Right Kind of Wrong Read online

  I fidget with one of the rings on my left hand, spinning it around my finger as I think up a smooth way to inform Jack that our joyride has come to an end. He’s going to pitch a fit, I already know it.

  Clearing my throat in the pleasant silence we’ve shared for the past, oh, twenty minutes, I use my sternest voice and say, “Listen, Jack—”

  “No.”

  “No?” I glance at him. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

  “Yes, I do.” He fixes his gaze out the windshield. “You were going to say this was a mistake and that you’re turning this car around, or something to that effect, so I’m saying no. It’s too late to change your mind.” He looks out the side window. “And besides, I need to get to Louisiana. I don’t have time for your fickle behavior, Jenna. Not today.”

  With his face turned away, I can’t read his expression, but his tone tells me all I need to know. That was a jab, meant to pierce the thickest shields of denial I’ve built around my heart, and it shot straight through each one.

  It shouldn’t hurt the way it does, the past, the truth. But I can’t seem to guard myself against Jack’s thoughts on how I’ve handled—or rather, refused to handle—the topic of us.

  “Please, tell me how you really feel,” I say bitterly. “Don’t be subtle on my account.”

  A beat passes where he doesn’t look at me. “I’m never subtle.”

  I snort. And isn’t that the truth.

  I could fall for his bait—that’s what it is, bait to start a long-overdue conversation—but that would mean bringing up feelings and fears and, even worse, what happened last year, and I don’t have the heart or the stomach for any of that. So instead I settle for blaring angry-girl music on the radio.

  Jack sits still for exactly fifteen seconds before changing the station to something akin to angry-boy music. Like that’s happening. I change it back. So does he.

  “Quit it, or I will voodoo you so you don’t wake up in the morning,” I snap.

  “Already threatening to kill me?” He sighs dramatically. “I thought for sure we’d make it until sundown before you played the voodoo card.”

  I ignore him and tune the radio to ’90s rock. “My car. My music.”

  Alanis Morissette comes on singing “You Oughta Know,” and Jack groans. For a split second, I feel for him. I know how much he despises Alanis Morissette.

  “Can we please listen to something else?” he says. “I swear I’m not trying to be a dick this time.”

  I lift a brow. “Oh, so you admit you were trying to be a dick a second ago?”

  “Of course.” He shrugs. “Angry-girl music? Come on. Could you be any more obvious?”

  I try not to overthink that as I flick a hand at him. “You’ll listen to polka if I so desire. That’s the cost of inviting yourself into my vehicle.”

  He looks at me. “Fine, diva. I’d rather listen to polka than to a scorned woman screaming about how all men are no good.”

  With a sugar-sweet tone, I say, “Too close to home?”

  He smiles sharply. “You tell me.”

  Yeaaah. There’s no way I’m spending another hour with this man, let alone another week. We have more unresolved issues than the characters on Gossip Girl.

  “That’s it,” I say, veering right for the nearest exit ramp.

  “What are you going to do, pull the car over and give me a firm talking-to?” he mocks.

  “Ha. We’re way beyond talking.”

  He looks out the window again. “Oh, I know.”

  I glare at him. “See? That’s what I’m talking about. You keep alluding to shit, trying to provoke me, and I’m done.”

  “What?” He crinkles his brow in confusion. “No one in their right mind would try to provoke you, Jenna. You’re like a caged cat in heat. All claws and teeth. You’re already provoked—and you have been since the moment I met you. So why don’t you just calm down and get back on the freeway.” He looks around. “Where are we, anyway?”

  “Oh, I’ll tell you where we are.” I point a finger in the air and lift my chin, utterly pissed that he just referred to me as a cat in heat. I whip into the parking lot of Willow Inn and skid to a stop. “We’re at your final destination.”

  Thank God Willow Inn is out here in the middle of nowhere and, therefore, an ideal drop-off station for unwanted passengers. I couldn’t have handled one more second with Jack and his laid-back attitude.

  I throw the car in park and look at him, waiting.

  A small smile peeks at the corners of his mouth, but otherwise he doesn’t move. “You think you’re dropping me off at this…”—he peers up at the quaint-looking building—“large replica of Snow White’s cottage in the middle of nowhere?”

  I nod once. “This is where Pixie works—or worked—this summer and I’m sure her aunt can make arrangements for you to catch a cab back to Tempe. Or to Little Vail, if you so desire. But Jenna’s Chauffeur Service is officially closed for business. Now get out.”

  He scans my face and inhales slowly, then lowers his voice. “I know it’s not easy, this thing with you and me, and I’m sorry if I’ve been more of a dick than usual, but Jenna…” He shakes his head. “I’m not leaving you.”

  His tone, his words, everything about his presence in this moment completely contradicts everything about him so far today. And this is where the Jack Conundrum comes into play. It’s easier when he’s acting like an ass. More simple when he tries to annoy the hell out of me. But when he’s this person… this deep, genuine, intense soul with gunmetal eyes and a determined jaw… that’s when things get complicated.

  And I don’t want complicated.

  “I wasn’t asking,” I say. Then, exiting the car, I grab his duffle bag from the backseat and march for the inn’s front doors. Good God his bag is heavy. What did he pack in here, barbells?

  Behind me, I hear the passenger door open and close. “It’ll be a lonely trip without me, you know.” Jack’s voice rumbles up my back and over my shoulders. “There’s only so much companionship your angry-girl music can give you.”

  I make a face at the inn’s front porch steps as I climb them. Companionship, my ass.

  “I’ll pay for all the gas,” he sings, like that’s worth tolerating his presence for days on end. “And I’ll drive when it gets dark.”

  I slow my steps. I hadn’t thought about how exhausted I might be driving at nighttime. Having another driver to help ease that burden would be nice… What? No! No. I scoff, more at myself than at Jack’s words, but he perceives it differently and responds in typical Jack fashion.

  “Oh, come on,” he says. “You hate wearing glasses when you drive and we both know you’re pretty much blind as a bat at night without your glasses on.”

  “I am not blind as a bat.”

  I hear the smile in his voice. “Okay. Blind as a cat, then.”

  I growl in frustration. “I can’t believe I even considered driving back home with you. I would’ve ripped your head off long before we crossed the Texas border.” Heaving open the inn’s front door, I charge through and shoot my eyes to him over my shoulder. “Frankly, I’m impressed we made it this far without me killing you.”

  He grins. “What’s with all the death threats? Is that how you handle all of life’s problems? By committing murder?”

  Dropping the duffle bag, I spin around and sneer at his tall body. “Just the really big ones.” Briefly—like so brief it’s not even a second—I glance him over in an appreciative way. Because he really is gorgeous, with his broad shoulders and square jaw and dark tattoos covering his big arms—but then I pull it together and lift my chin in anger. But it’s too late.

  He caught my wandering eyes and now his eyes know. They always know, dammit.

  His smile goes crooked. “First of all, there’s no need to take your frustration out on my luggage.” He points to the bag on the floor, then leans down so our faces are close together. Too close. Close enough to smell the woodsy scent of hi
s shampoo and feel his warm exhaling on my cheeks. “Second,” he says with playful eyes. “Is that your way of telling me I’m big?”

  We lock gazes and my heart beats against my chest. Ugh. If only I could hate this infuriating man. Life would be so much easier.

  6

  Jack

  Behind the check-in counter, an attractive woman with long, dark hair clears her throat, clearly not entertained by our little spat, and smiles at Jenna.

  “Jenna,” she says. “Welcome to the inn. I didn’t know you were stopping by. Pixie’s not here, though.”

  Jenna whips her eyes away from me and focuses on the woman. “Oh, I’m not here for Pixie. I’m here to drop off this bozo”—she points to me in a dramatic way—“so I can be on my way to New Orleans.”

  Bozo. Wow. She’s so flustered she can’t even come up with good insults.

  Biting back a smile, I turn to the woman behind the counter and nod at the feisty cat who is now seething in my general direction. If only she knew how hot that was.

  “Jenna’s not big on road trip buddies,” I explain. “And she has a hard time being enclosed in small spaces with me. I’m Jack, by the way.” I hold out my hand.

  “Ellen,” the woman says, slowly shaking my hand as her hazel eyes dart to Jenna with silent questions.

  I wink at Jenna.

  She throws her arms up and growls, “You infuriating man.”

  I just smile at her. “You’re adorable. I’ll just take my bag back to the car and wait for you until you’re done throwing your temper tantrum.” I nod again at Ellen. “It was so nice meeting you.”

  Picking up the duffle bag, I exit the inn with Jenna’s glaring eyes trained on me until the front door closes between us.

  She’s frustrated, and I take that as I good sign. I know Jenna better than she’d ever admit so I know she’s not really upset with me. If she were, she wouldn’t bother talking to me at all. I’d be suffering her silent treatment right now, and probably her eternal scorn, if I’d truly pissed her off.

  Instead, she’s frustrated with herself, for caring when she doesn’t want to care, and a part of me feels bad about that.

  Who am I kidding? I don’t feel bad at all. She can drown in her own confusion for all I care—just as long as she surfaces with a clear head and some inner honesty.

  After putting the bag away, I check my phone. Another four missed calls from back home.

  Shit.

  Walking back up the inn’s front steps, I stand in the shade and light a cigarette. Just as I take my first drag, a guy rounds the porch from the side of the inn and slows his walk when he sees me.

  “Hey,” he says.

  I tip my chin. “Hey.”

  He looks like a frat boy, with short brown hair, dark eyes, and eyebrows that are too perfect to belong to a dude.

  He furrows those girly brows in confusion as he looks around. “Are you a guest here?”

  I shake my head. “Nah. Just making a quick stop on my way out of town. I’m Jack.”

  “Daren,” he says.

  I nod at the front door of the inn. “My friend Jenna knows the owner.”

  His eyebrows rise. “Jenna’s here?”

  My pulse instantly hammers and I feel the hot sting of jealousy prick just beneath my skin. How the hell does this pretty boy know Jenna? And more importantly, how well does he know her?

  I nod once. “You guys know each other?”

  “Yeah, we met briefly a few weeks ago at the lake, through her friend, Pixie.”

  I nod, satisfied that his knowledge of Jenna extends only to meeting her once. In public.

  “I know Pixie,” I say. And then, because I know Pixie’s from a small town, I ask, “You guys grow up together, or what?”

  “Something like that,” he says. “How do you know Jenna?”

  “We used to work together.” It’s the simple answer.

  He scoffs. “I bet that was interesting. That girl’s got some claws on her.”

  I smirk, oddly proud of the fact that Jenna scares this pretty boy. “Tell me about it. You on her shit list, or what?”

  He lets out a breath and slowly nods. “I’m afraid so. I’m pretty sure she’d cut my balls off if she had the chance.”

  “Yeah.” I scratch my cheek. “She’s not the kind of girl you should piss off.”

  He snorts. “Is there any kind of girl you should piss off?”

  I grin. “Spoken like a guy with experience.” I take a drag of my smoke. “You fuck something up with a girl?”

  He looks through the inn’s front window at where Jenna is talking to a pretty blonde girl and inhales. “Yep.”

  I turn away and exhale a thin cloud of smoke. “That sucks.”

  He shrugs and looks hesitantly at the inn’s front door, as if he’s scared to go inside, but not sure if he wants to stay outside either. “I wasn’t good enough for her anyway.”

  I take another drag and cock my head. “Girls don’t want guys that are good enough for them.” I exhale slowly. “They want guys that know what they want.”

  Daren looks off to the side. “Then I’m screwed.”

  I stare at my burning cigarette. “You’re only screwed if you give up.”

  He narrows his eyes with a sneer. “Yeah, that’s not cheesy. What, is that your motto or something?”

  “No.” I scoff. “But it should be.”

  He nods knowingly. “Jenna got you running circles, or what?”

  I flick the ashes from the cigarette and nod. “Jenna’s hard to walk away from.”

  “Aren’t they all?”

  I look at him, then through the window at the blonde. “You tell me.”

  He looks through the window as well and I swear I see true pain in his eyes. “Maybe we’re both screwed.”

  I take a final drag. “Maybe.”

  Shaking himself from whatever memory it is that has him so haunted, Daren straightens his shoulders with a smirk. “Well good luck to you, then.”

  “Same to you,” I say.

  He moves across the porch, bypassing the front door, probably to avoid the blonde girl inside, and disappears around the corner.

  I put out my finished cigarette and pop a piece of gum in my mouth. Jenna is going to bitch when she smells smoke on me. I already know it. But the gum might buy me a little time.

  Then, cracking open the large inn door, I poke my head inside. Spying Jenna across the lobby, I watch her for a moment. She’s speaking in hushed tones with the pretty blonde Daren’s so hung up on, and leaning in with a mischievous smile.

  All I can think about as I watch Jenna’s eyes light up is how much I want that smile pointed at me.

  The way I felt about Jenna used to piss me off. I’ve never been one to need or even want a girl messing up my life. Just the opposite, in fact. The Lone Wolf role suited me well and I was perfectly content with my world of solitude. But Jenna came along and twisted everything up. She turned me inside out and made me feel complete in a way that made no sense. I fought the sentiment, of course. There’s no room for anyone in my fucked-up life—especially not a wild, stubborn, reckless girl like Jenna.

  But fighting proved futile, and somewhat self-destructive, so I did what all good leaders do when they realize losing a battle could mean winning the war: I surrendered. Not to Jenna, exactly, but to the way she made me feel. It’s not a pretty or romantic thing. It’s a truth with scars and holes—and it commands me completely.

  Does that make me weak? I used to think so. But then I see Jenna, still in the throes of a battle I’ve long since succumbed to, and I wonder which of us is stronger. Which of us sleeps well at night and which of us tosses in the moonlight.

  Strength isn’t about what you can and cannot achieve. It’s about what you will and will not do in order to achieve. And on that, I know exactly where I stand.

  Watching Jenna across the lobby, I take a deep breath and prepare for round two of what is sure to be a memorable—if not fatal—trip back home
.

  I call out, “I’m ready when you are, diva!”

  Complete agitation covers her face as she whips around with narrowed eyes and yells, “Don’t. Call. Me. DIVA!”

  I grin. “It never gets old.”

  “God!” she exclaims, thrusting her arms up again.

  The look on her face is priceless. I could do this all day. I might, actually.

  Wagging my eyebrows in a totally inappropriate and suggestive manner, I slip back outside and let the door fall shut.

  A moment later, the inn door flies open and Jenna stomps down the porch steps to meet me by the car. I quickly shove my phone in my pocket, wanting to put as much distance as possible between my present circumstances and the mess waiting for me in Little Vail, and climb into the car at the same time she does.

  She’s huffing and puffing and cursing under her breath like a spoiled teenager, but when her eyes finally flick to mine there’s no hostility there, just impatience.

  “You’re paying for all the gas,” she says, sliding a pair of dark sunglasses over her golden eyes. “And I mean every single drop.”

  I lean back in the passenger seat, repressing the joyous satisfaction I feel at the haughtiness on her face. “Yes, ma’am.”

  If buying Jenna’s gas keeps her safe by my side then I’ll purchase every last drop in the country. And then some.

  7

  Jenna

  I’m well aware that I caved. Again. Which just proves that I really am putty when it comes to Jack. Not a good sign, especially considering the extensive amount of quality one-on-one time we’ll be spending together now that I’ve misplaced my backbone and bent to Jack’s every whim.

  A shiver runs through me, and not the unwelcome kind. Damn Jack.

  Jack makes things interesting. And I like having him around. These things are both true, despite my best efforts. But Jack can’t know that. Not just because it would ruin my grand life plan—which by the way, largely depends on me not getting involved with a guy, like ever—but because it would screw with his head. And I don’t screw with guys’ heads.

  Do I flirt? Sure. Do I sleep with guys I’m attracted to? Absolutely. But I never lead guys on. It’s something I’m quite proud of, actually, and if I slip up around Jack that’s exactly what will happen. He’ll think one thing and I’ll be sure to do another. That’s the risk I’m taking, here on this journey across the states. And honestly, I’m not sure if it’s worth it. If I were to hurt Jack more than I already have… well, I might never recover.