Not My Romeo by Ilsa Madden-Mills
Chapter 4
JACK
I can’t believe I brought up Sophia and her tell-all about me. She may have been beautiful and said she loved me, but in the end, her true colors came out. I swallow, glancing down at my scotch. I’ve only had one, for Christ’s sake, yet I’m saying way too much. For some reason the thought of Elena reading about me being a bad-tempered jock with a penchant for drinking and hitting women is unsettling. It isn’t the image I want to leave her with at all.
She’s so . . .
I bite back a smile. She’s almost shy, yet not, speaking with a directness I appreciate.
Feeling a gaze on me, and not a friendly one, I look over her shoulder and frown at Preston, who’s sending me furtive side-eyes in between cooing at his date.
I try to imagine what it must be like for her to live in a small town and see them constantly.
Pure hell.
I know how reporters and fans look at me. Party boy. Rude. Super Bowl loser.
She leans in over the table, and her scent wafts around me, sweet and fresh, like honey mixed with spring flowers.
How long has it been since you got to meet someone who isn’t judging you on your past?
Fuck that.
How long since you got laid?
“What’s it like to be on TV?” She’s wrapped up in her pasta, her movements graceful, yet she’s consuming every bite. She gets another piece of bread.
Anxiousness tugs at me. I don’t like lying to her. “All eyes are waiting for me to make a mistake, and after the week I’ve had, my career might just be over.” It’s the truth.
Her hand that’s resting on the table reaches out and touches mine briefly before pulling back. “I’m sorry. That sounds terrible.”
When she moved, the candlelight accentuated the sheer quality of her shirt, and I freeze at the color underneath, something pink and sexy. Heat, hot and searing, flashes straight to my dick.
I’m caught up in wondering how she’d feel underneath me, those legs tight around my waist, her full breasts against my bare chest, those little heels digging into my back—
Just stop, Jack.
I grow silent, frowning, my head going back to the long line of faceless women who’ve drifted in and out of my life. Elena isn’t my type. She’s nursing a broken heart, and she’s . . . nice. But damn, this knot of worry and tension in my chest is killing me.
My fingers tap the table; I watch her as she eats the last piece of bread. I’m wired, my eyes moving from her to the people in the restaurant as I finish my drink, wondering when someone’s going to come over and ask for an autograph or tell me I’m an asshole, and shit, I don’t want her to know what people really think of me . . .
She studies me. “You’re quiet.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I frown. I don’t know how to explain what a tough week it’s been without revealing who I am.
Which I should! Right now.
“I’m normally quiet.”
“I’m not. I talk way too much.”
“I see.”
Tell her, Jack. Tell her you aren’t her date.
She grabs her drink off the table and chugs it down. With a sigh, she folds her napkin in elegant movements and then stands, a look of accomplishment on her face, as if she’s just completed a hard project.
I straighten in my chair.
She’s leaving?
After digging around in her purse, she pulls out a wad of twenties and places them on the table.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
She grimaces. “Heading home. Thank you for a lovely meal. This should cover my part. It was . . . great to meet you. Maybe I’ll even decide to watch the news.” She fidgets, her heels already pointing in the direction of the door.
“Wait, Elena.” I don’t have a clue what I’m going to say when I stand. She’s so small next to me, her frame about five-five in heels. My eyes go from the top of her head to her feet; that black skirt clings to her delectable hourglass figure, full and curvy and lush—one I didn’t notice before. Damn.
“Don’t go,” I murmur.
Abort, abort,my common sense yells, but I shove it down. I don’t know how the rest of my life is going to play out, and part of me . . . wants to just push it all away and forget about it—with her.
“Come on. This has been terrible.” She exhales. “I was late. You didn’t text me back. My ex showed up. It feels . . . off.”
“I admit, my social skills suck.” I pick up her money and stuff it back in her hands, our fingers brushing. “Why don’t we both get out of here and go somewhere else?”
Here I go, being impulsive.
“Where?” An uncertain expression crosses her face.
I could say another bar, maybe for a nightcap or dessert, but there’ll be people who know me; there’s only a handful of places where I feel comfortable, and this is one of them. Since Sophia’s book came out a year ago, I don’t get out much anymore. I’ve battened down the hatches and retreated inside myself, trying to protect my reputation as much as I can.
“My place. It’s not far from here.”
I take a step forward and tuck her hand through the crook of my arm. “Besides, your ex is here, and don’t you want to walk out of here with me by your side?”
“He really didn’t like you at all.” She stares at the floor, then back at me. “But I don’t go home with men I don’t know.”
“Elena . . .” My voice trails off.
“Yes?”
“What if I told you that c-l-i-t-s are my specialty.”
She laughs, color flaming on her cheeks, her head dipping. “I never should have told you that.”
“Every word we use has meaning and purpose—and you said it. Why do you think that is?”
She bites her lip, and there we are, standing face to face, staring at each other for a little too long, and people are staring and probably snapping pics with their phones.
“It’s Valentine’s Day. What else do you have planned tonight? Crying into your ice cream over your ex?”
“Maybe.”
“I’m better than ice cream.”
“Obviously you haven’t had Ben & Jerry’s Rocky Road.”
“Obviously you haven’t met me before.” I reach out and briefly touch her plump bottom lip, grazing my thumb across her silky skin, my cock swelling inside my slacks.
Her eyes close, and her throat moves as she swallows, her mouth slightly parted. “Um . . . I don’t know.”
“Elena, are you going to make me beg for it?” My eyes are hot, this need for her rising and growing every moment we stand here looking at each other.
Please say yes.
