Page 51 of Black Jack (Advantage Play 5)

As I pull away, I catch Melanie grinning from ear to ear. The shameless woman doesn’t bat an eye that she’s been caught staring, and I kind of love how easily she owns up to it.

“Alright, now who’s ready for dessert?”

16

Jack

We drive home in silence. I’m exhausted. I feel like I just survived another week of bootcamp and could sleep for a month. That dinner felt a hell of a lot more like an interrogation than a friendly invitation between coworkers. And while I’d mentally prepared for the shitshow, I didn’t realize Embry’s ulterior motive for asking my fiancée to tag along. Because it wasn’t my name on the docket. It was Bianca’s. I still don’t understand why she put her neck out for me. Why she dealt with the questions Embry tossed at her in the first place, let alone handling them like a pro.

Once we kissed, Embry backed off immediately. I’m not sure if it was because his wife was so enamored by it that she would’ve given him shit if he kept asking questions or if it looked genuine enough to throw him off our scent.

Regardless, I can’t stop thinking about it. Not Embry’s response, but Bianca’s. I want to kiss her again. I want to see if she still tastes like wine, if her long eyelashes will flutter like a butterfly’s wings the moment our mouths connect, if she’ll sigh when I pull away.

But I also don’t want to get slapped, and anytime things have gotten remotely physical between us, it’s ended in a fight. And I’m sick of fighting.

Bianca’s nose is in her phone. Her thumb drags along the screen as she scrolls through Instagram, or TikTok, or whatever other time suck she’s interested in. I sigh, then turn off the ignition in front of our place.

Without a word, she climbs out of the passenger side. Her hips sway back and forth in her tight cocktail dress as she enters the building and disappears to the top floor. Dropping my head back, I close my eyes and recount the evening for the thousandth time.

We’re getting married this weekend. The random date slipped out of me before I could stop it, but now I feel like this shitshow is real. That it’s happening. That Bianca and I will be tied together forever, or at least a few years. And Dominic hasn’t even testified yet.

What the hell am I doing?

After I’ve unfolded myself from the car, I trudge inside to the elevator. I should feel lighter, but I don’t. My body moves on autopilot as I press the ‘up’ button before stepping inside the small box that lifts me to the top floor with ease. The master bedroom door taunts me once I’m in our apartment, daring me to knock just so I can see Bianca again. I raise my hand but drop it back to my side and rest my forehead against the solid wood that separates us. A simple thank you sounds pathetic after everything she’s done for me, but apparently, she isn’t a fan of gifts. I’ve already tried that––twice––and they didn’t take.

With a deep breath, I raise my hand again, then tap my knuckles against the door.

Then I wait.

And wait.

Where is she?

“Bianca?” I call out.

“Yeah?”

“Can I come in?”

“I’m uh…,” she pauses. “What do you need, Jack?”

Twisting the handle, I push the door open a few inches. “Can I come in?”

“Jack! I’m not decent!”

I close the door again but leave it open an inch so we can still communicate without yelling. “You’re naked?”

Another pause. “Well, no––”

“Then can I come in?”

“Why?” she huffs, exasperated.

I grin and shake my head before pushing open the door the rest of the way. “Because I want to talk to you.”

“Jack!” she shrieks. A damp washcloth hits me square in the chest as a very shy Bianca covers her face in front of the small vanity mirror.

“What?” I laugh before closing the distance between us.

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