By the end of the evening, he was flat-out sulking and the only thing that boosted his spirits was the thought of winning that bet.
Afterward, as he lay in bed thinking of Jude in that cute outfit, his body hardened and the temptation to drop out of the contest was overwhelming. She filled his head—the sight of her shapely body, the smell of her intoxicating fragrance, the sound of her soft, beguiling voice.
But that was what Dirk wanted him to do, and Tom would be damned if he’d give his buddy the upper hand.
All the next day, he waited for Dirk to text him and tell him he was out of the bet, but Dirk did not. So much for Jude’s plan, apparently. Dirk had a cast-iron constitution.
Yeah, well, so do you.
Unless Dirk was dishonest.
His buddy could be manipulative, and he lived to gamble and take risks, but Tom had never known Dirk to tell an outright lie.
So either Dirk was still the “master of his domain” or…
A startling new—and frankly terrifying—thought seized him. What if Dirk really liked Jude? What if he wanted her for himself? What if Tom was wrong and Dirk wasn’t just using Jude to get him to drop out of the competition?
Those questions plagued him all day long, and it was with great relief when he pulled up to Jude’s apartment complex at six thirty that Saturday evening. Tonight, she’d be with him and not Dirk.
Suck on that, Poomph.
Jude met him at the door, looking like a total knockout in a navy-blue dress and scarlet stilettos. She looked so stunning, he feared he was underdressed in slacks and a sports jacket.
“You look like a million bucks,” he said, stupefied. She’d held nothing back. Her soft dark hair fell in big curls around her shoulders and she smelled like heaven.
“Thank you.” Her eyes filled with appreciation for his comment.
“Jaxon is a total fool.”
Her smiled broadened. “Thank you for validating me.”
“I’m not trying to validate you,” he said. “I mean what I say. You’re ravishing.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere.” She winked as she pulled the door to her apartment closed and locked it behind them.
Okay, he needed to nip that conversation in the bud before he got really charged up. “Where are we going?”
“I’ll give you directions when we’re in the car.”
“Ahh, mysterious.”
“I want to keep you interested.”
“Oh…” He eyed her up and down. “You have nothing to worry about on that score. I am beyond interested.”
“How’s the bet going?” she asked as they went down the three staircases together. “Is Dirk still in the competition after last night?”
“Yes.”
“Aww, I’m sorry I failed to get you the results you wanted.”
“Don’t be. I don’t even want to think about Dirk. Tonight is all about you and me.”
“Hmm,” she mused as if he hadn’t said a word. “I guess I’m not as charming as I thought I was. I’ll make another date with him and see if I can turn up the heat.”
“No!” Tom exclaimed so loudly his voice echoed in the confines of the stairwell.
“Don’t you want to win?”
“Not like this,” he said.
“Oh, really? That doesn’t sound like the Tom Brunswick I’ve come to know.”
“Yeah, well, some things are more important than winning.” He surprised the heck out of himself with that statement.
“Since when?” She laughed lightly.
Since she’d been rubbing up against Dirk all night at the bowling alley. Tom ground his teeth, remembering as they hit the first-floor landing and stepped out into the cold November night air.
He inhaled a bracing lungful of chilled oxygen and it helped to clear his head…until he took Jude’s arm to guide her down the sidewalk dusted with snow and a fresh assault of longing blasted through him. Why was he clinging to a decade worth of rivalry when he could let go and explore this chemistry with Jude? All he had to do was call Dirk and tell him he was out of the contest.
Easy-peasy.
Why was it so hard?
Once they were in the Mustang, Jude gave him directions to where they were going, and he recognized it as a hip new nightclub on the other side of town that Dirk frequented. It had, in fact, been the club where the four former frat boys had made their bet.
Jude’s choice of venues surprised him.
“Are you sure you want to go to The Loophole?” he asked.
“Sure, why not?” She said it almost too easily, as if her decision had been a calculated one but she didn’t want him to know it.
Or maybe he was reading things into her voice that weren’t there. Sometimes, his competitiveness made him a little paranoid, particularly in relationship to Dirk.
“The Loophole doesn’t seem like your kind of place.”
“All the more reason to go. My ‘usual’ kind of place is nice and boring. Like Rocky’s. I’m ready to kick up my heels for real. You game to kick them with me?”
“I like Rocky’s,” he said, feeling a little defensive and not knowing why.
“Me too, but it’s the kind of place families hang out at. The Loophole is not.” She had a point. The Loophole was the antithesis to a family-friendly establishment.
“Have you ever been there?” he asked.
“No, but Dirk told me about it last night.”
That explained that.
Jude bebopped in her seat. “I can’t wait to boogie down with you.”
Twenty minutes later, feeling decidedly uneasy and braced for a wild night, Tom escorted her into the club.
Tom was right but Jude wasn’t about to admit it.
The Loophole was not her kind of place.
For one thing, it was so noisy on a Saturday night that conversation was nearly impossible. The funky DJ relentlessly blasted out tunes with suggestive lyrics and hard, driving beats. For another thing, sardines in a can were packed more loosely than people in the club. With this many people, there had to be some kind of fire code violation. People who, for the most part, were very scantily dressed for November.
She wished she could be more like those blithe souls who could express themselves so freely and not care about public opinion. Tom was right on that score too. She didn’t need to learn how to be wild—although teasing Tom last night by feigning interest in Dirk had been rather fun, especially since Dirk was in on the joke. She needed to learn how to stop caring what other people thought of her.
And that included Tom Brunswick.
By some miracle, he’d managed to find them a minuscule bistro table in a far corner. It was sticky with the drinks from the last occupants, but at least they didn’t have to stand in the madding crowd.
Jude took a deep breath and tried to settle down, but her stomach was in her throat. In theory, she wanted to cut loose, have fun, dance until closing time, and then take Tom back to her place and conspire for him to lose that bet.
Or at least that was the plan.
Eyeballing Tom from her peripheral vision, she’d never seen him looking more handsome. He was wearing a gray herringbone sport coat over dark-gray pleated trousers and a black knit shirt. He’d gotten a haircut, not short but stylish, and fragrant aftershave wafted around his freshly shaved face.