Page 41 of Hidden Desires

I reach across the table, cover his hand with mine. “What was her name?”

A flicker of a smile. “Claire. We met in Texas. She left after two years—ran off with a dentist, of all people. Guess he had better teeth.”

I squeeze his hand. “I’m sorry.”

Jack laughs, but it’s not bitter. “Don’t be. It’s ancient history. But sometimes I wonder, you know? If I’d made different choices, maybe I’d have a couple kids, a wife, a mortgage, all that normal shit.”

He looks at me then, really looks, and I see something raw in his eyes.

“I always thought I’d have time later. For a family, for…” He trails off, then shrugs. “Then I blink, and I’m forty-five. No family, no nothing. Just a pile of medals and a dog I don’t even have yet.”

There’s a vulnerability to him I’ve never seen, and it makes my chest ache.

“I want kids someday too,” I say quietly, surprising even myself. “Or at least, I think I do. But the more I work at Gibson Grant, the less I can picture any kind of future. I just… float.”

Jack nods, understanding. “You could do anything, Eliza. Law, art, whatever you set your mind to.”

I laugh, but there’s a catch in it. “I don’t know what I want. I just know I don’t want to be like my parents, stuck in a rut for the rest of my life. They’ve been leading the same life for more than twenty years. They’re the same that they always have been, and I don’t want to be that. The world is changing fast, and I don’t want to be left behind.”

“You won’t,” Jack says, certainty in his voice. “You’re too smart for that.”

We sit in silence for a while, fingers still entwined. The sun climbs higher, splashing light across the table, making everything look impossibly hopeful. And for a second, I can see it: Jack and me, making pancakes on a Sunday, a kid or two underfoot, maybe even a dog snoring on the rug.

It makes my heart bloom, but also terrifies me a bit. Do I really see a future with this man? As the father of my children, and maybe even my husband? But he doesn’t know about what I do yet, when the doors are locked and the camera on. I haven’t let him in on my deep, dark secret life.

Jack must see the indecision on my face, because he smiles, squeezing my hand. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ve got time.”

Before I can answer, his phone buzzes on the table. He glances at the screen, frowns, and stands to answer.

“I should take this,” he says, and disappears down the hall.

I watch the light move across the table, the steam rising from my coffee, and try to make sense of the sudden, sharp ache in my chest.

I’m falling for this man, hard. But how do I tell him the truth? Just blurt it out and see how it lands? After getting to know Jack, I know that he’s about dignity and honor … and unfortunately, what I do is the opposite of that.

Time accelerates when you’re living on borrowed hours. The weekend vanishes in a series of vivid instants—sex, food, laughter, long, lazy stretches of skin and sweat and hands in hair. By Sunday evening, my overnight bag is a disaster, half my clothes lost somewhere in Jack’s house, and my body aches in places I didn’t know could ache. I’m packing in the bedroom, rolling up the black slip dress I never got to wear because I’ve literally been wearing his clothes all weekend. A smile crosses my face, and that’s when Jack comes in, towel around his waist, damp hair curling at his neck.

He leans in the doorway, arms crossed. “You leaving already?”

“It’s almost seven,” I smile, folding my jeans into a tight square. “My parents will be home tonight.”

He nods, but the set of his mouth is slightly grim, like he wants to talk about something. Instead, he just watches as I stuff my bag, his blue eyes dark and unreadable.

Now, with the sky turning purple outside his window, it feels like the end of something. After a weekend of hedonism in this man’s arms, it’s all coming to a halt and it’s because my dad has no idea that I’ve been sleeping with his best friend. A man twice my age. I zip my bag and look at Jack, searching his face for regret, or anger, or anything but his expression is neutral as he watches my every move.

Then, Jack crosses the room and takes my hands, fingers threading through mine.

“When can I see you again?” he asks in a soft tone.

I smile, trembling a little. “Soon, I hope. As long as my parents don’t notice.”

He laughs, but it’s a little hollow. “I’ll call you, sweetheart. Or text. Or show up at your work and drag you out by your hair if I have to.”

The image makes me giggle despite myself. “Please don’t get me fired. I need the money.”

He smiles, then sobers. “You know I care about you, right?”

I nod, the words a hot stone in my chest. “Me too.”