Page 57 of Love & Rockets

Chapter 11

The moment Jake closed Marlee’s car door, he started counting the seconds until he could dash back into the restaurant. He’d seen her leave cash to cover their drinks but no tip. He cringed when he thought of Zelda Jo collecting the ticket from the table, but hadn’t said anything to Marlee. Some people were clueless. In his experience, there seemed to be a direct correlation between bank balance and their level of oblivion. He stifled the need to cringe as he replayed the entire fiasco in his head. She’d asked for the meeting and offered him lunch at the restaurant of his choice. How was he supposed to know she didn’t eat meat?

The idea of a girl like Marlee Tucker applying to a doctoral program in engineering might seem ridiculous, but only to someone who’d never seen her academic resume. On the outside, she was every inch the polished, preening debutante. But on paper, she was a friggin’ genius. One of those freakishly smart people who skipped too many grades to ever fit in socially, but driven enough to complete her undergrad and graduate programs by the ripe old age of twenty-two.

He watched her pull out of the rutted parking area in a sleek candy-apple-red roadster, wincing only slightly when she bottomed out on a monster pothole. The screech of metal on pavement didn’t slow Marlee. Without pause, she hooked a right and floored the accelerator, waggling her fingers at him as she zipped past.

Jake smirked and shrugged. The condition of her undercarriage was no concern to him. Plus, her daddy owned the largest string of car dealerships on the Gulf Coast. If she tore her pretty little toy up today, she could surely drive a new one off the lot tomorrow.

Marlee had no interest in pursuing research in any particular field, which meant a PhD would be a waste of time. At least in terms of career marketability. Then again, the time and money were hers to waste. Marlee was the only child of a very wealthy man.

Three minutes into the conversation, Jake tweaked to the realization that Marlee was a career student. Ever practical, a tiny part of him admired people who could make a career out of preparing for a career. While his family and the Tuckers tended to move in the same social circles, he wasn’t exactly sure why her parents urged her to reach out to Jake for counseling. Until Marlee called to request the meeting, Jake had no idea the Tuckers knew what he did for a living. The second the thought formed, the answer followed hot on its heels.

It IS Rocket Science.

He smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand as the thought took root. Cissy Tucker, Drew’s wife and Marlee’s mother, sat on the board. Mystery solved.

Pleased with his deductive reasoning, he turned and headed toward the barbecue shack. Maybe if he hadn’t been so desperate for an excuse, any excuse, to see Darla, he might have put the pieces together earlier. But he had been desperate. And distracted. He wanted to see Darla. Needed to see her.

He also would have to make amends with Zelda Jo.

Jake cringed. Both at the memory of Marlee puling those crumpled bills out of a handbag that probably cost more than Darla’s car, and the thought of the hell Zelda Jo would give him the minute he stepped through the door. A low level hum of dread reverberated deep in his gut. Zelda Jo would be playing the crowded dining room for sympathy. He’d seen her act before. He’d also seen every patron in the place—particularly the men—dig a little deeper each time she did. He’d chipped in himself. Doing so was a matter of peace of mind as much as self-preservation.

Rehearsing his apology in his head, he rounded the corner of the building only to stop dead when something small and solid plowed right into him. Not something, someone. Instinctively, he reached to steady his assailant, but the second his palms made contact with those smooth, rounded arms, he knew the person he held wasn’t just anyone.

“Darla.”

Saying her name out loud was a relief. He hadn’t had the luxury in over two weeks. He’d been so careful not to, afraid his pride wouldn’t hold up and he’d end up embarrassing himself. But now he had her. Held her. And he’d be damned if he let her go again. Not without a fight.

A full minute passed before he realized she wasn’t pressing her hands to his chest because she missed him too and wanted to touch him every bit as badly as he wanted to touch her. No. She twisted and turned, using the momentum of her full body to wrest herself from his grasp. Coming to his senses with a snap, he released her and she shoved him away. Hard.

He stumbled back two steps before regaining his balance. “I was coming—”

“What the hell is your problem?” Her dark eyes glittered with righteous anger. Hectic color tinted her cheeks. There was a smear of sauce on her shirt—right across her breast—but he didn’t dare point it out. He might not be the savviest guy when it came to reading women, but he’d bet all his degrees this one was spoiling for a fight. But before he could muster an answer, she came at him again.

Her small hands hit him square in the center of his chest, but this time he stood his ground. “Now, wait—”

“No, you wait,” she spat, but then stopped. Her jaw stiffened and she somehow managed to stare up and him, but down her nose at the same time. Jake swallowed, more than ready to take whatever she wanted to dish out, because, damn, she was sexy as hell when she was preparing to take a chunk out of someone. “You do not get to do this,” she said, her voice low and vibrating with anger.

“Do what?” The question idiotic, but he didn’t care. He wanted to keep her there. Talking to him. Even if their talking was about to escalate into arguing.

“You don’t get to treat people this way.” She tried one more little shove than switched tactics. “I understand you’re angry with me—”

The misconception was easy to remedy. “I’m not angry with you.”

Darla continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “—but you don’t get to take your issues out on my friends.” She poked him in the sternum with her index finger. “You don’t get to come in here with your pre-pubescent dates and treat people like dirt.”

He brushed her jabby finger away, and ignored the ache in his chest as he bowed up. “That’s the second time you’ve accused me of being some kind of pervert.”

“If the shoe fits,” she snarled.

“You know damn well it doesn’t,” he shot back.

“Is she even old enough to drive, Jake?”

“What the hell do you think was going on here?”

“I know what’s going on here. You came in to flaunt your little girlfriend. Well, you did. Now go!”

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