Again, she hadn’t even had his dick in her mouth, and he was ready to risk a disappointed parental look and oblique racist comments. He either had the largest set of brass balls in history, or there was more going on here than she knew about.
All of those thoughts crowded her head as she walked up the newly poured walkway to the well-kept, stately Chicago bungalow. Her hand felt shaky as she pushed the button for the doorbell and waited. Her heart sped up as slow, heavy footsteps sounded across the entryway.
And she almost choked on air when the door opened and a man who shared Jack’s devastating green eyes and stupid dimples—with three decades of added depth—opened the door and said, “Finally, my idiot son decided to get some taste in women.”
And then he winked at her.
Hannah didn’t know what to say to that, and her mouth gaped open for a few moments. Jack’s father gave her some grace and waved her into the foyer. By the time she slipped off her shoes, she’d gathered her wits. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Nolan.”
He took her hand in his giant sun-spotted one and shook it. “It’s Sean.”
“Okay.” She took her hand back and wiped her sweaty palm on her conservative black sweaterdress. “It’s nice to meet you, Sean.”
When his brow furrowed, she thought she’d made a mistake. But then he turned and motioned for her to follow. “We’ll get you a beer. The game’s about to start.”
It was a Friday night, so he couldn’t mean the football game. That was a relief, because she would do a lot of things to keep Jack on the hook, but rooting for Michigan was a step too far. “Is Jack here yet?”
“He’s out back with his brother.” They walked into the kitchen, and Sean pulled out a Miller beer, cracked the top, and handed it to her.
Parched from her freak-out, she took a long gulp. The malty liquid reminded her of her grandfather, who had driven a truck for a beer distributor for thirty years. A lot of things about this place reminded her of her grandparents’ home. The décor was way more updated than the orange Formica countertops and hand-embroidered towels of her grandmother’s kitchen had been. Only to be expected given the family business. But there were piles of mail and pictures of a man who had to be Jack’s brother along with an attractive brunette and a young girl who hadn’t grown into her toothy smile yet.
The walls mostly had beer and sports posters, denoting that this was the domain of men. Again, something that reminded her of her grandfather, though his paraphernalia had been relegated to the garage.
Sean sat down at the table after pulling out a chair for her, and Hannah’s nervousness came back a bit. Even though his gruffness was probably a veneer that belied a softy underneath—like her grandfather’s had been—she hadn’t gotten a full briefing from Jack before coming here.
“I heard you met my wife.” Hannah noticed that he skipped the “ex” part of that equation.
Hannah nodded. “Yep.”
“How’d she look?” She had not been expecting that question and wasn’t sure how to answer. If he hated his ex-wife, then maybe he wanted her to say that she looked awful. If he was still in love with her, he’d want her to affirm that his decades of longing for the mother of his children was warranted.
The secret, romantic part of her soul decided that it was the latter. “She’s lovely. Smart, elegant. Knows her shit.” Despite her internal pep talk about manners in the car, she thought Sean would appreciate a well-placed curse. Just a little something to let him know that she didn’t have a stick up her ass.
He smirked enough that his dimple creased deeper than Jack’s deepest dimple, and he let out a pleased grunt. She immediately liked Sean Nolan.
Jack entered the room, followed by the man from the pictures on the fridge. Before introducing her to his brother, he swooped in and kissed her on the mouth. She felt her face heat as his lips touched hers and his freshly sweaty smell hit her nostrils. His hand at the back of her neck made the rest of the room disappear, and thoughts about what she would do to him if they weren’t in his father’s house crowded out the fact that they were in his father’s house until Sean’s smoke-roughened laugh interrupted them.
“Act like you weren’t raised in a barn and introduce her to your brother.”
Still, Jack took his time withdrawing from her mouth, as though it pained him to do so. Hannah pressed her fingers to her lips and looked at the skin exposed by the undone buttons on Jack’s shirt for a beat before she could look up at his brother.
The brother smiled at her, apparently not fazed by the PDA. Hannah stood up and offered her hand again.
“I’m Michael, the better-looking Nolan brother.”
Hannah laughed and nodded because that was polite. But it was totally untrue. And even if it was true, her judgment was impaired by Jack’s kisses. He would always be the good-looking Nolan brother to her.
Like his father, Michael stared at her for a long beat. She would have turned tail and run but for Jack cupping the back of her neck. Jesus, she’d never liked to be publicly claimed by any other boyfriend. On anyone else, it would seem like a petty pissing contest. On Jack, it worked for her in a major way. Like, made her knees weak enough that she needed the touch to stay standing.
With him touching her like that, she was liable to forget that this was all a pretend game so she could prove to her boss that she wasn’t allergic to romance and get a promotion.
“And this is Hannah.”
“I figured that.” Michael Nolan shared the same smirk with his father and younger brother. He took her hand and gave it a firm shake before letting it go. She liked the way the Nolan men shook hands. Their skin was dry, and they didn’t posture or grip too tightly.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Same here.” Michael winked at her. “You need another beer?” Apparently, that was the sign that the Nolan men approved of someone.
Hannah shook her head. “I’m good.”
* * *
—
JACK WAS GLAD THAT he hadn’t told his father or brother about the story. They would have given away the whole game because they were shit liars, and he liked that they seemed to like her. He’d really liked walking into his father’s kitchen and seeing her there, sitting with the old man. As though she belonged there and belonged with him.
When he saw her there, swathed in something soft and cashmere, sipping a cheap, domestic beer with his dad, he’d had to admit to himself that this wasn’t entirely about the story. This was about him wanting to spend time with this woman. Sure, if she got comfortable with him, she’d be sure to say something that would give him a clue as how to best repulse her, but he was self-aware enough to know that he didn’t want to do that tonight.