Not Quite Dating(23)

This is what poets write about.
Jack wanted more, so much more than a stolen kiss at her apartment door.
The door behind her suddenly flew open, causing Jessie to fall back. Had Jack not been holding her, she probably would have ended up on her butt.
Jack’s eyes snapped open and saw the shocked expression from both Jessie and the woman who had to be her sister, Monica.
“Oh, I’m sorry. So sorry.” Monica’s eyes were wide. Her hands covered her reddening cheeks.
Jessie stepped away from him. Her fingertips ran along her swollen lower lip. The glow of her cheeks was this side of delectable.
“It’s OK. Jack was just leaving,” Jessie finally spoke.
He’d better do so quickly, before Jessie started to regret their shared kiss. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Blowing out a sigh, Jessie chewed on her lower lip. “Right. My car. OK, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Good night, Jessica,” he said as he turned and left both stunned women at the door.
Before he rounded the corner of the hall, he heard Monica giggle and say, “Oh my God. Is that Jack?”
Jack stood a little taller, his grin a little bigger.


Chapter Six


“That was Jack, right? Holy shit, is he cute or what?” Monica practically squealed when she spoke.
“That was Jack.” Lethal lips and all. Oh man, his kiss had been to die for. Knock-her-on-her-butt delicious. And completely wrong. “Dammit. That shouldn’t have happened.”
“What shouldn’t have happened?” Monica pulled Jessie down on the bed that doubled as a couch.
“That kiss. I shouldn’t have…he shouldn’t have.” I should have pulled away, reminded him that he’s bad for me.
“Is he a bad kisser?” Monica tucked her feet under herself Indian style and rubbed her hands together.
“He’s an amazing kisser, but I shouldn’t have let him.”
“Why on earth not? He’s gorgeous, and that accent…geez, makes me a big pile of goo just thinking about it.”
“You know how I feel about dreamers, Monica. He’s a waiter at The Morrison.”
“So? You wait tables, too. You both have that in common.”
Jessie rolled her eyes. “Great, so we’ll save money so one day we might actually be able to buy a decent car that we’d have to share in order to get back and forth to our go-nowhere jobs. It wouldn’t work.” Falling for someone like Jack would break her heart. Then what? She’d end up like her mother, hopping from one man to another.
No, the kiss was a mistake. The next time Jessie saw him she’d set him straight, make him promise to keep his distance, or their friendship needed to end. She liked talking to him, listening to his plans, but kissing her needed to be something they did once.
One amazing time…but only once.
Jessie glanced at her sister and pushed off the sofa bed. “I’m beat.”
“But I want to hear more about this date.”
“It wasn’t a date.”
“He drove you home.”
“That’s because my car wouldn’t start,” she said, explaining the situation.
“He kissed you at the door, and it’s almost three in the morning.”
“We talked in the back of the limo, watched the planes take off.”
“You were in a limo?”
Oh boy, not the information her sister needed to hear if Jessie was going to get any sleep before her son woke her up. “The hotel limo. Jack finagled it to give me a ride home. It wasn’t a date.”
“Sounds like a date to me.”
Jessie had spent the whole night in Jack’s presence, driven home with the guy, talked about their past, their futures. That kiss wouldn’t be forgotten any time soon. “Not quite a date.”
Monica pushed in between the covers of her bed with a catty smile. “If what I saw is ‘not quite dating,’ I want some.” She air quoted the dating statement and then turned off the light.
“Good night, Mo.”
“Night, sis. Have amazing, ‘not quite kissing’ dreams.”
Jessie tossed a pillow at her. “Brat.”


“If you want my advice, I’d suggest you send this wreck to its grave.” Max Harper owned a small auto shop a few blocks from the hotel. He had happily towed Jessie’s car and squeezed in time to work on it. Jack had met Max prior to Dean’s bachelor party. He had wanted his truck road-ready, and Max had taken care of him.
“Can’t do it,” Jack told him. “The lady who owns it can’t afford to dump this quite yet.”
Max wiped his hands with a shop rag and pulled a pencil from his blue shirt. “I can get it up and running without too much fuss. Needs a new starter.”
“It needs more than a starter.” Jack noticed the worn-out belts, the overheating radiator.
“It needs to collect dust in a junkyard. But if you insist on limping her along, I’ll get you out the door today with a starter.”
“The battery looks ancient,” Jack told him.
“It still has a charge, but I’d be happy to replace it.”
“Do that.”
Max moved around the car and to the back of the shop to gather parts.
The need to fix every possible problem with the car made Jack’s skin itch. The thought of Jessie driving around town or breaking down at night…
“You know what I don’t get?” Max asked.
“No, what’s that?”
“How someone with your money is driving around in crap like this. No offense.” Max was pushing sixty, weighed forty more pounds than he should, breathed too heavy for a man his age, and was honest to a fault. Dean had recommended the man and Jack knew now why. Even with the knowledge of Jack’s deep pockets, Max didn’t try and sell him more than he needed. Even now, as the two of them stared at the bleak engine in tandem, both of them agreeing the car should be shot, Max didn’t push.