Jackson: A Sexy Bastard Novel by Eve Jagger Read Free Book Online Page A

out.”
    She shakes her head, setting her wineglass out of the way as the waiter returns to remove our plates. “We could have gone somewhere more practical. I just thought . . . I don’t know. I guess I thought an architect would like this sort of thing.”
    “Why?”
    “I don’t know.” She shrugs. “You were so clean-cut online, and dressed really nicely, so I just assumed you like nice things.”
    “Who says I don’t?”
    She starts to look slightly embarrassed, and I smile to let her know I’m kidding.
    “So, tell me about what is going on at work,” I say, trying to redirect the conversation. “Tell me about what you’re showing in your art gallery.”
    Her eyes light up, and she launches into the story behind her current exhibition, an artist she discovered from Guatemala who apparently does something incredible with different types of textured cloth. She is obviously extremely passionate about her work, which I can certainly respect. She’s found her passion, worked hard at her craft, and is now reaping the benefits. Really, she’s a lot like me.
    It’s almost like…like being on a date with myself.
    And that right there is a total boner killer if there ever was one.
    The waiter returns with the next course.
    “Here we have our mini potato-and-egg taco. On the bottom is a charred green chili crepe, topped with crispy fried potato, egg yolk, and a few dabs of cilantro pudding.”
    He lays down fresh forks, straightens our wine glasses, and walks away.
    I stare at the concoction before me. It looks slightly more normal than the last dish, although the phrase “cilantro pudding” doesn’t do much for my appetite. Plus, the thing’s about two bites’ worth of food. I already know I’ll be hungry the moment we step outside the restaurant.
    “Bon appetit!” Maggie says, raising her knife and fork. She licks her lips.
    My mind immediately flashes back to the tacos I ate last week, sitting in the driver’s seat of my car with spicy orange grease dripping down my wrist. Skylar would never come to a place like this.
    “You aren’t one to dive right in, are you?” Maggie is looking at me, half of her food already gone.
    I reach for the glass of wine.
    “Just inspecting my food. Before I ruin the artistry.”
    Maggie smiles. “You’re staring.”
    You’re staring. Skylar’s voice is in my head. I give myself a shake and focus on Maggie, a woman who is clearly in the market for a future that includes a house and a kid and maybe a dog. And I couldn’t be less interested.
    Shelby would tell me to try harder.
    I eat half the taco in one gulp.
    “It’s delicious,” I tell her as I lick the yellow stuff—which the waiter identified as egg yolk—off the tines of my fork.
    And it really is. But try as it might, it just doesn’t compare to middle-of-the-night food truck fish tacos. It doesn’t even come close.

    * * *
    F ive courses later , we’re presented with the finale: “Salted Caramel Cremeux, with Black Cocoa Sorbet.”
    “This looks divine.” Maggie says to the waiter as she lifts her spoon. Meanwhile, I stare at the slowly melting concoction, trying to decide if 9:30 pm is too early to take her home.
    What the fuck is wrong with me?
    Suddenly, my phone buzzes. The screen shows a 404 number, but there’s no name attached. I’m about to put it back in my pocket, yet my mind takes me back to that fateful night—the night when I got the call about my parent’s accident. As much as I would like to let these kinds of calls go to my voice mail, I always worry that it might be a real emergency that I can’t miss. Another life-changing emergency that could change everything all over again.
    “Excuse me.” I push back my chair, holding the vibrating phone. “I have to get this.”
    I make it to the corridor by the bathrooms and am just about to push Accept when the phone stops ringing. Dammit. Now I have to decide: do I call back? Normally I’d just let it go to voicemail, but the