Black Jack

5

Jack surreptitiously watched Lydia walk out, her generous ass and hips in that tight gold-encrusted satin doing a number on his libido. Ramona was still laughing and telling Sebastian what great taste he had in women.

"She's not my girlfriend," Sebastian drawled absently. "Friend of a cousin who happened to become my friend too."

"Oh, that's nice! Not often you can be friends with your family's friends. Or friends' friends." And Ramona was off again. Her mouth, that was.

Jack was still reeling from that slam-dunk, which was not only hilarious but had saved him from having to deal with a cat fight between two women he'd had sex with.

"She's funny," Jack said vaguely, turning back to his meal when Ramona pressed him for an opinion. Oh, he had an opinion. He just didn't know what it was yet.

"Adorably cute, too, but not your type."

"Nope," Jack affirmed firmly. Whether she was asking for reassurance or stating a fact, he didn't know. "Hey, look, I need to get back to the office, but I need the walk. Ramona?"

"Oh, Sebastian can take me home."

Jack's lips pursed. Sebastian's mouth tightened.

Ramona was going the way of Paula. Tonight. Tomorrow at the latest.

"Bye, Jack!" Ramona trilled.

"Yeah. I'll be over tonight." With a parting gift.

He left the restaurant and headed down the street to walk off some of his tension and sort out his confusion about this person he was attracted to in spite of the fact that she wasn't dumb or opportunistic, wasn't beautiful or leggy or blonde blonde—a blowup doll—he smiled a little—could out-bitch the best without breaking a sweat, and had culture running out her ears.

Yesterday, she'd been thrilled to meet him in spite of the fact that he was rude, crude, and socially unacceptable except for the suit. They'd had a good time together at lunch, talking, dancing around the sexual tension that surrounded them like a thick fog.

Until he'd fucked it up.

And continued fucking it up until now all he wanted to do was punch something.

Jack went by boutiques selling overpriced tchotchkes and purses. He went by a little coffee shop selling expensive coffee that was worth every penny and more. He went by a little chocolate shop selling overpriced but average chocolate.

Fuck it. He needed a shot of chocolate so badly he'd take a Hershey's bar.

So he headed in and stopped at the case, staring down at it, his hands in his pockets, ignoring the people around him.

"Hi."

He looked up, straight into Lydia Charbonneau's plain gray eyes. "Hi." He hadn't been following her, but he wasn't completely surprised to see her. Tourists came here all the time and she had been going this way. "The chocolate here's not that great," he found himself saying, uncaring that the proprietor was right there.

"If you don't like it," the woman barked, "get out!"

He casually flipped her off while asking Lydia, "Have you picked anything out yet?"

She shook her head. "I'm still in line."

He tilted his head toward the door. "C'mon. I'll take you to get the good stuff."

The corner of her mouth tilted up. "Thanks."

He lightly brushed her back as he ushered her out the door into the cool March afternoon. He shoved his hands in his pockets and started down the street.