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

by Hovland, Christina

  “But then the walkers won’t fit.” Heather tried to envision his suggestion. Yeah, the flow would be better, but the aisles wouldn’t be big enough. “Forget about the wheelchairs getting through. We need the extra space between.” She moved her gaze to him. “If we move those trellises along the side of the dance floor, that’ll open a few more feet.”

  Brek groaned. “Don’t do that. It took us an hour to get them stable.”

  She pinched her lips together. Hard. That wouldn’t work, either.

  “We could just leave the tables where they are,” Velma said from where she ironed another tablecloth. “Then everyone gets through and less work for us.”

  Jase climbed down his ladder, surveying the space. “Let’s move this one to that corner, and that one over right next to the DJ.”

  “But then the DJ won’t have any space around that side of his station,” Heather replied.

  “Let’s just try it. It’ll work.” Jase was already tilting one of the tables to roll it into place. “Eli, grab the other one, would you?”

  “Brek, would you go find a walker so we can see if it’ll be enough space to get through?” Heather asked.

  “Serious?” he asked.

  “She seems pretty serious.” Velma had paused her ironing.

  “Hey, Candy, can you help Brek find a walker?” Heather asked her sister.

  Candy paused where she was setting up the food table. “Um…sure.”

  “We’re going to need to have some chairs in place, and they’re going to shrink the walkway.” Heather started setting the chairs around the tables in question. “There’s no way this is enough room.”

  “It’s plenty of room.” Two of the chairs clanked as Jase flicked them open simultaneously.

  “Got ’em.” Candy pushed a walker through the door—hers was the Cadillac model with the hand brakes and an attached seat. Brek had one, too, which he carried his over his shoulder. His was basic aluminum with the bright-yellow tennis balls attached to the feet.

  “Okay, see if they’ll fit.” Heather nodded toward the aisles.

  Brek paused midstride. “You want me to actually use the walker?”

  Well, yeah. How else were they going to see if they’d fit?

  “Hold on, I need to grab my phone. There needs to be photographic evidence that this happened.” Velma pulled her phone from the side pocket of her purse.

  Candy pushed hers to Jase. “Why don’t you go, too.”

  It was the hot-guy brigade…with walkers.

  Walkers in hand, Brek and Jase started down the aisle. Two hands on his walker, Brek bumped into one of the tables. He gave Heather a there-you-go look; it was not going to work.

  Crap. “I think we need to put them back how I had them.”

  “No, it’ll fit.” Jase was using his walker to shove the chairs out of the way à la Babushka. “See, it’s fine.”

  It so was not fine. “Jase.”

  He wasn’t listening, he was too busy fitting the walker through the aisle space by any force necessary.

  Her stomach twisted around the ham sandwich she’d scarfed for a quick lunch.

  “Maybe we need to get one of the motorized scooters,” Velma said as she held her phone and clicked photos. “Really check things out.”

  “Send Eli, I’m not driving one of those.” Brek lifted his walker and held it over his shoulder like a backpack.

  “Or”—Heather rubbed at her temples—“we could just put the tables back how I had them.”

  That would be her choice. Thank you very much.

  “Nope, this is going to work.” Jase was rearranging chairs to only one side of the table, leaving the other side bare.

  It looked very asymmetrical.

  “Jase, that’s even worse than before.” Heather’s head started to throb. “Let’s just put them back where I had them, and we can finish. Then I can go get my hair fixed. And you can go do whatever boys do before a big dance.”

  Jase stared at the space, clearly trying to play a game of Tetris that was not in his favor. “Let me think on it.”

  Heather was torn between the desire to have Jase as her date for the evening and the desire to throttle him for being so stubborn. “I’m going to go return the walkers.”

  She grabbed the tennis-ball-embellished one from Brek and pulled it behind Candy’s in an exit that was anything but smooth. The aluminum frame banged against her calves as she wrangled them down the hallway.

  “Heather.” Jase was jogging behind her.

  “What?” She brushed a stray hair that had fallen from her ponytail.

  He put both hands on her shoulders. “It’s just some tables.”

  It wasn’t. This was her prom. This was what she’d never gotten to have. This was her opportunity to share how awesome this place was with new residents. This was not just some tables. “I want it to be perfect,” she said finally.

  He expression softened. His eyes went warm. He squeezed her shoulders. “Do you trust me?”

  Did she? Yes, in theory. Though, not when it came to table arrangements.

  “Answer the question,” he said. “Do you trust me?”

  She placed her hands at his waist. “Of course I do.”

  “Then go get your hair done. Let me do this for you.” He kissed her forehead, letting his lips linger there. “Do what you need to do this afternoon. I’ll be by to pick you up, just like we talked about.”

  “Jase…” She couldn’t just leave her project behind.

  “Trust me,” he said, his breath brushing against her bangs.

  In that moment, everything in her shifted. She trusted him. And if the tables were wrong, they would still be right.

  “I trust you.”

  And she meant it.

  * * *

  The last time Jase went to prom, he got drunk on spiked punch and made it to third base with Shelby Mitchell before his mother caught them on the back patio and took the keys to his Mustang for two months. He had high hopes this evening would be substantially better. Of course it would. Heather was his date.

  She’d taken off to fix her hair and change her clothes while he wrapped up everything. He’d called in Elizabeth and finished up. He’d told Heather everything was done. He’d lied. And he’d gone slightly overboard with vines, water features, and other accents. He called the revised theme “Garden Jungle.”

  He hoped to hell she didn’t hate it.

  The surprise mattered, and he’d needed that line of space she was so insistent on setting tables in for a few jungle-themed water features that involved koi fish and running water.

  He rushed to pull on his tuxedo jacket, affixing the boutonniere he’d made to match her corsage. He’d spent way too much time staring at the dress whites he’d brought home to wear to prom. In the end, he couldn’t bring himself to put them on. So a tuxedo it would be. A glance in the mirror, and, yeah, not too bad for a guy in a penguin costume. Corsage in hand, he hurried to her apartment.

  He knocked. His heart rate started to kick around in his veins, like the teenager he was not. Genetic memory perhaps of all the men before him who’d stood on the other side of a slab of wood waiting for the girl they loved to open it up.

  His breath caught. Hold up. He had no business thinking about words like “love.” Love was not what he’d signed up for. He didn’t do love.

  He did “like” and “going steady” and as many kinky things as she’d allow. But love? His heart started to thump, ready to get in the game.

  Shit.

  “Hang on,” Heather called.

  He hung on, engaging tactical breathing to reduce his heart rate.

  She pulled the door open. Her dress was practically painted on, low-cut light-blue satin that hugged her in all the places he’d frosted. Maybe not all the places. That would be indecent. But enough of them to make his mouth literally water and his dick want in the game that his heart was already trying to play.

  Tactical breathing wasn’t going to control shit
at the moment.

  “Is it okay?” She shifted the strap on her shoulder.

  Earlier, when she’d been helping decorate, she’d been wearing an oversized sweater and shorts that he fucking loved because they showed off her legs. Now? She’d curled the hell out of her hair and piled it on the crown of her head. He’d seen her all dressed up for two weddings—Dean’s and Brek’s. He’d danced with her both times. Thought she was pretty. Wished she wasn’t with the idiot she’d been dating.

  Tonight, though? She was fucking beautiful. Because tonight she was his.

  “Jase?” she asked, her expression turning serious. “Is it okay?” She shifted again, glancing down at the satin. “You’re not saying anything.”

  “Wow,” he finally said. “You look…”

  She was waiting for him to finish the sentence, but he didn’t have the right ending. Everything he came up with didn’t do her justice. Instead, he traced the line of her cheek with his knuckles, letting the air between them go still. Because if he moved, he’d kiss the lipstick right off her lips and then she’d probably be pissed.

  “I look…?” The lips he wanted to kiss turned into a frown.

  That was unacceptable.

  “You look like the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” There, that seemed about right.

  The smile she gave him lit up her whole face. “You’re being a goober.” She glanced to the plastic box in his hands. “Is that mine?”

  “Yeah.” He fumbled to open the box. “Sorry. I got distracted by that dress.”

  “Do you want to come in?” She moved to let him through.

  He stepped into her apartment, a line of sweat forming at his collar. Was it hot? Or was this just what it felt like when emotions took over?

  Somehow, he managed to open the clear plastic corsage box. Carefully, he lifted the wristlet—a silver cuff that was all the rage with the seventeen-year-olds this year—and slipped it on her arm.

  “It’s beautiful.” She held it up.

  He’d used her roses and silver beads. It was simple.

  But stunning.

  It fit her perfectly.

  “We should go, huh?” She tilted her head toward the door.

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you okay?” She held the back of her hand to his cheek. “You’re acting weird.”

  “Fine. I’m fine. Let’s go.” Since her dress wasn’t made for the back of a Ducati, they’d agreed to walk the block to the retirement home. But he’d circumvented that and hired a stretch black Lincoln limousine.

  She turned toward the sidewalk.

  He grabbed her hand. “This way.” He led her to the street where the chauffer waited.

  The limo came into view and she stopped. When he turned to her, she had two fingers pressed over her lips. “You rented a limo?”

  “It is prom night. And since you didn’t get to go to the last one, I figured you should get the entire Dvornakov experience.” Minus getting caught in a make-out session on his parents’ patio. Not to say he didn’t hope there would be lip action later in the evening. Just not the kind that involved any parentals barging in.

  She was wearing heels this time, so her lips were right at his level. Which was ideal, because when she pressed them to his, he didn’t have to lean over, and she didn’t have to stand on her toes.

  What he wanted to do was shove his hands in her hair and kiss her like she deserved. But she was all wrapped up like a present, and he didn’t want to ruin that. So instead he kept it the light brush that she instigated, his hands appropriately at her waist.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  The chauffer opened the limousine door and Jase helped her in, then slid onto the seat.

  Brek had made him up a pitcher of spiked punch. He poured it into a champagne glass and handed it to her, the pink liquid pitching against the side of the glass as the limo pulled into the street.

  “What’s this?” She held up the glass.

  “This is step two in the ‘Dvornakov prom night’ experience. Spiked punch.” He poured himself a glass.

  She clinked her glass against his and took a sip. She half coughed, half swallowed. “Holy shit, what’s in this?”

  He had no idea. He took a slug of his own. Motor oil. Brek had not gone easy with the spikeage. “Brek made it. I think that’s a mixture of vodka, juice, and a fuck ton of rum. I believe it’s called jungle juice.”

  A little nod toward the evening.

  “Oh my God, I haven’t had jungle juice in years.” She giggled and sipped again. “Brek made us jungle juice.”

  “Glad to see you approve.”

  She traced a hand along the collar of his tux jacket. “The Dvornakov prom package is really something else.”

  If he touched her, he might not be able to stop. Not in that dress.

  He touched her anyway, his fingertips on satin. “What’s your favorite part so far?”

  “Definitely you.” She scooted toward him. “Did you know we’re going the wrong direction?”

  Yeah, he did. He’d instructed the chauffer to take the long way. Otherwise, it would’ve been a two-minute ride. Heather deserved more than that.

  “We’re taking the scenic route,” he replied.

  She raised her champagne flute to his and clinked it before taking another sip.

  The limousine pulled up to the retirement home. Jase waited for the chauffer to open the door before he helped Heather out. The crew was waiting outside for them—Brek, Velma, Claire, Dean, and Eli.

  The guys all in tuxedos, except Brek, who had issued a personal moratorium on them after Claire and Dean got hitched. His jeans didn’t have holes in them that night, so that was something.

  “He got her a limo,” Claire said to Dean. “Why didn’t you get me a limo?”

  “He didn’t mention he was getting her a limo,” Dean grumbled.

  Jase glanced to Dean and shrugged.

  “He’s not married to her,” Eli replied. “They’re still in the limo phase.”

  “Are we out of the limo phase?” Velma asked Brek.

  “Not after what we did in the last limo. Pretty sure we’re gonna always be in the limo phase,” he replied.

  “I’m just glad we get a few hours away.” Velma snuggled next to him.

  “She’ll still be checking her phone every five minutes to see if Grandma and Lily are gettin’ along,” Brek said to Jase.

  “For the record,” Jase whispered to Heather. “Even if we were married, I’d have gotten you a limo.”

  Heather glanced to him, her face full sunshine. “I like your Dvornakov prom package.”

  “Eli, couldn’t find someone to put up with you?” Jase raised his hand toward his buddy for a high five.

  Eli smacked it in return. “Someone’s got to hold up the singles area.”

  Jase held his arm to Heather. She took it, and they led the way into the rec room.

  * * *

  Turned out prom in your thirties was a billion times better than prom in your teens, Heather mused. It helped when your date for the night actually showed up. Her arm linked with Jase’s, he pushed the entrance to the rec room open.

  When she’d left the place earlier that day to get ready, Jase had arranged the trellises along the wall and had added a load of foliage and flowers. Apparently, he’d been busy after her departure, because now there were water features. Live fish. And he’d added vines.

  It was a jungle-themed garden party.

  She sucked in a deep breath.

  He’d made her a jungle—because he knew it was important to her.

  Fountains bubbled in the background, the DJ was setting up his area, the dance floor was ready to go, and Candy had laid out a bunch of cookies from the shop. Jase had even added large arrangements to each table that matched the flowers on the trellises.

  Before she left, it was awesome. Now? With the jungle-themed additions? It was freaking stunning.

  She gasped and gripped the fabric of his t
uxedo jacket sleeve. “You did all this?”

  He squeezed her against his side. “Hope you like it.”

  “I love it.” She gulped, refusing to cry and ruin her mascara.

  “Ve are here,” Babushka announced herself.

  She bustled into the room, Morty trailing behind her, and a group of elderly women following him. Babushka had decked herself out for the evening in a floral mumu. She had a corsage on her wrist and wore bright-red lipstick with sky-blue eyeshadow. Morty took her arm, strutting alongside her like a peacock.

  “When do you suppose Harry’s turn starts?” Heather asked Jase.

  He shook his head. “No idea, but I’m choosing to ignore her antics tonight.”

  Er…that didn’t seem like the best idea.

  Jase snatched the bundles of red roses he’d brought for the ladies, and passed out handfuls to Brek, Eli, and Dean to distribute.

  The residents started to pour in. Heather gestured for the DJ to turn on the music. On cue, big band music played through the speakers.

  “Vere is Eli?” Babushka pushed through the throng to them. She’d lost Morty somewhere along the way. “You have no date, yes?”

  “That’s right.” Eli handed her a rose. “Tonight, I’m everyone’s date.”

  She didn’t take the rose. “No, no. Vait. This is my friend Doris.” She waved over one of the women. Doris was pushing eighty. She was also pushing a walker. “Doris, this is Eli. He is here stag. Isn’t that vonderful?”

  “Hello, Doris.” Eli handed her a rose.

  “I do believe stags and cougars can get along very well.” Babushka pushed Eli toward Doris. “You vill dance vith her?”

  Eli glared daggers at Jase. “Of course I will.” He focused on the other woman. “Doris? Let’s go find a spot on the dance floor.”

  “Did she just…?” Jase side-eyed Heather.

  “I believe your grandmother found Eli a date.” Heather giggled and buried her face against the side of Jase’s arm.

  “You fuckin’ owe me, Dvornakov,” Eli said under his breath. Still, he extended his arm to Doris, grinning like he was about to give her a prom to remember.