His sister, Bridget, had gone through a Goth phase in elementary school, around the time their parents had split up. Mom moving out had been rough on everyone, particularly the only other girl in the family. So she’d clothed and adorned herself all in black for several months. Like she wanted to wear her anger and confusion on the outside.
The final straw had been when she’d dyed her auburn hair black and stained the entire bathroom. Their dad had lost it and forbade Bridge from dyeing her hair after that. And his sister had decided that she looked too much like a cartoon witch without the dye job.
Hannah should look kind of like a witch in all black, but she didn’t. It suited her, as though the real woman under the clothes was so intertwined with what she wore that they couldn’t be separated. There was nothing soft about her at first glance. And even though he was sure she was leaving with him only so she could shake him off, he didn’t really care.
He was a desperate man. If the only thing she wanted to give him was a one-finger salute as she got in a car, he’d take it. In the six months that he’d been single, he’d been figuring out what he liked on his own, but he hadn’t been this amped about a girl since long before Lauren moved to London.
Hannah was as exciting as she was beautiful. And thrilling and mean beat pretty and nice with him every time. As clear as day, a picture of Hannah all soft and sated after he’d had his way with her popped into his brain. The satisfaction he’d feel if he could get her to let him in was almost palpable.
A part of him knew he should just walk out now because Hannah could wreck him. All the telltale signs of him falling hard were there—the clammy skin, pounding heart, and racing thoughts. If he knew what was good for him, he would leave her wondering where he’d gone. Nah, he’d be a curious footnote on what had been an unremarkable night for her. She’d sneer when she thought of him tomorrow, if she thought of him at all.
Jack was a twisted man to be so torn up over a girl who showed every sign of being even less open to a relationship right now than he was. She was like a soldier on her umpteenth tour of duty, hunkered down behind her sandbags of attitude, M16 at the ready, cynicism resting heavy on her shoulders, like armor she couldn’t put down.
Still, the flash of uncertainty he’d glimpsed in her hazel eyes after he’d lied—bald-faced lied—about not angling to sleep with her kept him in the game. He tried to tell himself that the pull he felt deep in his gut was not the recognition that she was going to be his next best mistake. Talking to her was not pulling her essence under his skin, forcing him to pursue her. He didn’t enjoy being around her so much that he’d lied about needing tacos in order to stave off a hangover. That flush under the lovely brown of her cheeks did not make him want to take care of her and make sure she had everything she needed.
He definitely didn’t want to do a little dance for joy when he saw that his favorite taco truck was still a block away from the bar. And he absolutely didn’t become uncomfortably aroused when she made a little moan in the back of her throat.
“This is my favorite truck!” She looked at him with bright eyes and lips curved into a smile, the first he’d seen on her. It wasn’t even about him, but it knocked him flat on his ass. She slapped his shoulder with the back of her hand and he barely suppressed the need to catch her fingers between his own.
“Because you have great taste.”
“You don’t know that about me.” She picked up one foot and pointed to her shoes. “I could think that these look really neat.”
“Nope. You said you were working earlier. Guessing the shoes you wore to work were killing your feet.” And he was sure the shoes she’d been wearing to work were sexy as hell. If she’d been wearing stilettoes when they’d met, she might as well have stuck one pointy heel right into his heart. Her legs were devastating as they were; heels would almost be too much.
“You were paying attention.” She sounded surprised, and he hated that.
“Of course I was. Who wouldn’t pay attention to you?” She was captivating, at least to him. But she didn’t seem to see it. As soon as she’d turned, ready to commit heinous acts on behalf of her friends, he’d been caught up in her. Maybe her favorite tacos would give him some insight as to why.
“What’s wrong with you?” Her question caught him off guard only a little.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean—and don’t let this go to your head—you’re good-looking, probably not broke, and you don’t seem stupid right off the bat.” She stopped and ran a hand through her dark brown hair. He couldn’t help but look where the strands nuzzled her breast. “Why are you even talking to me? Are you a glutton for punishment?”
In addition to being superhot, she was definitely a pill, but the superhot part was winning. Plus, there had to be a reason she was giving him such a hard time. He’d chalk it up to journalistic instinct that he wanted to know what was up with her. “Definitely a masochist.”
“Figures.” She rolled her eyes at him, and—hand to God—it made his heart race.
“You’re seriously not going to cut me any breaks, are you?”
“Why should I?”
He hated that she was likely lumping him in with some douche-bro who’d done her wrong, but he could understand. He knew what kind of shit men pulled when they were trying to dip their wicks. He’d been friends with Chris and Joey for two decades.
“My winning smile?” He crossed his arms over his chest, and she mirrored him as though she wasn’t going to give him an answer. When she said nothing, he raised an eyebrow.
“Just a nice boy from a good family, just making conversation. Aren’t you?” She shook her head.
Her voice sounded world-weary, and he felt empathy with that. But good family? His family was just fine, normal for his block. But after his parents split up, the kids had kind of been left to fend for themselves. And things with his mother still weren’t the same. She’d wanted more than her husband and kids. Gone back to school, got a job at the Museum of Contemporary Art, found another husband. By the time she’d tried to make her way back into her kids’ lives, they’d all sort of moved on. Michael to their family contracting business, Jack to school and his various girlfriends, and Bridget to being the very best at everything all at once.
A shard of anger worked through the lust that Hannah had kicked up in his gut. How dare she peg him as some idiot bro? He knew what he looked like, but that didn’t give her the right to toss her baggage at his feet.
Someone had clearly done a number on her. It wasn’t his job to clean it up. She didn’t want him; she’d made that clear. He didn’t walk away, though, because the anger wasn’t enough to overpower the lust and the growing tenderness she’d reached into him and pulled out.