Black Jack (Advantage Play #5) - Kelsie Rae Page 0,16

murmurs, “Anytime.”

Then the line goes dead.

8

Bianca

Knock. Knock.

I glare at the offending sound on the opposite side of the master bedroom door but ignore it and unfold another shimmery dress from my luggage.

These will all need to be dry cleaned.

Knock. Knock.

Lips pursed, I throw the crimson fabric back on the bed, then march to the door and wrench it open.

“Yes?”

“Can we talk?” Jack asks, sheepishly. I’d find the whole thing adorable if I weren’t so pissed at him.

“Not interested,” I return.

“Bianca––”

“What do you want?” My fingers clench the door handle like it’s offended me as I dare him to continue. Does he really blame me for being in a salty mood when the last time we spoke he accused me of being a lazy bitch who hasn’t worked a day in her life? He might not have used those words, but I could still hear them loud and clear. I’ve heard them my entire life.

But he has no idea about the shit I’ve been through to survive, to help my family survive. No one does. And I’m not exactly in the mood to rehash them just to prove my point. So yeah. No thanks, Jacky Boy.

He drags his hand through his dirty blond hair before pinning me with his regretful stare. “I’m sorry, Bianca.”

I freeze, convinced I’ve misheard him and that he’ll follow up with a but that’ll ruin the whole thing. That’s what my brother used to do on the rare occasion that he’d offer an apology in the first place. There’s always a but. Heaven forbid the bastard actually takes responsibility for his actions, and I doubt Jack is any different.

The silence continues as I wait for him to follow up with a bullshit excuse. But it doesn’t come.

Growing impatient, I cross my arms over my chest and demand, “Is that it?”

“Yeah. I was an ass, and you didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of it, despite my shitty day. It’s no excuse.” His eyes are soft, and they’re filled with a remorse that makes me uncomfortable, but I don’t cower from their intensity. “Will you forgive me?”

My teeth dig into the inside of my cheek before I tear my gaze away from his cool blue eyes, then protect myself the only way I know how.

“For assuming I’m a spoiled brat like the rest of the world?” I scoff. “Sure, why not?”

Jaw tight, he lifts his chin toward the room I’m still blockading with my body.

“Is this our room?”

“It’s my room.”

“Oh.”

“Yours is across the hall.”

Glancing behind him, he takes in the ebony painted door before rocking back on his heels with his hands in his pockets. “Okay then. I was going to grab us some dinner, but I don’t have my car. Would you be okay if I borrowed yours?”

“You were going to grab me some dinner?”

He pauses. “Yes?”

“Why?”

“Because I assume you’re hungry?” he offers, looking at me like I’m a crazy person. “It’s been a long day, and I figured you wouldn’t want to leave again since we just got here. But if you want to take me to my car at the impound so that I don’t have to borrow yours, that works too. I just figured we could do that tomorrow, but––”

“I picked up your car the other day. It’s parked out front.”

“Y-you picked up my car for me?” he asks with wide eyes.

I roll mine in return. “Don’t act so surprised. The keys are on your nightstand.”

“That’s…thoughtful of you,” he decides. I can feel his penetrating stare. Scrutinizing me. Like he doesn’t know what to think about my generosity or the fact that I thought of someone other than myself for once.

Although, I guess I don’t blame him on that front. Especially when it comes to spending his savings like it’s water and moving him out of his apartment before he even has a chance to say his piece. He’s not wrong. I have been selfish, and I don’t even know why. It’s not like I really care where we live or what kind of ring sits on my left finger.

Maybe it’s a defense mechanism. Maybe I’ve learned to push other people away before they have a chance to get close and disappoint me. I don’t know. Regardless, I haven’t exactly been the doting fiancée I’m sure he was expecting.

“Thank you, Bianca. For everything.”

What kind of game are you playing at? I want to ask, but I keep my mouth shut.

“Do you want me to pick up something for you?” he asks.

“I’m not