Chapter Nineteen

‘Nice room,’ Jack says. From almost the minute we walked through the door – once I’d fumbled my way through the whole business of the key card, that is – his eyes had been stuck on the grotesque swan picture by the window. By night, the view of New Orleans is pretty sweet, I won’t lie, but there aren’t many views that wouldn’t compete with the kitsch décor of the hotel room. Like a car crash on the highway, no matter what else you might prefer to be looking at, you still find your eyes drawn towards it.

‘I know, right? It’s like living inside a Hallmark card.’ I sit down on the bed and stretch my arms out wide into a theatrical yawn, first for show and then – irritatingly – for real.

‘Tired?’ he asks.

‘A little.’

‘I should probably go. Leave you to it. You’ve got a busy day tomorrow.’

‘I’m fine. Really. I promise.’

He doesn’t look convinced.

Shit. I’m losing him. Think, think…

I turn away from him, and gesture to the zipper on my dress, halfway up my back. The perfect excuse.

‘Give me a hand?’ I ask, looking over my shoulder with what I hope is a coy smile. There’s no way of mistaking that as anything other than a come on, surely?

There’s a moment of hesitation before he steps up to the plate, and I feel his fingers press against my skin as he reaches for the zipper. All of a sudden, that take-charge, do-anything attitude seems to have deserted him. Gone is the Jack who barrelled into the alleyway to save me from grievous bodily harm, who might have made a mean linebacker in another life; in his place is someone who seems determined to take things slow, to linger in the moment.

‘You OK there, champ?’ I ask.

‘Yeah. Sorry.’

Whatever daydream he was in, I’ve snapped him out of it. His hand moves down gently, pulling the zipper down, down, following the path of my spine until it comes to rest just above my ass.

Much better.

When I turn around, he’s averting his eyes. Just do it, I think. Let the dress fall down around your ankles. I almost do it, too; the only thing that stops me is the knowledge that as soon as the dress is off, he’ll completely have the upper hand. He’ll be able to see everything. It’s a long time since someone new has seen me naked outside of a doctor’s office. Carter used to tease me about growing a little thick in the middle, and how it didn’t really bother him, but…

It was a lie, of course. Just a joke; Carter’s sense of humour always was a little cutting. And besides, so what if it spurred me to head to the gym a little bit more? I enjoyed the workouts, even if I was never going to be as stick-thin as Lauren and Jess.

And fuck that guy from earlier, too. Fat indeed. Like his opinion meant anything.

What if Jack feels the same way? What if I drop my dress and his reaction is one of complete disinterest? Of disgust?

Perhaps it would be better to leave that for when the lights go down. I have other ways to get him in the mood. I can make it so that my flabby middle is the last thing he’s focusing on.

‘Easy, there,’ he asks, before I can close the short distance between us. ‘How much have you had to drink tonight, Ella?’

‘Why? Do you want a nightcap?’ I spin away from him and start checking out the room. ‘There’s probably a minibar around here somewhere…’

‘No,’ he says. ‘And I don’t think you should either. Time to go to bed, maybe?’

Thank God. Finally.

A second later I’m leaning in for a kiss, eyes closed, mouth ready and eager for him, and…

And nothing. Where there once was Jack, there’s only air.

He smiles silently, and gently brushes a lock of hair behind my ear. I can’t even remember the last time Carter did something so simple, so… weirdly intimate. But it’s not a kiss. Not even close. It’s not what I need right now, and he knows it.

‘You don’t want to kiss me?’ I ask.

Jack laughs, a harsh little burst of disbelief that takes me by surprise. ‘Are you kidding me? I’m sitting on a bed with a pretty girl whose dress is halfway to the floor. Of course I want to kiss you. And that’s just for starters.’

Promises, promises, I think. ‘But?’

‘But it’s three in the morning, and you’re still real drunk. You get me started, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop myself from taking things further, and that’s probably not the right call right now. If I have the choice, I’d prefer Sober Ella. Gotta make sure she’s down with the idea too.’

‘Oh, she’s fine. She’s super into it. She told me so.’

He smiles at me. ‘You know, something told me you were going to be a troublemaker. Right from the minute you walked into the bar.’

‘Me? I’m not a troublemaker. Good as gold.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Cross my heart.’

‘Well then it would be pretty terrible of me to take advantage of your sweet and innocent nature, wouldn’t it?’

‘Not that terrible…’

‘Maybe not,’ he says, ‘but still no.’ He stands up, and kisses me softly on the forehead. Up close I can smell him, the sweat from the club and the delicate scent of his cologne. All I want is for him to join me, but the kiss is so chaste, any desire that might have been lurking under the surface, that even I can’t miss that signal.

The night is over. Ah, well. It was fun while it lasted.

Jack turns away as he sees me reach for my pyjamas, ever the gentleman. ‘You know,’ I say as I pull the shirt over my head, ‘when I said you were nice, I didn’t think you’d be this nice.’

‘Is that so?’

‘Mm-hmm.’

‘Disappointed?’

‘A little.’ I yawn, stretch, make sure the material of the tank top rides up just enough to display a flash of stomach; I worked hard for that tone, damn it, and it’s a shame not to use it. I feel an odd sense of satisfaction when I see Jack’s gaze linger. ‘Eyes up here,’ I say. ‘You had your chance.’

But say the word and I’m sure I could reconsider. Just say you’ll stay. Say you’ll stay, and I’m all yours… if you want me.

He stops staring, eventually, and grins. ‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘Was I really that obvious?’

‘Hey, you made your choice, buddy,’ I say. ‘Nice, nice, nice. Now you’ve got to live with it.’

‘And you’re going to make me regret my decision?’

‘Oh, every last second.’

He laughs, throaty and deep. ‘See what I mean about you being a troublemaker?’ he asks.

I shrug, and pull back the bedsheets. The bed feels large – too large for once, that’s for damn sure. The sheets spread out around me like a vast plain, an oasis of comfort. ‘You sure I can’t convince you to stay?’ I say. ‘Just for a bit. No funny business. No ulterior motive. It’s just nice having someone here.’

Nice, nice, nice.

Jack smiles an avuncular, annoyingly sexless smile; if I had the energy, I’m sure I’d hate it. ‘Sure thing,’ he says. ‘For as long as you need me. How does that sound?’

Sounds pretty fine to me. ‘You won’t slip out while I’m getting ready?’

‘Promise.’

He watches me stumble around the room, make a complete farce of brushing my teeth in the too-small bathroom sink, before I collapse in a heap of limbs back on top of the bed that – if I’d had the foresight to put a plaque up beforehand – would have fit right in at the MoMA.

‘Come on,’ he says. ‘Into bed.’

‘Doctor’s orders?’

‘Band leader’s orders. We’re much stricter.’

I blow him a raspberry that comes out messier than I had intended. ‘You’re no fun,’ I say.

‘Yep, that’s me. What can I say? All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.’

‘We can change that whole no play thing, you know…’

He grins. ‘You’re relentless, you know that?’

‘You don’t ask, you don’t get.’

The look on his face makes it clear that I won’t be getting no matter how much I ask. It’s half amusement and half exasperation, but no matter how drunk I might be I can tell that that’s all. ‘Time to sleep, Ella,’ he says. ‘You’ll thank me in the morning.’

‘Yeah, I know.’ I tuck myself in, and roll my eyes. ‘Doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it now.’

‘I’m sure you’ll cope.’ Jack’s voice comes from the bathroom. He appears in the doorway a second later with a glass filled to the brim with water. ‘Here. Drink this.’

‘Eurgh. You are the worst.’

‘And you’re going to feel dried out like a raisin tomorrow if you don’t. Now would you for once in your life just do as you’re told and drink up?’

There’s something in his voice – a note of irritation, perhaps – that I recognise. It’s the same note of irritation I’ve been playing through my mind all day. All of this, everything that’s happened since I got to New Orleans – perhaps even the situation with Carter – is my fault. Every last bit of it. There’s no way of getting around that. Just like always, I’ve overplayed my hand, and now even Jack has lost patience with me.

I scrunch my eyes tightly closed, convinced that with enough effort I can stop the wave of sadness from washing over me, but no luck. When I open them again, Jack’s momentary look of annoyance – perhaps real, perhaps imagined; who even knows at this point? – has been replaced with one of concern.

‘Hey,’ he says. ‘Hey. It’s OK. I didn’t mean to snap at you.’ Immediately his voice is low and soothing. He sits down on the side of the bed, and rests his hand on my shoulder. ‘If I sounded a little bit rough, I didn’t mean –’

‘It’s not you,’ I say.

‘You sure?’

I nod. ‘Really. I’ve just… I’ve just had a bitch of a week, that’s all. A real, Grade-A, solid gold bitch.’

He smiles. ‘I never would have guessed.’

‘I made a real idiot out of myself tonight, didn’t I?’

Jack pauses for a second, then shakes his head. ‘No,’ he says. ‘No, you didn’t.’

‘Oh yeah? Big city girl gets wasted on cocktails and can’t even walk down an alleyway without getting mugged.’

‘That’s not your fault. It’s New Orleans, man. There’s always someone looking to prey on a tourist. It’s easy pickings.’ In more ways than one, I think. Who even knows what would have happened if I had carried on drinking, if I’d thrown myself into having a good time with the girls, following the lead of Paige and Jessica – and even Danielle, who was definitely getting the lion’s share of the attention from men tonight. Hell, I pretty much threw myself at Jack – a perfect stranger, no less. Granted, he declined… but what if he hadn’t? He’s smart, funny, charming beyond all measure – and yeah, I can’t pretend he’s not attractive. But he’s not Carter. I don’t know how I feel about that. On one hand, what happened with Carter feels so fresh and so raw, but on the other… well, Chicago feels like a whole world away, rather than a two-hour plane ride. When I first got to New Orleans, part of me hoped that I might have just magically left my sadness in Illinois like unclaimed baggage… but perhaps I left something else behind instead. Perhaps the part of me that makes good decisions is still in O’Hare’s lost luggage department, waiting for me to come and pick it up as soon as the wedding over. It’s sure as shit not with me at the moment, anyway.

No… now the only thing helping me make good decisions is sitting beside me on the bed, still fully dressed, still above the sheets. Ever the gentleman.

‘Hey, Jack?’

‘Hmm?’

‘Thanks.’

‘For what?

I shrug in the darkness. ‘For walking me home. You didn’t have to. I mean that. I would have made it back OK.’

He smiles. ‘I know. I didn’t do it because I had to.’

‘Then why did you?’

He waits for a second, and then a little while longer. The feel of his arm around me is warm and safe, and with the blankets curled up around me and a few too many drinks clouding my brain, there’s not a lot I can do to fight it. He says something, soft and low and close to my ear, but I’m too far gone to realise what it is.

All I know for sure is that when I fall asleep a few seconds later, it’s with a smile on my face.