“You owe me an answer.” Her chin comes up. She’s digging in and I’m not surprised. Butler’s no pushover. “Who’s the one for me, Vince?”
The word “me” clogs my throat, so I don’t say it. Instead, I thread her brown wavy hair through my fingers and lay my lips on hers for a long, slow, polite kiss.
It doesn’t stay polite.
She tilts her head, and I tilt mine. My fingers flinch, cradling the back of her head as I guide her petal-soft lips. Her tongue strokes mine and I close any remaining gap between us, pressing my hardening body against her giving one.
I’m not letting her go. Not yet.
Her hands hit my shirt and grab fistfuls of fabric, but instead of shoving me back, she pulls me closer. I let her. We stand there long minutes, enjoying the feverish pace of the kiss and the shared appreciation of each other’s mouths.
It’s new, and damn exciting.
She tugs away first. I loosen my hold but finish the kiss. I’m still cradling her head, only now I’m looking at her blown-out, lust-filled pupils. A surge of pride rushes through me. I put that heat in her eyes. Me.
Watching her come out of a lusty haze is far from my favorite transformation. In the span of a single second, her expression goes from dazed to serious.
“I…um…I should go.”
“Don’t go.” My voice is gravelly, my vocal cords choked with the same want shadowed in her eyes. I just kissed my best friend. And hell, I don’t know if she wanted me to.
“I’m…see you later.” It’s all she says before walking out my front door and leaving behind a family-sized meal for me and me alone.
Alone. Again.
What did I do?
Chapter 8
Jacqueline
I’m here but I’m not mentally here. J.T. and I grabbed lunch halfway between our workplaces at a food truck famous for its gyros. We then walked to a small park, where we sat on a bench facing the tall buildings of downtown.
He’s been pointing out various architectural details, but my mind is on last night. And the lengths I’ve gone to avoid Vince today at work. I arrived at the office thirty minutes early, shut my door, and sent a “do not disturb” email to everyone on our team saying I was in deep concentration on a project but would answer my emails after lunch.
I saw him in passing on my way back from filling my coffee mug. We shared a lengthy gaze and I brushed by him, my nipples on alert and cheeks warm.
I’m not used to reacting that way to him.
“I have my eye on it,” J.T. is saying, and I realize I’ve been tuning him out for a while. His hand lands on my knee. “I take it you’re unimpressed that I found a Tudor I want to renovate with my own design ideas.”
“I’m sorry.”
He removes his hand and my leg feels the same with his hand on it or off it. No fluttering butterflies when he sits near or leans close. Nothing like my reaction to the kiss with Vince last night. My face heats.
“Long night?” J.T. asks, crumpling the paper after he polishes off the last bite of his gyro.
“No, why?” I snap. He chews, his eyes wide with surprise. I’m overreacting. Guilt makes me do that. “I mean, yes. Long night. I opened a bottle of wine”—to forget that my best friend kissed me—“and binge-watched Hart of Dixie on Netflix. I was so into it I accidentally drank the entire bottle.”
“Ouch.”
“I don’t normally do that.”
“It’s okay, Jacqueline,” he says, his smile reassuring. “I wasn’t mentally arranging an intervention. Hey, have you seen that new thriller with Ben Affleck? I can’t remember the name of it…”
The rest of our lunch is polite and easy, like every date we’ve had. J.T. walks me back to work and gives me a kiss goodbye, but I make sure the kiss ends before we’re caught. Not that I’m doing anything wrong, I remind myself as I march down the corridor toward my office. Vince kissed me, not the other way around.
Though I did a good job of kissing him back. I chew on the side of my finger.
Oh, God. Am I in a love triangle? I think of the show I watched last night. I am. I’m in a George-Zoe-Wade love triangle. In my office I shut the door, turning to press my back against it in relief…until I spot Vince bent over my desk.
I let out a tiny shriek of surprise. “You scared me to death! What are you doing in here?”
He holds a Post-it in one hand and drops a pen into a cup. “I was leaving a note.”
“Is your email down?” I bark. Him being in my space is unnerving.
Vince sends me a crooked smile that didn’t used to be quite so tempting, then comes closer. My eyes flit from the outside window to my desk, wondering where I can hide if I have to. Nowhere, so I don’t move.
“You don’t have to avoid me, Jackie.”
“I’m not.” I totally am.
He cants one eyebrow in argument and my shoulders slump.
“Fine. I’m avoiding you. I don’t know what to do now.”
“As your coach, I have advice.”
“I’m sure you do,” I mumble.
“Go out with me.”
I blink, shocked. His simple request is sexy and I can’t figure out why. It wasn’t poetic or orchestrated. It wasn’t even a question. But it was genuine—that’s Vince. He’s nothing if not genuine. He shifts, Post-it in hand, and I consider how good he looks in his clothes—how great he’d look out of them. He makes me feel ultrafeminine, which makes me feel sexy. Sexier than I felt with a perfectly nice dating prospect who treated me to gyros between his appointments.
“I’m dating J.T.” Honoring my commitment is the right thing to do.
“Date both of us,” Vince says with a shrug.
“I can’t do that to him.”
“How do you know he’s not doing it to you?” The first hint of anger slips into Vince’s expression. Tightness at the corners of his intense blue eyes. “Are you two exclusive?”
I bite my lip. This part of the dating game remains a mystery to me. I’m not sure what J.T. is doing. I assume he’s dating only me, but assuming isn’t the same as knowing, now is it?
“Do you want to be exclusive?” Vince asks, his tone careful.
Exclusive. It sounds…scary. Big. Too big.
“I don’t know. It’s too soon.”
“Exactly.” Vince holds up a finger, the orange Post-it stuck to the end of it. His neat block print reads: DOMAINE TOMORROW. 8 P.M.
“Domaine?” Only one of the most expensive restaurants in town. Vince and I consider sushi a splurge.
“Take it.”
I peel the sticky note off his index finger and hold it to my chest. It’s as good as a yes. He smiles.
“Give me a chance to blow your mind, Butler.” He moves toward me and I smash flat against the door, fearing he’s coming in for another kiss I’m woefully unprepared for.
“Relax,” he says. “Just going for the doorknob.”
“Oh.” I slide away and Vince opens the door, slips out, and closes it behind him.
I stare down at the Post-it, realizing my “coach” didn’t give me any advice about whether I’m supposed to tell J.T. I’m seeing other people—or ask if he is.
What I need is a girlfriend’s advice. I think of Kayla down the hall and dismiss the idea. She’s my friend and gives great advice, but someone who doesn’t work with Vince would be preferable. Someone who hasn’t seen J.T. in all his shirtless, running glory. Someone neutral.
I pick up my cellphone and text my sister, Bethany.
You’re in town until tomorrow morning, right?
Yep, comes her response.
Drinks and apps on me at Chic, I text back. It’s an emergency.
—
Chic Winehouse is my favorite establishment to frequent. They serve amazing food and delicious wine, and they encourage “more” as a way of life. More cheese, more chocolate, more wine. Just plain more.
Kind of appropriate for my current conundrum, when I think about it in those terms
. I went from zero dates to more, and one of them with someone I thought was just my friend. Who still is my friend. With perks.
Bethany sits across from me, chardonnay in hand, eyes slitted in consideration. Her brown hair is dyed blond, and her roots show—stylishly so. She wears a high-end business suit and expensive heels and looks the part of a New Yorker. Right down to her Coach satchel resting on the chair beside my discount no-name handbag. I’m so proud of her, it hurts. She wanted to be in advertising and live in a big, bustling city, and she succeeded.
“Vince Carson?” she asks.
“Correct,” I say. I told her everything. My currently single-and-loving-it sister is apparently speechless.
“And he kissed you?” Bethany shakes her head, and to be honest, I’m not sure if she’s impressed or disapproving. It could be either one.
“Yes.”
“And now you’re dating both of them.” Bethany is two years older than me and as close to a mom as I have nearby. Our parents up and moved to Florida five years ago—something about Ohio being “too damned cold” and Dad wanting to improve his golf game.
“Have you done that before?” I ask. “Date two guys at once?”
“Pfft!” she pffts. “So many times!”
I knew I could count on her. “Did you tell them?”
“Not always. Depends on the guy. Vince already knows about J.T. Do you want to tell J.T. about Vince?”
I thought about this most of the day, so I have an answer ready. “I don’t want to tell J.T. about Vince because he’ll assume something was going on the night he came to pick me up for my date. And nothing happened…that night, anyway.”
She nods, narrowing her eyes again. They’re brown like mine but with a green tinge. “Good point. J.T. would assume you and Vince weren’t just hanging out. Plus”—she holds up a manicured nail to make her point—“J.T. thinks Vince is a safe space, since you explained you’re coworkers who hang sometimes. So he’s not jealous and has no reason to be. Which means you can date Vince at the same time as J.T. and not worry about J.T. getting weirdly possessive.”
Also true.
“I can’t have sex with either of them until I choose, though.” I know myself. My heart has to be in the bedroom, or else nothing works. Which removes the possibility of having a little stringless fun with J.T.
Or Vince. Oh, no.
“You look nauseous. Was it the Gouda?” Bethany points to the cheese plate between us, empty save for a few grapes and a pile of untouched baby carrots.
“How can I date Vince? What if it doesn’t work out? We work together. We’ll see each other every day!” It would be a nightmare. “Plus, I’ll lose my best friend.”
“Hmm. Yeah, I’ve done that before.”
That didn’t sound very encouraging. “You have?”
“We weren’t best friends,” she continues, “but we worked together.” She lifts her glass and swirls the remaining inch of golden liquid.
“What did you do when the two of you split?” I’m on the edge of my seat here.
She raises her eyebrows and answers, “I quit.”
I sink lower into my chair. Not the answer I was hoping for.
“Look, you don’t have to decide anything now. There are no decisions to make.” Bethany polishes off her wine and an efficient waiter sweeps by and refills her glass from the bottle on the table resting between us. He gives me a judgmental glare, since my glass is practically full.
“Unless one of them wants to do more than make out. Then I have to hold up the big red stop sign.”
“You don’t have to.” Bethany lifts her now-filled glass. “Live in the moment, Jacqueline. Go with your gut.”
“My gut doesn’t know what it’s doing.”
She takes a drink. “Well, you can’t trust your heart. Best to leave your heart out of this one.”
“Right.” Leave my heart out of the equation. Which I’ve always totally sucked at and she knows it.
“Try something new,” she adds with a teasing wink.
“Okay, but I’m going to call you if I get into trouble.” My sis agrees, and for the first time I think I can pull this off. I just have to live in the moment. Not dwell on the repercussions. I can do that.
I think.
Chapter 9
Vince
Davis studies me like there’s a horn sprouting from the center of my forehead. I just told him about my proposition to Jackie. I’m guessing he doesn’t approve.
“Are you out of your mind?” There’s a bottle of water in his hand rather than a Sam Adams, so I’m tempted to ask him the same question. I lift my draft and take a drink, letting him continue. “You need to tell her to go out with you instead, not in addition to. Make her choose. Show her who’s boss.”
“Actually,” I say after I swallow my beer, “we have equal billing in the boss department.” I smile.
Davis continues frowning.
“How’d your date go with the blonde the other night?” I fish.
“She didn’t throw her wine in his face.” Grace drops my bill next to me. I told her I was only having one tonight. “I’d say that’s as good as Davis can hope for.”
I laugh and Davis smiles at Grace—a supremely sarcastic and tolerant smile. She blows him a kiss and returns to other customers.
“You’re one to talk,” I tell him when she’s gone. “You want Gracie so bad, why don’t you—how’d you put it?—show her who’s boss?”
Davis’s top lip curls, and I consider for the first time that his healthy level of anger isn’t healthy any longer. My buddy’s been through the wringer, but I thought he’d healed. I thought he came to terms with losing Hanna. Not that he could ever heal completely from something like that, but he seems to have things under control. I mean, it’s been six years. That’s a lifetime.
“What’s with the water?” I ask, because that’s how guys open up.
He tilts the bottle and shrugs. “I worried I was drinking too often. Wanted to make sure I could stop.”
“Success?”
“Success. But it doesn’t taste as good.” He glances around the bar. “And no women have asked me out yet, so the beer might send a better signal.” He purses his lips in thought and snaps his fingers. “Gracie Lou! The usual.”
Grace nods but doesn’t hop to it. It’s a response Davis and I both respect.
“She’s no pushover,” I say. Like Jackie. Jackie’s not either.
“Let’s talk about you and Jackie-O,” Davis says, reading my thoughts. “Where is the date and why are you going on one?”
“What do you mean, Why are we going on one?”
“You two have been dating since your divorce, Carson. It’s nothing new.”
“No we haven’t. We’re friends. We’ve never dated.” Even as I say this, I see his point. Meals, movies, snuggling on the couch. I meet my friend’s bland stare. “Okay, kind of—but we haven’t done any of the other things dating people do.”
Like make out or have hot, sweaty monkey sex on the furniture.
I remember the kiss in my kitchen, the feverish pace and heat building under my collar. The way her smaller hands felt grazing my ribs, her subtle curves molded to my body…
“Fine, go on a date,” he grumbles.
I snap out of the memory. “I’m taking her to Domaine. Figure we could have a nice—”
“Yikes,” Davis interjects.
“What? Domaine is classy.”
“Domaine is very classy,” Grace says approvingly.
“Thank you, Grace.” She smiles sweetly, then delivers Davis’s beer and leans on the bar in front of us. I don’t miss Davis’s eyes going to the V-neck of her T-shirt, where her cleavage is tempting, even to me. I avoid looking directly.
“It’s a good choice, Vince. Don’t listen to your boneheaded friend whose idea of dating is a Sonic drive-in.”
“Chili cheese fries are two for a dollar this week. Interested?” Davis asks.
They share a not-at
-all-unfriendly eye lock and I’m suddenly the third wheel. These two. I don’t get it. They circle each other but neither of them pounces.
“Sorry, Davis, not blond enough for you,” Grace finally answers. “Would it kill you to try a redhead? She might surprise you.” She fluffs her hair and trots to the other side of the bar, and though Grace’s natural red hair is a far cry from that wild dyed color, there’s no way her comment didn’t hit Davis’s one and only hot button.
Hanna was a redhead.
Nostrils flared, my friend stares blindly at his beer bottle.
“She didn’t know—” I start.
Davis doesn’t hear me. He slides off his barstool and yanks at his tie in frustration. Then he’s out the door. I let him go. He needs to cool down.
Grace glances at me and I give her a tight-lipped smile, hoping to communicate that his leaving wasn’t her fault. When her gaze follows Davis as he walks by the windows of McGreevy’s Pub, though, her eyes drip with concern. It’s clear from her expression she’s not going to spout a sharp retort.
“I’ll pay for his,” I offer.
“No. I’ve got it.” She pours his beer down the drain, her mouth pulled flat. It’s not her fault. There’s no way she could know that Davis had a fiancée with red hair who destroyed him.
No way at all.
—
Suit pants are confining and uncomfortable, but I wear them anyway. Hey, I’m trying to make a good impression.
It’s the next night and the victory of getting Butler to agree to dinner is diluted by my worry that our date won’t go well. Not because Jaundice is a threat—he’s not—but because while Jackie and I do lots of things together, none of them requires fancy dinners with multiple courses.
I should have taken her somewhere more common. Like Chili’s or Olive Garden.
Why didn’t I? I want to impress her—to stand out. I want to be a different Vince than the one she’s used to. She knows me, and that should make everything more comfortable. For whatever reason, it’s made this harder. Not harder…
Weirder.
She insisted we leave straight from work, drive separately, and meet there. I declined. As a gentleman—in suit pants, no less—picking her up is a requirement.
Eye Candy Page 6
