“Well, it is. And I’ve made an enormous ass of myself in a far more public venue than a hallway. In front of a source. And then I yacked on his shoes.”
“Okay, that may be worse. I’m sorry I forced myself on you.”
He’s smiling, which makes me at least not want to cry. “Never apologize for that. It was a nice bonus at the end of my day.”
“Ha-ha.”
“Let’s get you home.” He puts his hand on my shoulder like he’s steering me, and we walk down the hall toward the bar. I feel like he’s guiding me in a straight line, but I have no idea if I’d be able to do it on my own. I’m beyond tired, I’m pretty drunk and I’ve lost the last bit of fight in me. I’ll do whatever anyone tells me at this point.
Back in the melee of the bar, he guides me to the table where Moss is drinking another round of shots with his friends and waits by the door while I say goodnight. Moss asks for my number, which is oddly sweet, considering there’s no connection whatsoever. I give him a few fake digits and walk to the door, which Jack holds open for me.
Once outside, the generous cool air hits my face and if I’m lucky, the flush on my cheeks will have a fighting chance of subsiding. “Ah, it’s so nice out,” I say.
“Actually, it’s pretty chilly. You’re not cold?” He’s wearing his sport coat and he has a scarf wound around his neck.
It’s probably the alcohol, but I don’t feel cold. “I like it.”
“You’re gonna freeze,” he says, taking his coat off and putting it over my shoulders. It smells like aftershave and even though I know it hangs on the back of his chair like a lonely life raft most days, it feels intimate having it on right now. I can’t believe he’s being this kind to me. It’s a little unnerving because it’s so contrary to the tight-ass I’m used to dealing with at work. “I don’t get it. I lost a story for the paper, I groped you in the bar and now you’ve gotta take my drunk ass home. Why are you being so nice?”
He stops walking and tilts his head at me. “Why do you seem so surprised? Oh, that’s right. Because you think I’m a dick.”
“No, I… I dunno. I’m sorry I said that. I sometimes have a bit of a temper.”
He lets out a low chuckle. “That, you do.” I immediately feel defensive because he’s not supposed to agree so readily, but I decide it’s better not to antagonize the man who’s offered me a ride. We walk in silence for a few minutes, which feels more awkward than when I was blurting out nonsense earlier. I’ve never made small talk with him before and I realize that outside of our reporting jobs, I don’t know much about him. “Do you live close to the office?”
“I’m in the Hollywood Hills.”
“Huh. I wouldn’t have pegged you for there.”
He casts a sideways glance at me, that amused gleam sparking in his eyes again. “Oh, this oughtta be good. Where did you imagine I’d live? And if you say a troll hut, I’m changing my mind about the ride.”
I have to think about it for a minute because, honestly, I’d never given it that much consideration, other than sort of imagining he might live at the gym. “I guess… maybe I envision you living right here. Like, a block from the bureau, so you can race in and cover big breaking news stories whenever they come up. Like a surgeon who sleeps in the on-call room or whatever.”
He laughs softly. “You do realize we have the ability to work remotely, yes? The beauty of technology…”
“Yes, but you’re a diehard. You have to be there right when the story’s breaking and read it on the wires.” I’m laughing a little now. It feels good to call him on how obsessive he is. And to take the focus off of me.
It finally dawns on me to wonder what happened to his date. Did he leave her at the bar? Did she bail on him before he saw me? I start to ask him because this seems like a problem—at least for her—but then he puts a hand on my shoulder, and I get distracted again.
We’ve reached our office building, and if he hadn’t steered me in the door, I might have kept walking. I guess I’m more out of it than I realized. I wonder if he’s aware.
We take the elevator down to the parking garage, where I see my crummy, beige eight-year-old Honda parked in one of the faraway spots. Jack has a spot close to the elevator and his paint job looks meticulously shiny. In my drunken haze, I’m already distracted by his fancy car and his good parking spot and the reporter’s life that might lie in my future if I just work hard enough. It’s the dream I want more than anything, marked by a better salary and bylines and a car that doesn’t have a window that won’t roll down and a crack in the upholstery. “How’d you get the rockstar parking? Lemme guess, because you got here before the roosters?”
“Actually, the parking attendant likes me, so she holds me a space. I butter her up with Peet’s coffee.”
It doesn’t surprise me that a female parking attendant has a soft spot for him. “I don’t think that’s why,” I say.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“She probably thinks you’re hot. Most women think you’re hot.” I’m still drunk enough not to be in control of my mouth. He smiles and I fight against my instinct to rip his shirt off right here and put my hands on his bare skin. I try to remember my manners. Colleague offers ride, kindly allow him to stay clothed.
He looks amused. “Only most? What do I have to do win over the rest?”
“Don’t ask me. I think you’re a dick, remember?” But I can’t help grinning through the words because I think I’ve already proven that’s a lie.
“Come along, little lush.”
He leads me to the passenger side of his car, which is a pretty sporty Audi sedan with sleek angles and leather interior. As soon as I slide into the passenger seat, I feel especially tired. And comfortable. “This is nice,” I say, settling in.
I don’t realize my purse is hanging halfway outside the car until he reaches to move it to my lap. His face is so close to mine when he does it that I catch a whiff of sandalwood and pine, which I can’t help inhaling a little deeper. At the sound, he turns to look at me, his face only inches from mine.
He lingers longer than a person would if he was just tucking a colleague into her seat. He looks conflicted.
But instead of leaning in further, he gives me the same tight-lipped smile I saw earlier and backs away.
I mumble my address when he asks, and I take the moment to close my eyes while he plugs it into his GPS. Just for a sec though. Blasted tequila. I can’t even remember if I ate the fries I ordered. But I can remember how it felt to kiss him, and damn if I don’t want to feel it again.
10
Jack
Holy hell, if there was a Pulitzer Prize for keeping my pants zipped and doing the right thing, I would win it. Hands down.
It didn’t take any kind of investigative genius to see that Linden wanted me to throw her up against the bathroom wall and have all kinds of fun with her. And like the world’s biggest idiot—and a feeble excuse for a stand-up guy—I closed the door on it. Literally.