Life in a Rut, Love not Included (Love Not Included series Book 1) (8 page)

Jack starts reading my list, and he begins to chuckle. “What is so funny?” I snap at him, trying and again failing at swatting back my list.

“Number one—Make a list,” he recites out loud while laughing.

“Yeah, make a list! You have to start somewhere, don’t you?”

His laughter softens. “You are correct.”

He reads on, stopping only to look at me for clarification. “Number two—Plan life.”

“Yes. It’s probably important to try and build some sort of path or direction.”

“OK . . . Number three—Fulfill a goal.” Again he stops to look at me.

“
Fulfill a goal.
I want to set my mind to something and complete it. I’ve always loved to read. I used to love reading books when I was younger. Lose myself in sappy romance novels. I never do it anymore. I don’t know, maybe I’ll finish 100 books by the end of the year.”

“You know it’s already June, right?”

“Yeah. You’re right. OK, cross that one off.”

“OK, moving on. Number four—Find out what else is at the end of the tunnel.” This time he looks at me in amusement. “Care to elaborate?”

“Why does everyone always say there is light at the end of the tunnel? So what? What else is there? What if the light isn’t good enough for me? I don’t want to settle for just light, ya know?” We look at each other and lock eyes for some time. I can see the understanding in his eyes. He is agreeing with me. Sometimes there needs to be more than just light.

“I will take that. Next, number five—Find myself, on a budget.” His eyebrows shoot up as he looks at me again.

“Exactly what it says, Jackie boy. Find myself. Go in search of who I really am but in an unemployed and on a budget sort of way. You know those people who travel the world trying to figure out where their place is? I want to do that but possibly in this particular suburb, and for less than twenty bucks.”

Jack just laughs. He doesn’t even try to hold this one in. He simply belts out a huge gust of laughter. His laugh singing in my ears is so infectious it makes my legs squeeze together. Who is this man? And why is he sitting in my kitchen with me all gorgeous and edible and laughing like some Greek god? “You’re staring,” he says when his laughter softens.

Huh?
“Huh? Oh, no I’m not.”

“Yes you were . . .”

“Listen, don’t think so highly of yourself, pal.”

“All right, all right. Moving on. Number six—Remember what falling in love feels like.” He finishes the last of that sentence in almost a whisper. His laughter dies down even more and he turns to look at me. I, on the other hand, am staring at my glass. The mood has gotten a bit more serious than I had planned and I’m pretty sure the fun is over. I turn to wrap this party up, and catch Jack holding me in his gaze, waiting intensely for a response. “Care to clarify?”

Not really.
Stupid vermouth.

“Well, exactly what it says. It’s been a while since I can remember that feeling. The one with the butterflies and the sleepless nights because all you can do is think about the one who has your heart. The warmth you feel when he touches you. When things were real. When it was only you he had eyes for and you can even see that love burning in his eyes . . .”

At this point I think I just drifted. I’m not even sure I’m really talking to anyone anymore. Why would I even write that? Why would I even care? Love is such a foolish thing to want anyway. So in the end you can be crushed and made a fool? To wake up one day and realize that it was all a one-man show, and suddenly your better half becomes your roommate’s? To feel such emotion for another person and for them to rip it away and take advantage of your heart? To not even care enough to be honest . . . to just end up leaving you in the end?

I don’t realize that Jack at some point has moved from his chair and is now kneeling in front of me. Nor do I realize that at some point I began to cry.

With Jack being a gigantic six-foot-two compared to my puny five-four frame, when he kneels in front of me his head is level with mine. He takes his hand and gently wipes the tear that’s spilling down my cheek. I attempt to open my mouth to say something but nothing comes out. I am done.

I’m waving my white flag. I just can’t talk about how sad I am anymore to anyone. I attempt to push him away so I can get up and flee, but he puts his hands on each side of me face and holds me there. I try to look away out of shame that I have opened up about such a pitiful issue, and then proceed to cry about it.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—” I begin, but he hushes me with his finger over my lips. Without breaking eye contact, he leans in closer and touches his lips to mine. His breath hits my lips like a warm summer breeze. His lips are soft and gentle and inviting. I sit there a bit tense and shocked at his bold move, but I quickly relax in his embrace. He slowly caresses my lips with his own until I feel my hands move upward to wrap around his neck. Giving him the green light, he intensifies the kiss while smoothly opening my mouth with his tongue. Tasting and feeling and brushing his tongue, his lips continue to crush into mine. I feel my grasp around his neck tighten. Before I start to choke him, he breaks away from me and both of us gasp for air. I just stare at him. He speaks first.

“I’m so sorry. I should not have done that.”

Umm . . . That’s not what I was hoping he would say.

“Oh,” I say. No doubt he is seeing the hurt in my facial expression. No hiding that one.

“No, that’s not what I meant . . . I meant . . .” Before he can finish, I push him back and attempt to stand.

“No, it’s cool, buddy, no hard feelings. I know how that stuff goes, get lost in the moment feeling sorry for the girl.” I feel my anger quickly rise. I try to push him further away from me but he catches my wrist.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” he says. “Look at me.” He holds my wrist firmly in his grip, waiting for me to stop fighting his hold and make eye contact with him. This just isn’t happening to me. “Sarah, look at me,” he says again, and at the sound of my name leaving his lips I turn and look. I see scorching gold eyes burning right into mine. Intense emotions drain out of his eyes and pour into mine. “I didn’t kiss you because I felt sorry for you. I kissed you because I haven’t stopped thinking about kissing you since I first saw you on the street. Then the second chance I got after you walked into my office all bent out of hell to drive me insane. I haven’t slept a good fuckin’ night since I slammed my mouth on yours two weeks ago. What I’m sorry about is that I took advantage of you in a vulnerable moment. It was wrong of me.”

Oh, for the love . . .

“Excuse me?” is all that comes out of my mouth because my brain isn’t really working anymore.

“I said I can’t stop thinking about how it would feel to have my mouth on yours again, ever since that day in the garage.”

Holy mother of holy.
“Is this really happening?” I have to ask it. I have to know if in about two seconds he is going to whisper in my ear that it’s not me . . .

“I think it’s my turn to say, excuse me?” he responds in a confused but humorous way.

I’m not sure if it’s the vermouth or the way my whole body is tingling, but boy does this guy have me speechless. I can’t even think of anything to retort back. But whoever made the decision, it is now set. Without blinking, I swing my arms out again, around his neck, and crush my lips to his. He wraps his arms around my waist and our bodies slam together. He swops me up from the chair, then he stands holding my weight effortlessly and presses my body into the wall next to where I was just sitting. His mouth is so hot and inviting to the touch. His taste, oh boy, he tastes good. I can’t get enough. Will I ever get enough?

Just as he starts to work his way down my neck, I hear the back door open and slam against the wall. Jack drops me from his grasp and we break apart faster than lightning speed to swiftly turn and see my mother walking in with two large paper bags full of groceries. Thank the gods above, they are so full she can’t even see over her bags.

“Honey, is that you? Thank goodness. Please help me with these bags. I about bumped into every wall making it into the house.”

I back away quickly from Jack and grab a full bag out of her hands. Once her vision is clear she takes in the scene before her. “Oh hello, Jack. I didn’t see you there. Is everything OK?”

I respond with force before Jack can say anything. “Yeah, Mom. He was just coming in for a glass of water.” I look at Mom then look at Jack who seems to be a bit caught off guard, not to mention winded.

“Oh, that’s nice of you dear.” As she sets the other bag down on the counter, she turns around and looks at us both, assessing. “Well honey, aren’t you going to get him some water? I’m sure he has work to do.”

Oh yeah, water . . .”Right.” I turn and trip over my own foot as I stumble to the sink. I open the cupboard and grab for the nearest glass, and two others come falling out at me. I’m completely staying cool right now . . . Not. I ignore my mom’s curious glances and continue my task. While filling the cup, I stare at Jack’s reflection in the window. While Mom turns her head to put away groceries, I notice him adjust himself.
Whoa . . .
Did not expect that. Sexy McKiss-a-lot seems a little affected by our make-out session. I mean, who wouldn’t though, making out like teenagers in my parents’ kitchen?

More interruptions. “Hey, boss.” A tall attractive blond sticks his head in through the back kitchen door. “We could use a hand with the shutter boards,” he says.

Jack pulls himself together. “Yeah, sure, I’ll be right there,” he says, then he turns to me and says, “Thanks,” and he walks out the back door.

Wow . . .
I simply think while I proceed to chug the glass of water in my hand.

“Honey, wasn’t that for Jack?” my mother asks in complete confusion. I just continue drinking.

W
HELP, WHERE TO GO
from here? I will admit that I have a whole new burst of energy, because I most definitely do. But it’s also dinner time and I have a martini hangover starting to invite itself into my scull. I debate going to bed in hopes of finishing that little episode with Jack in my dreams. But how about we take a step back first and figure out what the hell just happened in there. I mean, one minute I was sitting there crying like a pathetic loser, and the next minute I was embraced in Jack’s arms playing tonsil hockey with him. And possibly the best game I’ve ever played, may I add. I can’t deny the sparks that seemed to electrocute my senses while we kissed. I can still feel my swollen lips tingling. I touch my fingers to my lips while replaying the scene in my head. Somehow, I make it up to my room without bumping into any walls since the only thing I see is my own homemade movie playing in front of me. I shut my door and lean against the cold wood.
Sigh.

Double sigh.

I notice banging and shuffling of tools and equipment out back, and peel myself off the door to walk towards the window and take a peek. I spot Jack immediately and watch as he talks while pointing to some of the equipment, instructing his men on what to do.

I stand leaning on the window while I watch him work. The way his strong muscles stretch and firm while maneuvering his equipment. The way the sun hits his face and sweat gathers over his forehead. I watch him wipe away a bead of sweat dripping down his face, and grab for his tools with extensive force.
Holy mother of hotness, what kind of man is this?

I can’t stop watching him work, and admire his skills for the job. His strong rough hands maneuvering heavy materials. Lifting wood boards half my weight with such ease. Steve didn’t have rough hands at all. I think Steve had softer hands than I did, in fact. Growing up with money, and having everyone care for him, I don’t think he had ever even lifted a finger of his own.

Jack moves out of my line of vision and like that vermouth, I simply cannot get enough. Trying to get a better look, I climb over a few boxes and adjust myself to get into a perfect lean-into position between the dresser and box tower. Just watching him is making me sweat. He’s using his hands in ways I wouldn’t mind having all over me like that. Maybe we can turn this into a little ‘you touch yourself, I touch myself’ demonstration. I ponder this idea while I attempt to get a bit more comfortable against the ledge, debating how well I can adjust my hand movements while hanging halfway off a window ledge. Then, just as I start making the simple attempt of skimming my fingers down my belly, Jack stops. He lifts his shirt just over his navel to wipe off the sweat above his lip, revealing—

“
Oh mother of abs!
”

SPLAT!

And . . . man down.

If a 125 pound, semi-intoxicated, totally turned-on human could have made a bigger commotion while slipping off the dresser and taking a face tumble five feet to the ground, I would be impressed. I even manage to knock over my box tower all while kicking the lamp into the window, causing it to shatter, and of course, I end my fall by splitting my pants straight down the rear on the way down.

Such is the life of Sarah Sullivan. May we take a short commercial break while I ponder 101 ways to disappear?