by Lauren Layne
“That must have been hard,” she said, setting the picture down and picking up another of a spectacular waterfall.
“Hard?”
“Yeah. Not having a home base,” she said. “I’d go crazy not having a familiar place to come home to every night.”
Something bleak flashed across his face before the indifferent mask fell back into place.
“I like it, actually. Keeps things interesting.”
“Right. I forget that what I see as routine, you probably see as mundane,” she said, keeping her voice light even as her heart felt heavy.
As if she needed another reminder that her ideal future was one of stability and predictability and his was one of constant change. At least as it pertained to his women.
But she hadn’t come here to mope or snoop. She’d come to apologize.
“Jake,” she said, turning around. “I—”
He’d disappeared.
“Hello?” she called.
He emerged from the bathroom, a folded towel in hand.
“Ever heard of an umbrella?” he muttered softly.
He approached her slowly, but instead of handing her the towel, he unfolded it and hesitantly raised it to her damp hair, dabbing at her soaked ponytail. Wordlessly he pulled the band out of her hair, letting the damp strands fall around her shoulders as he gently rubbed the excess water out.
It was a strange, intimate moment with nothing but the patter of rain on the window to disrupt the tense silence.
“I’m sorry I didn’t show up last night,” she said quietly when he finally stepped back. He said nothing.
“And I’m sorry I didn’t call,” she pressed on. “Or text … or do any of the things a decent person would do when they stand someone up.”
He tossed the towel on the back of his chair before setting a hand on his waist and rubbing the other through his own damp hair with a sigh.
Finally he met her eyes. “You know, I’d planned to play it cool. I wanted to tell you that it didn’t matter, and that I barely noticed. Maybe even imply that I found other company.”
She gave a little nod. “That’s kind of what I was expecting, actually.”
Jake gave a rueful smile. “See, this is what happens when two so-called relationship experts try to date. It’s all one big game.”
“It’s not all one big game,” she said, forcing herself to meet his eyes.
“Yeah, I know. At first it was my ego that was bruised, because I’d been so sure you’d show, and well … we both know I’m always right. Then I just got mad. Eating Chinese food alone was a first for me.”
“You poor baby.”
He gave her a flash of smile. “It was confusing, not being adored and fawned upon.”
She moved toward him slowly, her hands settling on his waist. “I could fawn over you now.”
“Maybe. First I want to know what happened.”
“What?” She carefully hid her surge of surprise.
“It wasn’t cold feet last night, was it? And it wasn’t part of the website thing. Something kept you.”
Grace closed her eyes briefly. She wasn’t ready to talk about it. Not yet. But when she opened her eyes and his gaze was watching her with quiet understanding, she found she did want to talk about it. She wanted to talk about it with this compelling and playful man who dried her hair even when he was mad.
Then, to her horror, her eyes started to water. She didn’t even know why; it was just one of those chin-wobbling, throat-aching moments when life simply became too much.
He gathered her gently to him, tucking her head beneath his chin as she burrowed against his bare chest.
“Tell me.”
She swallowed through the lump in her chest. “It’s stupid. Nothing worth crying over.”
“Obviously it is,” he said softly.
“No, trust me. This one really isn’t.”
He remained steadily silent, starting to rub her back before he froze and pulled back. “Your clothes are soaked. You didn’t even have a jacket?”
Grace shrugged. “I wasn’t really myself this morning. I think somehow I just thought I needed to get here. That this would make it all better.”
That you would make it all better.
“And is it working?” he asked, his fingers gripping her chin and tilting her face up. “Is it better?”
“Getting there,” she said softly.
“Well, let’s get you all the way there.”
Jake took her hand, leading her into the bedroom before rummaging around in his dressers. Unabashedly he dropped his towel before stepping into flannel pajama pants.
“Your weekend uniform?” she asked.
He nodded before gesturing for her to come closer. “Lucky for you, I’ve got a spare.”
He very gently lifted her arms above her head before peeling off her damp long-sleeved shirt. Then he reached around, unhooking her bra. If she needed proof that Jake Malone could be more than a womanizing sex hound, the proof was in the fact that his eyes never dropped below her face, even when she stood topless in front of him. Then he was sliding a soft T-shirt over her head.
They repeated the process with her wet jeans and panties, although his spare pair of pajama pants was about five sizes too large.
It didn’t matter, though, because then he scooped her up and carried her back into the living room, settling her on the couch before he went to the kitchen.
“Coffee?”
“No thanks,” she said, watching him pour a mug for himself.
“Leftover Chinese food?”
“Funny,” she said with a smile.
Jake shrugged before joining her on the couch, pulling her legs over his and rubbing her chilled feet with his big hands.
“Talk.”
Grace swallowed. Here we go.
“I was planning on coming last night. I made it as far as my front door.”
“But …?”
“But Greg was there.”
“Greg …?”
“My ex.”
His hands stilled briefly. “The cheater.”
“Yeah. That one.”
“Tell me he has a black eye right about now,” he said, his face going stormy.
“No. Oddly, I wasn’t even mad. He was … broken, you know?”
“He lost you. Of course he’d be broken.”
She gave a little smile. “You and your lines. Anyway, he asked me to hear him out, and I did.”
Jake’s expression was turning increasingly dark, although rather than lecturing her, he let her speak.
“So anyway, he said all the usual stuff you’d expect. That he misses me, that we were perfect together, that he could make me happy …”
His hands never stopped their soothing motion on her feet, but she felt the way his fingers tightened briefly, pushing too hard on her arch when she said that Greg could make her happy.
“So that was it?” he asked when she’d finished recounting Greg’s sorry speech. “He came to beg your forgiveness, then you said it was too little too late and tossed him out? That’s why I ate Chinese food alone?”
His tone was teasing, but she could tell he didn’t understand. And why would he? She hadn’t even gotten to the good part yet.
“Um, that’s not quite the end of it.”
She pulled her knees toward her, and he released her feet so she could lock her arms around her legs, curled up in a ball in the corner of his couch.
Jake shifted so that he could face her, one hand reaching out to play with her hair. “What am I missing?” he asked softly. “What had my Grace running out into the rain without so much as a jacket?”
My Grace.
At that, 1.0 fanned herself, and 2.0, while cautious, miraculously held her tongue.
She licked her lips nervously, trying to keep her head clear. “He, um, he kind of proposed.”
There was a beat of silence. Which stretched into five beats. Ten beats.
Finally Jake cleared his throat. “You
mean, like … marriage?”
His tone was casual, but his hand had pulled back from her hair, shifting so that he had both feet on the floor, his hands clasped loosely between them. She didn’t need to be a relationship columnist to know that as far as body language went, this posture was a big fat warning sign.
“That’s usually what proposed means, yeah.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Is cheating ex-boyfriends popping the question while current boyfriend waits idly by a common thing I’m supposed to know about? Do they write about that in Stiletto?”
He stood then, grabbing his coffee mug with enough force that its contents sloshed onto the coffee table before he stomped to the kitchen and dumped the liquid in the sink even though he hadn’t taken so much as a sip. Jake braced both hands on the counter, his head dipping down slightly as though trying to rein in his thoughts.
Grace didn’t know whether to be annoyed at his childish behavior or entirely thrilled by what she thought might be motivating it. He’d referred to himself as her current boyfriend. Did that mean …
“Hey,” she said softly, getting to her feet and holding tightly to the waistband of his too-loose pants as she padded into the kitchen. “I expected you to be mad because I ditched you, not because Greg surprised me with the whole down-on-one-knee thing.”
“He what?” Jake’s knuckles were white where he gripped the counter.
Grace softy touched his bare back. “You know, the whole no-shirt thing is a little obvious, don’t you think?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
She huffed at his curt, bossy tone. “Fine. I don’t quite get how this amount of personal detail is any of your business, but yeah … he got down on one knee. Had the pretty speech and the even prettier Tiffany ring.”
He turned his face toward her then. “And how exactly is that none of my business?”
“I just meant that it’s not part of our Stiletto/Oxford assignment. Or at least I hope it won’t be.”
Jake gave a harsh laugh. “You know, believe it or not, that stupid website really wasn’t my first thought when you told me some other guy proposed.”
Neither of them said anything for several seconds.
“You said no?” he said finally. And even Grace 2.0 was at a loss for snarky things to say, because there was desperation in his voice.
“I said no,” she said.
“But you thought about saying yes.”
She hesitated, her face flooding with color. Damn this guy and his voodoo women-reading skills. “Um …”
“You can’t be serious.” He was incredulous. She didn’t blame him.
“I don’t want Greg,” she said, her voice sure and steady. “But I did want what Greg was offering. I refuse to be ashamed of the fact that I want the wedding and the wife title and the eventual family. Call me old-fashioned, but I want that, Jake. I thought I was over it. I even invented this new man-hating ball-busting version of myself named 2.0, but …”
“Wait, 2.0? Who was 1.0?”
“Well, that’s what I’m trying to explain,” she said, feeling foolish. “See, 1.0 is the romantic. The one who wants the big white wedding and that damned Tiffany ring. It’s 1.0 who wants the bridal shower, the baby shower, and she really wants the actual babies …”
“And 2.0?”
“Thinks that men are shits,” she summarized. “She’s actually the one that made me volunteer to do this whole joint article in the first place. She was on a mission to prove that men can’t be trusted. Warn the women of America and all that. Sort of a female superhero.”
“I don’t think I like 2.0,” he muttered.
“Understandable.” She patted his hand. “Don’t feel bad about it, because she hates you.”
“And you?” he asked, turning to face her. “Do you hate me?”
She hedged at his shift in pronouns. Talking in the third person was so much easier.
“Of course I don’t hate you.”
He moved a half step closer, crossing his arms over his chest as though to keep from touching her until she’d said the right thing.
“Why’d you say no to Greg?”
“Because he cheated on me.”
“Why else?”
Grace resisted the urge to take a step back. “The ring was too big. Gaudy, really.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “One more try.”
Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit.
And then, oddly enough, it was 2.0 who was loudest in her head, taking control. You’ve got this.
“There’s this other guy …” she said, her voice raspy.
His arms twitched as though he was going to reach for her, but he held still. “Yeah?”
“Uh-huh,” she said, growing a little bolder. “And he’s not really a one-woman kind of guy, but the thing is … I can’t stop thinking about him.”
“Have you asked him?”
“Asked him what?” she asked, confused.
“If he wants to be a one-woman kind of guy?”
Grace felt her stomach flip. “Not directly. But I did come all the way uptown in a subway in the middle of a downpour.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “You rode the subway?”
“Couldn’t get a cab in this weather.”
“How was it?”
“Awful.”
“And was it worth it?”
She hesitated. “That depends.”
“On?”
Grace took a deep breath. Took a chance. “Are you willing to be a one-woman kind of guy?”
His arms were around her then, lifting her off her toes and planting a possessive kiss on her mouth before resting his forehead on hers. “I sort of want to brawl with this Greg character. Does that answer your question?”
Grace’s arms wound around his neck. “I’m a modern women. Violence doesn’t do it for me.”
“Okay, how about this? Hearing that Greg proposed is one of the worst moments of my life in recent history.”
There was that damn stomach flip again. She put her hand to his jaw. “Why?”
He turned his face slightly, planting a kiss on her palm. “Because I want you to be a one-guy kind of woman. And I want to try to be that man.”
There was something about the way he ended that sentence. There was the briefest hesitation, as though there was an unspoken for now tacked on at the end.
Take what he’s offering, Grace 2.0 whispered. It’s a big step for a guy like him.
Was it enough?
True, 1.0 was waving warning flares in Grace’s face, but 1.0 naively believed in happily-ever-after.
Grace, however, would take the good-enough with Jake over the failed fairy tale with Greg any day.
“So about last night’s threat?”
He paused in the process of nuzzling her neck. “Huh?”
“You said if I was late, you were going to mention my, um, noises on the website. I haven’t looked yet, but …”
He avoided eye contact. “Well …”
“Oh God, tell me you didn’t.” A horrified laugh bubbled out of her. “I’m pretty sure you just let everyone know this little game of ours got bumped up to the next level.”
“The naked level?”
“That’s the one. I swear to God, Jake, I will kill you. My parents read that.”
“I’ll make it up to you.”
“Trust me, there’s not enough chocolate in the world.”
He began moving toward the bedroom. “I was thinking more quid pro quo.”
“Speaking a dead language isn’t going to get you laid. Also, I don’t think it means what you think it means.”
Jake dumped her unceremoniously in the bed. “Then allow me to be more plain. You get to write about my noises. Fair enough?”
She sat up, already scooting toward the end of the bed. “Where’s your laptop? I already know exactly what—”
He grabbed her ankle. “Hold up there, Lois Lane. You’ll need to do your research.”
She shot him a witheri
ng look over her shoulder. “I’ve already done my research on that.”
With a pounce he was on top of her, rolling her onto her back as his hands made quick work of the too-loose pajama pants.
“There can never be too much research, Brighton. Not when it comes to naked time. Now, in order to get my noise just right, you’re going to have to really thrill me—”
Grace mentally thanked Riley for the constant arsenal of sex tricks in every Stiletto article, because she had Jake on his back in seconds, grinning victoriously as she straddled him, fingers already on the drawstring of his pants, sliding them down.
He grabbed her hand as she was about to reach for him. “Still think I’m overcompensating for something when I order pepperoni on my pizza?”
She rolled her eyes. “Seriously? That again?”
He continued to stare up at her, waiting expectantly.
“Fine,” she relented, easing her hand out of his grasp and sliding her fingers around the long hard length of him. “Nobody has cause to be disappointed by this, no matter what type of pizza you order.”
Her hand moved over him, slower this time, and his eyes closed.
Grace smiled in victory. “Now what were you saying, Mr. Malone? Something about wanting me to thrill you?”
Her hand dipped lower as she flicked kisses over his chest.
Jake’s fingers found her hair as he groaned. “Never mind. You’ve got this.”
Grace smiled. Yes, she certainly did.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“You’re sure about this?” Jake asked, staring skeptically down at the card the Oxford receptionist held out to him.
Melissa Sorenson gave him one of those oh please looks that women must have developed in the womb along with their ovaries.
“Trust me. Everyone knows that Grace likes chocolate. You’ll be a god.”
“Yeah, but a chocolate fountain? And what do you mean, everyone knows that Grace likes chocolate?”
“You mentioned it on the site several weeks ago. On your third or fourth date at Starbucks when she ordered a mocha and you offended her by saying white chocolate and chocolate were the same thing.”
He stared at her in horror. “Good Lord, how do you remember that?”
Melissa scowled at him. “You don’t? These are crucial details, Jake. I know I work for Oxford and everything, but ultimately I’m a female first, and your forgetfulness is soooo going on the blog.”
