56 Days (Black) (2 page)

“It’s cool, sissy,” I told her.

“It’s not cool, El.  Let’s go.”

I felt bile rising in my chest.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” I murmured, clutching my hand over my mouth.

I ran to the bathroom just in time before retching into the toilet.
  I could pretty much bank on never living this one down.

An hour later, I
emerged from the bathroom, tiptoeing back to the dim living room.

“You okay?”

Jack was sitting on his weathered, chocolate leather couch, flipping through a magazine.  He was shirtless in just his glasses and a pair of oversized cotton drawstring pants.  He had a dusting of dark hair leading down to his waistband, accented by a deep V of abdominal muscles.
Every time he flipped the page, his biceps contracted. 

He was a
n actual
real
man, not one of those weird, waxed gym rats with tribal tattoos and faux-hawks.

He was a Peck.  A Brando.  A Bogart.

I ran my fingers through my
long hair, getting them caught somewhere in the middle. 

Please, don’t let there be chunks of hurl in
there.
 

“Hey
.  Yeah, I’m fine.  Sorry about that.” 

I thumbed towards the bathroom door, embarrassed.

“Totally fine.  Sit down.”  He gestured to the spot next to him.  “Want some water?”

I slid down the
side of the couch and put my head on the arm. 

“Yes, please.”

He stood and strolled by me, softly grazing my shoulder with the palm of his hand.  My arm tingled where his touch left me. 

I had just made out with his douchebag friend who I didn’t even like.  And here was a guy that I actually did like, and I just ruined it.  Like, forever.  Idiot
.

He handed me a bottle, opening the cap for me.  It was a small gesture, but sweet.  This guy was
lovely.  His wife was a fool for leaving him.  He leaned over and touched my face with his thumb, rubbing under my eye. 

“You’ve got a little mascara, I think.”

“Thanks,” I said, smiling at him, our eyes locking. 

I gently rubbed under my eye and looked at my fingertip.  A
little
mascara?  My finger looked like I dipped it in a bottle of India ink.  I stood and made my way to a mirror on the wall. 
Jesus Christ.

“A little mascara, Jack?  I look like a fuckin
g junkie in an afterschool special.”

He thumbed through the
pages, smiling.

I
wiped underneath my eye, trying to remove as much of my makeup as possible, dragging my fingers across the front of my pants… my ridiculously tight pants.  He had to think I was a tart.

“Want something else to wear, Elsa?  Those can’t
be comfortable.”

“You don’t like my pants?” I sneered.

“Oh, no,” he responded, “I like them just fine.  I just figured that you might sleep better if you were wearing something you could breathe in.”  He looked me up and down.  “But, don’t misunderstand.  The pants?  I like them… a lot.”

Aw, yeah.

“Thanks,” I said, my flirting skills starting to flower.  “What kind of pants are you offering me?”

“What kind do you want?”

He was definitely flirting back.  Wasn’t he?

“Got a t-shirt
, maybe?”

“I’ve got many t-shirts.  Tee or tank?”

I smiled and ran one hand lazily down the front of my silk camisole, pulling at the V with my finger.  I consciously bit at my lip, trying to gauge his reaction towards me.

“
Mmm, tank, I guess.”

“Tight or loose?”
  Jack put the magazine on the table and rose to his feet. 

“Tight,” I responded.

He eyeballed me again.  “That’s what I figured.”  A smile crept up his face.

“
Honestly, I usually don’t wear anything.”

He stared at me for a second,
swallowing audibly.

“
You have any bobby pins?” I asked.

He
cleared his throat and pointed to his short hair.  “Does it look like I have bobby pins?”

“Well, you were married, so I thought you might have some laying around here somewhere.”

He rubbed his hands together. 

“All traces of my
ex
-wife are gone.  So, if you need a hair clip or whatever, you’re out of luck.  Don’t you have one in your suitcase over there?” he asked, pointing at my oversized black Valentino knockoff.

I shrugged.
  “Probably.  But the problem with a bag like that?  You can’t find shit.”

He strolled past me and into
a cramped exercise room.  It housed one of those huge torture device machines often featured on a late-night infomercial. 

“Then get a
smaller bag, dumb ass.”

I laughed aloud, clasping my hand to my mouth,
suddenly realizing that everyone was asleep.  I followed him in, leaning against the doorframe.

“Nice room,” I breathed.  “Big
machine.”

He
pulled a tight, ribbed undershirt from the closet and tossed it to me. 

“Yeah.  I like it.”

“Really big machine.”

He stared at me.  “
We can’t…”

My mouth opened
, flustered. “Oh, God.  I didn’t mean…”

He cut me off.
 

“I
’m sorry, Elsa, but I got confused by this, I guess.  I just got divorced and I felt like you were flirting with me.  I like you.  You’re cute and funny… and crazy fucking hot.  But, I don’t know if I’m reading you wrong or if you’re just one of those flirty girls.”  He scratched the top of his head, looking at the floor.  “You kissed him…” he said, his voice trailing off.

“It was a mistake.”

Why was I explaining myself to this guy?
It wasn’t like he was my boyfriend, but I couldn’t help myself.  I just kept… fucking… talking.

“I don’t know why I did that.  He told me he wanted to show me something and I got up and then he just pushed me against the wall.  I didn’t want to make a big deal of it, but I didn’t want to.  I don’t know why I let him kiss me.”

“Did he force himself on you?”  He walked towards me, a concerned look on his face.

“No,” I lied.

Something in my gut told me that if no one else was there, things would have gone a lot further.

“Are you sure?” he asked, closing the gap between us, tipping my chin
with his thumb.

I smiled, leaning up
and pressing a kiss to his cheek.  “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Want some pants?”
 

He rubbed the muscles across his stomach
.  God, he looked fucking hot.

“Nope,” I said, flashing a smile at him.  “I’ve got boy shorts on
under these, so…”

He looked down at the ground again.

“Good God,” he whispered, just loud enough for me to hear. 

“Hey
, I’m sorry about your wife.”

“I’m not. 
I’m better off without her.”  He flipped off the light and headed back to the couch.  “I couldn’t give her what she wanted.”

I looked around.  “What more did she want?  This place is great and you’re… great.”

He smiled.  “Grass is always greener, I suppose.  I don’t know.  What’s your story?”

“What do you mean?”

“Ever been married?”

I choked back a laugh.  “No
.  Not even close.”  I sat on the edge of the couch next to him, leaning my elbows on my knees.

“Yeah?  Haven’t found the right one?”

I didn’t answer.  Instead, I stood back up.  “Where am I sleeping?”

Jack pointed to his bedroom.  “Rachel’s already asleep, I think.”

“Thanks for letting us stay, Jack.  Oh, and if you’re ever in Wicker Park, you should look me up.”

“Where?”
he asked, turning to face me.

“Where, what?”

“Where do I look you up?”

I didn’t want to give him my
address.  Not yet. 

“Le Gateau.  It’s a bakery.”

“A baker?”

“
Yep,” I smiled.  “And where do I look
you
up?”

“Here.”

“I meant, where is your work?  What do you do?”

“I work here.  I mean, not in this room, but out back.  I have a
furniture studio.  My storefront is just up the block.”

The calloused hands. 
Carpenter
.
  I looked around at his furniture again.  Sturdy.  Thick.  Handmade.  Of course.

“You must be good, Jack.  This place
has to cost a fortune.”

He smiled.
  “Yeah, I’m pretty good, Elsa.  Goodnight.”

I turned on my heel and headed back to the room
.  I walked with extra swagger, peeking over my shoulder.  Jack was unfolding a blanket, but his eyes were definitely following me the whole way.

Aw,
yeah
.

Had someone actually knitted a sweater in my mouth last night?  This day was going to suck.  Rachel was here
until tomorrow and it was possible that I was going to have to entertain her.  Double-triple-quadruple fuck.  What was I thinking last night?

And, oh God… Jack was out there.  Like, right now.  I was in his house, sleeping in his bed
, feeling like a bag of hot poop.  And Jeremy?  Was he home?  Wasn’t there a window I could escape out of?  Rachel was missing from bed too.  The three of them were probably having coffee and talking about what a fucking tool I was.

I pulled on my pants from the night before,
lying on the bed to fasten the button.  I kept Jack’s undershirt on.  It looked good on me, so I figured I may as well work the girls for all they were worth.  I pulled my bra back on though.  No reason to give the man a heart attack.

I took a quick look
around at my surroundings.  Jack’s room was like a hotel.  Dark cocoa colored walls, wide-plank espresso stained floors with a low platform bed in the same shade.  When I glanced up, I found an amazing white open-beam ceiling with crown molding, highlighted by a modern five-jar chandelier.  Soft ivory luxury coverlet.  Same color sheets.  A single black-and-white framed photo of an old house above the bed.  There wasn’t even a speck of dust in there.  A few books about modern furniture lined the dresser and a single bottle of fragrance sat in the corner.  I picked it up and lifted it to my nose.  Yep… it was intoxicating.  I lightly spritzed my wrist and rubbed it against the other.

I took a deep breath and turned towards the door.

Jesus.
  Rachel and I were supposed to go to Pilates that morning.  Not happening.  I turned the knob quietly and peeked into the living room.  Jack was sitting on his huge couch with Buster sprawled across his lap, lazily scratching behind his ears.  Rachel was sitting in an overstuffed chair across from them, her legs tucked into one side.

“Hey,” he said.

He was showered and dressed, wearing a fitted light gray Bloc Party t-shirt and dark blue jeans with heavy cuffs.  Midnight navy battered Doc Marten steel-toed boots peeked out of the bottom.  His nerd-chic spectacles were the same shade of blue. 

He was
just above-average height, maybe 5’11,” but he was so fucking built that he looked like a giant.  But, compared to me, everyone was huge.  I barely came in at 5 feet. 

Did his brother look like
him?   All Jack was missing was the Batsuit.  I couldn’t picture Rachel with a guy like this.

“Hi,” I responded,
smiling at him. 

I turned towards Rachel. 
Was she mad about last night?

“Hi, sissy.”

“Hey, El.  You okay?”

I nodded.

“Jack’s gonna take us back to your place this morning.”

No, no, no, no, no.  He wasn’t supposed to know where I lived.  I was supposed to be mysterious. 
Well, fuck.

“Okay
,” I caved.

“Get dressed, sweetie,” Rachel said.

I looked down at Jack’s see-through undershirt, black bra and leatherette pants and turned back to her.

“I
am
dressed, Ray.”

As
Jack rubbed Buster’s back, a smile crept up his face.

I collected my four
-inch heels from the bathroom and slung my giant bag across my shoulder.  “Vamanos, bitches.”

The three of us piled in the front cab of some ridiculous
ly oversized truck, with me wedged in the middle, my thigh pressed up against Jack’s.

“This truck can’t be good for the environment,” I scoffed.  “You should probably
run by the zoo so we can take a few swings at some baby seals first.”

Jack clipped out a laugh.
  “Ah, yes.  A necessary evil, Elsa.  I haul giant pieces of furniture from my shop to my store.  It’s not like I can drive a Prius.”  He pulled at my pants with his thumb and forefinger, snapping the material.  “Didn’t you have to kill a cow to make those things?”

“PVC, a-hole.  They’re vinyl.”

“Mm hmm,” he murmured.

“Guys,” Rachel piped in
.  “Stop, seriously.  We have like ten minutes left.  So shut the fuck up, both of you.”

“Sorry, Mom.” 

I laid my head on her shoulder and smacked her on the leg.

“You wish Mom was this forgiving,” she whispered.

I knew what she was getting at.  Our mother was difficult at best, a raging fucking bitch at worst.  Financially, she had helped me out over the years, so I put up with her constant verbal abuse.  After our dad had died, our mom was alone.  She never remarried.  A fine, Christian woman such as herself would never bring shame to our family by lying in another man’s bed.  The woman hadn’t had sex in twenty years.  No wonder she was such an asshole.

We pulled up at my small apartment.  Jack put the truck in park and let the engine idle.

“So, Elsa, it was nice to meet you.  Hopefully I’ll see you again soon.” 

He held my hand in his for few seconds, squeezed once
, and let go.

He got out of the cab and headed over to Rachel’s side to help her onto the sidewalk, pulling her into a
tight hug.

“Bye, Rach.  Give my
brother a punch in the nuts for me.”

His eyes turned back to mine.

“I’ll see you later,” I breathed, the words coming out more like a question. 

What? 
Why did I say that?

“Ye
ah, you will,” he replied, smiling.

He turned and walked back to the truck, pulling o
ff his regular glasses and replacing them with a pair of sunglasses he dug out of the glove compartment.  They were aviators with dark green lenses.  I always thought those type of glasses were reserved for the douchebags at the gym but, somehow, on him, they looked hot.

Maybe I was just worked up from our drive over.  Sitting so close to him, breathing in his scent.  It was
spicy, a light mix of Nag Champa and Indian sandalwood with a hint of furniture stain.

He turned to us, smiling and giving a short
nod.

Yeah, I was definitely going to have to store that smile away in my head for a late night with
one of my battery-operated-boyfriends.

When we got upstairs, I immediately stripped off my pants and crawled into my bed. 
My room was sweltering.  I missed the central air at Jack’s already.  A few minutes later, Rachel came in and slid next to me.  She put her arm around my waist.

“Els?”

“Uhhh,” I groaned, “fuck off.”

“Hey, I think I’m going to get dressed and go see Mom.”

I sat up.  “Yeah?  Can I come?” 

(
This conversation would be one for the books.)

“No
,” she answered, an amused look on her face.

“Can you at least videotape that shit?”

She smiled, looking up at the ceiling.  “After that, I’m going back home.”

Honestly, I felt like
hot garbage and wasn’t really up for much, but I missed her.  I wished she would stay.  She probably wanted to get home to Vince.

“No!  We were supposed to do fun stuff tonight.”

She rubbed a line up and down my back. 

“I think I’ve had about all the fun I can handle.  Speaking of that, how could you make
out with that fuckwad?”

I winced.  I wished I had never led him on that way.
  I wished I had never gotten up from that table.  I knew better.  I was worth more than that. 

“Eh, I have a weakness for the Brits,” I lied.  “Plus, he looked like David Beckham.  I did it for womankind.”

She pulled me into a brief hug, squeezing hard.

“Good luck with Mom, Rach,” I continued.  “Stay strong and all that shit.”  I pulled at her long bangs.  “I really do like that haircut.”

She blew me a kiss and I rolled over, lifting my wrist to my nose and breathing Jack in before erasing my hangover with a six-hour nap.

*
****

Monday morning came too soon.  My alarm went off at 4
am.  The downside to working in a bakery?  We started prepping at 5 in the morning.

I rolled into the shop a few minutes late.  Gemma was used to my tardiness.  I hadn’t been on time in years.  Although my behavior was
tolerated, she still ragged on me with every shift.

“My my, Princess.  You’re looking extra haggard today.  Sister keep you up all weekend?” she teased.

“Oh, Gem, I got so fucked up on Friday.  She ended up going home on Saturday morning.”

“
Really?”

“Yeah, but
it wasn’t because of that.  She has a new boyfriend and I think she just wanted to go back.”

Gemma flipped on the lights and started to wipe down
my post.

“Wait a sec.  Didn’t her husband die a few months ago?”

“Yep.”

“And she’s already with someone else?”

“I know it sounds messed up, but you know how love is.  It bites you in the ass when you aren’t looking.  I guess this guy is her ‘one’ or something.  Honestly, I haven’t seen her this happy in years.”

I grabbed my apron, pulled my hair into a tight bun and snapped a plastic cap over it. 

“I hate these things,” I murmured.

Gemma smiled, pulling her own cap on. 

“I know.  They blow, but you know what blows more?  Biting into a hairy cookie, so it’s the price we pay.”

“You’re gross.”

“Ew, no,
you’re
gross.  Is that a hickey?” she asked, touching my neck.

Yes
.  Disgusting.  When Jeremy bit me, it had left a mark.  I had to relive that memory again this morning while trying to cover it with tattoo cream.

“Yeah… like I said.  Friday night was pretty fucked up.”

She laughed under her breath.

“Ah, the life you lead, Princess.  I’d give my left tit to step into your shoes for one night.  The last time Dan gave me a
love bite was our first date... twelve fucking years ago.  You gonna see Mr. Hickey again?”

I flinched.
“Definitely not.”

“Well, get rolling, woman.  Mondays suck a ball and the crowd starts in an hour.”

I prepped my station and started rolling fondant.  I fell into a fast groove, finding peace in my favorite thing.

*
****

“El, you’ve got a visitor,” Gemma yelled to me.

Who would be coming to see me?  In all of the years I had worked at the bakery, I hadn’t had one visitor.  Well, I’d had
one
.  Charlotte.

I peeked out the door.  Fucking
Jack
!

I made my way into the little back bathroom, pulling my hair out of its cap and doing a quick shake through it with my fingers.  I washed my hands and tried to act natural, taking deep breaths and practicing a smile in the mirror.

Oh, just fucking get out there.

“Hey
, what are you doing here?” I asked, slowly making my approach towards him.

Jack gave me a big grin.
  “Wow, that’s some outfit for baking,” he said, eyeing my super-short teardrop miniskirt.

“So… what do you want, Jack?” 

“Can’t I have just wanted a cupcake?”

“You can get a
cupcake in Edgewater,” I replied.

“
I wanted to see you.”  He reached up and dragged his thumb across my cheek.  “A little flour.”

Impossible.  I just did a once over in the bathroom.  I would have seen it.

“You could have seen me when I wasn’t at work.”

“Are you go
nna get in trouble?” he asked.

He looked good
.  Like
stupid
good.  He was wearing a white David Bowie t-shirt, tight(ish) jeans, those blue Docs and a thin black beanie pulled loose across his head.  He donned a different pair of grayish, chunky glasses.  A simple enough outfit but, with that body, it looked insane.

Gemma gave me a wink
.  “Take a break, sweetie.”

Goddamn her.

Jack smiled and gestured to a small table.  “Just a second and then you can go right back.”

I sat across from him, studying the top of the table. 

“What’s up?”

“I just wanted to ask you something.”

Yes.
  Anything.

“What?” I asked, my eyes shifting to his chest.

“I have to deliver an end table out of state this weekend and I was wondering if you could watch Buster.”

W
atch Buster?  S
eriously?