Page 28 of Don’t Go Stealing My Heart

“Lovely to meet you, Tami. I’m Clementine, and you’ve got to be shitting me.”

Jack wasn’t just cute. He was classic and masculine, fit and tall with those damn teasing dimples. He was an immortal among men. Maybe that was taking things a tad far, but the man was universally handsome.

Tami leaned on her elbows, a conspiratorial look in her eyes. “Picture that slice of hunk pie with braces and acne and glasses, and a preppy wardrobe suited to the fifties, all wrapped up with the self-confidence of a shamed turtle.”

“It doesn’t seem possible.” Except for the self-confidence part.

Tami sighed. “Every woman in Whichway curses herself for teasing the poor colt. But who would have guessed he’d turn into that?” She gestured angrily toward him, like his handsome pissed her off. “And if what Melissa says is true…”

“Just gossip, Tami Troublemaker.” Imelda nudged her coworker’s elbow. “Don’t go spreading lies.”

“You sayin’ you ain’t heard the same?”

Clementine raised her hand. “I haven’t heard anything, and I’m literally dying of curiosity.” She pretended to wilt off her stool.

The girls laughed.

Clementine laughed.

Actually laughed. Easily and openly, as though it were the most natural thing in the world to laugh in this bar where husbands and wives played pool and she gossiped with pseudo-friends. Unlike that terrible girls’ night, this effortless reality was her right now: a careless stop on the highway, a foolish toss of her real name, laughter with women who misguidedly trusted her. All frivolous choices, each made because they’d felt good in the moment, no thought to the consequences.

She didn’t want her right now to stop.

A man hollered for a beer. Another table did the same. Tami glared at them. “Y’all just bridle your horses. We’re talking life changing stuff here.” Attention back on Clementine, she lowered her voice. “As far as I heard it, that late bloomer is a thoroughbred between the sheets.”

Clementine’s belly tightened.

Imelda tutted. “Utter nonsense.”

“Everyone knows it, Imelda.”

“Considering he hasn’t been with anyone in town but Melissa Axelrod, who moved away years back, I’d say your sources are questionable.”

Clementine could barely feel her lips. She couldn’t stop imagining Jack’s bedroom prowess, with her as the eager participant. Right now. I want that right now. She pressed her hand to her belly. “You know who he’s slept with in town?”

Imelda slapped the counter and laughed. “Oh, honey. We know who everyone’s slept with in town.”

Tami stared her friend down, still intent on proving her point. “This ain’t some twattle-basket, Imelda. I heard it from Lori Mae’s cousin, who knows Emma, whose sister’s best friend went to college with that slab of male perfection. He dated a girl there who, and I quote: ‘still ain’t recovered from sleepin’ with him.’ Claims he’s why she can’t find herself a real man. So you, dear Clementine, need to claim Jack David so we can live vicariously through you.”

Imelda rolled her eyes. “Shush, you. I love my husband, and you’ve been stupid over yours since tenth grade.”

“Did I say I wasn’t? And the man of the hour is intent on you,” she told Clementine.

Clementine was too busy processing the notion of Sex Expert Jack, to pay attention to Tami. Thoroughbred between the sheets. Like she needed to find him more attractive.

When the thoroughbred in question appeared at her side, her cheeks heated.

“Mind if I take a seat?” he asked as he slipped onto the stool beside hers.

Mind if I take you home? Clementine bit her tongue before she said that or worse. “Yeah. Sure. I don’t own the place.” If she didn’t get a grip, she’d blow this entire job. And Jack. Fresh fire scorched her face.

Imelda and Tami busied themselves with work, while Jack rested his elbows on the bar. He cradled his beer with both hands and moved his thumb up and down the side. It was a simple motion that had become anything but simple, thanks to Tami’s gossip. That damn thumb was all kinds of erotic.

“You seem to be everywhere,” he said.

“That would be physically impossible.”

His seductive thumb-bottle rubbing persisted. “Let me rephrase: you seem to be everywhere that I am.”