“Maybe some other time,” I said. “We’re just looking to relax and hang out tonight.”
She looked over at our table then back to hers.
“I can get a couple more friends to come by so everyone has a partner,” she said.
“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t think my friends’ wives would appreciate that.” I smiled. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”
Thankfully Cal followed as I walked away.
“Thanks for that,” he said. “I’m usually better at avoiding those situations, but my head’s a little muddy.”
“Anytime.”
We sat back down and finished our burgers. The girls made a big production out of leaving the bar, I’m assuming to get our attention. We all noticed, but didn’t react when, with three exaggerated hair flips, they walked out the door.
“Another pitcher?” Gina asked.
“One more?” Dan looked at each of us. The others nodded.
“Sure,” I said. I’d lost my buzz and wanted to be that side of drunk so I fall asleep as soon as I hit the bed.
After another beer, I’d obtained that perfect state. We settled our tab and left Gina a hefty tip. She deserves it. Besides the fact we tied up her table the whole night, she always takes good care of us.
The fresh air on the walk home should have sobered me, but it had the opposite effect. Cal and I said our goodbyes as we got off on our floor, leaving the other three in the elevator. I have a shit ton to do tomorrow, so I probably won’t see them and told them so.
After making sure Cal got in his door safely, I made my way down the hall to my condo. I locked the door behind me and walked to my bedroom, stripping along the way. Collapsing into bed naked, I plugged my phone in to charge and set it on the nightstand.
I’d just gotten comfortable and started to drift when a nagging thought made its way into my brain and wouldn’t go away. Rolling over, I grabbed the phone, wondering when I turned into such a pansyass.
I’m off tomorrow. Bring my shoes to my place or I’ll be at your doorstep at dinnertime.
Chapter 14
Hannah
I turned into the parking lot of Jack’s complex and pulled into a spot in the visitors’ section. I really don’t want to be here, but I want him showing up at the team hotel even less.
Damn shoes. I should have brought them to the park, then I could have dropped them off at his locker while he was on the field.
And why does he need them anyway? The man has a multi-million dollar contract. It’s not like he can’t afford to buy another pair. Grabbing the shoes off my passenger seat, I opened the car door, stepped out, and slammed it behind me.
The man has a lot of nerve. Just because he has a day off doesn’t mean I do. Thankfully I don’t have any meetings or conference calls this afternoon. Not that I plan on being here too long, but at least I don’t have to worry about being back to the park at a certain time.
Sweat had just started to trickle between my shoulder blades when I reached the front door of the building. I still haven’t adjusted to the unseasonably warm temperatures down here. Anytime I step out of my air conditioned office, my normal business attire makes me feel like I’m melting.
As I stepped onto the elevator, my ringing cell flashed my father’s face. I swiped the screen to reject the call. Just as the doors opened on Jack’s floor, the phone chirped, letting me know he’d left a message.
Stepping into the hallway, I stared at the phone, waging a mental war. I shouldn’t listen to the message...I know I shouldn’t...but the blinking notification light refuses to be ignored. I touched the voicemail app and held the phone to my ear.
Hey darlin’. I guess you’re still not ready ta talk. I’m leaving the Keys Thursday. If ya want ta get together before then, let me know. I have meetings in Manhattan Friday and Monday and I’ll be back home next Tuesday. I’ll call ya then. Love ya, baby girl.
Leaning against the wall, I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, then two more, until my breathing returned to normal. I wiped under my eyes to clear away tears that had escaped and turned my phone camera on selfie mode to check my face. My eyes look a little funky, but I’m sure Jack won’t look at me that closely to notice.
Taking one last deep breath, I walked to the end of the hallway and found Jack’s door. Squaring my shoulders, I raised my hand and knocked.
“It’s open.” I heard him yell. “Come on in.”
I cautiously turned the knob, opened the door, and peeked inside. The most amazing smell greeted me and I pushed the door open wider to take in more. My inhale ended on a gasp when I recognized the scent. It’s him. I’m surrounded by the scent of Jack Reagan multiplied by a thousand.
“Hannah?” Jack said, making me realize I’m standing just inside his apartment with the door wide open just breathing in the goodness.
I looked up and spotted him in the kitchen, stirring something on the stove. Closing the door behind me, I walked across the living room toward the breakfast bar that separates the space from the kitchen.
“I can’t believe you just yelled for me to come in. What if I was a crazy stalker?”
“You’re not, are you?” He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye then returned his attention to whatever he’s cooking.
I shook my head and swiveled one of the four stools tucked against the counter toward me and leaned my hip against it. Between the contact high I’m getting from the scent of Jack in the air and the sight of him wearing loose athletic shorts and a T-shirt, I’m feeling a little buzzy.
“Did you bring the goods?” he asked in an exaggerated New England accent.
I held up the shoes and very deliberately set them on the seat next to me.
“I think your text messages were a little dramatic, don’t you?”
“Not at all,” he said, looking down at his bare feet, which of course are as perfectly formed as the rest of him.
“If you can’t afford another pair of shoes, you need a new agent.”
“I told you those are my favorite.” He turned a knob on the stove and the flame disappeared. Picking up the pot, he poured whatever he’d been stirring into a clear glass bowl, then placed it in the refrigerator. “I was afraid you sold them on eBay.”
“That’s actually a great idea,” I said. “I wonder if I’d make more if I cut them up and sold the pieces.”
He placed his hand over his heart. “Don’t even joke about cutting them up.”
“What are you going to do when they wear out?”
“I’ll figure that out when it happens.”
“Couldn’t you just buy another pair?”
“First of all, that pair is perfectly formed to my feet.” He picked up three bottles from the counter and put them on a rack next to the stove. “And second, they don’t make that style anymore.”
I picked up one of the shoes and looked inside, noting the style and size.
Moving a large mixer forward from the corner of the counter, he set the beater in place then retrieved its bowl from the refrigerator. After setting everything in place, he switched the machine on high.
I had to ask. “What are you making?”
“Lotion.”
“Lotion?”
He opened a drawer and retrieved a spatula, then lowered the speed on the mixer and scraped at the contents of the bowl before turning it to high again.
“Why are you making lotion?”
Placing the spatula on a spoon rest, he turned to face me.
“Because I have eczema and this keeps it from getting out of control.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “The batch I just threw in the fridge is more of a salve that I use at night, but this is less greasy so I can use it during the day.”
So this is where his amazing scent comes from. No wonder it’s not like anything else I’ve ever smelled.
“Comments? Questions?” His cheeky tone broke into my thoughts.
“I’m not even sure where to s
tart,” I said and let out a nervous chuckle.
“What are you thinking?” He leaned his arms against the counter, giving me his full attention.
“I’ve never met anyone who made lotion for themselves, nevermind a guy like you.”
“Guy like me?” His right brow raised.
“You know, a guy. A jock. A professional baseball player who could probably pay someone to make it for him.”
Pushing away from the counter, he turned off the mixer and checked its contents. He must have liked what he saw because he twisted off the beater, then tilted back the head and removed the bowl from its stand. I watched as he used an ice cream scooper to distribute the lotion into six glass jars he’d lined in front of him. When they were full, he used the spatula to scrape the beater and the sides of the bowl, then topped them off.
“What to try it?” He held the spatula up to me.
I reached out and dragged my index finger through the remaining lotion and rubbed it into my palm.
“Here,” he said and reached for my hand and dragged the spatula across the back of my hand, leaving a trail of lotion in its wake. Rubbing my hands together, I enjoyed the silky feel.
“This is really nice,” I said.
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“What’s in it?” I asked.
“Cocoa butter, almond oil, vitamin E oil, and beeswax,” he said. “Then I add German chamomile, tea tree, lavender, and Bergamot essential oils.”
He put lids on the jars and sealed them tight.
“How did you learn to do this?”
Looking down at the counter, he said, “My mom used to make it for me.” His hazel eyes shifted up and looked at me through ridiculously long lashes. “After she died, my eczema went haywire again. The prescription creams would tone it down a little, but it never totally went away.” Straightening, he crossed his arms across his chest. “I found her recipes and started making this again and for the most part, have been good since.”
“That’s amazing.”
He shrugged. “It’s pretty common, actually. Especially now. It seems everyone has jumped on the essential oil wagon.”
“Like I said, this is all new to me,” I said. “Do you make anything else?”
“Just soap.”
“Just soap, he says like it’s something everyone does.”
“It’s not that big a deal,” he said, then turned toward the refrigerator and grabbed a pitcher of what looked like iced tea. When he reached up to retrieve glasses from the top cupboard, his shirt raised, revealing a perfect six pack and a happy trail that disappeared into the waistband of his shorts. I resisted the urge to fan my face.
Filling the two glasses, he picked them up off the counter, walked around the breakfast bar, and nodded toward the couch.
“Come sit and have a drink.” He settled onto the couch and placed the glasses on the coffee table in front of him. When I hesitated, he added, “We can discuss our upcoming events.”
I slipped off the stool and walked toward him. “I don’t have my calendar or computer.”
His low chuckle did things to me. Sexy, clenchy things.
“Like you don’t have the schedule memorized and backed up on your phone.” When I still hesitated, he added, “And I know you like sweet tea because you ordered it at the events we’ve attended.”
It will seem strange to decline since he’s already poured, so I walked toward the couch and sat on the opposite end. He leaned forward and grabbed the two glasses then handed one to me. I took a tentative sip then a longer one.
“I’m surprised you didn’t know about the lotion thing. From what I understand, there’s a whole chapter dedicated to it in that book.”
“Really?” He nodded. “I didn’t read it.”
“I find that surprising,” he said.
Oh God. He knows about my obsession and is going to call me on it.
“Why?” I asked, then took a drink hoping to hide my embarrassment.
“You never do anything half-assed. I figured when Mr. Hanover stuck you with this mess, you would have read the book to make sure to cover all your bases.”
Keeping a death grip on my glass, I sagged against the back of the couch.
“Mr. Hanover wanted me to set up some events and highlight your positive image. I can do that without reading a book that may or may not contain facts about you.” I chuckled then added, “This is actually one of my easier assignments. You know what some of the guys get into.”
He stared at me for several seconds, those hazel eyes seeming to look right into my soul. Just as it was getting awkward, he tilted his glass and finished the tea in one big gulp, then leaned forward and placed the glass on the coffee table. With his elbows resting on his thighs, he looked at me again and said, “So what had you so upset when you first got here?”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “You seemed upset and your eyes looked a little glossy, like you’d been crying.”
Having no idea how to respond, I remained quiet and concentrated on the couch in front of me. This man is definitely not what I expected. I’ve known him for a decade and didn’t think he paid attention to much beyond baseball and himself, but he’s proven me wrong over the last few weeks.
“Look, I’m sorry if I came on strong in those texts, but I really just wanted to speak to you.” he said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
I don’t want to give him details, but don’t want him thinking he’s upset me either.
“You didn’t.” I sat up straight and placed my glass next to his. “A few months ago, my dad dropped a bit of a bomb on me and instead of giving me time to deal with it like I asked him to, he keeps calling wanting to get together. He called just as I got here and left a message. I made the mistake of listening to it before I knocked on your door.”
“I’m sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”
“I’d rather not,” I said. “But thank you.”
“If you change your mind, just let me know.” I nodded, happy to let that subject drop. “So if I didn’t upset you, why did you ghost me all week?”
Leave it to him to bring up an even worse subject.
How do I answer that? Do I tell him that spending so much time with him is challenging my sanity? That the crush I’ve harbored for years is in danger of turning into something else entirely, if it hasn’t already? That the kiss we shared is the most amazing thing I’ve experienced in my life?
Definitely no to all three.
“I was really busy and figured I’d give you a call when I had more details about the events I’m working on.”
His sexy smirk told me he wasn’t buying it.
“Busy having lunch with a certain events coordinator?” he asked.
How the hell does he know about that?
I didn’t realize I’d spoken the question out loud until he answered it.
“It’s a small park, Hannah. You know how it is, everyone knows everybody else’s business,” he said. “Besides, Monte saw you leaving with him and heard comments from some of the staff.”
“Great,” I said, half under my breath.
“Something you want to tell me?”
“No.” The word came out as a small squeak and I cleared my throat.
“Good,” he said. “Because I was hoping we could talk about that kiss the other night.”
My eyes widened. “Why?”
“Because it was pretty incredible and I thought maybe we could do it again.”
Jack
I’m usually pretty good at reading people, but Hannah is a total mystery. Maybe that’s why I’m so attracted to her. And I’m finally admitting to myself...and now to her...that I am. Despite what people may think, I don’t just jump from one woman to the next without thinking. I realize that if she’s not interested or things don’t work out, this could be a disaster. But if they do work...well, I won’t get too far ahead of myself just yet.
She still hasn’t said a word, but I ca
n see her wheels spinning.
“Hannah?” Wide brown eyes focused on mine. “Say something.”
“I’m not sure what to say.”
“Just tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I’m wondering if I’m dreaming or maybe having some sort of psychotic episode.”
“Why?”
“Why else would Jack Reagan be sitting here saying he wants to kiss me?”
“Are you saying you’ve dreamed of me asking to kiss you?”
An adorable blush worked its way up her neck and then spread across her entire face.
“I just didn’t think something like that would happen in this universe.”
I shifted toward her and she backed into the armrest.
“Why not?”
“Because.”
“That’s not really an answer.” I rested my hand next to her shoulder, moving a little closer.
“It’s the only one I have at the moment.”
“Why?”
“I can’t think,” she said, then added. “I don’t want to think right now.”
Now that I can read. I tucked my other hand onto the couch next to her hip and leaned forward, invading her personal space.
“Hannah?”
She blinked slowly before looking directly into my eyes.
“Do you want me to kiss you?”
After taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, she nodded.
I rested my forehead against hers and whispered, “Tell me.”
“Yes.”
The word hit my ears just as I saw the same answer in her eyes. Thank God she wants this too, because my legendary control is nowhere in sight at the moment.
I reached out and slowly removed her glasses and carefully rested them on the coffee table. Tilting my head, I pressed my lips against hers, moving slowly, savoring their plump softness. I pressed closer and deepened the kiss. Shifting my hand from the armrest, I slid it across her jaw to wrap around the back of her head. Wanting to taste her...needing to taste her...I licked the seam of her lips, begging for entry. Opening her mouth, she let me inside, touching her tongue tentatively to mine before fully kissing me back. She tastes just as good as I remember.
Waste of Handsome (Carolina Waves #2) Page 11
