He slides me a sideways glance but lets that one go by. “We’ve been through a lot together. I’m closer to him than my own brother. He’s taken a lot of bullets for me.”
I make a face, still unconvinced.
“You know the Brawler fund, where we raise money forveterans and first responders? And how we expanded it to help keep restaurants open during the pandemic?”
Of course I do; it’s one of the few truly decent endeavors Brawler’s spearheaded. They rallied their audience for donations and persuaded their network of professional athletes to match them, eventually raising more than forty million dollars and saving hundreds of restaurants from permanent closure. “Yeah?”
“I wish I could say that was my idea, but it was all Tom. He’s got a big mouth, sure, but he’s got an even bigger heart.”
Hmph.“Guess I’ll have to take your word for it.” I’m not buying that Tom’s some sort of misunderstood do-gooder no matter what Jack says, but there’s no use debating the point with someone who’s so obviously determined to view him through rose-colored glasses. “Anyway, I guess I thought you were this ‘Mr. Popular, everyone’s best friend’ type, but I’m sensing that your life is... simpler than I thought.”Lonelier.
“A lot of peoplethinkthey’re friends with me—and of course, socializing is a big part of my job—but I can count my actual friends on one hand. Which, honestly, is just fine with me. I’d rather have four quarters than a hundred pennies.”
I smile to myself.I like that.
“What?” he asks, seeing my face.
“Just sounds like something my Gran would say.”
He grows serious. “Just what every man wants to hear: that he reminds you of your grandmother.”
I giggle, and his eyes gleam. I think he likes making me laugh. “So, now that I’ve shared my most damaging childhood memories, shall I show you to the door?” He’s joking, but there’s real vulnerability in his voice.
I reach out and give his arm a comforting squeeze—though let’s face it, fondling his bicep is more of a treat for me. I want to pet him like one of those touch-and-feel board books I read to my nieces. “Nah. What’s a little family drama? Anyway, this confession is nothing compared to the guy who told me he’d been collecting his toenail clippings since college.”
He throws his head back and laughs. “No way. I refuse to believe it.”
“Okay fine, it was part of a story I did about worst app dates, but it really did happen to a coworker of mine.”
He’s laughing harder now, his voice husky and deep, and something about the combination of the music, the wine, and this absurdly attractive man whose lap I’m practically sitting in—not to mention his unabashed, palpable interest in me—has me loosening up, dropping my guard, and relaxing into the rare, heady feeling of a date that’s going well.Reallywell.
“Quick, tell me something awkwardly personal about you so I feel less pathetic.” He stretches his arms over his head, and I find my eyes lingering over his midsection, hoping to catch a fleeting glimpse of his abs. I get another whiff of his man-scent and I have to fight the urge to inch closer to him, to press my nose to his neck and bask in his body wash. I can only hope the smell will permanently brand itself on my sense-memory to enjoy long after I leave tonight.
“Awkwardly personal, hmm.” I rack my brain, trying to ignore the gnawing attraction building in my stomach. “I don’t really have any deep, dark family secrets, though there is something... but I can’t possibly tell you, because it would definitely scare off any sane man.”
He perks up instantly. “Try me.”
I’m absolutely going to regret this, but here goes. “So you’ve heard the saying,Always a bridesmaid, never a bride?” He nods, waiting for the punch line. “Well, pretty sure whoever coined that phrase had me in mind. Guess how many weddings I’ve been a part of in the last few years.”
“Four?” he guesses.
“Try seven.”
“Seven?” He winces. “Ouch.”
I sock him in the shoulder. “You’re not supposed to make me feel worse!”
He laughs, blocking my blows with a throw pillow. “I was just kidding. Anyway, who cares? It’s not likeyou’vebeen married seven times. You’re not Ross.”
I shoot him a look. “Come on. Seven weddings in the last few years, and I’m no closer to one myself. What does that say about me?”
He blinks. “That you have a lot of friends?”
I smile faintly. “Or that other women are marriage-worthy, and I’m not.”
It’s a shocking thing to say aloud—especially since it’s one of those deep-seated fears I only allow myself to brood over when I’m several glasses of wine deep during that time of the month.What’s wrong with me? Will I be alone forever?And the one that scares me the most:Am I unlovable?
I’m too proud to voice these feelings to my sister or all the other smug marrieds in my life, so to bare my soul like this to Jack of all people is humbling, to say the least. But I think a larger part of me wants to hear how Mr. Perfect,I have an answer for everythingwill respond to this confession—especially since he has unique insight into the collective male psyche most others don’t.
