His mouth flattens into a grimace. “Right.”
“And…”
“And now I’m here, watching it.” He settles back into the couch. Heat radiates off him, filling the empty space between us. Not that I notice. Not that my side yearns to press against to his…
Not a chance.
Because I am sen-si-ble.
Who needs Jack’s broad shoulders for support when I have a perfectly good fried rice in my hand?
Not me.
Admittedly, there’s a large portion of me that’s anxious if Jack watches this and sees how intimate he and I are going to have to be—walking around the fair married for the latter half of the day—then he’s going to want to back out of his role. But I can’t control that, and I’d rather be left in the lurch now when there’s a hope of scrambling and finding someone else than be let down on Opening Day.
Before I press play, I angle my shoulders in his direction. “Can you just promise me, if this is too awkward or seems like too much, you’ll let me know you’re not going to do it now instead of deserting me at the last minute?”
“I told you I’m doing it. Why would you think I’d back out now?”
“It’s just…”
“You still don’t trust that I can be dependable.” He narrows his eyes, and I squirm under a stare growing increasingly cold and unwelcoming with every word out of my mouth.
“No, well—kind of—not really, it’s more…you didn’t know what you were getting into when you said you would do it. And sure, Wickham is pretty close to—” I gesture at him, likewell, you know. “So, you don’t have to do too much character acting—but you’re going to have to wear breeches and a funny hat. I don’t want you to feel compelled to do something you agreed to without knowing what it was.”
“I don’t feel compelled to do anything. I want to help you.” Jack’s usually teasing mouth presses into a harsh slash. He takes another swig of his beer, diverting his attention to the screen in front of us. There, paused on the TV, Mr. Bennet readies to tell Mrs. Bennet that her nerves have been his constant companion for the last twenty years. “You good, Coach?”
“Uhm, yeah. All good.” I shift, giving us the distance on the couch Jack’s sudden frigid demeanor requires.
“All right, let’s watch the game tape, then.”
The nervous energy balled up in my chest dissolves. He’s going through with this. I half-smile, snuggling into my corner of the couch, and press play.
Forty-five minutes later, fatigue wraps its heavy hand around me, and I yawn. I’m still not sleeping well at night, and I haven’t been able to nap either.
Jack grabs a throw pillow and places it on his lap. “C’mere, Dessy. Get some rest.”
I hesitate. Over the summer, high on painkillers, Jack reclined his head on a pillow on my lap several times. But my buried feelings were still successfully repressed then and I was never the one lying down.
Lowering my head to his lap, my racing pulse thuds wildly in my ears.
Do not focus on how close we are to his thighs and hockey butt.
Jack pulls a blanket down from the back of the couch and drapes it over my shoulder as I hug my heating pad tight to my abdomen.
I sigh happily. This, for all the terror, is a moment of heaven.
I learned a long time ago to soak in the quiet wonder and joys of a moment before they’re lost forever.
In the room, the fire continues to crackle in the hearth, providing more than enough heat and ambiance on this chilly fall night. Smoke wafts off the fire, mixing with Jack’s signature pine and cedar and his post-workout sweat. Willoughby quietly dozes in the corner. Half-way through the movie, Darcy and Elizabeth dance on-screen with a heated intensity. Everyone else fades to the background, and a gorgeous accompaniment heightens the tension between them.
Yeah, I could live off this moment for a while.
My eyes flutter closed, heavy with sleep.
Jack’s hand falls to the small of my back.
I tense, surprised by his touch, and my eyes shoot open.
