Not the Girl You Marry Read online

  It would be small, intimate, and so on theme that they wouldn’t have to spend a lot of money on decorations. Just plenty of booze and no political donors.

  Jack still hadn’t called her, and he’d stopped sending his family over to help in the past two weeks. Maybe he was waiting for her to reach out. She wanted to text him so much that her fingers itched, but she knew that she would have to talk to him in person. It would be hard because she knew that it wasn’t likely that he would want to give it another try with her. And she very much doubted that they could just pretend that they were starting fresh—that she’d said yes to a date with him because he’d bought her tacos and kissed her like he knew what he was about and that she believed that someone like him could really love her like she wanted to be loved. He’d just wanted to leave her better off than she had been before that stupid fight at the engagement party.

  And she needed to stop thinking about it because she was a busy small-business owner with an event to plan.

  She and Sasha had been up until three a.m. hot-gluing beads on the bouquets for Madison and her bridesmaids and making favors for guests. It reminded Hannah of the parties they’d planned together in college and how much fun that had been. How much simpler and more hopeful she’d been.

  Unlike her feelings about making favors, returning to the original scene of the crime where she’d met Jack aroused complicated feelings. Sasha was handling everything at the wedding venue. They were getting married at a small community church nearby, and Noah’s father was performing the ceremony. Apparently, the Longs didn’t have a problem with Noah marrying a white girl. They hadn’t liked Hannah because she swore too much and they’d met her when she looked rode hard and put up wet.

  Which wouldn’t have been a problem with the Nolans. She and Sasha had gone to dinner with Bridget the week before, and Bridget could recite a dirty limerick that would make a longshoreman blush. Hannah really liked her and would have been happy to have her as a sister-in-law if things were different.

  She had to stop thinking about him. Now was not the time.

  Which was going to be hard because he was standing outside of the speakeasy with a bunch of guys—some of whom she recognized from the first night they’d met. They were all dressed in puffer coats, jeans, and work boots, but Jack stood there with the nerve to look as dashing as he had in a tux.

  Hannah almost didn’t get out of the car. She was poised to turn the ignition back on and drive around the block until they left. Although she’d been pining for weeks now for the man she was currently drinking up with her eyes, she was afraid to see him. What if he just wanted to make things right so they could be friends? What if doing favors for her, sending his family to show up when she needed help, writing that she was the love of his life, were just ways to assuage his guilt over using her?

  It took her north of a minute, but she got out of the car on shaky legs and walked over to Jack. Hopefully not looking as terrified as she felt.

  “What are you doing here?”

  He smiled at her, and the fucking dimple slayed her again. She’d only been lying to herself when she’d claimed that she was only going out with him to prove to Annalise that she didn’t hate love. The dimple and the smile and the stupid sparkly green eyes had sealed her fate from the moment they’d met.

  And then he wiped his hand over his beard—which was new and very hot—and looked up at her with more sparkly green bullshit in his gaze and said, “Thought you might need some help setting up. Sasha said you’re still a two-woman operation.”

  “Jack, you don’t have to—”

  He stopped her with a hand on her shoulder, and the heat from his touch rendered her mute. “I want to, Duchess.”

  Using her nickname gave her hope that this was real and that everything but the stupid bullshit he’d done to try to get her to break up with him was real. “We should talk.”

  “We’ll talk later.” He squeezed her shoulder and then motioned his friends over to the car. “Keys?”

  She handed her keys over and watched four grown men haul favors into the venue.

  * * *

  —

  JACK STARED AT HANNAH on and off until it was time for him and his crew to leave. The last thing he wanted to witness was Hannah watching her ex-douche getting married to another girl. And there was too much that they needed to say to each other that they couldn’t say to each other during someone else’s wedding.

  So he went to Chris’s place and waited for the four longest hours of his life, barely distracted by the Michigan–Ohio State game. He counted down the minutes until he could see Hannah again and tell her exactly how he felt about her without any lies or pretense between them.

  Based on how she’d looked at him today, she had some stuff to say to him, too. As soon as the clock hit ten forty-five p.m., he was out of Chris’s pad—leaving his friend snoring on the couch with half a slice of pizza balanced on his chest—and on his way back to the bar.

  He waited for almost everyone to stream out, feeling like a creeper waiting outside of the bar. But then he descended the stairs. His palms were sweaty, and his palms never sweat. He’d calm down as soon as she agreed to give him another shot. She had to.

  When he walked in, she and Sasha were the only people left. Sasha saw him come in and winked at him. Good sign.

  And then Hannah turned and smiled at him. Not the hesitant smile of thanks she’d given him before he’d left earlier in the day, but the full smile she’d given him right before she bit into dessert, or right after the first time he’d gone down on her.

  Just thinking about the faint possibility of getting his mouth on her again had his heart racing and the front of his jeans growing tighter. He had to slow down and make her see that he saw her and wanted her and needed her. That part of him had been dying without her.

  “You’re here.”

  “Nowhere else I’d rather be, Duchess.”

  Sasha picked up her bag from behind the bar. “I’m—uh—going to head out.”

  Neither of them answered her. They just smiled at each other like total goofs until they heard her heels echo on the stairs. That made Jack look down at the box in his hand and offer it to her.

  “I don’t feel like I deserve a gift.”

  “Shut up and take it.” He wasn’t in the mood for her self-deprecating bullshit. To his surprise, she didn’t argue with him. Instead, she ripped open the package to find a brand-new pair of gray moccasins.

  She had them out of the box, her heels off, and the soft leather slippers on her feet before saying anything.

  “You like them?”

  “I love them.”

  He wiped his sweaty palm over his sweaty brow. “I think you’ve warped my mind. I think you look sexier in those than in the heels.”

  “Probably because when I’m wearing heels, I’m thinking about how much I’d like to stab someone with them just so they get a hint of the pain of wearing heels.”

  “I don’t know, I kind of think you’re sexy even when you’re about to stab me.”

  She looked down. “Sorry about that. It was probably a little extreme.”

  He took a step toward her so that he could be in her space, smelling the sweet spice of her skin and the scent of her fancy shampoo—a smell that made his dick go hard. A Pavlovian hard-on.

  “I deserved it.”

  “I lied to you, too.” He offered his hand then, knowing that his girl hated to admit that she’d been wrong. “I’m sorry.”

  She met his gaze, and her unusual-colored eyes flashed up at him. His mouth tingled with the need to take hers, but he didn’t want to rush this apology. Before he kissed her, he needed her to know exactly how he felt about her. This was about him wanting to be her perfect boyfriend rather than the perfect boyfriend.

  She bit on her bottom lip, bare and pink after a full day of talking and worki
ng. “I really love you, and I need to kiss you right now.” That seemed to get the job done.

  “I l—”

  He cut her off; he could hear it later. He’d demand to hear it a thousand times, in a thousand ways—mostly naked ways for the next few months or so—but he needed to kiss her and touch her right now.

  As soon as his tongue touched hers, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him closer. He drowned in her smell, savored the feel of her body up against his. But he needed more. She’d opened up an endless well of need—need she alone could assuage—and met him touch for touch.

  He picked her up and plopped her ass on the bar. The way he’d wanted to the night they’d met. And then he opened up her knees so they climbed the sides of his body. But then he pulled his mouth from hers. There would plenty of making up for lost time when they finished talking.

  “I love you.” He already knew he liked hearing it best when he was just finished kissing her. It was soft and sweet and real. And he knew she didn’t say those words like that to anyone else. That was his “I love you.”

  “We both messed up.” He put his hand around the back of her neck so she wouldn’t pull away from him. “I’m sorry.”

  “I didn’t think someone like you would ever want to be with me if I was the real me.” She ran a finger down his forehead and he shivered. “You were just so perfect the night we met.”

  “I didn’t think you’d stick around for long, even if I refused to use you for the article, and Irv threatened to fire me if I didn’t.” He didn’t like admitting that he’d been stupid enough to think that his job was worth more than the woman in his arms. “I’d given up jobs and opportunities for promotion before because of women. And they always left.”

  “They were dumb.”

  “Nah, I was just trying too hard with things that were temporary.” He had to stop and kiss her again, needed to confirm to himself that she was still there with both her legs and arms around him. “And I was up my own ass about how I was always the victim.”

  “And I for sure thought you were going to leave me for someone more glamorous. Someone like Sasha or Giselle.”

  He pulled a face. “Sasha’s cute, but not my type. And I already dated a glamorous blonde a lot like Giselle.”

  “I know. You dated her sister. The actress.” She bit her bottom lip. “I looked her up. Hated her on sight.”

  “She didn’t turn out to be right for me, either.” She rested her forehead against his, and something clicked back into place inside him. “Turns out I like women who get mean when their friends are insulted.”

  “So, you like bitches?”

  “I like loyal women who bust my balls and don’t put up with my shit.”

  “I liked your article. I’m almost sad that no one else will get to read it.”

  “Liked it?” He’d been hoping that she’d love it so much that she had to call him, but he totally got that she’d needed time to cool down. And he’d thought that sending his family over would show her that he was serious about her more than busting in with flowers and getting on his knees.

  “Did you get fired?” she asked.

  He actually hadn’t gotten fired, because Irv had changed his tune about his potential to cover politics after he found out that other outlets wanted to hire him. But he wasn’t working at Haberdasher’s Monthly anymore, either. “I actually got a new gig.”

  A look of concern crossed her face. “This is not the part where you tell me you’re moving, is it?”

  “Nah, I’m going to be a features writer for GQ—but about Chicago and the rest of the Midwest. Politics and lifestyle.”

  “I’d say you have an aptitude for both.”

  “If by aptitude you mean getting a sitting senator indicted and almost having my manhood permanently injured by ice pick in one night, you’d be right.”

  She laughed, and it was the best sound. The only sound he wanted to hear for a week that wasn’t her asking him for more sex.

  He had to know if she forgave him, if they could move forward. “Do you think you can trust me again? You give me what I need when you trust me.” His eye twitched because if she couldn’t trust him, this wasn’t going to work. “I know I screwed up, but I need you to trust me again.”

  “I trust you. You’re here with me now, and you knew how to fix it.” She ran one finger across his forehead, moving his hair out of his face. “You made sure I knew that you were all in. You threw your family at me and made sure I knew that I belonged with them. With you.”

  That she got what he’d been trying to do made him want to pump his fist in the air.

  “You didn’t have to do all of that, though.”

  “I didn’t?” he asked. “You threatened to deflate my balls, Duchess. I thought I needed to go all in.”

  “I didn’t mean it.” She smiled. “Well, I only meant it a little bit.”

  “See? I had to keep our future children safe.”

  She shook her head. “You do realize that our child’s first word will probably be ‘fuck’?”

  “That’ll be my dad’s fault, though.” They both laughed. “I’ll always know where I stand, I guess,” he said. “That’s one of my favorite things about you. You’re always straight with me.”

  “I promise not to actually bust your balls.” She kissed his forehead then. “For our future children’s sake.”

  Before they finally got down to the more fun business of the evening, he said, “Just promise to gently cup them whenever I’m really fucking up.”

  “I’ll make sure it’s in the vows.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  THEY NEEDED TO BE alone, and soon. Now that he wasn’t faking being a good Catholic, she was going to need at least a few days with nothing to do but him. As soon as the rental company picked up the rest of the glassware, Jack shoved her into his car and broke the sound barrier on the way to his condo.

  They didn’t even hold hands in the elevator, as though they both knew that once they started, they wouldn’t stop.

  But once they got inside his door, all bets were off. He groaned, and it hit her in the gut. Then he kissed her mouth, and her whole being lit up. She clutched at his shoulders as he took her mouth in the most ludicrously delicious kiss she’d ever experienced.

  By the time he moved his mouth behind her ear, they were both panting. She clawed at the hem of his T-shirt because she needed it off—now. He raised his arms as though reluctant to take his hands off her hips. And as soon as he was shirtless, she stepped back to look at him. Which was a mistake, because he was more ripped than she remembered.

  Christ, he must be doing those superhero workouts. That was the only explanation for how big and muscled he was. His body was just stupid hot, and it rendered her speechless. And he was in love with her.

  “Did I grow a third nipple or something?”

  Her mouth was dry, but she managed an “or something.” Then he laughed and stepped closer to her again. When she couldn’t see all of what he was working at the same time, she looked up at him, summoning her most cynical smirk. “Are you on some weird, illegal steroids?”

  He laughed. “No.” One corner of his mouth tipped up, making his dimple pop and reminding her of how cocky he was. It should have been a turnoff, but it wasn’t. She liked it. And looking at him, she acknowledged that a little bit of that cockiness was earned. She couldn’t exactly hold it against him. She’d rather hold herself against him. “You like?”

  As much as she wanted to play it cool and pretend that she saw a half-naked Adonis every day and that all of her ex-lovers had looked like they were very serious about Captain America cosplay, she couldn’t. “I love.”

  The dimple got even deeper and he came back in for another kiss, one so mind-melting that she just up and forgot that she was soft in some places that she’d rather not be despite her
religious attendance at SoulCycle classes and Pilates. She did that to be strong, not to be hot. Working out to feel good in her skin was one thing when she’d been on her extended dating hiatus. But now, when Jack was pulling apart the sides of her shirtdress and she was lifting her arms for him to take it off, she suddenly felt self-conscious. Which was ridiculous, considering that he’d seen her full-on hairy bush multiple times.

  Somehow, this felt different. This was the first time she was having sex with someone who loved her—the first person who’d said those words. And the way he looked at her. Like she was precious, and he couldn’t seem to take all of her in at once. The adoration in his eyes must have been what made her peel her tights off faster than the speed of light, and what made her stand still as he ran a finger over her sternum and down to the core of her as slowly as the last few minutes of the last day of school.

  He looked at her as though she were ice cream, which she knew he loved because she couldn’t seem to stop watching his videos; she’d watched them so many times in the past few weeks that she had them all memorized. But every time she missed his naughty mouth, she hadn’t been able to help watching that one about homemade ice cream. He worked an ice cream cone just like he worked over her body. She’d never look at mint chocolate chip the same way again, but she didn’t care.

  “You like?” She wanted him to look at her like this forever, but she also didn’t want it to start feeling awkward.

  He reached around her and unhooked her bra. “I like so much I want more. Let me see all of you, Duchess.”

  She had the feeling that he was talking about more than just her naked body. And she didn’t want to hold anything back. In that moment, she realized that the reckless way she used to love wasn’t bad or wrong. She’d just been aiming her love at the wrong men. Something about being with Jack made it feel so right.

  “I want—”

  “Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you, Duchess.”