Beg, Borrow, or Steal (When in Rome, #3)(43)

He sits back in his seat eyeing me. “I think you’re the only person on this earth who keeps more secrets than me.”

“What secrets are you keeping, Jackson?” I ask as I wrap the Band-Aid around his thumb. It has a flower print on it. I selected the one with blue petals to match his hat and somehow I know he’ll appreciate that attention to detail.

“Enough to make some waves.” He pauses and doesn’t move his hand after I’ve finished doctoring his thumb. “Do the secrets ever weigh on you?”

I stare at him across the table. “Do they ever weigh on you?”

He smirks. “I think our answer is the same.”

“In that case, you need a smoke as much as I do.” I hand him my pen and without looking away from my eyes, he takes it, sucks in a long drag, angles his face away from mine, and blows it out. Ever the gentleman.

“Will you let me read it?”

I glance nervously to my sisters but relax when I see they’re busy talking with their heads ducked together. “No. You may not read it.”

He grins. “Come on. Don’t be chicken.”

“I’m not chicken. I just don’t want to corrupt your innocent mind with all my dirty scenes.”

This delights him more. “I love romance books, you know? I’ve read plenty. I could be a good sounding board too since I know a lot about the writing and publishing process.” And again, his eyes do this thing where he looks like he accidentally said too much.

“Because of your dad?”

He stares at me, swallows, and then nods. “Yes. Because of my dad.” A pause where he presses his lips together. “I’ve seen him work through countless stories. I know how to plot, how to find plot holes, and how to edit. I also know that it’s important to have someone read your work before you send it off to an agent, and that you might be lucky your email went to Bart instead of the agent because they hate when you send them a full manuscript without being asked. So . . . anyway . . . if you need a beta reader and you want that beta reader to be me—I’m offering myself up as tribute.”

Probably so he can laugh at me. Yeah, no way.

“Well, thank you. But after I sobered up, I decided it’s probably best I don’t do anything with the book anyway . . .” I check once again to make sure no one is listening besides Jack. “It was just a silly hobby that probably isn’t even very good. And sending it to Bart made me see how much I don’t want anyone to ever read it. It wouldn’t look good for a second-grade teacher to also be an explicit romance author, you know?”

Jack is looking at me like he can see right through my lie. He knows I’m just scared shitless. He doesn’t challenge me this time, though. “Thank you for the Band-Aid and antiseptic.”

“You’re welcome. Stop hammering tonight.”

He stands, hands me back my pen from between his two fingers, and walks toward the door. “Not without the magic word.”

“Over my dead body.”

“Good night, Emily. Good night, ladies. Enjoy your supper club.”

And with that, he leaves my house, closing the door behind him.

I breathe out and don’t realize I have a sappy smile on my face until I look toward my sisters and find them absolutely gawking in my direction.

“What the actual hell was that?” Surprisingly, Annie was the one to ask it, and I have to spend the rest of the night explaining to them without really explaining to them just how Jack Bennett and I became friends.





June 11

Jack (9:16 AM): Go inside.

Emily (9:16 AM): No—this is too fun. I like hearing Darrell tell you how bad you are at construction.

Jack (9:18 AM): You must not have eavesdropped on the part where he said I did an incredible job on the inside framing.

Emily (9:19 AM): Did he?

Jack (9:19 AM): No. Go inside.





Chapter Thirteen


Emily


The day has finally arrived to save my future—and my ass. It’s Wednesday, so we know that Marissa is at the school (Shirley and most of the other staff are thankfully out of town before summer school starts). Jack is prepared to play decoy so that I can sneak into Bart’s office, locate the laptop, and hopefully get into it without a password so I can delete the email. Yeah, not a long shot at all.

And in return, I’ve held up my end of the bargain. Darrell finally called me back, said he’d be happy to squeeze Jack’s project in, then came out to Jack’s place yesterday morning where the two met for over an hour. They walked at least eighteen circles around the house. I could hear Darrell belly laugh all the way from my front porch where I was reading (eavesdropping) when he saw what a horrible job Jack had already done to the inside. Apparently, it would all need to be demolished and redone. I can’t describe just how fun it is to have finally found something Jack isn’t good at.

Now it’s time to get this show on the road and I’m pacing the sidewalk outside the school where I’ve been waiting for Jack to show up for the last ten minutes.

I look up when I hear a familiar loud engine and immediately spot Jack riding in on his motorcycle. It didn’t bother me that he was riding it when he was just some stranger on a bike. But now that I know Jack is the one who owns it, I hate that thing. I hate it so much that I really should look away and properly shun the contraption.