“They just woke up,” I say, continuing down the hall. “And I figured you’d want to get right to work, correct? Since I’m so desperately in need of assistance?”
Jack crosses his arms, standing way too close as I work my key into my lock.
Damn it, why does he have to smell so good? And be so warm and magnetic and tingle-inducing?
“Interesting tone.” He follows me inside, glancing around my much-cleaner-than-usual apartment with an arched brow. His eyes widen when he spots my bed against the far wall—hard to hide it when you live in a studio—but thankfully he doesn’t comment. “You don’t think you need help?”
“I don’t.” I toss the glue onto the coffee table beside my mustache and do-it-myself dude makeup. “I just needed fresh glue, and Spencer brought me some from his costume shop. So I’m all set.”
Jack snorts. “Set to blow your cover before you even get started. If you hadn’t spent half of yesterday watching orientation videos, you would’ve been made. The way you walk alone is—”
“So maybe my walk isn’t super masculine,” I cut in, propping my hands on my hips. “Not all men are, you know. There are plenty of guys in New York who have a little swing in their step.”
“You don’t walk like a man with a swing in his step,” Jack says flatly. “You walk like someone who’s never had a dick between your legs. There’s a difference.”
Heat floods to my face, but before I can think of an appropriate response to that bombshell, Jack waves a hand in the air between us.
“I didn’t mean it like that…” He shakes his head, wincing as if the thought of me with a dick between my legs makes him queasy. “I meant, you walk like a woman who has woman parts, and eventually people are going to notice. Bare minimum, that needs to be addressed before Monday.”
I cross my arms, wishing I’d changed out of my yoga pants and comfy tee into something that made me feel less scrubby and powerless. Ryan’s right—clothes are more important than I give them credit for.
So maybe Jack is right, too…
No matter how much I would like to believe I didn’t make an idiot of myself yesterday, Jack has the same sharp eye as my brother. And even if he’s wrong, advice from someone who has been anactual manhis entire life can’t hurt. Besides, he has skin in this game, too. The least I can do is play along.
“Fine,” I grumble, my shoulders hunching. “Teach me how to walk.”
Jack exhales. “I’ll try, but not while you look like that.”
“Like what? Like I woke up half an hour ago? Sorry, but that’s not my fault. That’syourfault for inviting yourself over at a ridiculously early hour for a Saturday.”
“I was thinking like a crab refusing to come out of her shell,” Jack says, his tone cooling again. “But please accept my apologies for the early hour. I assume your hot date went well, then?”
I bite my lip, eyes lifting guiltily to the ceiling, wishing I hadn’t let that fib out the door. “You could say that.”
“So, who is he?” Jack moves closer, hands sliding into his pockets in that too-relaxed way that always makes me nervous.
“Why do you care?”
“I don’t.” He’s so close now that I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact, a fact that has my pulse jumping. “But you’re struggling to pull this off as it is, without some random guy keeping you out all night.”
“It wasn’t a guy,” I confess. “I went out with Lulu, Paige, and a couple other girls from the office for Korean food and karaoke.”
For a second Jack looks almost relieved, but then his forehead bunches again. “Tell me you didn’t sing.”
I roll my eyes hard. “I’m not a hundred percent solid on my man voice when I’mtalking.I know better than to belt out Blaze of Glory.”
His lips curve. “So, you admit it. You need my help.”
“I need practice,” I say, meeting him halfway.
“Then let’s get to work, Seyfried.” He points a finger at the couch. “Man clothes. Now. And this time stuff a sock in it.”
I blink. “A sock in what? My mouth?”
“Not a bad idea, but I meant down your pants. Until you master the art of pretending you’ve got something down there, you should use a prop.” He steps back, his gaze sweeping up and down my frame, inciting a sudden urge to fidget. “But nothing too big. No one’s going to buy that Eric is packing heat.”
I’m tempted to ask why not—surely you can’t judge cock-size by a guy’s build—but think better of it. Considering my tendency to blush when Jack’s around, that doesn’t seem like a wise line of questioning. The sooner I can ease his fears and get him out the door the better.