Page 15 of This Time Around
The thought of Allie reminded him of one key fact: Paige’s forgotten sweater gave him an excuse to see her again. He felt equal parts pissed off and giddy, or maybe just pissed at himself for even thinking the word giddy. Was he sixteen?
“I’ll go get your sweater,” he said. “But you’re going to have to do an extra chore from the chore list to earn it back.”
“All right,” she said. “I’ll do it before you get back. Then me and grandma will make that chocolate mousse you like.”
“Grandma and I,” he corrected without thinking.
“Nope, just us. Ladies only!” She giggled and ran up the stairs before he could say anything else. Instead of feeling dismissed, he just felt grateful. Paige needed more girl time in her life, more female influence than he’d managed to give her in his years as a single dad.
He headed for the door and out to the silver Toyota he’d rented until the moving company brought his Audi with the rest of their things. He didn’t go for ostentatious sports cars, but he did like nice automobiles. Not that there was anything wrong with the Toyota. He’d owned one in college, though that had been covered in rust spots and sporting an odometer that had keeled over somewhere around three hundred and fifty thousand.
He spent several hours at the office going over contracts, then hit Fred Meyer for a few groceries and toiletries they needed at home. The route back from there took him right past Allie’s place, which was a good excuse to grab the sweater. Halfway there, it occurred to him he should probably call first, but he was on the interstate and didn’t have the hands-free option linked to the rental car. Hopefully she was home, and wasn’t writhing beneath Wade in the throes of ecstasy. The thought made him a little queasy, so he pushed it out of his mind as he turned off the ramp and onto the little side road that led to her place.
As he pulled up the driveway, he noticed a blue BMW that looked like the one she’d driven in college. That seemed odd. It had been a nice car then, brand new when her parents gave it to her as a high school graduation gift with a personalized plate that read anus tart.
At least that’s how Jack had read it until Allie’s mom sniffed and pointed out that a nu start was a celebration of their baby’s departure for college. Jack hadn’t said so at the time, but he guessed it also underscored their hope Allie would set off for her new life and leave her deadbeat boyfriend behind. Jack got the last laugh there. For a little while, anyway.
As he parked beside it now, he knew it was definitely the same car. The license plates had changed, and it showed a bit of age. Eighteen years was a long time to keep a car, especially for someone with the sort of taste Allie had.
He got out and surveyed the fading paint, the body style that harkened back nearly two decades, and wondered why he hadn’t noticed the car the night before. Peering through the back window, he felt an unexpected rush of nostalgia. He knew that backseat well. He recalled fumbling and groping and having sweaty, passionate sex too many times to count that summer before they started college. Back when they were young and dumb and full of hope and hormones.
Jack clicked the alarm on the rental car and turned to Allie’s place, taking the steps more quickly than he had the night before. He’d started to think showing up unannounced was a dumb idea, and if he hurried, maybe he wouldn’t change his mind. It was a habit he’d started after Allie dumped him and he dropped out of college. In a rare moment of nostalgia, he’d tracked down his father’s number and called him for the first time in years. He’d been hoping for a meaningful father-son talk, maybe even a few words of wisdom.
Get your shit together, son! his dad had barked over the phone. The road is paved with flattened squirrels who couldn’t make up their minds.
It was one of the last times he’d spoken to his father.
Jack shook off the memory and steeled himself to knock on Allie’s door. He waited, hearing footsteps on the other side.
The door flew open faster than it had the night before, almost as though she’d been standing right next to it with her hand on the knob.
But as Jack took in her appearance, he decided that was unlikely.
She wore baggy sweatpants with a pink stain on the thigh. Her hair was in a sloppy topknot, and her entire face was covered with something that looked like split pea soup. The television over her shoulder blared something that sounded like Real Housewives of New York City.
Allie gaped at him. “Holy shit.”
Then she slammed the door in his face.
Chapter 4
Allie leaned back against her front door with her eyes closed, listening to the blood pounding in her head.
Or maybe that was Jack knocking.
“Why are you here, Jack?” she yelled through the door.
“Paige forgot her sweater.”
Great. Of course she did. Allie gritted her teeth.
She’d assumed she’d never see Jack again after last night, and she sure as hell wasn’t in any shape for entertaining. The mud mask she’d smeared on her face smelled nearly as bad as the blue silk tank top she’d pulled on before realizing it had hollandaise on the hem. But she hadn’t had the heart to remove it—the shirt or the sauce—because she’d gotten both on a brunch outing with her grandmother just a few months ago.
“Allie?”
“I’m thinking.”
Crap, where was the sweater? She glanced around the living room before remembering she’d stashed it in the coat closet at the far end of the hall last night like a stupid fucking perfect hostess.
