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He turns to me. “You’re beaming,” he says. “You come alive here. It’s obvious you are in your element.” He leans down to kiss me. We climb back up the stairs to the kitchen and then to the next floor, where my bedroom is.
“Jesus, no wonder you have legs for days,” he mutters.
I squeal at the flattery.
“Look at you all lit up,” he says, drawing me near.
I disappear into my walk-in closet, ditching the robe, which is fun to wear when lounging around but not so comfortable when sleeping. I switched it out for my cotton PJ shorts and a tiny tank top. When I emerge from the closet, Jack is under the covers.
“What is that?” he asks.
“What?” I ask, frenetically checking myself out.
“You have clothes on,” he flirts. “We can’t have that. Come here. Let me fix that.”
Eventually, we sleep.
When the morning sunlight pours in my window, I rise to prep for yoga on the sand. I have not slept so soundly since before Uncle John died. I feel like I traveled on some Cosmic Astral Plane, purging all the poisons and toxins that stress and worry cause.
For a moment, I forget that Jack spent the night. I smile to myself and look over my shoulder. His side of the bed is made. I feel a sudden sharp twinge in my stomach. I am spooked, filled with unexpected fear. Could it be that I gave my body – and quite possibly my heart -- to a man I can almost trust?
I dress in my yoga attire and dash downstairs to the main floor. I smell coffee – which means Jack is here somewhere. He’s too responsible to leave without turning the coffee pot off.
I love the smell of coffee but hate the taste of it – except for Coffee ice cream. I had coffee in the house for Uncle John, who couldn’t start his day without a giant cup of his “morning juice,” or “my mojo,” as he called it. I just never threw it away.
“Jack?” I call out.
I move closer to the parlor windows and relax when I see him sitting outside in a deck chair, coffee mug in his hands. I tip-toe through the dining room, out the French doors, and surprise him from behind.
His gaze sweeps over me. I turn around and model my yoga outfit when I notice his expression, twisted with grief and maybe guilt. I step back, bracing myself for something scary.
“I gotta go,” he says flatly and stands.
Chapter 9
Jack
Iturn my phone onDo Not Disturband drive away. I watch Brynne in the rearview mirror come out on the driveway after me. She’s barefoot, with a look of total confusion spread across her beautiful face. I want to stop, turn around, and tell her to put some shoes on – but I know she won’t – so I don’t. Instead, I hit 60 as I headed down the long stretch of roadway leading to Pacific Coast Highway.
Truth is, I’m being cowardly. I don’t want to lie to Brynne, so it's best not to give her the chance to grill me on why I’m leaving and where I’m going. I didn’t tell her Adrianne had manipulated me into making plans with her, just the two of us.
I am meeting her in Huntington Beach for breakfast, where I’ll engage in some flirting and handholding to keep her happy in the deal. Although I can easily do the deal without Adrianne’s money –the cost and lost time associated with a potential lawsuit if I kick her out makes me have to swallow my pride. I draw the line, though, at anything beyond a meal.
I didn’t want to be seen with her anywhere near town, so I chose Huntington Beach, which has more of a blue-collar vibe,making it less likely we’ll run into anyone we know. I don’t need the gossip mill thinking we are more than just co-investors.
As I am driving, I visualize Brynne’s beautiful, sad face. I’m sure my abrupt departure has left her thinking I used her. I didn’t. I couldn’t get enough of her. I just need a little time to re-compartmentalize my life.
My phone dings. It is not my stalker investor checking on me – I halfway expect Adrianne to call at any moment to make sure I am on my way. Instead, it is a calendar reminder. There is a hearing in a week on Brynne’s motion to vacate the sale of the house.
“Baby doll,” I whisper, though she cannot hear me. “Sweet baby doll.”
I pull into the Surf Dog parking lot, angry and frustrated when I see a group of photographers waiting to ambush me. I take a deep breath, leave the car, and brace myself for the paparazzi's flashing cameras.
Occasionally, my name and picture make it into the paper, either on the social page at some charity event or in the business section about one of our developments. Still, I’ve never experienced anything like this.
Adrianne appears out of nowhere and kisses me square on the lips. In under twenty minutes, our picture is everywhere on the internet. It all makes sense now, and I fight the urge to jump back in the car and return home.
“Why did you do that?” I shrug her off like she repels me.
