Page 25 of Jacking Jill

You don’t deserve her, came the sickening whisper again from some part of Jack that had never spoken up before, never revealed this kind of insecurity, this sort of self-doubt, a self-directed loathing born of the subconscious guilt that each meaningless tryst had piled onto his hound-dog heart over the years.

You’re compromised, Jack told himself angrily as he opened his throat and poured down the second glass of Prosecco. Just like Benson said, your dick is no longer capable of pointing true north because you’ve corrupted it with too many years of filthy carnal pleasure devoid of emotion, meaningless sex without the beauty of love. You’ll only taint her sweetness with your seed, pollute her purity with your poison. If there’s any sign of a moral compass left in your hollowed-out shell then it should tell you to walk away, let this angel float back to her place in the stars, don’t drag her down in the dirt where you’ve spent your life fornicating with faceless bodies like the heartless filth you are.

Jack stared down at the empty glass, stunned by the sudden assault from within. What the fuck was going on? Had Benson gotten to him with those comments about being compromised in the dick department, that he wasn’t the forever kind of guy, that he shouldn’t try to be someone he isn’t, had never been, would never be?

For a brief moment Jack remembered that he’d said all those things about himself before Benson ever did. And Jack had said them with prideful posturing, beating his chest with bravado, insisting that he was the exception to the Darkwater rule, that he was going to break the pattern, end Benson’s stupid steak of the names lining up. Except now he felt locked into this pattern, like fate had grabbed him by the balls, destiny had him by the dick, the universe laughing at how easily it had won.

Suddenly Jack felt unmoored, totally lost, barely able to stand straight even though two glasses of bubbly wouldn’t hit him like this.

But it wasn’t the wine, Jack knew.

It was the woman.

His woman.

He knew it in a way that floored him. All that swaggering talk about breaking the pattern, and now he’d fallen hard on the first fucking day, so hard he was all turned around like a middle-schooler with a crush, a love-sick idiot who didn’t know which way was up, a romantic loser drunk on love.

“Drunk enough to dance?” Jill’s teasing voice cut through his thundering thoughts. She uncrossed her leg and rose from the sofa, handing him her empty glass. “Thought you were saving that second glass to get me drunk and undressed.”

Jack took her empty glass and placed it on the table, straightening up and smiling at her teasing words. He glanced into her sparkling brown eyes, then blinked and looked past her. He didn’t want her seeing how messed up he was, didn’t want to reveal the crack in his armor, the vulnerability that had been opened up by the realization that he wanted her body and mind, heart and soul, now and forever.

“You all right?” Jill frowned as Jack stayed quiet, didn’t respond to her teasingly flirty comment about undressed salads. “The sparkling wine can hit quickly. I’m buzzing just from the one glass, actually.”

“Me too,” Jack said somewhat gruffly. “Buzzing, I mean. Maybe we hold off on the dance-moves for a bit, Jill.”

Jill shrugged. “OK. You afraid Jack will fall down and break his crown and Jill will come tumbling after?”

Jack forced a grin as his mind spun back to Benson’s warning that could be a test or could be the truth. Jack and Jill both die in the end, Benson had pointed out with none of that trademark wit to his tone.

In fact Benson’s tone had picked up a sharper and darker edge even before the explosion, Jack reminded himself as he led Jill towards the buffet table so they could get some food into their bellies to cut the buzz in their brains. Maybe Benson was worried that he’d gone too far with the fate-and-destiny thing, was pushing his luck by continuing to feed his OCD-level urge to recruit Darkwater men in alphabetical order.

Like a degenerate gambler who can’t stop himself, Jack thought grimly as he saw Bobby and Nina emerge wide-eyed and unsteady from that private corridor. Yeah, maybe Jack needed to take Benson’s warning at face value. Patterns continued only until they stopped. Streaks continued only until they were broken. You spin the wheel only until you’ve got nothing left to bet.

Until you’ve lost it all.

“Sometimes you just have to cut your losses, I guess,” Jill said softly now as Nina and Bobby stumbled past, their eyes glassy and dilated, both of them with manic grins on their young faces which were already prematurely lined around their mouths and eyes from the effects of whatever they were doing to their bodies. “I’m an idiot to think I could have come here and stopped the wedding. And even if I did pull it off, Nina would be so angry with me that no way I’d have been able to get her into rehab. In fact, if I broke them up, it could be even more dangerous for Nina. She’d feel betrayed by me, might go on some kind of drug-bender and end up overdosing.” Jill turned to him now, her face drawn with disappointment, then disillusionment, finally devastation. “Oh, Jack, what was I thinking with my dumb stupid plan! It all seems so crazy now, surreal and unreal, like maybe I should worry about my own mental health before I decide to save anyone else!”

Jack stared down into Jill’s eyes, wondering if she was cracking inside just like he was, the action and anxiety of the day opening up fissures in their psyches from which emotions were bubbling up like hot lava that had been simmering beneath the surface for years, decades, perhaps forever.

“Stop it,” Jack said with a tight but warm smile. “Maybe sparkling wine isn’t our drink. My head’s been buzzing with some pretty fucked-up thoughts too.”

“Like what?” Jill said as they arrived at the buffet table and Jack began to heap cocktail shrimp onto a plate. “Also, leave some shrimp for the rest of us, will you?”

Jack grinned as Jill pierced one of his shrimps with a cocktail fork, then grabbed a napkin and covered her mouth as she chewed. Jack did no such thing as he wolfed down his plate of shrimp. He did remember to keep his mouth closed while chewing, though.

The hearty shrimp followed by a generous sampling from the cheese board did the trick. The buzzing in his head was gone, his thoughts were clear, and he was ready to dance if Jill was still up for it. She’d had a rougher day than Jack—at least mentally, since she wasn’t a trained Special Forces killer. But damn, she’d held up like a champ, was on her feet and looking fresh and gorgeous after a day which included seeing a dead body, getting carjacked, then driving three hours to a mafia wedding she was trying to stop by sleeping with the groom.

At least that last part was off the table now, Jack thought as he took Jill’s empty plate and held it out for an attentive server. Then he took Jill’s hand and led her onto the dancefloor.

His heart began to race as that earlier warning threatened to mess with his composure and remind him that he was supposed to take a step back, not press his body against hers and gyrate on a fucking dancefloor. Besides, he was supposed to lay low and observe, not make a spectacle of himself.

Damn it, Jack thought as the music changed to a slow song just as they arrived at the center of the dancefloor. The older Darkwater guys had said fate was real, but Jack didn’t think they meant destiny was a DJ who would literally put on a cheesy slow song just when you get to the damn dancefloor.

They faced each other now, Jill’s cheeks darkening with color as Jack looked down at her and shrugged like they were in middle school and it was the first slow dance and none of the couples knew what to do.

“At least you can’t do your Army dance-moves to this song,” she whispered shyly up to him as he placed his hands gently on her hips, leaned in close as her hands rested on his shoulders and they began to move together. “No twisting, no twirling, and certainly no tossing.”

Jack laughed, the motion briefly bringing his face near enough that their noses touched, their lips so close Jack could almost taste her red lipstick.

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