The jake ryan complex, p.6
The Jake Ryan Complex, page 6
“Have we decided on anything?”
I stare up into her naive, twenty-year-old eyes and say, “Give me the stiffest drink you’ve got.”
Over the course of the next hour, I drain a couple of gin rickeys while Daniel the Huge reveals his true identity as Daniel the Freakishly Sensitive, pouring out his deepest, most heartfelt feelings on every topic under the sun. From the devastation of the disappearing ice caps to his hatred for the cable company’s automated phone system—the intimacy of the provider-consumer relationship should not be overlooked! He’s blinked away so many tears, I’m starting to question my own humanity.
Am I a monster because I don’t watch the baby-koala feed on the zoo’s website?
Every bone in my body is aching to excuse myself to the bathroom so I can call Claire or Tracy and commiserate over the details of this bizarre night, but I can’t. Not only would Tracy gloat about her accurate assessment of Caroline’s matchmaking skills, but somehow those two geniuses would qualify Daniel as another casualty in my quest to find the great Jake Ryan.
As if Jake Ryan would ever give greeting cards on a first date. Return borrowed undies, absolutely! But never a greeting card . . .
“So, what do you think?” he asks. “Are you up for dessert?”
“You know, I’d love to, but I should probably get going. It’s been a really long day.”
“Oh, of course it has.” I gave Daniel limited details of my busy morning in a pre-date text in the event I was late, so his response isn’t entirely unexpected. “I can’t begin to imagine how taxing it is to be in your line of work, with people’s lives dependent on you. Will you have to check in on that mother and baby again tonight?”
I’d be lying if I said his interest in my career wasn’t the one silver lining to this otherwise ridiculous evening. Other than Gia and my dad, no one outside the clinic ever shows much interest in what I do.
“I’ll just call to check in on them tonight, but I’ll definitely be stopping by the hospital on my way in tomorrow morning. It’s nice to see everybody once the dust has settled a bit.”
“Yeah, I bet.” He drains what’s left of his daiquiri. “You know, that must be hard to shift gears like that: one minute you’re sound asleep, and the next you’re bringing a child into the world under dangerous conditions . . .”
I nod. It is hard. Sometimes it’s very hard.
Thanks for noticing, Daniel.
“Do you come from a long line of doctors?”
“Not very long. Just my grandpa. He was a pediatrician.”
“Was?”
“He died about fifteen years ago.”
“Aw . . .” Daniel’s chin starts to tremble, again, which means he’s about to cry, again. Strangely, though, this time I don’t find it irritating. I’m glad that he recognizes the importance of grandparents. “I’m really sorry to hear that.”
“It’s okay. He was ninety-two years old and lived a very long, happy life . . .” I surprise myself with a little laugh as a memory of my last conversation with Grandpa Harold suddenly comes to mind. “He was the one who helped me decide to go into obstetrics instead of geriatrics, which is what I was leaning toward.”
“Really?”
Lost in the sweet memory, I nod absently. “He told me that dealing with brand-new people who want to be alive is a hell of a lot easier than dealing with old ones who don’t.”
Daniel bellows out a laugh, jarring me from the memory and back to the present, where I start laughing along with him.
“Sounds like sage advice,” he says, his dark eyes now sparkling with the same pleasant ease our conversation has taken.
An unexpected smile steals my expression. When he’s not crying in his margarita, Daniel is actually really nice to talk to.
He may be viable Michael material after all . . .
“So, did we save room for dessert?” Ashley returns, a dessert menu in one hand and our check in the other.
“No, I think we’ll just take the check,” Daniel says.
“All righty.” She sets the check down on the table. “It’s been a pleasure serving you tonight. Have a great rest of the evening.”
“You know, I’d really like to do this again,” Daniel says as he reaches into his back pocket for his wallet. “Maybe we could try that new Korean place over on the West Side? I’ve heard great things about it.”
An hour ago, I wouldn’t have even considered another meal with Daniel as a possibility, but now, with the clock ticking on my date deadline and still no reply email from Skip, the one man on my list, I’m not sure I have a lot of options. And Lord knows Mom would drop an egg to see a big hunky guy like Daniel crying at her—I mean Hope’s—wedding . . .
“Yeah, that would be nice.”
Smiling at my response, Daniel lays his credit card inside the little leather folder, while I reach for my bag. “I’m just going to use the restroom before we leave. I’ve got a bit of a drive ahead of me.”
“Sure, take your time. I’ll wait for you here.”
With a surprising amount of hope in my stride, I set off for the ladies’ room. Thankfully there’s no wait, so I’m heading back into the dining room within a couple of minutes—
Ohmygod.
My stomach lurches as I approach the table and see Daniel hunched over writing . . . inside a card!
“What are you doing?”
“Just leaving a note for Ashley,” he says, smiling up at me. “Isn’t this perfect?” He closes the card to show me the front cover. I cringe. It’s another damn cat, this one wearing a chef’s hat and an apron. “Monetary tips are so impersonal”—he reopens the card so I can see that it’s filled cover to cover with his neat handwriting—“so I share my experience with the waitstaff instead. It gives them an opportunity to hear firsthand where they’re excelling and what things could use a little improvement. Overall, I thought Ashley did a good job, don’t you?” I’m too dumbfounded to answer, so I just nod.
The card is her tip . . . oh no.
No, Daniel. No!
Don’t ruin greeting cards for her.
She’s just a baby.
She’s got her whole life ahead of her!
He signs his name at the bottom, adds hers to the front of the envelope, and then props the finished product up against the salt-and-pepper caddy so she can’t possibly miss it.
“You know, I should probably use the restroom before we head out too.” He stands, looking perfectly pleased with himself. “Shall I just meet you out front?”
“Sure.”
I hang back at the table until he’s out of sight and then quickly trade out all the cash in my wallet for the card. I shove it into my bag and head for the door.
Dammit, Daniel!
Why couldn’t you just have asked to borrow my undies . . .
Chapter 5
The next morning
Thirty-eight days until the freaking wedding
I stagger into the kitchen, glaring at the wilting roses and the pile of ridiculous cat cards lying on the counter. I’m all for a man who’s in touch with his feelings, but there’s no way I could take Daniel to the wedding. He’d be sniveling before we even pulled into the church parking lot.
I take the whole mess, including Ashley’s unopened card (I couldn’t bear to read it), toss it into the trash, and then grab my phone and thump out a quick text to Daniel that I hope conveys my feelings without hurting his:
Thanks again for a nice evening and the offer for another date, but I’m going to pass. Work is keeping me too busy for a social life, but don’t worry—that’s the way I want it. Please don’t waste any tears on me. Take care.
Rerun slowly hoists himself off the pillow in the living room while I load the coffee maker up with some Colombian roast, then head off to my office to check email. I’m beyond grateful to see that Skip has replied to my message.
Hi Mac,
Great to hear from you! Yes, I’m still in Chicago but at my own clinic in Evanston now. Would definitely like to meet up. How about the Cubs game Friday night?
—Skip
Short and sweet and without a hint of emotion.
Ladies and gentlemen, we have ourselves a potential wedding date. And he likes the Cubbies—bonus!
“Hey, Skip”—I’m speaking the words aloud as I type them—“a game sounds great. Just let me know when and where. Mac.”
I’m just about to hit the “Send” button when there’s a rap on the back door.
Woof!
Rerun’s gruff bark startles me more than the knock.
“Who’s there, bud? Is that Gia? Did she run out of coffee again?”
Rerun takes off to investigate while I follow behind, cinching my robe up tighter. Gia is the only person who would be knocking on my door at six in the morning . . . I round the hallway that leads back into the kitchen and see Rerun’s tail wagging—
Ohmygod.
I gasp, and my feet turn to concrete.
It’s J.T.
He waves at me through the door’s paned window, his top teeth sinking into his plump bottom lip. My breath catches beneath a sudden flurry of nervous, excited energy. He has a bottom-lip bite?!
“Morning,” he calls. “I’m sorry to bother you so early.” His already deep voice is muffled by the dual panes of glass, making it sound huskier and . . . sexier than it did the last time I saw him. “Should I come back later?”
I swallow hard. “No, it’s okay. You’re fine.”
Yeah, you’re fine, all right . . .
As subtly as possible, I rake my fingers through my mess of hair and head toward the door. Rerun now has his snout pressed against it, his entire body wiggling in anticipation. Silly dog, not that I can blame him. If I had a tail, it would definitely be wagging right now.
I open the door, and Rerun barrels out to greet him. “I’m sorry. He’s got no manners when it comes to visitors.”
“That’s okay. We’re old friends, aren’t we, Rerun?” J.T. kneels and gives him a scratch on the head, eliciting multiple licks on the cheek in return. “You like keeping me company when I work, don’t you, old man?” It’s slight, but I pick up a hint of doggy baby talk. Heaven help me. “Yeah, you do . . .”
“I hope he’s not in your way. He’s perfectly fine being in the yard on his own, but if there’s a person nearby, that’s where he wants to be.”
“Nah, he’s no trouble. I like having him around. He reminds me of my dog.”
“What kind of dog do you have?”
“Did have.” He glances up at me, a painfully endearing expression steeling his face. “He was a mutt. A pit-shepherd mix, but he had a thick tail just like this guy, so I think there was some Lab in there too. I had to put him down last summer.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. How old was he?”
“Fourteen.”
“Gosh, that must have been hard. But that’s a nice long life for a dog.”
He nods while slowly returning his attention to Rerun. “Yeah. He was a good dog. We went through a lot together . . .”
I have no way of knowing what experiences he’s referring to, but based on the way his words just trailed off, like a song that suddenly lost its melody, they must have been pretty meaningful.
A gust of chilly spring air sweeps in through the open door. I quickly back away, saying, “Come inside. I was just about to pour some coffee.”
“What, no cocoa?”
My cheeks flush at his playful reminder. “No. No cocoa.”
Rerun stays glued to J.T.’s side as he shuts the door and makes his way over to the far side of the butcher block island.
I head for the cupboard to get some mugs. “So, what’s got you out and about so early?” I cast a quick glance over my shoulder and, to my surprise, find his attention focused intently on me. His brown eyes snap wide for a split second before he quickly shifts his gaze down to his hands.
“Oh, um . . .” He clears his throat, cheeks reddening beneath his morning stubble. “I just wanted to make sure I got to talk to you about how things have been going, since we haven’t had a chance to reconnect.”
The awkwardness in his response sends a little tingle dancing across my skin. Was he checking me out? The thought no sooner crosses my mind than I catch a glimpse of my terrifying reflection in the microwave’s glass door. If he was looking at me, it wasn’t because he liked what he saw.
I clear my head with a quick shake and reach for the coffeepot. “Yeah, sorry about that. I think I just missed you on Monday, and yesterday turned out to be sort of”—an image of a blubbering Daniel flashes through my mind—“crazy.” And monumentally disappointing. The only way Daniel would have ever told me about his dead dog would be in a card. A card with a stupid cat on the front . . .
“That’s okay. Gia said that you work a lot. You’re a doctor, right?”
“Mm-hmm. An obstetrician.”
“Wow. That’s impressive. That must be really fulfilling work.”
“Most of the time.”
“Most of the time?”
I sigh. “Well, pregnant women can be a little . . .”
“Scary?”
“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”
“My sister has a couple of kids,” he explains, and I can’t help but think that means that he doesn’t have kids yet. No doubt his supermodel wife wants them—probably twins that she can dress up in matching outfits so they can parade around the mall looking like a walking Pottery Barn advertisement. “She pretty much turned into that little girl from The Exorcist when she was pregnant. She got really mean and yelled at everybody all the time.” He chuckles. “It was like she was possessed. Nobody could do anything right.”
I can’t help but laugh too. Demonic possession is a very common side effect during pregnancy.
I fill the mugs while he continues, “I remember my poor brother-in-law used to hang out at our house all weekend because he was too scared to go home. Especially during football season. If her team lost, oh man, she would lose her mind.”
“Well, now, that actually sounds reasonable.” I set the mug down in front of him, a steely look in my eye. “You can’t fault a girl for being loyal to her team.”
“Even if it’s the Raiders?”
The Raiders?
I gasp, horrified.
“Don’t ask me.” He raises his hands, absolving himself of any association. “Sometimes I wonder if we were even raised by the same people.”
“The Raiders. That’s just . . . un-American.”
He offers me an amused grin and then raises the mug to his mouth. The rising steam acts as a sexy little curtain, veiling his lips from my sight. Those full, supple lips that are just begging to be touched—
“I need some creamer.” I quickly head to the refrigerator and grab the carton from the shelf, pausing long enough for the cold air to settle my heart rate and redirect my thoughts to more appropriate, rational places.
He’s married, Mac. Despite the easy conversation and equally easy view, he is committed to someone else. And just because he’s looking at you doesn’t mean he’s interested in you. He’s just here to talk about the plumbing. You’re just having a hard time assimilating to normal male behavior after what happened with Daniel. That’s all this is. Just relax and focus on the nice conversation with the nice married man.
Mostly convinced, I inhale a deep breath and head back to my coffee. I add a hearty dose of the hazelnut creamer and then offer some to him.
“No thanks. I take it black.”
For some reason this doesn’t come as a surprise. With his calloused hands and that rugged salt-and-pepper stubble working his jawline, J.T. looks like the kind of guy who takes his coffee black. He probably eats his steak rare too. And sleeps without a pillow.
Or clothes.
My mouth starts to water.
Yeah, he definitely sleeps naked—
“So, everything’s been going really well here,” he says, thankfully stealing me back to the present. I quickly raise the mug and take a drink, hoping to hide the heat flushing across my cheeks. “Some roots from that big elm tree in the corner of your yard got tangled around the main line, but I was able to clear them and replace the bad piping. All I need to do today is install the new drywall, put on a little paint, and you’ll be good to go.”
“Oh thank god. I thought for sure you were going to tell me you unearthed a dead body or something.”
“No. No dead bodies. Not human anyway.” He grins.
“With this house it wouldn’t surprise me,” I mumble and take another drink. “So, is that tree going to continue to be a problem? I hate to cut it down. It gives such great shade in the summer.”
“No, we don’t need to take it down. It’ll definitely cause problems again at some point—those roots are massive—but not anytime soon. And when it does happen, we’ll just deal with it the same way.”
I smile. I like how he says we’ll.
“So, I also wanted to talk to you about your front porch,” he goes on, pausing to take another drink. “Would it be okay with you if I started this weekend, say Sunday afternoon?”
My eyes grow wide. “You work on the weekends?”
It’s slight, but I catch another glimpse of that flush I saw earlier. He drops his head slightly and says, “On occasion. For the right client.”
His flirtatious tone stupidly sets my heart to racing again. I raise the mug up to my mouth and, over a budding grin, say, “So only your most pathetic clients earn weekend status . . .”
He raises his head, offering another glimpse of that delicious bottom-lip bite I saw earlier.
“Not pathetic. Charming.”
Charming?
His gaze stays steady on mine for a split second, long enough that I can feel my heart hammering against my sternum before he blinks hard and abruptly shifts his attention back down to the mug.
“Yeah, so . . . I should probably head out back and finish things up. I’m sure I’ll be gone by the time you get home tonight, so I’ll just plan on seeing you again on Sunday.”
I swallow hard. “Okay.”
