Page 70 of Playing Along

Rule Number 1: Under no circumstances may Nora climb into Jack’s lap.

That’s how easy it would’ve been to prevent this kissing faux pas.

“Never apologize for kissing me,” Jack says, the fierceness I saw in his eyes echoed in the way he enunciates each word, giving them each a weight all their own. My stomach flips and a dark flush creeps up my neck. Jack gives me a deep nod, as if the matter is settled, then his hands find my waist and he lifts me back over onto my seat as easily as if I were a piece of paper. His palm brushes a sliver of skin beneath the hem of my shirt and heat dances across the spot, his very touch branding me as his.

Jack resumes driving as if the whole thing never happened. I stare straight ahead at the road passing along beneath us, his words echoing in my mind. Never apologize for kissing me. That’s what he said.

That sounds like a rule, right?

Rule Number 1 (revised): Never apologize for kissing Jack.

It’s a good rule.

***

BY THE TIME we pull into the parking lot of my office building, I’m back to wanting to discuss this threat we received. He may not care about whoever left that creepy photo of him, but I certainly do.

“Jack,” I start to broach the subject, but while I’ve been busy debating what I want to say, he’s parked the car and is already running around to my side to get my door for me. When he swings open said door, I hear a familiar sound that brings an immediate smile to my face. Humming! Specifically Jack’s humming.

Some people sing when they’re in a good mood, some people dance, others whistle. But Jack, Jack hums. I don’t think it would be reading into things too much to assume that the kiss we shared is what put him in this good mood. Would it?

Then again, kissing does not a marriage make. There also has to be mutual respect and affection, and, I’m just spitballing here, but an origin story that doesn’t revolve around murder also seems ideal.

Therefore I cannot let myself be affected by Jack’s humming.

Good self-pep talk, Nora. Back to work.

“Jack,” I say again, hurrying to catch up to him as he crosses the parking lot—still humming a happy tune, “are we really not even going to talk about who might have left those photos, because given what Stella told us my money is on Frank. Although, presumably the person who put the photos there is the same person who moved the body, and Frank was here in this parking lot supervising the towing of my truck. Unless he had another partner, someone besides Connie. But who?” I’m talking at a rapid rate–desperate to get this out before we reach the double doors to the building–but much to my annoyance I’m not even sure Jack is listening. He’s come to an abrupt stop and is busy staring at something on the pavement. “Jack, did you hear anything I just sa–” the question dies on my lips as I follow his gaze and see what’s caught his eye. Spots of blood on the pavement. Small, but noticeable if you just so happen to be looking down.

I lift my hand and stare at the leftover mark from where I stabbed myself with the needle last night. Right, so that’s my blood on the pavement. My mind reels trying to figure out if this is a problem. Can DNA samples be lifted off pavement? Does my blood being here even point to my involvement in Ian’s murder? I can’t see how…unless they ask what happened and I admit I nicked myself with a knitting needle…the same weapon used for the murder.

I shudder. Not a connection I want brought to light.

“Why is there blood here?” Jack asks in a low voice. “I thought you said the attack happened on the side of the road.”

“It did,” I say quickly, “But I sort of stabbed myself with the knitting needle when I was looking for my phone in my purse. That’s my blood.”

Jack processes this and his brow smooths. “Alright.” He eyes my hand in concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I say quickly, lifting my hand to show him the wound on my finger– all that remains from the incident. “All good.”

“Good.” Jack nods, then continues walking. Honestly, Mel was right earlier when she called him out for deflecting! He’s doing it again, only with my worries about that photo of him.

I go after him, exasperation hastening my steps.

“You can’t keep doing this, Jack,” I hiss. “We need to talk about the photos.” We’ve reached the doors now and he finally turns to look at me.

“I know,” he says, “and we will. But right now I want to talk to Cleo. The pictures are less urgent. If they make their way into the investigation I’ll have some explaining to do, sure, but don’t worry, I’ll keep you out of it.”

I almost stamp my foot at the insufferable man. “It’s not me I’m worried about!” I cry, poking him hard in the chest. “It’s you, you big doof!”

Side note: I have no idea where I got the word doof. But now that I’ve said it, I stand by it. Jack is being a doof!

Jack’s eyes blaze down at me as he takes a step closer, invading my space. I force myself not to back away from him, mentally preparing for his rebuttal. But Jack surprises me yet again.

“Why?” he asks.

I blink up at him. “Why?” I echo. “What do you mean why?”

Source: www.allfreenovel.com