Tinsel My Heart (8 page)

Her hand circled his hard length. Feathering her fingers up the sides, Becca rubbed her thumb across the single drop of liquid pearled at the tip. “You know I’m going to think about your lack of boxers or briefs every time I look at you now.”

“Good.” Jack’s hands spanned her waist, lifting her up above him. Then a look of sheer panic washed across his face. “Shit. I don’t have a condom.”

“I do.” Becca reached around in an awkward twist—thank goodness for Pilates class!—and dug into her back pocket. Ripped open the foil packet with her teeth. “I’ve carried one on me every day since the first time you kissed me.”

Dark eyebrows arrowed upward. “Really? Well, I’ve got three boxes back at the hotel I bought right after I kissed you.”

She rolled it slowly down his shaft. “Guess we’re on the same page.”

“No more talking,” he ordered. And seated himself deep inside her with a single thrust.

Becca’s head dropped back in ecstasy. His girth stretched her to that fine line between pain and pleasure. She tried to set a rhythm. Hands braced on his chest, she rose up until the tip was barely still within, and then a long, torturously slow drop back down. That lasted only three strokes until Jack growled. Growled! Could there be anything sexier than pulling that sound out of a man?

Hands at the small of her back jerked her forward. Then Jack’s mouth, hot and wet, surrounded her nipple again. The dual points of sensation drove her close to peak faster than ever before. “If you do that, I won’t last.”

“Keep moving like that, and I won’t either.” Not that he gave her a choice in the matter. With a grip of steel on her hips, he picked up the pace, hammering into her with a force that ripped a cry of pure, animalistic pleasure from her lips. All man, Jack filled her, gave her everything she needed and then some. Becca clawed her nails into his shoulders. Hung on for dear life as she began to splinter apart. And screamed her satisfaction into the dark night as, with a deep groan, he shuddered inside her.

Becca collapsed against his chest. Let out a tiny squeal when he did something to make the seat fall back almost flat. “I’m all warm now,” she said.

“Told ya I’d take care of you.”

“That you did.” It was so nice to just look at his face. Unguarded. Relaxed. With a loose smile tipping up the corners. She traced the edge of his goatee with one finger. “I appreciate the service.”

“It’s been a long time coming.” Jack slipped out. Got himself all organized, pulled up her pants, then palmed her butt to keep her close. “You know, I always wanted to ask you out back in high school.”

The thought of how many potential orgasms she’d missed out on with him was staggering. “No, I can categorically state that I did not know.”

“Not for sex.” Then he shot her a devastating grin. Pushed a lock of hair off her cheek. “Who am I kidding? I was an eighteen-year-old boy. Let’s change that to not
just
for sex.”

Hmm. He’d wanted her. She’d wanted him. It didn’t add up. “What stopped you?”

A long, deep sigh heaved his chest like a whale breaching the ocean. “For a long time, I didn’t want to mess up the Three Musketeers vibe we had going on with Ty. Senior year, though, I couldn’t take it anymore. I wanted you so bad. And prom was coming up. So I told Ty my big plan.”

“You were going to ask me to prom? But Ty...” Her voice trailed off.

“Yeah. When Ty found out, he did an end run around me and asked you out himself. Ty always had to have top billing, be first. That still hasn’t changed. Anyway, we got in a huge fight.”

“I remember. You both showed up to school bloodied and bruised, but wouldn’t tell me why.”

“It almost ended our friendship. Except for the fact that you said yes to him. In my mind, that meant you’d decided that you’d rather be with Ty. No point breaking up the gang over something that wasn’t going to happen anyway.”

The thought of all the unintentional hurt she’d put him through by going to that dance with Ty seared her heart. “But...you didn’t give me a chance to choose. You only thought I decided.”

“Like I said—eighteen-year-old kid. Didn’t know much about women. Knew even less about relationships.”

“Jack—” she smiled into that dear face, both so new and so familiar to her, “—I would’ve gone with you. Not Ty. It was always you.”

He stared at her for a couple of long, slow blinks. Then he curved his palm around her cheek. “Sorry we missed out on prom. You wouldn’t have forced me into one of those stupid pink cummerbunds for love or money, but I would’ve shown you a good time.”

“I can’t believe Ty did that to you.”

“It wasn’t the only time he squashed me to get noticed. To get his name mentioned first in an article. When were on location in Prague—god, and Istanbul and Florence—he’d tell me the wrong time to meet for drinks. The first time, I laughed. Ty always ran late, so his showing up early to a bar just meant he was thirsty. By the third time it happened, my production assistant figured it out. Ty wanted to case the joints, pick out the prettiest women to hit on before I got there.”

“Seriously? He screwed you over that repeatedly?”

“It didn’t matter. Do you know how many gorgeous women are in every bar in Prague? I dismissed it as just another selfish quirk of Ty’s. The good stuff balanced it out. His stupid sense of humor that made fourteen-hour filming days manageable. The way we worked together, the way we depended on each other, that mattered more.”

Clearly she’d missed a lot by keeping in touch only with Ty over the years. Becca wished he was there now so she could give him a piece of her mind. The story Jack painted flat out pissed her off. It was no way to treat a partner, let alone a life-long best friend. “You’re cutting him a lot of slack.”

“Not anymore. Now that I’m no longer in his shadow, I can see how unbalanced our partnership was. I’m pissed at him. Hurt. But I heard all the stuff you said, about embracing new challenges.”

“Why, Jack Whittaker, you’re turning into Dr. Phil right before my very eyes.”

He scowled and gave her a gentle smack on the ass. “Bite your tongue. The more I think about it, the more those new challenges of yours intrigue me. Time to see how well I fly solo. I set up a conference call for Tuesday with the team behind that Crusades script.”

“That’s wonderful.” Wonderful for Jack. Not so wonderful for the naïve, optimistic slice of her heart that wished they could have a future together. That the jet-setting film director could make regular stops in the fly-over zone to spend the weekend with her. Pointless wishing for what couldn’t happen. Becca needed to live in the moment. Soak up the next few days with him. And then brace for the inevitable emptiness and pain when he left.

“It’s a start. Still. I’m not sure I can ever forgive Ty for taking prom away from us.”

Becca’s heart melted at the simple statement. “Well, we did just do it in a car. That sounds a lot like a standard prom night to me.”

“Let’s get out of here. We barely took the edge off. I need you naked for at least the next eight hours. For starters.”

“Sounds good.” It sounded like heaven on earth. For now, anyway. Although thrilled to finally be with Jack, the moment was bittersweet. Becca already knew it couldn’t last beyond opening night. Their conversation proved that he was in no way ready to take on a new commitment like a girlfriend. Jack needed to spend some time putting himself first for a while. Flat out said that he needed to learn to be alone. As an old friend, Becca knew it’d be good for him. As his new lover, the words stung her heart. Because she was one hundred percent falling in love with Jack Whittaker. He might truly be the right guy for her. Too bad she found him at completely the wrong time.

Chapter Eight

“Get that fucking goat under control. If he slips his leash and gnaws on my boots one more time, I’ll be serving a big pot of stew at the opening night party.” Jack lowered his voice to a menacing whisper. “And it won’t be
beef
stew.”

The handler scurried away. Jack tossed his clipboard on the floor and sank his head into his hands. Animals. He couldn’t believe Ty’s freefall had saddled him with a production full of animals. Smelly, non-talking, far from potty-trained animals. Tonight had enough challenges without adding freaking animals into the mix. The theatre was old and crappy—explained why LPP wanted the money to move out—so at last night’s rehearsal, they’d fried some of the wiring to the lights. Hard to have a dress rehearsal with only half the damn stage lit. Electricians had been working all day, so now they were about to start a full tech rehearsal. Once that wrapped up, a quick break and then a restart of the show for one last full dress rehearsal.

There was an old theatre adage about a bad dress equaling a fantastic opening night. If it held true, tomorrow would be one for the record books. The disco ball used to simulate starlight was stuck about a foot above the seats. Somebody had spilled coffee down the front of the Virgin Mary’s costume. And he’d caught a glimpse of the shepherd contingent passing around a flask. Ballsy. Worse yet, they hadn’t offered Jack a nip. Worst of all, he hadn’t kissed Becca in more than two hours.

Yeah. In the five days—and more importantly, four unbelievable nights—since he and Becca lived out his high school sex fantasy—Jack had turned into one of
those
guys. The type who thought about a woman every damn minute. Who immediately craved more the instant she rolled off him, panting. The kind who texted her twenty times a day about nothing. If Becca was a virus, then he was fully infected.

The thing was, it was a lot like how he’d felt in high school right when he decided to ask her out. So full with pent-up feelings that had to be expressed. All those feelings had come back, tenfold. Except now he filtered them through years of experience, longing and even other women. It left him with one inescapable truth. He was falling head over heels for her. Funny thing was, Jack didn’t want to fight it. He just wanted to tell her. Without bothering to figure out what would happen next.

Jack picked up his clipboard, then twisted in the seat to look for her. And had to grip the armrest to keep from launching into the aisle when he saw a man swaggering toward him. A man in those stupid, skinny-cut pants that screamed Eurotrash paired with a freaking bolo tie and a leather duster that matched Jack’s.

He remembered the day they’d bought the coats in a little shop on the Ponte Vecchio in Florence. They’d been celebrating their win the day before of the coveted Palme d’Or at the Cannes Film Festival. It had been a surreal feeling, strolling along the ancient bridge with his best friend and the new phenomenon of a shitload of cash in his pocket.

More surreal, though, was seeing that friend here. The two of them back in their hometown together. Something Jack had never wanted to experience. Especially given that, from the way Ty was hitching his way down the aisle grabbing at every chair for support, Jack suspected him to be high as a kite. Just when he’d thought this night couldn’t be any more of a cluster fuck.

“Jack! Buddy! Pal-o-mine!” Ty jogged the last few steps into the row behind him. Put Jack in a chokehold and noogied his head. “Look at us—back in a Twin Cities theatre. Just like old times, isn’t it?”

“No.” Jack whacked Ty’s elbow with the clipboard until he let go. “I don’t remember you being coked to the gills back in the day.”

Ty sat, threw his arms over the chair next to Jack. “Don’t start. I just needed a little boost to combat the jet lag.”

A boost like that would keep a normal person jittering awake for three days straight. “You shouldn’t have jet lag. You should be back in Malibu, in rehab.”

“I said, don’t start with me.” He shook back his blond mane of hair. “So how’s it going? You whip this crew into shape yet? Or do you need Tyler Petersen to save the day?”

“That’s a laugh.” Even on drugs, Ty couldn’t be that clueless. Jack leaned closer, spitting out the words. “
I’m
saving the day. I’m covering for your coked-up ass.”

A lazy hand batted away his words. “What matters is that I made it here for opening night. You and me, partners, walking the red carpet together like always.”

Being involved with Becca, combined with solving the usual tech week last-minute crises, had distracted Jack from his bitter anger at Ty. But now it surged back with the force of a tsunami. “That’s why you’re here? To glom onto the glory of some second-rate community theatre pageant?”

“Hey, it’s bound to generate some press.” Ty slapped a hand against Jack’s chest, and then his own. “Our names are attached to it.”

“No. Not our names. My name. The only thing you did for this production was almost tank it.”

“Since when do you hog the spotlight?”

The stage manager gave a sharp two-fingered whistle that barely prevented a camera operator from colliding with a lowering scrim at the back of the stage. If Jack hadn’t been distracted, he would’ve caught it too. A director was supposed to have eyes on everything, all the time. Which meant this unwanted reunion had to end.

“I can’t talk to you now.” Can’t. Won’t. Was there really a difference? Jack was too busy wrangling a camera crew and a huge cast. People who were giving this production their hearts and souls for the next few weeks. They deserved all of his attention tonight. Ty knew better than to barge into a dress rehearsal and try to turn it into a chat fest. In all the years they’d worked together, he’d never behaved so unprofessionally. But most of all, Jack simply didn’t know where the hell to start with Ty. “You need to leave. Right now.”

“Come on, you don’t mean that.”

Jack stood, clapped his hands loudly. Yelled, “Places, people! From the top of the Herod scene.” And resolutely ignored Ty until he heard the soft swish of his coat disappear up the aisle. What else could possibly go wrong? Would the damn doves take a dump on his head?

Half an hour later, at the end of the tech run-through, Jack had revived a modicum of hope. The lights were working. All of them. The boom operator had done something magical to compensate for all the rustling of hay around the manger. Jack had even managed to break Herod of his beard-stroking habit. All in all, he’d earned himself a kiss break. Only trouble was, he couldn’t find his woman.

Jack poked through the dressing rooms and backstage. Even—finally!—got offered a nip of surprisingly good whiskey from the shepherd’s almost empty flask. But still no Becca. The only place left to look was the box office. As he pushed through the double doors to the pine-tree-lined lobby, Jack couldn’t believe his eyes. There, in the hallway leading to the bathrooms, was Becca. Same fuzzy blue sweater he’d helped her into that morning. Except now, the arms inside of it were wrapped tightly around Ty. Guess he’d been wrong. This day
could
get worse.

* * *

Becca walked out of the box office, buzzing with glee at the knowledge they’d already sold out the first five shows. She couldn’t wait to announce it to the cast. Nothing motivated actors like a full house.

A tall, blond man two-stepped around a Christmas tree into her path. “Becca Heglund, you are a sight for sore eyes.” Ty held out his arms to her. “Come here, beautiful.”

It couldn’t be. To her eyes, his presence was as much an aberration as spotting a zebra in the Arctic. “Ty?” She kept her distance. “What on earth are you doing here?”

He flashed her a photo-ready smile. “Did you really think I’d miss opening night?”

“Frankly, yes. At least, I hoped you would.” Her words drooped Ty’s arms down to his sides. “To take all the time you need to get better.”

Ty shrugged. “I’m fine.”

“You’re...fine?” she asked slowly. Becca wasn’t an expert on drug addiction, but she knew it was a lot more serious than the common cold. You couldn’t just get over it in a week or two. Plus, Ty seemed off. Too bright, too...up. She’d bet her entire Christmas budget that he was high right now.

“Never better. Feel like a million bucks.” Another flash of teeth. “So come on, give me some sugar.” And he raised his arms again.

It was enough to tip her right over the edge. First, some well-meaning friends a few weeks back had told her it was time to turn over a new leaf and sell her Gram’s house. Then Jack and her mom had piled on. Ty’s refusal to change, to break out of rehab early to avoid changing for the better, was like a crowbar to the glass prison of sameness she’d been locked inside for six years. Ty’s excuse for not moving forward was addiction. But Becca didn’t have anything holding her back. Not anymore. Just a big helping of disgust at her own inertia being mirrored back to her. So tonight she’d take the first step. Do something bold that the old Becca never would’ve even dared.

“Oh, I’ll give you something, all right.” Without thought or pause, Becca slapped Ty with all the strength in her Pilates-honed arm.

Ty reeled backward a few steps, hand to his cheek. “Holy shit, Becs! What was that for?”

Wow. Where to begin? “I’m furious with you.”

Confusion crinkled his brow. “Why?”

“It’s a long list.” She shoved her stinging palm into her jeans pocket. Worth the pain. Becca honestly believed the physical expression of her outrage was the only way to—literally—slap some sense into Ty. “Because you hurt yourself. Because you hid your problem from me all these years. Because you didn’t have enough faith in our friendship to come to me for help.”

Finally, his mask slipped. She saw the naked pain creasing around his eyes. “Don’t think that. Not for a minute. You know I’ve always counted on you.”

“Sure, for a laugh.” As Becca gathered steam, it grew easier to call him out on his shortcomings. After all, wasn’t acceptance supposed to be the first step toward recovery? High time someone held a mirror up to Ty and showed him that his actions had consequences. He might hate her for it. But she’d risk anything to give Jack back his partner and best friend, whole and healthy. “For an ear to bend with the tales of your female conquests. Or when you wanted sympathy over a bad review. But you didn’t turn to me when it counted the most.”

His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. A nervous tic nipped at the corner of his right eye. “I didn’t want to disappoint you,” Ty said in a near-whisper.

Oh. Oh, God. His words broke her heart. Instead of the man who’d so completely screwed up his life, for a flash, all she saw was the sweetness of the fourteen-year-old boy who’d saved her the last cupcake at his birthday party. The sixteen-year-old who begged her to ride with him to his driver’s test, for good luck. And the earnest, almost grim determination in his face as he struggled to pin her corsage on prom night.

The thought of which was enough to snap her out of her reverie. Because now she knew that he’d stolen prom night from her and Jack, with his selfishness. “Most of all, I’m furious because of the way you’ve treated Jack, and your partnership, with such disrespect.”

Twin trails of fat tears rolled down his cheeks. Was there anything worse than watching a grown-man cry? Still, Becca held her ground. Resisted the urge to rush over, stroke his hair and tell him everything would be okay.

“I’m sorry. I let him down. I let everyone down.”

“Ty, listen to me.” Now she did move forward and grip his arms. “You let yourself down most of all.”

His face crumpled in on itself even further. “I behaved like an asshat. A stupid, selfish asshat.”

Becca bit back a chuckle. “Yes, you did.”

“Jack’s so mad at me for leaving rehab. For coming here. But where else was I supposed to go? You guys are here.”

Of course. Sending him to some movie-star rehab palace in Malibu had been the wrong way to go. The answer was obvious. She couldn’t wait to tell Jack her solution. He’d probably be relieved to know that she’d look after Ty while he was off spreading his wings. “You’re right. So here’s the plan. Go back home and see your parents. Hang out with them for a few hours. As soon as rehearsal’s over, I’ll pick you up. I won’t even stay for notes. Let me drive you to Hazelden tonight. It’s the best addiction treatment center in the country, and less than an hour from Minneapolis. Once the doctors clear you for visitors, I’ll come out every week. As long as you promise to stay put this time.”

“I’ll try.” At her glare, he spread his hands wide. “Hey, I’m being honest. Isn’t that what you want?”

Becca pulled him into a tight hug. Guess they both were turning over a new leaf. This had gone pretty well. Maybe she’d have to make a few more changes herself.

* * *

Jack stood at the back of the theatre, his back pressed against the lobby doors. He’d known to expect a preview audience for this last dress rehearsal. He hadn’t expected it to be standing room only. When the chair of the board politely but firmly asked him to relinquish his seat, he’d bristled.

Seeing Becca all wrapped up in Ty’s arms—again—had left him with a smoldering ache in his heart and a whip crack of a temper. Jack was damned if he’d ask her what was going on between them. Without the real scapegoat at hand to unload his pissyness, he’d been ready to tell Judy exactly where she could sit her well-meaning ass. But then he’d looked at the quartet of wide-eyed kids behind her, waiting for a spot. Kids who, she explained in a low murmur, were placed with foster families. And that this might be the most Christmas they got the entire season.

So he’d shut his trap and moved to the back of the theatre. Began to watch the show not just through his eyes, but through the audience’s. After all, those weren’t paid, seasoned professionals up on the stage. Jack couldn’t expect them to nail the blocking—or the lines—a hundred percent of the time. He’d even told them that. Made them promise that if they did nothing else, that they’d get the emotion of the moment across to the audience. ’Cause that was really what acting boiled down to.

Like the scene going on right now. The shepherds filing past the manger, in awe. Yeah, flask-guy had forgotten to take off his orange and black striped Nikes. Looked like two baby tigers were strutting their stuff beneath his robe. But he’d bet that nobody but the eagle-eyed director was watching his feet. The faces of Mary and Joseph, the shepherds, brimmed over with honest wonder. It was freaking beautiful. So beautiful, it even caught up him up in the beauty of it.