Page 22 of Defending What is Mine

When he reaches me, Jack looks puzzled. “Wait, did you say dynamic or dysfunction?”

Still laughing, I shake my head. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

For obvious reasons, I skip the embarrassingly large wineglass and opt for a boring, standard size instead. But who ever said you can’t pour more than one glass?

“Woohoo! Jackpot,” Jack proclaims when he opens the refrigerator. “There’s still most of a twelve pack in here. Do you mind if I take the rest with me? Just to screw with him?”

“Not at all. As you see, we could use the extra space in there.”

Jack twists the lid off bottle number one and takes a healthy pull. “I can almost taste his tears,” he says, tipping the bottle in my direction. “Alright. Now, where do you want me?”

In my heart of hearts, I know what he means. I know it’s as innocent a question as any other. But apparently my poker face is closed for repairs, because without having spoken a word, the look on his face says he totally read my mind, and the tension between us skyrockets to eleven.

I sip at my wine, taking the chance to compose myself. “Why don’t we start at the table?”

Uncomfortable, Jack nods and follows me back into the dining area. “Wait, the table isn’t even messy.” He looks around the room. “In fact, it’s the one place that doesn’t need cleaned.”

I nod. “Have a seat. Relax. I’m not about to ask you to help me clean up. I just want to say thank you for what you did. I don’t even know where to begin.” My eyes well up as joy fills my soul. “She had such a wonderful time today. All because of you.”

Jack stares at his beer. “It was nothing. I was glad to do it.”

“It’s not nothing,” I say, as I bring my wineglass down, catching the rim on the edge of table, breaking it at the stem and spilling wine everywhere. Including my lap. “Aw hell! Now look what I’ve done.”

“Now I can help you clean the table.” Jack chuckles as he stands and carefully picks out the pieces of broken glass before hurrying off to the kitchen. When he returns, he has the ridiculously large wineglass in one hand, a roll of paper towels in the other, and the bottle tucked under his arm. “There were other glasses in the cabinet, but when I saw this, I thought you might be ready to step it up a notch.”

Could this man be any more perfect?

Jack sets the glass and bottle down in front of me. “Why don’t you work on this, while I work on the mess,” he says with a smile. He unfurls a wad of paper from the roll and begins dutifully wiping up the spill.

“Really. Please let me do that,” I say as I stand. It’s bad enough that I managed to break my glass and spill my wine. The last thing I want to do is sit around and watch him clean up after me.

Jack looks over and stops what he’s doing when he notices the red stain spanning from my shirt to my crotch. “Oh no, look at you. I hadn’t realized you were all wet.”

This time it’s his poker face that appears to be out of order, because I watch as his brain connects the dots to the euphemism of his words.

My cheeks burn hot as I desperately search for a relaxed, easy-going response. But…what happens instead is that I let my mouth speak before analyzing the words. Thereby accidently doubling down on the tension and making things even more awkward (if that’s even possible at this point.) “What can I say, you have that effect on me.”

Jack gulps hard. “Say what, now?”

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