Missed Connections

Missed Connections: Chapter 21

Chapter 21

I almost turned Jack's invitation down, but that felt like letting the hippies win, so I agreed to go out with him. And as an added "screw you" bonus, I bought a new dress to wear tonight as a tip of the hat to my materialistic generation. Have the hippies never heard of stimulating the economy? My plan for the future includes rocking this dress and dancing my ass off with Jack.

Right after his set.

At his club.

And fine, maybe I bought the new dress to show the women at Frisk-show Maxine and Shiny Hair-that Jack's with me for a reason.

His response when he picked me up in the cab and saw me was worth it. I'm surprised we made it out of the apartment, given how intensely he kissed me-against the wall of my lobby.

"We'll continue this later," he'd growled. I've never felt such raw hunger for someone before.

The fact that we couldn't give in to the raw, physical lust has made this entire night feel like drawn-out foreplay. Jack's splayed hand on my lower back when he guided me to a table in the VIP section lingered just long enough to burn its shape on my skin through my dress. In retaliation, I made sure to brush my ass against him when I slid into my seat.

He left to get our drinks, giving us a needed breather.

It picked up as soon as he got back to the table and sat across from me.

His eye twitched when the straw slipped between my lips. My nipples tightened when he traced patterns in the condensation on his bottle.

If he hadn't gone to do his set, I may have gotten in trouble for doing something frightfully indecent under the table with my foot. I'm still debating what we can get away with in his booth-but he's working, so I keep my ass in the chair.

My eyes resentfully drink in the sight of all the girls getting way too close to Jack around the DJ booth. So much for my self-control.

Would the situation feel better or worse if we were in a committed relationship instead of just friends with benefits? Do I even have the right to feel possessive without the title of girlfriend?

A sexy brunette runs her hand up his arm, and my blood pressure rises with her grabby little paw. This is a huge reason why Jack and I can't be anything serious. I'm too possessive for this to work. We're only sleeping together, and I feel like that stranger's touching what's mine.

And what's happening when I'm not here? We've never had a discussion about exclusivity, so I have no right to be upset if he's banging ten chicks in ten boroughs. It's his business and none of mine. Maybe this is all he wants with me. Come to think of it, after the blowup in my apartment, he's never broached the subject of being something more.

With a sigh, I turn from the booth and head to the bar. I can't get sad over Jack. We were only going to be a temporary thing anyway.

There are inset lights in the bar, blues and silver making the granite sparkle. The whole place is tasteful but expensive, upscale but not pretentious. People are dressed to be seen, and I'm pretty sure I see a pop star in the corner booth, but I don't want to stare and seem too impressed.

I am, after all, dating the man who owns this place.

No, not dating. Seeing. Is there a difference?

I order a screwdriver-a girl's got to get her vitamin C-and head back to my empty table. Sliding onto the seat, I take a deep breath, then a deep sip, and relax. Jack and I are about fun, having a good time with no strings, and if I start letting feelings creep in, it's just going to complicate the hell out of the arrangement and sour things unnecessarily.