ME:I don’t mind at all, Jack in the Box
Seven
The bar ispacked on Friday night, as it is most Friday nights, which is good for my ever-so-slowly-dwindling bank account but not so great for my plans to low-key hang with my friends while getting paid to make drinks. Still, I manage to sneak my way over to their high-top corner table more than I probably should, stealing teeny-tiny sips from Gemma’s and Harley’s drinks as I do.
“I thought you said Jack was going to come by.” Gemma leans in close to my ear so she doesn’t have to yell over the noisy crowd.
I shrug as if I haven’t been watching the door for the past hour, waiting for him to make an appearance. “Maybe he got tied up.”
Doing what, I couldn’t tell you, because as far as I know, even after almost two months of living together, the man still doesn’t actually do anything. It’s a lifestyle I find baffling, but at least he has been seen leaving the house on occasion since I moved in.
“Don’t worry, he’ll be here.” Nick takes a swig of beer, all while managing to look super smug.
“And how do you know that?” Harley slides her drink across the table for me to take a sip.
Nick shrugs, smile growing smugger by the second. “We hung out today.”
I pause midsip. “I’m sorry, did you just say you hung out today? With Jack? My roommate who never wants to hang out with anybody?”
This time Nick full-on grins. “He doesn’t seem to mind hanging out with me.”
“Oh, so it’s just me he can’t stand to be around for more than five minutes.” I down the rest of Harley’s drink. I’m not sure why the idea of Nick and Jack’s hanging out without me bothers me so much since I love it when we all hang out together. I mean, I’m constantly baffled by Jack’s isolation, so I should be happy he’s making friends. It just feels a little weird that he’s making friends with my friends. Especially when it sometimes still feels like he doesn’t really want to be friends with me.
Nick’s smile fades. “That’s not how I meant that at all. And trust me, Jack’s problem isn’t not wanting to be around you.”
“What does that mean?”
“Ho-ly fuck.” Gemma’s mouth drops open, her eyes locked on the door.
Her declaration is loud enough that we all swivel our heads toward the front of the bar.
And holy fuck.
It becomes immediately clear why Jack is running late. Because Jack has been to the barber. And some kind of fine establishment that sells clothes without video game logos on them.
His unruly dark brown hair has been trimmed, not enough to take away the curl, but just enough so his face is now visible. His black plastic glasses still rest on the bridge of his nose, but without the cloud of hair around him, they seem to enhance rather than detract. Because now I can see his jawline. It’s chiseled and defined. As are his forearms, which are neatly framed by the rolled-up sleeves of his white button-down shirt. He’s still wearing jeans, but they are darker than usual, and more fitted, and tonight’s Converse look suspiciously clean.
“Did you have something to do with this?” I ask Nick, my mouth suddenly dry as the desert.
His smirk back in full force, Nick ignores my question and waves Jack over to our table.
Jack’s eyes meet mine as he pushes through the crowd to make his way to us, a shy smile tugging on the corner of his lips. Lips that suddenly look fuller and just short of kissable.
When he reaches us, he gives me a rigid side hug and I get a whiff of him. At home he smells like coffee and fresh paper. But tonight he’s put on some kind of cologne, and a woodsy musk fills my nose.
I completely stiffen—as do my nipples—at the weight of his arm around me. My cheeks flame, likely the color of Barbie’s Dream House.
Gemma hops down off her stool and tugs Jack away, wrapping him in a hug, and I don’t know if I want to punch her or kiss her. “You look amazing!”
Punch her.
She shoots me a look over Jack’s shoulder, one that says,Get your shit together, girl. She motions for me to wipe the drool from my chin.
Kiss her. Definitely kiss her.
I beat a hasty retreat back behind the bar without speaking a word to Jack. I’m 99 percent sure I’ve lost the power of speech anyway.
For the next two hours, I do everything I can to avoid serving my friends, going so far as to send the other bartender over to their table when they need additional rounds. And they have quite a few additional rounds.
