Black Jack

4

"I hate this place," Lydia gritted through her tears as Sebastian ran her hands under cold water. "I hate that man. I hate these people. I hate this city."

Sebastian didn't say anything, his hands gentle and comforting, the cold water soothing. They were in an out-of-the-way women's restroom and she hoped none of the female jurors would walk in and see more of her humiliation.

"Flex," he murmured. "Fist."

She did. Slowly. "Nothing's broken," she muttered. "It'd take an elephant to break my fingers."

"Good thing you don't have to play any time soon," he muttered.

"Why is he here?" she growled, but it lost something in the translation when she hiccupped then coughed on it.

"My fault. I brought him in case you'd be willing to listen to him grovel for yesterday."

She blinked and looked at Sebastian, but he was blurry in her tears. "Grovel?"

"Yeah, I had to explain that it wasn't polite to talk about one's girlfriends to a woman one finds intriguing, funny, nice, hot, and, most importantly, smart."

She swallowed. Hard. "He told you about that?"

"Yeah. He was pissed. Clueless. Ran the whole thing down. I damn near put his head through the window, but you know, Jack is who he is, and sometimes I forget there's a reason nobody can stand him."

Lydia thought about that for a while as Sebastian continued to gently massage her knuckles under the cold water. Really cold water. It felt sooo good.

"Um. Did— Um, did he want to grovel?"

"Yes."

Her brow wrinkled.

"The truth is, he uses women like paper towels to wipe off his dick. Women like you, nice ones, smart ones, ones you take home to mom, know that. They can't stomach him, and they shouldn't. The only women who will are ones who have their own agenda. It may or may not include marriage but if so, it's not for love. They're not stupid. They're opportunistic, which suits him to a T."

She gulped, and asked a question that had been tugging at her for two days. "Do you think his girlfriend sabotaged me on purpose?"

"No, she missed it. No idea Jack was fully invested in you."

Lydia drew in a shaky breath.

"Not the music," he clarified with a wry laugh.

That made the corner of Lydia's mouth turn up.

There was a small tapping at the door. "Ah, Lydia, can I come in without getting firebombed? I brought your stuff."

Lydia heaved a sigh. Of what, she didn't know. Frustration. Anger. Humiliation. Confusion.

Cautious delight.

Sebastian glanced at her. She nodded wearily. "Yeah," he called.

Lydia wouldn't look at him. She couldn't. Her backpack with her change of clothes and shoes plopped on the floor by her stockinged feet. It almost didn't surprise her when Sebastian stood up and made way for darker hands to caress her knuckles under the water.

"Ow!" she screeched when he pressed too hard, and jerked her hands back, glaring up at him. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she demanded.

"Jack," Sebastian drawled with irritation.

Jack dropped back against the wall, his head thunking back against the old tile. "God, kill me now."

"I think Lydia's about to play God."