“Do you need a list?” She ripped open the box of chocolates and shoved one into her mouth. “Just ’cause I’m eating this doesn’t mean I’m not pissed. It’s just bad luck to waste chocolate.”
“Oh, it’s gourmet. Hand it over.” Claire snatched the box and scooted back inside the apartment.
Heather crossed her arms over a silk shirt. A silk shirt that slid over her breasts and made his dick seriously question why he’d been such a…well, a dick earlier. The tree trunk that’d sprouted in his pants wasn’t helping his ability to apologize.
“I am sorry for everything I’ve done over the past few days, and everything I’ll do to piss you off in the future.” That ought to cover it. Being married for a few years had taught him a few things.
“So, this is an all-encompassing apology?” Heather confirmed.
“Yes.”
“You need more chocolate.” The door slammed in his face.
He let out a long breath and knocked again.
She opened the door and raised an eyebrow in that way women always did when he fucked up.
The expression effectively killed the trouser timber pressing against his zipper.
“Babushka has her own way of doing things, that’s for sure,” he said.
She did the eyebrow thing again.
“Look, she doesn’t always remember things. The last few years have been harder on her than she’ll admit. I worry about her.”
“Or maybe it’s hard for you to admit that she’s stronger than the rest of us.” Heather’s hand rested on the edge of the door, clearly ready to slam it in his face when the time was right.
He stepped forward and got a whiff of her—a mix of lavender and Heather. No woman had ever smelled so good. Never made him want to nuzzle her neck and stay there all night. Never made him lose his mind like he was doing now.
“Is that all?” Heather asked.
He shook away the lingering effects of being around her. “What?”
“You said that already. Apology accepted. You’re absolved.” She did a little hand wave that was adorable. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, too. I should’ve tried harder to keep Babushka out of there. I should’ve kept driving when I saw where we were going.”
“She would’ve convinced you to turn around.” Now that his mind was clear, he was sure of it.
“You’re probably right,” Heather conceded.
“You gonna invite me in for chocolate?” He jerked his chin toward her apartment. “I can do girls’ night with the best of them.”
She let out a heavy sigh. “Do I have a choice?”
“There’s always a choice.”
“Are you going to buy a ticket to prom?”
Now it was his turn to heavy sigh. “Absolutely.”
She paused, thinking a little too hard. “Claire, Velma, Jase wants to come in,” she hollered behind her.
“Does he have more chocolate?” Velma called back.
Heather gave him a questioning look.
“Nope, but I have a Visa and the desire for a Beau Jo’s pizza delivery,” he replied.
“No more chocolate. No more funsies,” Claire shouted. “And we can’t talk about him when he’s here. So, move along, Mr. Florist.”
“I guess not.” Heather’s forehead crinkled.
“Listen, I’d really like to help you out with the prom thing. I know you’ve been wanting help, and I’ve been thinking. I have some ideas.” His sneakers squeaked against the polished floor when he stepped toward her.
She gave him a look that was not a vote of confidence. Vulnerability passed over her expression. Fleeting, but it was there.
“Why?” she finally asked.
“Why what?”
“Why do you want to help me? You made it clear today you don’t even like me.”
Oh, he liked her. That was the problem. “You’re doing a good thing. I can appreciate that.”
Also, he’d get to spend more time with her. And for some damn reason, that’s exactly what he wanted.
They stood there studying each other. He wanted to wrap her up and hold her tight.
Also, he’d like to discuss getting in her pants. But he’d save that for later. “What’re you doing tomorrow night? I’ll bring you dinner and we’ll talk strategy.”
“Just strategy?” she asked.
“Totally professional.” Mostly. “We’ll call it an official committee meeting.” Except, this time he’d be damn sure someone showed up. Namely, him.
“Then dinner would be great.” She stepped back into her apartment.
“Tomorrow,” he confirmed.
“Tomorrow.” She nodded to her apartment. “I should get back. Thanks for the chocolate.” She didn’t smile, but it was close.
In any case, he caught it. “Here? Or my shop? Tomorrow.”
“Here.” Now she did smile.
She wanted home field advantage. He could work with that.
“Seven?” he asked.
“Seven.” She nodded and made a move to go inside but stopped and caught his gaze. “No steaks.”
With that, the door clicked closed.
9
Chapter Nine
Senior “Senior” Prom Countdown: 31 Days
She shouldn’t have told Jase to meet her at her apartment.
This was a bad idea.
“Not a date. Not a date.” Heather repeated the mantra over and over while she paced her living room. She’d put on lip gloss for this not-a-date. And, fine, she’d even picked out a pair of underwear that matched her bra. That wasn’t for him. Maybe she just didn’t like mismatched lingerie?
“You look amazing,” Candy said. “Stop fussing with your hair.”
Heather hadn’t even realized she was running her fingers through it. That’s why she usually wore a ponytail—it was just easier.
She dropped her hand. “This is just a committee meeting.”
That’s what she’d told herself the entire time she was dressing, blow-drying, curling, and lipsticking.
“Uh-huh.” Candy gave her a look that said she didn’t buy it.
“What does that mean?”
Candy sighed. “It means you’re wearing your sexy jeans, and your hair is down, and that tells me this is not just a committee meeting.”
Candy wasn’t wrong. Heather had picked out designer jeans that did amazing things for her legs, a loose tank top that exposed a peekaboo red bra strap, and her hair was down. None of that meant this was anything more than a totally platonic night of prom planning.
“I’ve got to go meet up with Mom.” Candy grabbed her purse and headed for the door. “We are hitting JoAnn Fabric so I can help make her a dress for that thing she’s got with Dad’s office. Unless you want me to stay? I can join the decorating committee.” She sang the last part.
“You already told me no, twice.” Heather flicked on the television and let Pat Sajak talk about the spinning wheel to distract her from Jase, jeans, and hair.
“That was before Jase joined the fun.” Candy rifled through her purse, grabbing her keys. “I’m out. I expect a call later detailing how this goes.”
The knock at the door signaled the start of a totally platonic evening of brainstorming.
That’s all this evening’s…event…was.
She switched off the television she’d just turned on and swung open the door. Jase grinned his patented I’m-here-now-you-can-get-naked smile. At least that’s what she called it in her head. Likely, it was his everyday charisma. In any case—
“Can I come in?” Oversized picnic basket in hand, he nodded toward her living room.
“Yes,” she said, only slightly awkward. She stepped back and let him through.
“Hey, Jase.” Candy pulled her cross-body bag across her chest. “I was just on my way out. Have fun.” Candy blew a kiss at Heather and headed out, the door clicking softly behind her.
Jase turned and studied Heather for longer than an instant. He gave her a solid once-over t
hat she felt right down to the marrow in her bones. She shivered, and her nipples pebbled. Only the air conditioning. Nothing more. “I can honestly say, that has never happened to me with a member of my family.”
“What’s never happened?” Heather asked.
He glanced to where Candy had closed the door. “They’ve never willingly left. Usually they have to be shoehorned out the door.”
That was not her family. They were there when she needed them, sure, but they also had a solid grasp on personal space. “Yeah? No. My family isn’t clingy.”
“You mean your grandmother doesn’t try to set you up with random nurses from her eye doctor’s office? Your parents don’t insist you check in every few days, and your brothers and sister don’t make it a point to quiz your potential dates about dietary fiber and overall dental hygiene?” he asked, his tone totally serious.
He had to be exaggerating.
“Come on, your siblings haven’t done that.” She held out her hand for the basket.
“I’d call them so they can confirm it for you, but then they’d know where I am. Then they’d know how often you brush, floss, and eat salads. It’s better for everyone if they can’t find me.” He passed the basket over to her still extended hand. “No comments on the basket. Not my idea.”
Cumin and chili powder drifted from the blue cloth covering the top. Her taste buds did a happy dance at the scent. “What’d you bring?”
“Tacos,” he said, deadpan.
Tacos. Like their imaginary first date. Her heart gave an extra beat at the memory.
“You didn’t think I’d forget?” Oh, the way his voice went husky. It did funny things to her stomach, making her question her resolve that this was not a date.
What could she say to that? It was…sweet. Sweet in a non-date kind of way.
“There’s a pitcher of margaritas in there, too.” He pulled the covering off the basket and snatched the pitcher with the screw-top lid and the plastic margarita glasses, shaking, then pouring the tequila-spiked nectar.
Heather laid out the spread of a make-your-own taco bar. It’d been packaged in plastic containers with options for chicken, seasoned ground beef, four kinds of cheeses, and three kinds of salsa.
“You did all this?” she asked.
“Eli made it.” Jase shook his head. “He’s a master in the kitchen. Went a little crazy with the whole picnic thing, though. I told him a box would’ve been fine. That’s what happens when a guy spends too much time in the kitchen and not enough in the outside world. He sticks his tacos in a basket.” Jase handed a clear plastic plate to her and began to load up his own.
“This is really nice. Thank you.” She meant it.
“Eh.” He shrugged.
Just dinner. Not-a-date. Except “just dinner” didn’t feel like just dinner.
“I figure it’s kind of like our first date, so it should be special.” His gaze caught hers, the flecks of bronze in his eyes branding the words in her mind.
“This isn’t a date,” Heather replied firm. Firm-ish. “This is just an opportunity for us to work together to make this prom perfect, while drinking tequila-infused beverages. I figured I’d put you on the decorating subcommittee.”
The look on his face said he wasn’t super thrilled about that idea. “Who else is on this subcommittee?”
“Right now?” she asked. “Just you.”
He nodded. “Figured. How many people are on the other committees?”
She sighed. “That’d be me. I tried to recruit help, but everyone bailed. It’s fine, though, I mean, I don’t mind doing it all. Most of it is done already—posters, invitations, all that. What’s left is decorating and food. I figured punch and cookies for the food and…you can help with the decorations.”
Plate in hand, it didn’t slip past her that he moved to each point of entry—front door, windows—before he sauntered to the print of the red ballet slippers on a bright-pink background that hung over the fireplace. Heather had fallen in love with the print at an art show.
“I was thinking for the official theme, we’d do ‘Jungle Safari.’ Don’t you think that’d be fun?” She added salsa to her plate.
“That could work.” He moved to the table and set his plate there. “We can do lots of greenery, vines, that kind of thing. What kind of budget are we looking at?”
“Well…” She sat across from him. “How much can you donate?”
“We have no budget, do we?”
“Nope. We are one hundred percent reliant on donations for this shindig.” She took a bite of taco. Now, Heather had said she wouldn’t be impressed by tacos, but she was totally into his…tacos. “So I guess the question is, how much can you donate?”
“Here’s the thing. I have a wedding the weekend before. If we switch the theme to garden party, then we can just reuse those decorations. It won’t cost anything.”
Damn. She’d really wanted the jungle theme. And it had nothing to do with the fact that it had been the theme for the prom she should’ve gone to when she was in high school. It was just an awesome theme, that was all.
“I guess that would work.” She did her best to tamp down the disappointment. She couldn’t exactly push him to donate more, if he already had a cheaper option.
Jase stared at her for a long beat.
She started to squirm under the examination. “What?”
“I don’t get it,” he finally announced.
“Get what?” she asked.
He gestured to the room at large. “Why you’re single.”
“What’s there to get?” She tucked her bare feet up under her on the chair.
“Hey, I can appreciate the need to keep your business to yourself and not put everything out there. I’m a Dvornakov. We do guilt for information better than most families.” He scooted closer to her.
“I just don’t see the point of a relationship, you know? It’s always such a disappointment.”
“Then you have been with the wrong men.”
And that’s where they needed to get back to the topic of the evening. A senior citizen dance party as a distraction from the intensity of their discussion.
“Brek helped me book a band, and we’re using the space at the nursing home.” She grabbed a brown accordion file from the side of the table, dumping the contents between them.
Heather pulled out the legal pad with her notes and scanned them. Jase reached for her wild-crazy-ideas brainstorming notebook, flipping through the pages.
“Is this your diary?” he teased.
“No.” It was not. “It’s…brainstorming.”
She glanced up as he flipped to the first page.
“They’re just the big ideas I’ve had for the shop and this event and the future. Most of them aren’t even viable. Just brainstorming, really.”
“This is good stuff.” He flipped through some of the pages. “Roses for all the ladies? I can help with that.”
If Jase put on a suit and handed out roses to the ladies she worked with at the retirement home, they’d be over the moon. He must’ve caught the way she was eyeing him.
“What?” he asked.
“I was just thinking a guy handing out roses in a tuxedo would go over so well. The ladies would go bananas.”
“Not a chance,” he said.
“Oh, come on, I haven’t even asked you.”
“Yet.” He flipped the page. “Add the ‘yet,’ because it’s coming. My money says Dean and Eli are screwed, too. Good luck getting Brek in a tux, though. He didn’t even wear one at his own wedding.”
“Maybe we should focus on the simple stuff first.” She ran her hand over the yellow legal notebook she’d been using to compile the things that had to be done.
Jase continued flipping through her brainstorming notebook. A slip of notepaper fell from the back.
Heather stilled. Her throat clogged. Damn. She’d forgotten that slip of paper was there.
She couldn’t move. Couldn’t make herself reach for it.<
br />
Finding that note ran on a replay in her mind. Most decent human beings broke up with their year-long girlfriend in person. Some jerks did it via text. Logan had done it with a note on her pillow.
That note.
It fluttered to the table, brushing softly on the polished surface. That piece of paper had hit her like a thousand-pound boulder, so it seemed to be laughing at her the way it floated through the air and landed on the tabletop so gentle. She just stared at it as a bit of splattered salsa seeped into the edge.
Still Heather couldn’t get her body to respond to her brain’s demand to grab the damn note.
Jase picked it up and read it. Of course he did. He didn’t know what it would say.
He looked at her, and his expression was as soft as the way the note had fallen through the air.
And that hit her like another thousand-pound boulder.
He dropped the note. “I’m sorry.”
They both stared at the breakup note.
A tear slipped from the corner of her eye. The slipknot looped tighter. Her breaths stalled in her lungs.
Jase ran his hands up her bare arms. When had he gotten so close? The motion was a balm to all that had been exposed. Without so much as a thought, she leaned into the comfort of his arms. She shouldn’t do this. Heather Reese didn’t need comforting. She handled things on her own. But, damn, his embrace felt nice.
She dropped her head forward so her cheek rested against his shoulder. The faint scent of cut flowers, cinnamon, and laundry soap calmed her.
He laid a hand over her hair.
She chanced a glance up at him.
He looked her over from top to bottom. “That guy is an idiot who lost a chance with an amazing person.”
Her blood pulsed thick at his kind words.
Was it her or had he snuggled into her at that declaration? There was definite snuggling.
He stared at her with an intensity that actually made her curious about a man again.
Except, absolutely not. Not with him. Not with anyone. She ran a hand against his chest. Touching was bad. And yet, she touched him and didn’t stop.
He snatched her hand, gently kissed the underside of her wrist, and rubbed small circles on her palm with the pad of his thumb—effectively pressing the pause button on her control. Each circle echoed lower, right between her legs. Had he scooted closer, or had she? She’d been too distracted with his fingers on her hand to notice.
Blow Me Away: A Mile High Matched Novel, Book 2 Page 8
