19
Washington, DC
7:41 PM Saturday, January 17
“Let me get this straight. You go kung fu on someone, get rammed by a vehicle, Jack uses his body to shield you from a car explosion, and then you have a heart attack?” Olivia’s voice was quickly approaching a level only Penny would hear. “From being poisoned? I had no idea my best friend was Jane Bond.”
Brynn pulled the phone from her ear while also trying to slip into her favorite pair of boyfriend jeans with one hand. “I wasn’t poisoned, and it was an episode.”
“An episode of what? Jack Ryan? Ooh,” Olivia squealed. “Yes! That’s it. Jack Hudson, Jack Ryan? It totally fits!”
“Hold on.” Brynn dropped her phone on the bed and used both hands to pull her jeans on. She chose a gray sweater with little pearls stitched across the front. Festive enough for a birthday but not so dressed up to look like she was trying too hard. Which she wasn’t.
“Okay, I’m back.” Brynn slid the phone between her ear and shoulder. “What were we talking about?”
“Nice try.” Olivia giggled into the phone. “You know exactly who we’re talking about.”
“And I’d really like to stop talking about him.”
Because the last thing Brynn needed was to bring up the very man she hadn’t been able to avoid thinking about all day and who would soon be here to pick her up for Lyla’s birthday party. Especially now that she knew Jack had gone through something that required treatment. And in a moment of weakness, she’d googled treatment, opening up thousands of hits for substance abuse and horrific diseases that turned her stomach and forced her to turn off the computer. Lyla was right. If Brynn wanted to know, she’d need to ask Jack, and she would if only to erase the images from her Google search out of her mind.
“Why? The man shielded you with his body.”
“Yes, right after he chewed me out for going rogue.” Brynn paused. “Can you believe that?”
“You do have an independent streak.”
Brynn remembered Jack’s earlier comment. “You say that like it’s a flaw.”
Walking into her living room, she grabbed her pair of cheetah-print flats. She was probably going to regret that decision in the subfreezing temps, but they were cute and tonight—hanging out with Lyla . . . and Jack—she wanted to be cute.
“It’s not normally, but . . .”
“But . . .”
“It’s not exactly a hunk magnet. Men appreciate being needed to some degree.”
“Being needy is not attractive.” Brynn frowned. “I’m not needy.”
“I know that. And so does he, I’m sure. But what does it say to someone who wants to be part of your life? If you don’t need them for anything, why would they stick around?”
Her stomach tightened. “Olivia, you know I need you, right?”
“I do.” Brynn could hear the smile in her friend’s voice, which caused the tightness to subside. “But I’ve known you your whole life. I’ve learned where I fit in.”
And the tightness was back. Had she really made Olivia feel this way? After her father’s injury, Brynn clung to her independence like an anchor. The uncertainty in her family swung them between doctor’s appointments, her father losing his job, moving to the DC area so her mom could work, new friends, new schools, new life. She’d learned to be independent because the last thing she wanted to do was add another burden to her family’s situation. It wasn’t a flaw—it was practicality. What needed to be done.
“If I’ve made you feel like that, I’m so sorry.”
Brynn’s throat burned. Why was she so emotional lately? Maybe she should call Jack and tell him she needed to rest. He couldn’t argue with his own directive, right?
“You don’t need to apologize, girl. I love you the way you are, but you know I can’t love you in the way, say, a handsome man who would protect you with his own—”
“I get it! I get it!” Brynn cut her friend off with a laugh. “Jack’s a hero, but you better never tell him I said so.”
She peeked out of her second-floor window to the street below, feeling suddenly self-conscious that Jack might be out there listening to this insane conversation.
“I promise to only bring it up at the wedding.”
“Olivia!”
The earlier conversation’s tension—gone. A thousand degrees of heat climbing her neck—check. And why, oh why did her thoughts go straight to Jack? In a suit? Looking all 007? Except Italian. Brynn’s heart thunked—not thumped—but thunked wildly in her chest like a racehorse itching to get out of the starting stall. Just let me runnnn. Only her heart was saying, Just let me loovvee.
“Brynn?”
Snapping out of her odd racehorse daydream, Brynn squeezed her eyes shut. This was getting out of control. The doorbell to her apartment rang, and Brynn cringed again, praying Olivia hadn’t—
“Was that your doorbell?” Too late. “It’s eight o’clock on a Saturday night. Is that a hot date?”
“No.” Then why am I checking my reflection in the mirror? “It’s Lyla’s birthday. She invited me, and Jack insisted on driving even though I took a Metro to and from his office today.”
Or he’s keeping an eye on me. Brynn had half expected to find him or Garcia or Kekoa parked outside her apartment. Thankfully, they weren’t, but that didn’t mean Jack hadn’t put someone there she didn’t know or recognize. A simple snap of the fingers . . . She smiled, remembering how the teasing gesture had brought a spark to his eyes when she snapped her fingers outside the farmhouse in Clifton. Had she been teasing . . . or flirting? The heat of a blush warmed her cheeks.
Brynn schooled herself into keeping perspective. “I was thinking about canceling—”
“Don’t you dare.” Olivia’s voice echoed loudly into the phone. Brynn heard the tinkling sound of Penny’s collar, which meant her voice had startled her too. “You need this. Go have some fun.”
Brynn pushed out an exaggerated sigh so Olivia could hear it. “Do I have to?”
“Yes! And I expect you to call me tomorrow with all the details of your date.”
“It’s not a—”
“Nighty-night.” The phone clicked.
Ugh. Sliding the phone into the back pocket of her jeans, Brynn answered the door and almost had a heart attack.
“My name is Jack Hudson. You said yes to my invitation. Prepare to movie.”
Jack stood at her door, one hand behind his back and the other pointing at her in a fencing stance, a black beanie on his head, and the ugliest fake mustache she’d ever seen above his upper lip.
Brynn burst out laughing. “You aren’t serious, are you?”
“What?” Jack straightened. “It’s The Princess Bride.” He smoothed the mustache’s edges. “It was my Inigo Montoya impression. Was my Spanish accent bad?”
“No, the accent was good, but that mustache is a little more Groucho Marx than Inigo Montoya.”
“Hey. I paid extra for this. It’s an authentic conquistador mustache.” He zipped his right hand in the air as though wielding an invisible sword. “The lady said I looked handsome.”
Aside from the dorky mustache, Jack, in his dark jeans and charcoal-gray peacoat, didn’t have to try hard to look handsome. Even the slightly crooked bump in his nose gave his face just enough imperfection that it was charming.
“Can I get your coat?” Jack didn’t wait for an answer, bypassing her to the coatrack. He took her jacket, a scarf, and a hat.
“Uh, I was going to call—”
“Lyla is the last person you want to cancel on,” Jack said, but with the ridiculous mustache she couldn’t tell if he was being serious or joking. He lifted a brow. “She once gave Garcia the silent treatment for three weeks because he left on an overseas assignment and forgot to check in when he landed. Never mind that any contact would’ve gotten the man killed.”
“Where exactly was he?”
Jack tilted his head, a smile lifting the corners of the mustache. “Don’t make me say it, B.”
Brynn rolled her eyes before taking her coat from him and slipping it on. She reached for the scarf, but he stepped forward and wrapped it over her neck, his nearness bringing the spicy scent of his cologne. She swallowed, her eyes closing at the memories it brought back. Stepping back, Jack gently tugged her white beanie over her head, his fingers brushing against her forehead to tuck a loose strand of hair out of her eyes.
“You look great, by the way.” He gave a gentle tug on the end of her braid. “A modern-day Buttercup.”
A magnetic energy seemed to be vibrating between them. Or maybe it was Olivia’s silly words coloring her perspective. Sure, it was possible a tiny bit of the attraction she’d once felt for Jack had returned, but that didn’t mean it meant anything.
“Ready?”
She nodded. “Oh, wait.” Brynn grabbed the shopping bag hanging on the coat-closet door handle. “For Lyla.”
After a short drive into Alexandria, Jack walked Brynn into a renovated art-deco theater, its façade lit up with marquee lighting highlighting the evening’s showing. But she’d have to be blind not to figure it out when she walked into the crowded lobby that looked like a casting call for The Princess Bride. Everywhere she turned, excited moviegoers were dressed up as their favorite characters. Dread Pirate Roberts, Buttercup, dozens of Inigo Montoyas with mustaches as disturbing as Jack’s. There were even a few Vizzinis and Fezziks. It was a spectacle, but thankfully there were a few underdressed viewers like herself, so she didn’t feel entirely out of place.
“You didn’t tell me this was a costume party,” Brynn said through a tight smile.
Jack looked at her like she was crazy. “You think I wanted to dress like this?”
“You made it! Yay!” Lyla stepped out of a crowd and walked toward them in a brown peasant dress that gathered around her figure in a way that made her look less farm girl and more damsel. Only, with the number of handsome young men watching her, Brynn doubted Lyla would ever be in distress.
Brynn held up the gift. “Happy birthday.”
Lyla’s eyes lit up. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”
“It’s nothing special, but I heard you—”
The near ear-piercing squeal that erupted from Lyla drew the attention of those nearby. “Are you kidding me?” She pulled out the hot-pink leather, letting the bag drop to the ground.
“Is that a hot-pink gun holster?” Jack asked.
Lyla pressed it to her chest. “Yes!”
Brynn smiled. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Like it?” She pulled Brynn into a quick hug that completely took her off guard. “I love it. Thank you so much.” Lyla’s attention snagged on something over Brynn’s shoulder. “Nicolás, look what Brynn got me for Cupcake!”
Garcia walked toward them in a pair of very tight black pants and a black puffy shirt that opened at the neck to reveal the edge of a tattoo on his chest. Above his lip was a mustache he actually made look good. He smiled at Brynn and Jack, looking like the poor boy from A Christmas Story who was forced to wear the pink bunny suit. Kekoa, however, had chosen, like Brynn, to forgo costumes and stick with jeans, a T-shirt, and slippers.
The lights in the lobby of the theater dimmed a couple of times, and everyone cheered.
“Wait.” Lyla popped up onto her tiptoes, looking around. “Before the movie starts, I wanted to introduce you to someone.”
Brynn looked at Lyla. “Me?”
“Yes, you.” There was a coy look in Lyla’s eyes as she searched the room. “Wait right here.”
Lyla dashed off, leaving Brynn frowning at Jack, who offered a confused shrug.
Garcia shifted, tugging at his pants. “How long do you think I have to wear this?”
Jack laughed. “How did you get out of a costume, Kekoa?”
Kekoa smiled at Jack. “Sometimes it pays to be part of the big and hefty club.” He gave Garcia a teasing wink. “Costumes don’t come in my size.”
“I like your mustache,” Brynn said.
“Thanks.” Garcia rolled his eyes. “Lyla picked out my costume.”
There was so much irritation in his voice, Brynn nearly laughed. He truly looked miserable—why couldn’t Lyla see what this man was doing for her?
“Brah, let’s go get snacks,” Kekoa said to Garcia. “I’m starving.”
“You literally ate an hour ago.”
“So, I want to get something to eat before the movie starts.”
“Fine,” Garcia muttered, following Kekoa toward a popcorn station where guests were filling red-and-white-striped buckets with popcorn and their choice of candy and milk- or white-chocolate drizzles.
Jack turned to Brynn. “Would you like some popcorn?”
“Sure.” The tantalizing aroma of buttered popcorn was hard to resist. “With Reese’s Pieces, please.”
Jack took a bow. “As you wish.”
His smile, the bow, the tease in his eyes had Brynn’s—
“Brynn Taylor, I’d like to introduce you to my friend Ari Blackman.” Lyla stepped into Brynn’s line of vision with a man at her side looking appropriately embarrassed. “He’s in the Army.” Lyla leaned in and whispered, “PSYOPS—but he doesn’t play mind games with women, only the enemy.” Lyla winked. “He’s single and ready to—”
“Ahem.” Ari’s fake cough cut Lyla off. “I think that’s good, Lyla.”
“Nice to meet you.” Brynn held out a hand, which she regretted the second she saw Jack walk over.
“Did you want butter on your popcorn?” Jack held up a bucket. He reached out his hand to Ari. “Good to see you again, man.”
“You too. Staying busy?”
“Yeah, you?”
“Always.”
The interaction between both men seemed genuinely friendly, but Brynn couldn’t help noticing a slight bit of tension.
Ari looked at her. “How long have you been part of SNAP?”
“Oh, I’m not.” Brynn shook her head. “We’re working together on an assignment.”
“Ah.” Ari smiled. A nice one.
Lyla stepped up to Jack. “Weren’t you getting some popcorn?”
“I was,” Jack said, gaze hard on Lyla.
Brynn watched her lead Jack toward the concession stand even though everything in his expression said that was the last place he wanted to be. Was it jealousy? That shouldn’t delight her as much as it did.
“I don’t like butter,” Brynn called after them.
“He’s not happy I’m talking with you.”
She faced Ari, who was tall enough that she had to look up a bit. He had a very suave style about him. Salt-and-pepper hair too mature for his young face made her curious how much was natural or done by a very good stylist. Facial hair was trimmed close, giving him that perfected five-o’clock shadow, and beneath dark wire-framed glasses, brown eyes peered down at her, assessing.
“Psychological operations, huh?”
Ari shrugged. “It comes in handy whenever a well-meaning friend tries to set me up.”
Something told Brynn this handsome man probably didn’t have trouble attracting the attention of women, which meant if he didn’t date, it was likely due to his job. She was going to ask him about his connection to Jack when the lights dimmed again. Two ushers opened a pair of double doors, and the crowd cheered as they moved toward them.
“I should get going.” Ari smiled. “Maybe I’ll see you for the after-party?”
“Um . . .” Brynn swallowed. “Maybe?”
“I promise I won’t get in his—” Ari’s gaze drifted over her shoulder, and she turned to see Jack eyeing them. “Way.”
Before she could respond, Ari tipped his chin, a knowing expression of amusement in his eyes, before joining the crowd entering the theater.
Jack walked over. “Are you smitten?”
“Smitten?” Brynn searched the rigid expression on his face. Don’t read into it. “Over that guy?”
Garcia joined them, a bottle of water in his hand. “Lyla is.”
“Brah, no, she’s not.” Kekoa carried a giant tub of popcorn. “He’s too . . . intense for her. She likes laid-back, easygoing. Someone who’s spontaneous.”
There was intention in Kekoa’s words that Garcia seemed to be ingesting, and Brynn couldn’t help but wonder what was keeping Garcia and Lyla apart when there was clearly something between them.
Inside the theater, they sat down as ushers passed out inflatable swords to everyone. A man at the front wearing a shirt with the theater’s logo held a microphone to his lips.
“What’s going on?” Brynn took the sword handed to her. “I thought we were watching a movie?”
“Ladies and gentlemen, mwovies is what bwings us togever today.” The crowd went wild, swords swinging in the air at the man’s impression of the priest from the movie. “Thank you for joining us this evening. Most of you should have your swords, and we’ll be passing out another little treat. Any guesses?” A few people shouted out guesses, but the man shook his head. “Close, but what else would we serve you but peanut . . .”
The entire theater, including Lyla and Kekoa, shouted, “Buttercups!”
Garcia grumbled, and Jack laughed with Brynn.
“Are you ready for the movie?”
The crowd cheered.
“As you wish.”
The man bowed, the crowd clapped, and the lights went dark as the screen in front of them lit up.
“What kind of movie is this?”
Jack leaned close to her ear, his breath tickling the hair at her neck. “It’s interactive,” he whispered. “Relax and have fun, B.”
The light from the giant screen lit up his face, giving her a quick glimpse at the look in his eyes. It set her nerves dancing, which caused her gaze to skip to his lips. The movie scene shifted, pitching the theater dark and hiding the blush warming her cheeks. The last thing she needed to be thinking about was his lips.
Thankfully, the second Farm Boy and Princess Buttercup appeared onscreen, the entire audience began quoting the characters and challenging their neighbors to duels with their swords, Kekoa and Garcia the worst among them. Brynn didn’t have to think about Jack’s lips or the way Westley’s devotion reminded her of Jack or how her pulse raced every time he shifted close to her, their arms accidentally touching on the armrest until finally neither of them moved away—no, she didn’t have to think about that at all.
Except it was all she wanted to think about.