediately felt less like a popsicle and the kids looked distinctly less blue. They giggled when the jets tickled their feet and splashed one another with the warm water.

It was quite a contrast to the last time he’d been in the Jacuzzi, when sweet, bright-eyed, supposedly-waiting-for-marriage Missy had tried to mount him in this very hot tub on their date two nights ago.

Jack wasn’t a prude. Sure, he hadn’t exactly had the world’s most active sex life in the last four years, but that didn’t make him a eunuch. But even a healthy, red-blooded American man with a libido that needed no help from little blue pills had the right to a modicum of privacy.

Not that he had anything against a little mild PDA, but everyone he knew was going to see the damn show. His
mother
was going to see it if he so much as copped a feel. He couldn’t stop thinking about his friends, family and coworkers being spectators on his lovelife, no matter how often Miranda told him to forget the cameras and
go with the moment.

Jack liked sex as much as the next guy, but he’d never been into exhibitionism. All it took was one stray thought of what he was doing showing up in prime time television to deflate any enthusiasm he might have had for the nubile and
extremely
enthusiastic Missy’s attempts to climb him.

Though, if he was honest with himself, he doubted his heart would have been in it even if his lovelife hadn’t become a spectator sport. Missy was sweet and earnest to the point of discomfort, but her puppyish adoration wasn’t enough to sustain a real relationship after this
journey
was over.

And it was pretty damn awkward being forced to fend her off without crushing her precarious self-esteem, especially with the cameras never more than a few feet away.

There was another Elimination Ceremony tonight and Missy was definitely one of the two girls going home. For her own good.

But that still left him with eight women the producers kept encouraging him to get physical with. Eight beautiful women, undeniably, but instead of feeling like the luckiest SOB on the planet, he felt more like the world’s most reluctant porn star.

The women, on the other hand, seemed far from reluctant. They were always eager to
make a connection
and
take their relationship to the next level.

He’d kissed all but one of the remaining eight. He’d even gotten a little carried away with Katya the swimsuit model once, but he’d felt awkward about it immediately afterward. Almost guilty. As if he’d cheated. Though he wasn’t even entirely sure who he felt like he’d cheated on.

Halfway through the process, he was pretty sure Marcy was the only one of the remaining girls he could potentially have a lasting relationship with—and the compatibility tests seemed to think they were a perfect match too—though the chemistry with Katya was electric enough to give him pause. Part of him wanted to send the other Suitorettes home and let the chips fall where they may, but the producers hyperventilated whenever he gave any overt sign of favoritism this early in the process.

He had to jump through the hoops. He knew Missy was the next on the chopping block, but he had to wax poetic for the camera on all the ways she was unique and special and intriguing. Immediately before he sent her home.

It was a royal pain in the ass. There were ways in which this experience was amazing—the dates were a string of once-in-a-lifetime experiences and he would never forget a single one of them—but he hadn’t expected to feel so guilty for tangling up the emotions of the women involved. He just wasn’t cut out for dating a bunch of women at once.

Which was probably a good thing.

“Daddy, do I really get to wear a princess dress when you get married?”

Jack jolted out of his musings at those words spoken in his daughter’s sweet high voice. “Who told you I was getting married?” he asked, a little more sharply than he’d intended.

The kids had met a few of the Suitorettes yesterday on a “play” date. He thought he’d been aware of everything that was said to them, but one of the girls could have slipped in a word somehow. If that was the case, Missy might get a stay of execution. No one was allowed to use his kids to try to get to him.

“Sandy said,” Emma replied, innocently unaware of how her words affected him.

“Sandy the craft service lady?”

“Uh-huh.”

He took a deep, relieved breath. Sandy talked nonstop without engaging her brain much. She probably hadn’t meant anything pointed by what she said. But he still had to do damage control with Em.

“
If
I get married, you can wear whatever kind of dress you want. But before I marry anyone, we’re all gonna have to get to know her a lot more.”

Emma nodded solemnly. Jack glanced over at TJ, who was uncharacteristically silent, staring at his feet as they scissored back and forth in the hot water.

“Teej? Was there anyone you guys liked or didn’t like yesterday?” He couldn’t ignore the impact any new relationship he had was going to have on his kids. That was far more important than who he had chemistry with.

TJ made a face, but didn’t look up. “Miranda’s bossy.”

You can say that again
. “I can safely promise that I will never marry Miranda.” He decided not to explain the difference between the Suitorettes and the producers.

“Why don’t you marry Aunt Lou?” Emma piped up.

Jack went still. “Uh…” Unbidden, an image of her in that clingy dress from last week popped into his head.

Emma gazed him, her blue eyes wide and steady as she waited for an answer with the serious concentration only a four-year-old can muster.

Jack wracked his brain for a response that would stand up to Emma’s brand of logic. “Um, well, Aunt Lou might not want to marry me, honey.”

“Did you ask her?” Em asked, unblinking and intent.

“Ah, no.”

“How come?”

Jack would rather have been fending off Missy’s overeager advances than facing his daughter, the preschool version of the Spanish Inquisition. How was he supposed to explain to a four-year-old that her aunt was the kindest, most giving person he’d ever met and if he proposed to her she might say yes out of a sense of obligation because she knew he and the kids needed her? It was the exact same reason she’d moved in with him, but it wasn’t reason enough for marriage. Lou deserved love. All-consuming love. And they were just friends.

“Are you scared she’ll say no?” TJ asked, joining the interrogation.

Jack pulled out the Dad Voice. The I-know-this-answer-because-I-am-an-adult-and-when-you-are-thirty-I-will-explain-it-to-you voice that never failed to quell Doyle family uprisings. “I don’t want Lou to feel like she has to say yes for the wrong reasons.”

“That’s silly,” Emma declared. And she didn’t let the subject drop, proving the Dad Voice was not nearly as foolproof as he’d hoped. “People get married cuz of True Love, Dad. And fancy dresses. You should buy Aunt Lou a fancy dress.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jack deadpanned, trying not to show Emma his amusement at her evaluation of matrimony. Everything boiled down to True Love and princess dresses when you were four.
The Gospel according to Disney.
It wasn’t until much later in life—say, puberty—when things got more complicated.

Marry Lou.

Trust Emma to come up with something so elegant in its simplicity. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as simple as all that. But those words dug into his brain, taking root.
Why not marry Lou?
Part of him almost wished it wasn’t impossible.

~~~

Lou felt confident declaring her weekend as a single girl an unqualified failure. After leaving the Art Institute, she’d spent the entire two days alone. Alone at the movies. Alone doing laundry. And now, alone at the grocery store, waiting in the longest line in the history of the universe.

She’d never realized before how much
alone
sucked. Even growing up, she’d never had much time alone. The youngest of three, she’d shared a room with her sister until Katie moved away for college. To save money, Lou had lived at home with her folks until her senior year of college when she’d gotten a small place with three roommates. She’d always been saving up for her big Europe trip, so she’d stayed in the crowded little place after college. Until Emma was born, Gillian passed away, and everything changed.

She hadn’t been alone a day since. Until now.

She didn’t like it.

Her mother would probably say she had to give it a chance to grow on her, but Lou would rather skip the growth and get her life back. She wanted the noisy kids who made her long for a five second stretch by herself, not the empty hours when she felt utterly adrift. She wanted the quiet companionship of late night talks with Jack after the kids were in bed, or just watching a TV show she professed not to like because he was addicted to it. Since he’d been in LA, Lou had found herself watching all of
his
shows, even though she could easily have changed the channel.

Four years was a long time. Jack and the kids were ingrained in her life. How was she supposed to get over that?

She wasn’t ready to dive into her new life yet. The kids were coming back tonight and she just wanted to enjoy the life she had for as long as she could hold onto it.

The woman in front of her in the grocery store line shuffled forward a few inches and Lou followed suit. Boredom had her peeking in the stranger’s cart. Juice boxes, Hot Pockets, and Pop Tarts. Kid food. Lou looked at her own cart—heavily stocked with Mac n’ Cheese, PBJ makings, and a lifetime supply of granola bars that slip easily into a purse for those ubiquitous
I’m hungry
moments between meals.

What would her cart look like in six months? Frozen dinners for one and a case of Bud Light to drown her sorrows? Lou’d never been much of a drinker, but she just might have to learn.

Another shuffle, another few inches toward the Promised Land of the check stand.

Lou leaned against her cart and eyed the tabloids. Another celebrity break-up. Another Five Tips to a Better Orgasm. Another Ten Tips to a Skinnier You.

Then a small, grainy picture on the upper corner of one of the magazines caught her eye and stopped her heart.

Jack
.

She couldn’t see his face very well, but she knew that profile. She knew those shoulders and the rumpled mess of his hair. The woman in the photo had long blonde hair, but other than that, the only real distinguishing feature were the enormous breasts all but falling out of her bodice as she leaned forward to lock lips with Jack. The caption read:
TV’s Latest Mr. Perfect Picks New Mommy for his Kids
.

Lou couldn’t take her eyes off the photo. She’d known she would see things like this when the show aired, but she thought she had a few months to get used to the idea, to brace herself. There weren’t supposed to be any photos yet. This one was obviously unauthorized, probably taken with a telephoto from a mile away, but that didn’t make it any less real. Jack was kissing big breasted blondes—maybe even right this very second.

At the sound of a throat clearing, Lou started, realizing she hadn’t moved up in the line in quite a while—there had been at least two shuffle-forwards and she hadn’t even noticed. The woman behind her cleared her throat again—a little more loudly—and Lou quickly shoved her cart forward, but not before the Hot Pocket & Pop Tart lady in front of her glanced back to see what the ruckus was.

Mrs. Hot Pocket took one look at Lou’s face and her own screwed up with sympathy. “Oh, honey, are you all right?”

She’d managed not to cry in front of the kids. Not once. She’d been holding it together, but the sympathy was all it took to open the floodgates.

Fat tears began rolling down Lou’s cheeks unchecked. With a distant, rational part of her brain, she knew she was making a scene in the checkout line at her grocery store—which topped her list of mortifying things she must never do—but the tears just kept falling. She couldn’t find the words to explain why she was falling apart, so she just pointed to the tabloid.

Mrs. Hot Pocket looked at the tabloid and a flicker of confusion clashed across her face. Then she looked in Lou’s cart, glanced pointedly at Lou’s ring finger and gave a single sharp nod. “They’re all bastards,” Mrs. Hot Pocket—or perhaps more accurately Ms. Hot Pocket—declared. Lou noticed her own ring finger was bare as she marched to Lou’s side and gave her arm a hard squeeze.

“Don’t you let that bastard make you cry, whatever he did. I felt the same way, let me tell you. Every time I saw a damn magazine I couldn’t help thinking ‘If Jennifer Aniston can’t keep her man, what chance do the rest of us have?’ Am I right? Some big lipped home wrecker comes along and ruins everything. You just let it out, honey. But you let it out for
you
. He isn’t worth your tears.”

Ms. Hot Pocket’s firm speech jostled Lou out of her pity-fest. A brusque, no-nonsense woman who looked to be in her forties, she had the bone-structure of a woman who had once stopped traffic, but her face carried the weight of exhaustion and a few extra pounds. Ms. Hot Pocket’s life had kicked her in the face and she’d just gotten tougher for it.

What right did Lou have to feel sorry for herself?

“I’m sorry,” Lou sniffled, rubbing away her tears with the cuff of her shirt. “I don’t usually do that.”

“You’ve got the right to bawl your eyes out in the grocery if you want and nobody can stop you.” Ms. Hot Pocket shot a glare at the rest of the line, as if daring them to contradict her. No one made a peep.

Lou’s cell phone chimed inside her purse. She flashed Ms. Hot Pocket a grateful smile, mumbled, “Excuse me,” and dove into the disorganized mess of her bag, fishing for the phone. She yanked it out and quickly jabbed the talk button before it could go to voicemail, not even bothering to check the caller ID. “Hello?”

“Lou. It’s me.”

Lou’s eyes flicked to the tabloid of their own volition at the sound of Jack’s voice.

“I just put the kids and the chaperone on the flight back to you. The flight status thing says it’s going to be a half-hour early, so I wanted to let you know about the change in schedule.”