Playing Jacks

vi. Life is Dangerous. Let's Ban It. Part 1

Morning dawned earlier than Sophie wanted, bringing with it a name that made her heart flutter: Jacks.  Covering her head with guilty pleasure, she thinks on the kiss that drove her to take measures against whatever madness accompanies chastity. 

There’s no doubt about it: that man’s dangerous.

This is so wrong, she chides herself again.  The male Adonis-beauty wasn’t eclipsed by the scars or his gruff manner; no, it was heightened by it.  He was a man’s man- unrepentant and stalwart. 

But he’s her husband’s nephew.  Soon to be ex-husband, she hastily corrects, but still- doesn’t this place her within the boundaries of incest?  It’s sick.  It’s wrong.  But thinking of the firm, irrefutable kiss again, she’s a puddle of woman.

Cursing, Sophie throws the light covers away from her hiding place. The guilty fantasies are over.  Resolute, Sophie makes her way through her morning routine, refusing to dwell on Jacks or his conspicuous absence.  He’s the wrong choice- logically speaking.  All one has to do is analyze his life: it is completely obvious . . . to everyone and everything except her deceptive, misguided heart.  Curse the wretched thing!  Is it incapable of making a reasonable decision?  Does it always have to lurch towards the men she should avoid with every fiber of her being?

Work dragged the day out, the seconds beating against her temple like a migraine.  She pointedly ignored her phone all morning.  She scowled at it all afternoon.  There wasn’t a logical reason for the mood: it’s not as if Jacks even had her number.  Somehow, she didn’t believe that would truly be an obstacle if Jackson Mancuso truly wanted to call her. 

By the end of the day her mood was truly foul.  Nevermind that she had started her day with hard resolutions to avoid the man, he had kissed her into oblivion and then just disappeared?

Rude.

She stomps to her car, jerks open the door and slams it shut behind her.  Every action is brusque, echoing her temper, when her phone rings.

“Sophie?” A gentler man’s voice calls from the other side.

She has to inhale a steadying breath and control her tone.  Just because it’s the wrong man’s voice doesn’t give her any call to be rude.  “Evening, Thomas.”

“I’ve just had a killer day,” he admits, sounding a bit defeated. “I sure would like the company of a beautiful woman.  Tell me you’ll come to dinner with me?”

Jackson Mancuso is the wrong man, Sophie brusquely reminds herself.  Logically speaking, he’s wrong for her.  He’s rude and inconsiderate and pushy and unrepentant and . . . and he doesn’t even live in the country!  There’s no logical reason to sit in this car and even debate the matter, especially when Thomas has been so considerate and encouraging and kind.  Thomas is a nice guy.  She wants to go out with nice guys.  She wants to eventually fall in love with a nice guy.  

Jacks is not a nice guy.  He even said so!

“Where would you like to meet?” Sophie asks, sealing the deal.

Sophie skitters through the bathroom, stopping only long enough to ensure that she does, indeed, look presentable in the wrap-around dress and boots before hurrying to the knock at the door.

Thomas’ eyebrows rise appreciatively as he steps into the modest apartment. “Wow, you just made my entire day brighter.”

Sophie blushes. “Let me just get my phone,” she mutters as her eyes scan the room’s flat surfaces.

Thomas nods towards the bedroom. “On your dresser, on the charger.”

Sophie looks between the bedroom door and Thomas and back again.  Physically stepping in front of him to gain his perspective, she can only barely make out the small silver square on the black charging valet. “Huh,” she mutters, looking over her shoulder into his humored expression. “Observant.  They sure train you FBI sorts well.”