Chapter 16

Delia satin the chair Jack pulled over next to its counterpart on the opposite side of the fireplace. She propped up her phone against a vase that looked like it had been shattered and glued back together.

"Aren't you two adorable?" Tony leaned back from the camera. "Having fun playing house?"

Delia smiled, pretending his comments didn't pull tight on the tangle in her stomach. "This place is amazing. You and Mary outdid yourselves."

Tony pointed through the screen at Jack. "You have him to thank. It was the perfect option."

Delia tamped down her instinct to ask how much it was costing the label to book the place. Mary had kept her stream and rank numbers top of mind for the past few days, so she understood their strategy was working. She still hated not having access to the raw numbers and what money was coming in. "Well, thank you, Jack."

"Are you going to be staying there, too?" Tony asked.

Jack exhaled through his nose. "Uh, no, I"ll be at my place. It"s only about ten minutes up the road."

Delia kept smiling even though something dropped through her middle like she"d just slid over the lip of a waterslide. It was fine—good even—that he wasn"t going to be staying there. Based on how her skin had heated in her bedroom after their conversation, she worried she wouldn"t be able to focus with him sleeping next door.

She knew next to nothing about him still, so was it just the fact that he was a good-looking guy with a pulse? Was she really that desperate? He didn"t even like her music, for crying out loud.

Putting her lyrics out into the world was the equivalent of flipping herself inside out and allowing everyone and their dog to inspect the inner workings of her heart. If someone didn"t like that, they didn"t like her. Though to be fair, none of her hit songs were written by her.

But Jack had heard her poetry. At the concert. "Oubliet." In relief and regret. Hadn"t he talked about his disinterest in lyrics after he"d heard that?

No.Her heart revolted just like it had in Toronto. The way he"d looked at her. The way he"d mentioned the song the second she told him about her dad. He"d listened.

"Of course, that makes sense that you wouldn"t want to disrupt your life completely, it"s just . . ." Tony cleared his throat.

Delia forced herself to focus. She knew that look on his face. The one that said I"m about to say something you"re not going to like, so I"m going to pretend it isn"t a big deal by shrugging my shoulders and hedging a little until you make me spit it out. He used it all the time when he was about to tell her IndieLake had made a decision about one of her songs. "Tony?—"

"What do you two think about your public persona as a couple?"

Delia frowned. "Public persona?"

Tony scrubbed a hand over his pixelated face. "Right, your Jelia personality, or Deliack if you prefer that."

"Gross, one sounds like a gelatinous dessert and the other like he"s allergic to me." Delia grimaced. "Don"t tell me that"s what people are calling us."

Tony laughed. "No, those were just examples I made up."

"Delia, he"s your publicist. You should trust his instincts."

She shot Jack a look. "Hard pass."

"Okay, those names weren"t the point. I was asking about your mutual branding."

Jack exhaled. "No idea what you"re talking about."

Delia shifted in her seat. "Tony, don"t you think it"s a little early to think about that? We"ve barely been fake together for two weeks."

"Never too early! I"ll tell you, my concern is that you two aren"t coming off as smitten."

Delia"s frown deepened. "Smitten?" She didn't like where this was headed. Smitten meant close proximity. Smitten meant hands. Smitten meant eye contact.

"Right. Head over heels. He shits rainbows and smells like the air that puffs out of a freshly opened bag of maple cookies, and she makes your blood race south so fast you have to wear compression shorts."

Delia blinked. So. Not business only.

Jack stared hard at the screen. "You"re not getting those vibes from us?"

"Ha. Ha." Tony adjusted his camera and reclined on whatever chair or couch he was sitting on.

Delia ran a hand through her hair. "That"s not real love, Tony, that"s infatuation. If I saw people acting like that, I"d be ninety percent sure they were going to break up within the month."

"That"s because you"re a cynic."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "You are?"

"No, I"m a realist. I"ve been there, done that, and relationships that start with heart eyes and panting only lead to disappointment and awkward text conversations."

"I think I need those transcripts." Jack smirked.

Delia rolled her eyes, but Tony was already talking. "Nobody cares about reality, Delia, you know this. They want a story, and unfortunately, a healthy relationship where both parties gradually jump through rational intimacy hoops is boring."

She huffed. "So you want me to perpetuate this idea that you should meet a guy and have his tongue down your throat by the second date? Lust at first sight?"

Tony nodded. "That would be perfect. If we could get a picture of Jack"s tongue?—"

"Tony!"

He held up his hands. "I"m not here to debate the morality of what makes headlines, I"m here to sell you more records and put more bums in seats."

She exhaled. Fair. She could hate the entertainment industry and the distractibility of the general public all she wanted, but arguing with Tony wasn"t going to change the world.

Jack leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "What are you getting at, Tony?"

Tony pursed his lips. "Your contract states that public displays of affection are expected. It doesn"t have to be anything huge, and you both need to agree on what you feel comfortable with, but right now, we"re not getting a whole lot."

"But you"re getting something, right? Jack had his arm around me when we walked into the studio."

Tony nodded. "That was sweet, but he could"ve been helping an old lady cross the street. It didn"t look . . . you know."

"Like I needed compression shorts," Jack finished.

Tony grinned. "Exactly."

Jack stared at the screen, and Delia swallowed hard. "Smitten." She pronounced every syllable

"Yep, and now that we"ve gotten that out of the way, I was hoping we could talk dates . . ." Tony kept talking, and Delia zoned out. Tony had access to her calendar, as did Mary, so she didn"t need to double-check anything.

Jack pulled out his phone and the two of them started negotiations for public appearances. Jack was a willing participant, but Delia was surprised at how full his schedule was. Not that she didn"t also have a busy life, but he hadn"t been kidding when he talked about the juggling act of a day job, his practice schedule, building relationships with his team, and showing up prepared for game day.

"Nope, I"ve got a podcast recording that morning," Jack said, and Delia tuned back in.

"You"re recording for a podcast?" Delia asked.

He nodded. "Two guys who discuss the ins and outs of Canadian hockey. Lisa, our head of marketing, set it up."

Tony grunted. "Right, I knew about that. It was on the schedule she sent over."

Jack glanced up from his screen. "What if we go to a Snowballs game that night? They"re in the playoffs."

Tony clapped his hands together. "Yes, fantastic. That'll hit everything: community support, nostalgia, loyalty, a folding in of Delia into your regular life?—"

Again, Delia zoned out. What was she going to say to Jack after this call ended? She"d told him they didn"t have to do anything physical—she knew it was a pain point for him—and now Tony was talking about tongues and throats and . . . blood rushing. Delia's eyes landed on Jack's crotch and she turned away from him so fast, her neck cracked.

She settled enough to look back and found Jack teasing his teeth over his lower lip. He was just a good-looking guy with a pulse. Not emotionally available. Ignoring the hockey-boob situation, he"d straight up told her his hands and his heart were off-limits. Also, they lived across the country from each other, were both focused on their careers—or they wouldn"t be in this situation in the first place—oh, and they already had a scheduled, permanent breakup date.

"Alright, I think that"s all for me." Tony turned his attention to Delia. "Where"s Mary, by the way?"

Delia pondered this. Where was Mary? And Alvin, for that matter. She hadn't seen either of them since they'd brought in the luggage. "Probably unpacking. I don"t know, I haven"t seen her."

"Well, tell her I"ve added these to the calendar, and I"ll make sure we get plenty of press. How"s the security detail working out?"

Delia pressed her hands into her knees. "So far, so good. We got here safely from the airport with minimal fuss."

Tony nodded. "Perfect. Okay, you kids have fun." He ended the call while Delia was mid-goodbye.

She plucked her phone from the table. "Well. I"m sorry about?—"

"He"s right."

Delia froze and looked up. Jack looked like he was coiled tight enough to pounce. "Right about what?"

"That we"re not selling it."

She set her phone down. "Jack, I meant what I said at breakfast."

"I know." He was staring at the table like her mom did when she spotted a fingerprint.

Delia's pulse fluttered. "So . . ."

He locked eyes with her. "I don"t do things halfway. My whole life, anytime I committed to something, I was all in. That"s why I went so far in hockey. I was never the most talented guy out there, but I was willing to put in the work."

"This isn"t your livelihood, though."

"It kind of is. I"ve had two meetings with my management team since those pictures went public, and they"ve scheduled me on a morning show and two different podcasts for the next week. I don"t hate my job at Big Rick, but the idea of having a career in the NHL?" He leaned back in his chair. "If I think about it differently, like a job, maybe it won"t—maybe it will be fine."

Delia nodded, ignoring the speeding of her heart and her splintering thoughts. This was a job to him. Of course it was. And his job was to touch her. More frequently. But what was he willing to touch? What did she want to touch? Touch. Touch. Touch.

Heat exploded in her middle. Everything. She wanted to touch everything. If Jack wanted to sell it, she had some ideas that she was absolutely not willing to make outside thoughts. "We could keep it simple. Hold hands or something?" she squeaked.

Jack shook his head. "I don"t know if I"m ready for that."

Delia couldn"t keep her jaw from dropping. "What? You just said you wanted to sell it. What's smaller than holding hands? A pat on the arm? I saw you do that with your team captain earlier."

The skin on Jack"s neck reddened. "I didn"t mean—" He drew a deep breath and held it. "I was thinking we should kiss."

Delia gaped at him. "Explain to me how that makes any sense." She could barely hear herself think. Kiss. Kiss. Kiss.

"I"ve kissed plenty of people. I"ve only held hands with two."

Delia"s eyes narrowed. "Wait, hold on. In your book, holding hands is more intimate than swapping spit?"

He nodded, and the expression on his face sobered her. That line of reasoning seemed batty, but she wasn"t the one who had lost her fiancée. Hell, she hadn"t even gained a fiancée to lose. "Okay. I"m fine with kissing." She straightened her shirt. "But what kind of kiss are we talking about?" Her insides began to squirm.

Jack started to say something, then stopped. "Are you okay?"

Delia tried to smile, but even without seeing it, she could tell her face wasn"t doing what she wanted it to. "Yes?"

Jack"s lips twitched. "So, no."

She blew out a breath. "I"m sorry, this just feels like—" She lifted her hands and shook them out. "When I said that, it sounded like I was one of those guys on the apps. The ones that send messages like, where do you want my lips? Ugh, it"s so disgusting. Like I can feel their hot breath coming through the screen." She held out her phone for emphasis. "And now I said that, and I feel skeezy like I"m sitting in a dark room with my hand down my pants or something."

Jack"s eyes crinkled at the corners.

Delia scowled. "Are you laughing at me?"

His expression tightened. "No."

"You"re laughing at me."

He put a hand over his face and pretended to cough.

"That was a pathetic cover-up."

A goofy grin stretched across his face. "What? I"m sorry! That was entertaining."

She folded her arms over her chest. "Well, I"m glad my pain is amusing to you."

He laughed again. "I"m sorry. I can see both of your hands, and you"re nothing like those guys on the apps."

"Do you know the guys on the apps?" She crossed her arms in front of her.

"I know plenty of guys who would be guys on the apps."

Delia didn"t know where to go from there. Jack was leaning toward her, his dark hair mussed, his forearms flexed, making the swirls of ink over his left forearm pop with colour. His hands were nice. She"d noticed them the first time they"d sat across from each other. His knuckles were broad, and his nails short and clean. They looked rugged. Capable.

Shit. This was a spiral. Delia tapped her elbow.

Jack lifted his hands, and Delia couldn't stop staring. He took a step past the couch, walking toward the kitchen. Good. That was good. She needed more space.

"Do you want a drink?" he asked.

Delia nodded. "Just water." She drew a breath through her nose and exhaled after he disappeared around the corner. Maybe she was the one who needed to think about this differently. This was work for her, too, and she could figure out how to view kissing Jack as a business transaction, couldn't she? Felt a little whorey, but not impossible.

In all her therapy appointments over the years and through all the reading she"d done on productivity and basically how to seem like an average person, she"d picked up plenty of strategies. She was religious about setting alarms and then second alarms on her phone. She surrounded herself with people who were more organizationally functional than she was so they could pick up the slack when she was in full-blown creative mode. She still carried fidget toys with her in her purse and?—

Yes. That was it. She just needed something physical to link her thoughts to the reality of the situation and bypass her emotions. She"d done that plenty of times before. In grade twelve, she"d carried around a smooth rock she"d found in a river on vacation. She'd created a friction groove in it by the time her finals were over. That, combined with deep breathing techniques, progressive muscle relaxation, and tapping, had gotten her through.

But this had to be something inconspicuous.

Simple.

Something she could employ in seconds without drawing attention to herself.

Delia brought her hands together and pinched the tip of her left forefinger between her right thumb and pointer. She pressed for three seconds. That would do. Every time they touched, she could press and allow it to remind her that this thing with Jack wasn"t real. It was a job. Touching him had nothing to do with real feelings, which definitely did not make her like those creepy guys on the apps. According to Jack. Her business partner.

Jack returned and handed her a glass of water.

"Thank you." Delia took a sip.

He sat back in his chair. "So. What kind of kiss?"

Delia nearly choked on the water in her mouth. She quickly swallowed and blinked to clear her watering eyes.

"Sorry." Jack set his glass on the table.

She shook her head. "Wrong tube."

Jack exhaled. "It can"t look unnatural."

"The kiss?"

He nodded. "It has to look like we"ve been doing it regularly because what couple would kiss for the first time in public?"

"Mmhmm."

"That"s it, then. We just have to do it regularly."

She was blacking out. Was she blacking out? The world shimmered like she was having an ocular migraine. "I"m sorry, what?"

Jack shrugged. "Maybe that would make it less weird. If we just . . . kiss. A lot."

His words and her understanding were like oil and water. They danced around each other but didn't mix. "Like, just start kissing." Had Jack taken something while he'd been in the kitchen?

He rubbed his chin. "I don"t know, it seems like that would make it more believable."

I don"t do things halfway. Delia"s mouth went dry. He seemed sober. And dead serious. "How often is ‘regularly?'"

"Probably anytime we see each other."

Delia couldn"t think about what was happening to the nerves under her skin. They sizzled like a thousand wildfires were sparking to life, about to spread across her landscape with the faintest breeze.

She"d kissed people before, plenty of them. Grayson Pike was her first at grade eight graduation. Then it had been Merrill McKay in grade nine. They"d kissed more than regularly in the three weeks they dated, and she wasn"t sure she"d enjoyed a single one of their encounters. He"d swept her mouth with his tongue like he was dusting his bookshelves.

Then there was Emile. Oh, Emile. That boy could kiss. He"d been her boyfriend for nearly eighteen months and his hands were always on her neck, her cheek, in her hair, or down the back pocket of her jeans. She"d loved his constant touch. Like she was petite and wanted. So predictable. That break up started her Degrassi and dry cereal era, which lasted for half of June and all of July 2016.

But how did Jack kiss? Once the question entered her head, she snatched it by the scruff. "Okay." Delia nodded.

It would be fine.Like he said, this would make their appearances more believable. Or, maybe she'd get lucky and he"d kiss like Merrill. It would permanently cool the slow simmer in her midsection when she thought about Jack touching her with those capable hands. That"s all she needed. A thorough, repellant tongue dusting. Delia almost snorted and grabbed her glass of water to take a drink.

"Okay. Good." Jack yawned. "I should probably get going." He stood and took one step before noticing her expression. "What?"

Delia bit the inside of her cheek. "Nothing."

"You look annoyed."

"I"m not annoyed." She dropped her gaze and tried to rearrange her features. Why couldn"t she keep her thoughts from writing themselves all over her face in permanent ink? She was absolutely annoyed. More annoyed than she'd been probably ever. He"d brought up kissing and worked her up to the point that she was hoping for his tongue to make her want to throw up a little in her mouth, and then, what? He just stretches his hands over his head and goes home?

Jack jammed his hands in his pockets. "You"re annoyed."

"Fine, maybe I"m annoyed." How could he not recognize what he was doing to her? Yanking her this way and that and then waltzing out?

"Why?" He looked honestly confused, and that only pissed her off more.

"Because, Jack, you said we needed to kiss and now I"ve been thinking about how that"s logistically going to happen and now you"re going to leave and I"m still going to be obsessing about when we"re actually going to start the regularly part. What if it"s weird? What if you hate it, or what if I hate it, and we never make it look normal and then people are going to post it everywhere and they won"t believe us when we say we"re dating, and?—"

She sucked in a breath. Jack was standing in front of her. When had he gotten there? Delia looked up, surprised at how much she had to crane her neck to look him in the eyes at that distance. "What are you doing?"

He lifted a hand and brushed her hair back from her face. He didn"t say anything, just let his eyes wander over her face. Her heart did something akin to the flute solo in Peter and the Wolf.

"What are you doing, Jack?"

"What does it look like I"m doing?"

"A skin check."

Jack smirked. "Glad to know I"ve still got it. I thought women liked it when men took their time."

Jack's palm was rough and warm against her cheek. Delia couldn"t feel her toes, but that was more normal than she would"ve liked to admit. The more pressing concern was the way her vision was still blurring at the edges. "I don"t know what women like."

"No?"

"I"ve never been in the majority." She swallowed, and the sound of her throat closing may as well have been broadcast over an amp. Jack didn't seem to notice. His hand settled between her neck and shoulder, and as he ran his thumb slowly over her collarbone, Delia couldn"t help her shuddering breath.

"Still terrible?"

"Mmm. I've had worse."

He nodded like he wished he had a pen and paper to take notes. "I think it might help if you were touching me."

Delia blinked. Right. She was standing like she was ready to do a pencil off the diving board. She forced her arms up and placed her hands on his hips.

Something happened in that moment. She didn't know if it was the soft cotton of his shirt or the feel of his obliques edged by the waistband of his jeans, but Delia turned from butter straight out of the freezer to butter that had been sitting on the counter for a week and was then spread over warm toast.

Her exhale was like every dying breath she'd ever heard in the movies. Rest. Release. Finally. Her skin fizzed like champagne, and she was that neon sign humming over the Jukebox as Jack's fingers tightened around the back of her neck.

As he lowered his head—as he pressed his lips to hers—expletives strung together in her mind in one unending word that would've made Mary Poppins proud because Jack did not kiss like Merrill. He didn't even kiss like Emile. His kiss was something wholly its own. Deep. Intense. Like he needed that moment, the feel of her, more than he needed air in his lungs. He raged like a hurricane, washing over her and pounding through her boarded-up windows until she was soaked through.

Jack took his damn time, and if other women liked that, then she was other women. Her heart couldn't decide whether to start or stop as he pressed against her and held, then pulled back just enough to let her catch a breath before he was coming back for more.

She didn't realize she'd gripped onto his belt loop and twisted his shirt through her fingers until his lips slowed. Until his breath against her lips sent those fires under her skin blazing. Until he pulled back.

The fabric of his shirt stretched, and Delia slammed back into herself so hard her teeth rattled. Her eyes flew open. Her lips were swollen. Her tongue tasted like his peppermint toothpaste.

"How was that?" Jack rasped.

Delia dropped her hands. Where was she? What the hell day was it? She nodded and stepped back, bumping into the chair she'd forgotten was sitting behind her.

Jack cleared his throat. "Okay. Hopefully that looked believable. We could ask Mary for a third-party opinion." He rubbed the back of his neck, and Delia couldn't look up from the rug. "I'll see you in a couple of days then? For the Snowballs game?"

"Right. Yes." She stumbled back, abandoning her glass of water on the table. "Have a good night."

Jack scanned the room and found his coat draped over the half wall near the entrance. "You, too. Goodnight." He walked out the front door, and Delia followed on unsteady legs, locking the deadbolt.

She turned and pressed her back up against the door, then grabbed onto her pointer finger and squeezed for much longer than three seconds.