Blow Me Away: A Mile High Matched Novel, Book 2

by Hovland, Christina

“I’m working on the renovation tomorrow, too,” he continued.

  Of course he was. Dammit, she knew better than to get involved like this. She. Knew. Better.

  “Heather.”

  Where the hell were her underwear? She swallowed hard, willing her heart to stop beating so fast. She didn’t need to be red-faced and embarrassed. There was nothing to be embarrassed about.

  This was how it was meant to be.

  Calm as she could, naked and post-amazing-orgasm, she dug through his bed. Seriously? It wasn’t that big.

  Screw it. She’d go commando.

  Finger-combing her hair, she strode across the room to where she’d tossed her jeans. Bare-bottomed, she sat on the edge of his bed and pulled them on.

  “Heather,” he said again.

  She couldn’t do this. Not the actual goodbye. Maybe the note Logan had left made way more sense than she’d given him credit for. She’d never had to look at him, never had to turn red and cry when he told her it was over. She’d done all of that alone.

  Not that she’d cry over Jase. It was a weekend fling. He hadn’t earned her tears.

  “Heather.”

  “Yeah?” she clipped, pulling her shirt over her head. She braced herself for what was coming. How he’d deliver the blow.

  She glanced to him; he was totally naked in the doorway of his bedroom, his arms crossed across his chest, studying her.

  His eyes absolutely soft.

  She immediately regretted her tone.

  “Tonight. Come over after I’m done downstairs?” he asked gently. “And lunch tomorrow? My brother’s coming into town, so the family is doing a big dinner with him or I’d hang with you.”

  Oh.

  He moved toward the bed, pulling back the blankets and handing her the panties she couldn’t find before.

  She took them. Stared at them.

  He sat beside her on the bed, totally not caring that he didn’t have a stitch of clothes on. He tilted her chin so she looked at him, treating her like she was as breakable as she felt in that moment.

  “The pill thing. You really want that?” he asked.

  “I do.” She bit at her bottom lip.

  He leaned forward and brushed a kiss over her lips. “Okay.”

  “Jase?” She pushed into him, her face pressed against his pec.

  “Hmm?” he asked, his hand stroking the back of her hair.

  “I’m all kinds of messed up.”

  “No, sugar. You’re not.” He pulled her tighter, held her against him.

  He felt so good. Her breaths came easier. He didn’t let her go. That wasn’t breakup sex.

  This was going to be all right. She hadn’t made a mistake of epic proportions. No, things were okay. And Jase wasn’t the man she’d convinced herself he was.

  God, she hoped he wasn’t the man she’d convinced herself he was.

  16

  Chapter Sixteen

  Senior “Senior” Prom Countdown: 18 Days

  “Well, hello there, boss lady.” Candy’s gaze traveled up and then down Heather’s two-day-old clothes. She’d seen Heather wear them at the bar and leave with Jase in them. “I guess you decided the no-men thing isn’t worth it, huh?”

  “I don’t…” Know. Heather didn’t finish the thought. She shook her head and plopped onto a chair in the kitchen while Candy worked on a batch of race-car cookies.

  “Did you have breakfast?” Candy asked.

  Heather glanced up and caught the flash of concern in Candy’s eyes. They’d been there for each other through every relationship and every breakup. Candy knew better than even Velma and Claire how hard Heather had taken the last hit.

  “I’m gonna head up and shower and grab something.” Still, Heather didn’t move.

  Candy set down the icing bag. “You wanna talk about it?” she asked gently.

  Did she? “I slept with Jase.”

  Candy nodded. “Yeah, I got that much.”

  “And we’re semiserious.” Mostly. She was pretty sure. That’s what they’d decided. “Exclusive” meant “semiserious.” They couldn’t really be serious if he wasn’t going to tell his family they were together.

  “Okay…” Candy splayed her hands on the table. “What does that mean?”

  “We’re not seeing other people. But he doesn’t want to tell his family.” Heather stood. “I kind of get it. You’ve met his family. But how can we be really together if we’re half hiding?”

  Candy raised her eyebrows. “Uh…”

  “It’s fine. Because, you know, I know that they can really test him. But I don’t want to keep the fact that we’re together now a secret. And I’m torn, but I don’t want to do something that will upset him. I mean, things are still new and weird and…really awesome. Like amazingly awesome.” Case in point: that morning, before she’d made everything weird. “I’m so conflicted. But Jase and I are together now, and that’s what matters, right?” Heather could really use a bit of confirmation on this.

  Candy cleared her throat and pointed over Heather’s shoulder.

  “Who’s standing behind me?” she asked, turning her head. Son of a bitch, Babushka stood in the doorway of the kitchen. Heather’s heart dropped straight to the sealed concrete floor.

  Jase was not going to be happy about this.

  Babushka’s eye’s misted. “This is the best news.”

  Oh no. No. Shit. Damn. Fuck.

  Babushka shuffled toward Heather, folding her into a Fels-Naptha-scented hug.

  “Oh my God. He’s going to kill me,” Heather said to no one in particular. Their semi-relationship was over before it had even semi-started.

  “No, he is good boy. I tell you this already. He makes good choice.” Babushka patted Heather’s cheek with her soft palm. “Now, I vill move in with Morty. You two can be private.”

  Oh no.

  The air went solid and caught in Heather’s chest. “Really, that’s not what we want. You should stay with me or move back home… Moving in with your boyfriend so quickly? I don’t think—”

  “Hush. Ve vill make it vork.”

  “I thought you said you two weren’t serious?” Because moving in together was pretty serious.

  “Oh, ve are not. But you need space for Jason,” Babushka insisted.

  No, Jase definitely didn’t want his grandmother moving in with Morty. It was an epically bad idea. “What if you didn’t move in with Morty? I mean, you should have your own space. I help out up at the assisted-living center just a block away. They have really nice apartments.” They were more like rooms, but they were lovely. “And then you and Morty can still see each other.” With the chaperones. “But you’ll have your own space.”

  Babushka stared at her, her eyebrows drawn together.

  “Then you can still just walk over here or to Jase’s whenever you want.”

  The wheels were obviously turning in the old woman’s mind.

  “And they take care of your meals. And they have a lady there who will do your hair, whenever you want. It’s all included.”

  “You’re overselling,” Candy whispered.

  “This place? It’s close?” Babushka asked.

  “I help out there sometimes, and it’s just a block away. An easy walk.” And it didn’t involve moving in with a boyfriend.

  “This apartment. Ve vill go look. I vill consider this choice,” Babushka said firmly before she continued her shuffle to the back stairs that lead up to Heather’s apartment.

  “She hasn’t been here all weekend, either. Has she?” Heather asked.

  Candy shook her head. “Don’t think so.”

  So Heather wasn’t the only one walking the walk of shame that morning. She hated calling it that; there was literally nothing to be ashamed of.

  Heather dropped her face to her palms. How the hell was she going to tell Jase that his whole family would know about them in approximately five seconds? And, the cherry on top? She’d just convinced his grandmother to move into the assisted-living
facility for the elderly.

  Heather sucked in a lungful of oxygen. It’d be fine. Totally fine. Jase was a good guy. He’d handle this okay.

  17

  Chapter Seventeen

  Senior “Senior” Prom Countdown: 18 Days

  He was an asshole of epic proportions.

  It’s not that he needed Heather around—he just felt human again when she was nearby. He had no idea what that was all about, but he had spent years numb inside while still acting fine on the outside. It beat the hell out of the guilt that took over whenever he started to feel. But with Heather, he wasn’t numb. He also wasn’t guilty. For the first time since everything had gone to shit, he felt like himself. An older, more tired version of himself, but he wasn’t the shell of a man who’d lost his crew and then his wife.

  Jase shoved a vase of freesias in the cooler beside the cash register and stalked to the back of the shop. Usually, he worked right up front. He had a table there because early on he’d realized how much customers loved to watch the finished product being created. And he liked it. He liked talking to them and being in the middle of it all.

  Not today. Today he worked in the back. Today his staff didn’t need a memo to steer clear of him. Today he was an asshole.

  He’d screwed Heather senseless and got skittish with all the relationship-pill-long-term talk. And she knew it. She fucking knew he was questioning things. That’s the kind of jerk he was.

  He couldn’t bring himself to let Heather go that morning, and a woman like her deserved happy. Happy he would fuck up. The crinkling was the sound of his balls shriveling at the thought of her lips against anyone’s but his own. Nope, he wouldn’t play along with that.

  He shoved a rose too forcefully into the floral foam, breaking the stem.

  He stared at it, clipped it and tossed it back in the bucket of water.

  That morning he’d realized he really wanted to do this with her, the possible-forever gig. Shell-shocked, he’d just stood there. He was a goddamned bomb technician, trained to stay calm and clip the correct wire—even when he had no clue which one that might be. Trained to expect the unexpected. One bomb could be four. An insurgent could be waiting around the corner with an AK-47 and a truckload of attitude. Yet, he hadn’t see this coming.

  He couldn’t end it. No, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Because he wanted more of her. He was a selfish prick.

  So, no. She wasn’t the one who was all kinds of messed up. Not even close. He wanted to hang on to her because he liked the way things were with them. Liked being around her. Even though he knew…he fucking knew it would end badly.

  He picked up the brick of foam and threw it against the wall, a splat of water on the paint the only evidence of what he’d done when the foam hit the tile floor.

  Hands braced on the side of the metal table, he took ten deep breaths, counting each one.

  “You wanna talk about it?” Brek asked from the doorway that led to the shop.

  Jase glanced up.

  “Or you wanna throw shit? ’Cause I can be down with either.” Brek grabbed the foam from the floor and held it between his hands.

  Jase didn’t say anything, he just grabbed a new foam brick and started over.

  Brek pulled a chair up to the side of the table, lounging like he had nothing better to do. Didn’t he have a bar to run? And a kid to take care of? And a wife to do shit for?

  Jase didn’t look up. “I fucked Heather.”

  He’d also had lazy sex, and fun sex, and hot sex, and he’d kissed her and talked with her until one in the morning. He’d made her coffee and he’d held her hand. Yeah, he’d done all that.

  “You did what?” Dean asked from the doorway.

  Jase jolted. Another rose snapped in two.

  He clipped it and tossed it into the bucket.

  He’d fucked Heather and he’d fucked himself. Dean would not be as forgiving as Brek. But he might as well know, too. Their wives would be all over Jase like a grenade with the pin pulled when things went south. And he’d been around long enough to know things would eventually go south. “Figure you guys should know so, when shit blows up, you’ll know why.”

  “She okay?” Brek asked, his expression blank. “Heather?”

  “Yeah.” She was fine. Right now, she was fine. This morning when she knew what was coming, she hadn’t been fine. “We agreed to be exclusive. Then I asked her not to bring it up to my family. Now shit’s weird.”

  “I think he caught the bug.” Dean pulled up his own stool. “But he’s fighting it.”

  “Don’t fight it. Not worth it.” Brek leaned his elbows on the table.

  Eli strolled into the back room like he was there for a tea party. “What’d I miss?”

  “He and Heather had sex,” Dean supplied.

  “And he’s emotional about it,” Brek said.

  The hell he was.

  “And they’re together, but he’s not telling his family,” Dean added.

  “Keeping track of your not-a-relationship is a full-time job,” Eli grabbed a stool. “So your family wanted you to date, but you didn’t want to, so you said that you and Heather broke up and you were too devastated to date. Now, you are dating her, but you don’t want them to know…because…?”

  “Because then they’ll want to get involved and they’ll start whispering in her ear and then shit will go sideways.”

  “Maybe shit won’t go sideways.” Brek toyed with the foam Jase had tossed earlier.

  Jase moved his gaze between his three friends. “Why do I feel like this is a setup?”

  “If it looks like a setup and it smells like a setup, it’s probably a setup.” Eli straddled the stool and took his place with the other traitors.

  Son of a bitch. “Your wives talked to Heather, didn’t they?”

  “I don’t think we’re allowed to say.” Dean grimaced.

  “They have her back? They’ll make sure she’s fine?” Jase asked. She had to be okay.

  “You just said she’s fine,” Brek replied.

  “I mean when shit goes bad. They’ll be there for her?” Jase asked. He should just give up on work for the day, let someone else finish up.

  “Why is shit going to go bad?” Dean was apparently in shrink mode.

  “’Cause he thinks shit always goes bad,” Eli answered for him.

  “Should we all hand in our balls, grab a pot of tea, and sit around processing my sex life?” Jase asked. “Because that sounds like shit I do not need.”

  “I’m game to talk about feelings, but I’m gonna need hard liquor if you’re gonna cry,” Eli said.

  “You’re being a dick.” Jase pointed the end of a rose at him.

  “It’s my gift.” Eli flashed a shit-eating smile. “Pull up a chair and tell me what’s got the stick shoved up your ass.”

  “When’s the last time he was this upset he got laid?” Dean kicked back in his stool, lounging against the wall.

  “I can’t recall a time he got some and wasn’t happy about it,” Eli replied. “Not that I know every time he gets a piece.”

  “She’s special, okay, assholes?” Jase spit out the words before he had a moment to think it through. “She’s special, and when I fuck it up, she’s going to get hurt.”

  “Shit. We’re doing this again.” Eli scrubbed a hand over his face. “It’s like I’m over here holding up the singles area all by myself.”

  “Your turn’s comin’, too,” Brek replied.

  Eli glared his way.

  “You know? Let’s not talk anymore.” Jase did his best to ignore them.

  The silence was unbearable.

  “The thing is, I shouldn’t want this with her.”

  The guys stayed silent.

  “Aren’t you going to say something?” Jase asked.

  “Are we supposed to?” Eli asked, entirely too innocently.

  “Fucker.” Jase gave him a one-finger salute.

  Eli leaned forward, elbows on the table. “You know what I
miss? I’ll tell you. I miss when we used to talk about Brek’s bike, and you going on and on about shit that blows up, and what mountain I’m gonna climb next, and whatever the hell Dean does for work. Don’t get me wrong, I dig a good lay just as much as the next guy. But ever since you all got lady issues, you’re no fun.”

  “You’re shit with advice.” Brek shook his head.

  “Then, Dean, you’re up,” Eli replied.

  “Heather is special.” Dean gave Jase a pointed look. “And I think it’s in everyone’s best interest that you do not, in fact, fuck it up.”

  “She’s not Angela,” Brek said, quiet, eyes focused on his hands folded on top of the table.

  No shit. Heather wasn’t his ex-wife. He refused to do a comparison. The shit of it was, he and Angela had left things on a decent note. Despite everything. Hell, they’d even shared a divorce attorney. She’d moved on and she’d hoped he would, too. “Angela has nothing to do with anything.”

  “Just everything,” Eli muttered.

  Jase wanted to spend time with Heather. He wanted to get to know her. He never wanted to get to know a woman—not like he was craving her. His heart had been broken once and everyone said it’d heal.

  They’d lied.

  He used duct tape, super glue, and a heap of Frankenstein staples to hold the thing together. His resolve to keep it tucked away hardened. He couldn’t let the past repeat itself. He wouldn’t survive that again.

  And the way she’d looked that morning?

  Another staple had popped in his heart at the disappointment in her eyes.

  “I think what these idiots are trying to say is that Heather may seem like the kind of woman who doesn’t get hurt. That things don’t bother her. But she’s been through a pretty rough patch.” Dean was all business. “You’ve been through a rough patch, too. Maybe the two of you can help each other past it. If that means you end up together, it makes Thanksgiving easier. But if you don’t, at least maybe you’ll learn something from one another.”

  The cowbell on the front door clanked and something shifted in the air, then he heard her voice and it effectively pressed the pause button on his heartbeat. Heather.