Tackled by Lisa Suzanne
CHAPTER 14
Once the bridal party has practiced where to stand and when to sit and Jack and Shannon’s aunt have practiced when to do their readings and we’re all ready for tomorrow, it’s time for dinner.
Shannon has four bridesmaids plus her maid of honor, and Kevin has four groomsmen, his best man, and two ushers.
All those people, their dates, and key members of Shannon and Kevin’s families head to the restaurant in their own vehicles.
“Thank you,” I tell Jack on the way there.
“For what?”
“For everything,” I murmur. “From coming with me to agreeing to do the reading to faking it with me in front of Vince.”
“He seemed like a douche. Is that your type?”
I study his profile. If anything, Jack is my type...and yeah, he can totally be a douche. So I guess I do have a type, and I’d label that type Jack Dalton.
I can’t say any of that to him, though. Obviously.
Instead, I purse my lips at him and roll my eyes when he glances at me. “Shannon tried to set us up once.”
“And?” he asks, drawing out the word.
“It didn’t work out.” I press my lips together stubbornly, and he laughs.
“Oh come on, Kia. You have to give me a little more than that.”
“Kia?” I repeat, raising a brow. “In there you called me Kate. You called me your Kate.”
“I did,” he says.
“Why?”
“The desperation in your eyes. Tell me what put it there.”
“It’s dumb.” And totally embarrassing.
“Tell me anyway.”
I cover my face with my hands. “We met, talked for like three seconds, and I went up to order my coffee. I texted Shannon while I was there, joked around with her about how he was a total catch and I could already hear wedding bells and see kids in our future. When I got back to the table, he made up some excuse and bolted.”
“Because you texted it to him, didn’t you?” he guesses.
I press my lips together and nod. “Bingo.”
He laughs. “Oh, Kia.”
The way he murmurs my name with that husky rasp of his is overwhelming in this small space, and I get the feeling we’d be having a lot more fun tonight if I wasn’t thinking about how he’s engaged to another woman.
There’s no part of me that isn’t begging to know more about his relationship with Michelle right at this moment since she’s the biggest obstacle standing in our way. I’m just not quite sure how to bring it up...until it hits me.
We’re at a wedding rehearsal. His wedding is coming up. That seems like as good a place as any to start. “When are you and Michelle getting married?” I ask, changing the subject.
“June.”
His words are a dagger to my heart. “Whoa. That’s coming up quick.”
“Six weeks,” he says, and his tone is flat. Shouldn’t a groom be more excited to marry his bride?
“You don’t seem happy about that.”
He blows out a breath but doesn’t offer anything else.
“Jack, why are you marrying her?” I push.
“You’ve asked me that before.” He keeps his eyes on the road. “The answer hasn’t changed.”
“You didn’t really tell me much last time,” I murmur.
He’s quiet a few beats. “You’ve proven over the last couple weeks that I can trust you, so I’m going to tell you something you’re going to find out anyway.”
“Go for it.” I try to keep the enthusiasm out of my voice that he’s finally giving me more.
“You want to know why Michelle is so close with Savannah?” he asks.
“Yes. I really do,” I admit.
“It’s the same reason she’s in Los Angeles this weekend. She applied to be on a new reality show premiering this fall. They called her in for an audition, and she got the part.”
“What’s the show?” I ask.
“Married to the Game. The premise is it’s a bunch of football wives gossiping about their lives. And guess who else got a part on the same show?”
“Savannah?” My brows dip as he nods. “But isn’t Savannah an ex-football wife?”
“My brother’s ex, yes. But she married Tristan Higgins a few months ago, and they’re still married.”
“The Aces receiver who got hurt last season?” I ask.
“Yeah. When he got hurt, she wasn’t sure if they’d still want her on the show. I’m pretty sure she was going to leave him until she heard back from the producers, who said they’d still take her. Suddenly she was right by her poor husband’s side playing the part of concerned wife.”
“Seriously?”
He raises his brows and nods as he presses his lips together.
“What does Tristan think about all that?”
“I have no idea,” he says, changing lanes and cutting off some Honda. “Don’t know the kid, but with any luck, we’ll be playing together once his ankle is back in playing condition.”
“Do you even want to be on this show?” I ask.
“Fuck no,” he spits.
“Then why are you letting her do it?” I want to find some way to protect him from the snake she is.
“I won’t be on it. Not really. Mostly it’ll be about Michelle’s life. Or, rather, Michelle flaunting our marriage and our personal lives while I play football.”
“That’s such bullshit, Jack.” I don’t hide the anger in my tone. I’m angry for him. He’s handling this much better than I am, and I’m not even the one in the center of it. I guess he’s had more time to get used to the idea, though. “It’s just another way to trap you.”
“Yep. Her daddy got her the role. Her daddy brought me to his team. And now I’m stuck.” He shrugs, and it’s very clear in that moment that he just doesn’t see a way out of it at this point. He’s too far in.
“Okay, so I get what she gets out of this union with you now. But what about you?” I ask. “Why are you marrying her? And don’t tell me it’s because you’re stuck and football and blah blah blah. How do you benefit from marrying her?”
“I get to live with my kid.”
If he can’t see other options, maybe it’s up to me to show them to him. “People who don’t want to be together figure out how to raise kids apart every single day. You don’t need to do this.”
“Yeah, I do,” he says flatly as he pulls into the parking lot.
“But why?” I ask.
“I think that’s enough confessions for now.” His words only tell me there are more confessions to share.
“This conversation isn’t over.”
“Yes, it is,” he says quietly, and he gets the final word as he cuts the engine and gets out of the car.
We head into the restaurant where we find our party and take our chairs. Despite the serious conversation in the car and the confession that he’s even more stuck than I imagined he was, he’s still genial with everyone gathered. He fields questions about the trade and playing football and being a quarterback with a smile.
His knee bumps into mine as we’re looking at our menus. He leaves his there.
I can’t make myself move mine.
My stomach flips.
I set my menu down and I have to physically restrain my hand from reaching over to brush his thigh. I fold my hands on top of the table, and he glances at my hands before his eyes connect with mine. He doesn’t smile, but I feel that heat pass between us again.
The waitress comes to take our drink orders, and I opt for a Diet Coke. I’ve learned my lesson. Alcohol and Jack Dalton are not a good combination.
Jack regales the table with more stories of his victories as he partakes in gin and tonic, and everyone at the table falls in love with the talented, charismatic, ridiculously handsome Jack Dalton.
Everyone.
Including me.
As I watch him light up as he talks about the sport he loves so much, regardless of where he’s going to be playing it, my heart squeezes.
As his eyes edge over to mine while his knee is still locked in its place against mine, my chest tightens.
And as he leans in toward me to ask me to pass the breadsticks, my stomach flips as I get a whiff of his scent.
Oh boy. I’m in a heap of trouble here.
