sit and wait. It made me hate him a little for not being around when I wanted him to be, made me dislike how vague he was being. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I didn't need to play these stupid little games with him, that I was stronger than—
Buzz!
My phone was pressed against the glass, vibrating from an incoming call like a massager gone wild. It scared the hell out of me. I didn't recognize the number—so I picked it up immediately.
"Ms. Jacobs?" came a very familiar voice.
"Jack! Why the hell are you doing this?"
"We had a misunderstanding. And I like you, Ms. Jacobs."
Fuck! I didn't want to feel this vulnerable, but it was working. "I like you too!" I blurted it out, suddenly transporting back to middle school and feeling like a loser. Sorry Jack, gotta go to social studies class now! See ya!
"Can we meet for coffee? Lunch?"
The puzzle was solved! Maybe I should have let him keep sending me stuff after all if that was all he had to say...
"Jack, I—"
"No excuses. Meet me in two hours. I'll text you the address. Goodbye, Effie." The call ended while I remained speechless, unable to process what was going on. Sensory overload as usual.
I took a deep breath and went back into the office to attempt to get some work done before lunch. Something told me that I had to give him a second chance, that it really was a misunderstanding. Gambling was just not my thing—this whole situation was not my thing either.
I knew it might be a trap, but dammit, it felt good.
Chapter 4
Jack met me outside a Greek restaurant, one that he claimed had some of the best coffee in town. "It's called a freddo cappuccino," he said appreciatively. "Milk whipped in a milkshake maker with espresso. Positively perfect."
"Nice alliteration, Jack. As long as it's got caffeine, I'll drink it." I weakly smiled at him, trying my damndest not to be utterly smitten by his painfully good looks. He was wearing a pair of dark jeans and a black button-down dress shirt that had the first three buttons unbuttoned, enough that I could see a dash of soft hair on his chest. It really made me want to see his whole chest...
We got a table to the side, one that was fairly private and secluded compared to the rest of the place. Jack ordered our freddo cappuccinos and then he sprung to life, wasting no time at all..
"I'm so sorry, Effie. This is going to sound like a stupid cliché—and I know you already said that—but it was just a misunderstanding, I swear." Jack took a slow sip from his water. "That girl—well, she's a little strange. Elana is her name. She stays down the hall sometimes. Has a lot of emotional baggage. I tried dating her at one point—we shared an apartment together and it just grew from there—but it didn't last long and it's been over for years. Yeah, she's pretty, but she's literally un-dateable." He was so blunt and forward. No hang ups. No pauses until he was done.
"Oh, so she's like a friend with benefits? Do you still sleep with her?"
Jack frowned at me. "Absolutely not. She gets drugged up and then comes and knocks on my door. I never answer it. You walked out right when she showed up. After you left, I walked her back to her place and wished her a goodnight. End-of-story. I just try to be nice to her."
"Well, how the hell can she afford a place like that?" I asked suddenly.
"She is crazy, not poor. She's a fucking good artist. You've probably actually seen her work around town."
"Where would I have seen it?"
He laughed. "I don't know exactly, but Elana says it's there. There are a lot of places it could be. Plus, they never kick her out of her room, so cash must be coming from somewhere."
"You really believe her?" I did believe him, actually, about all of this. Upon reflection, he hadn’t seemed happy to see her at all. Maybe he had been just feigning it, but based on what he was saying, it didn't seem that way.
Jack smiled at me and looked deep into my eyes—I was already hooked. "Effie, it doesn't matter what Elana says or does. She's out of the picture, I promise. That was just a strange coincidence. And I'm sorry for moving so fast with you. Sometimes I forget that women are different from