by Emma Hart
Pops tapped his ear with one finger and shook his head as if to say he couldn’t hear me.
“I know. Put the damn aids in.”
He sighed, but put down his little can of beer and fitted both hearing aids. “Yes, boy?”
“What the hell did you do that for?” I didn’t miss a beat as I stepped back into my tirade.
“What are you talking about?”
“You know damn well!” I ran my hand through my hair and paced. “Jamie. Why the hell would you force us both into a date neither of us want?”
“She didn’t say no.” He grinned.
“You have a date?” Greta exclaimed, entering the room with the pace of a drunken turtle.
“Not one I want! Jesus. She’s a nightmare. She’s too mouthy and sarcastic to make this night enjoyable for even a minute.”
“Mouthy and sarcastic?” Roxy said, coming in, too. “You called?”
“See?” I threw my arm in her direction. “We’ve already got one in attendance. We don’t need another!”
“What’s going on?”
“He’s bringing Jamie to your aunt’s party this weekend,” Pops answered. “Boy, you’re in the way of my TV.”
“He is?” Roxy grinned. “You are?”
“Why can’t I hear this?” Pops asked.
“It’s on mute, you old coot,” I said. Turning to Roxy, I said, “No, I’m not bringing her. Not by choice, at least. This old pain in the ass showed up today and forced us into it.”
“She didn’t say no. Ah-ha!” Pops clapped when the sound came back on with a boom.
“She didn’t fucking say yes!”
“Dexter!” Aunt Greta slapped her hands over her ears. “Turn that racket down, Edwin!”
“Racket? That’s a Big Brother replay. No racket at all!” Pops sniffed and settled his hands on his stomach.
Roxy looked between them and motioned for me to follow her. I rubbed my hand over my face and went with her into the dining room.
“Why is he watching Big Brother?” she asked.
“Probably because he couldn’t hear it five minutes ago. And to piss off Greta,” I grumbled.
Roxy swung out a dining chair and sat down. “Are you really taking Jamie?”
“Where’s Charley?”
“In bed. She had McDonalds and fell asleep in the car. Stop avoiding the question.”
I pointed at her, then dropped it with a groan. “Yes, I am. I’ve been forced into it, like she has. He didn’t ask. He asked her if she had plans then offered her my plus one. I didn’t even want to go as one, never mind a plus one!”
“Is this a bad time to tell you that Mom called me this morning?”
“As a rule, yes.”
“She and Dad are flying in tomorrow for Greta’s party.”
I dragged out a chair and dropped onto it. “No, no, please no.”
She grimaced and nodded.
“Fucking hell!” I got up and kicked the chair back under less than ten seconds after I’d sat down. Not that I didn’t love seeing my parents, but this was turning into a motherfucking mess.
Roxy laughed. “It’s not a big deal, Dex. You’re just pissed at Pops for backing you into a corner.”
“No, I’m not. I’m pissed at the who.”
“Because she doesn’t take your shit?”
“No. She’s a fucking nightmare. She’s fucking insufferable, Rox. She grinds on me like nobody I’ve ever met in my goddamn life, and the last thing I want is to have to pretend I like her around our family.”
My sister raised one dark, slim eyebrow. “I don’t know. It sounds to me like she grinds on you because you like her.”
I held a finger up at her. “Don’t you dare.”
“Oh, come on. She’s beautiful. You have to admit that.”
I said nothing. I didn’t need to agree with my sister for that fact to be true. Jamie was beautiful, no doubt about it. Frizzy hair and all.
Roxy laughed. “God, Dex, you’re so blinded by your fake hatred you can’t even admit that. She’s beautiful, she’s kickass, and she doesn’t cower to your stupid little ideas. Personally, I think you should marry her immediately.”
“Fuck, all right, she’s beautiful. There. Are you happy?” I threw my arms up. “I can appreciate that, but that doesn’t mean I like her.”
“You’re right, it doesn’t. Your insistence that you hate her makes me think you do actually like her.”
I ran my hand through my hair again, this time, tugging lightly on it. “I don’t like her. I’m attracted to her, and that makes this awkward as fuck. I don’t want to be attracted to her or think of her as anything other than the biggest pain in the ass since a colonoscopy.”
“That’s one helluva way to refer to a woman, I have to admit.”
“You’re about to join her, Rox!”
My sister fought her amusement for all of five seconds. “Oh my God. I love you. You’re so angry at yourself it’s comical.”
“I’m glad my frustration is amusing to you, sis.” I made my way toward the dining room door, but she was closer and beat me to it.
She flattened herself against it and shook her head. “I think your problem is that she’s nothing like you thought. It’s been, what? Four? Five days? And you’re already eating your words, brother. Face it: you know she’s beautiful. She’s strong and independent, and you thought she’d roll over within a day, but she’s standing toe-to-toe with you. She’s proving you wrong and you hate it.”
My jaw twitched.
“And to make matters worse,” she smirked, “you want her, and you can’t do anything about it, because you know she’d introduce her knee to your little boy parts.”
“If you refer to my cock as that again, I will smash your new make-up palette with my hammer.”
Her jaw dropped. “Sometimes I think you’re thirteen,” she hissed.
“Sometimes you act like it,” I snapped back.
The door yanked open. The swift movement sent Roxy flying backward, and only her quick reflexes as she grabbed hold of the doorframe stopped her from landing on her ass.
Greta looked down at her then up at me. “Your dinner is ready. And you both act like gosh darn thirteen-year-olds. Shut your mouths and come eat.”
No matter how pissed I was, nobody disobeyed her when she spoke to you like that.
Chapter Twelve – Jamie
“It’s not that bad,” Haley said, stroking my hair. “At least you have a date?”
I turned my face to the side so I no longer had a mouthful of pillow. “Hales, in a few hours, I have to get dressed for a party and be surrounded by my sworn enemy’s family. It’s terrible. Deplorable. I want to run away.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re pretty dramatic?”
“Yes. You, all the time.” I shifted and sat up with a huff. “I couldn’t even say no. His grandpa backed me into a corner and left before I could do a thing. I swear, we didn’t say a word to each other the entire day yesterday. He even told me to take today off because it was so fucking awkward.”
“Obviously, you obliged. Which explains the homeless person look.”
She called it homeless person, I called it mechanic off-duty. In other words, all my clothes were stained with something you could find in a repair shop, and I was okay with that.
It’d been so normal for so long.
“What am I gonna do, Haley? This evening is going to be hell. The only time we’ve ever been nice to each other is when we got tacos.”
“Oh, oh! Did you take him to the place by the auto store?”
I nodded. “We needed wiper blades and I said tacos and he was all over that like a kitten with yarn ball.”
She tapped her finger against her lips. “If you dressed up like a taco…”
“Do not finish that sentence. Ugh.” I slid down my bed and crossed to my closet. “What am I even supposed to wear? It’s an eightieth birthday party. Cocktail-style attire for dinner followed by dancing.”
“Eighty year olds still dance?”
I narrowed my eyes as the memory of Dex’s grandfather came to mind. “In that family, I’m going to say they can probably bust out the Macarena better than anyone else.”
“Hm.” She joined me. “Just wear a nice dress and some heels. Do your hair—well, do it as well as you can. And hey, if he’s that annoying, use it to torture him a little.”
“Torture him? I’m pretty sure I do that every day I show up to work.”
She snorted. “Didn’t he make an asshole comment about red lipstick?”
“He was amazed I wore lipstick while I worked.”
“So, wear all red.” She nudged me out of the way and rifled through my dresses. I didn’t have many, given that I was almost always in gym gear or shorts to work in, but the dresses I did have flattered me.
So, her plan was a little terrifying.
I wanted to get through the night, not perform some weird type of seduction on Dex Ryne.
“This one.” Haley threw a red dress at me. “I promise you’ll survive the night if you wear this.”
I held it up. The neck was low but not indecent—perfectly suitable for an elderly party—and I knew the skirt was knee-length and flirty.
“Fine. What shoes?”
She bent down and searched the few shelves that housed my small shoe collection. “These.” She tossed me a pair of strappy, black heels. “This purse.” A black clutch went flying over her shoulder, and I had to step to the side so she didn’t hit me in the head with it. “And your leather jacket. Perfect. Edgy yet feminine.”
The leather jacket landed on my bed. I dropped the dress on top of it and stepped back. I wasn’t sure. The only time I’d ever been dressed up around him was when I’d had my interview, and that didn’t really count. That was formal, not fancy, and there’s a big difference between those two things.
Haley stared at me. “You’re questioning everything, aren’t you?”
I didn’t need to reply for her to know that I was right.
“Just call and don’t go. You don’t like him, and you’re only going because you were talked into it. Neither of you would have agreed to this otherwise.”
“I know, but his grandpa was kinda sweet. If pushy,” I acquiesced. “But still, sweet.”
“So go with his grandpa.” She snorted. “God, Jamie. This is ridiculous, do you know that?”
“Yes. If I didn’t think it was, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now, would we?” I dropped my ass onto the bed. “God, the idea of this is painful. I can’t tolerate him for an hour. How am I supposed to pretend to be his date?”
“Can. Cal,” she said. “Cancel. Boom. Easy. “Sorry. My best friend’s hamster died and she needs me tonight.””
“That’s not even remotely believable,” I replied. “I just have to suck it up, don’t I?”
“Suck what up?” My mom asked as she stepped into my bedroom.
“Hi, Mom. I really appreciate you knocking!”
She waved her hand and glanced at the bed. “Oooh. Do you have a date?”
A mischievous grin crossed Haley’s face. “Yeah, with her boss.”
“The sexist guy who didn’t want to hire you?” Mom threw her attention all my way. “How the hell did that happen?”
I explained, begrudgingly, how his grandfather had tricked us into it.
“A man with a plan. I like that. What are you wearing?”
“Ooh!” Haley clapped her hands together. “So, she has the red dress because red is her thing.”
“Absolutely. And it works so well with her coloring.”
“Right. The shoes because they’re to die for.”
“Gorgeous.”
“The clutch because simple is best.”
“Agreed.”
“And the leather jacket to remind him that while she’s beautiful, she’s also one badass bitch and will still stick her stiletto into his balls.”
Mom clapped her hands together the way Haley had just minutes ago. “Perfect. What’s she doing with her hair?”
“Trying her best,” Haley said ruefully.
I touched the frizzy mess that was my hair. Geez. We didn’t all have perfect, straight hair.
Mom sighed and nodded. “I wonder if there’s a home remedy for frizzy hair we have time to make.”
“Ooh! Let’s go and look!”
Just like that, my mom and best friend skipped off without a second of input from me.
“That’s it, guys,” I muttered, picking up one of the—undeniably pretty shoes—and looking at it. “That’s how we battle sexism. We don’t prove them wrong, we show up looking pretty and smile.”
Then, I threw the shoe at the closed door and dropped back onto the bed to stare at my ceiling until they decided it was time to manhandle my hair to their satisfaction.
***
All right. I didn’t have to like it, but the olive oil and avocado mask I’d been made to slather on my hair and sit in for an hour or so had worked.
It wasn’t perfect, but with some a skilled blow dry from Haley and a joint effort at running the straightening iron over my hair—twice—it actually resembled loose waves instead of…a conductor for an electrical current.
And I looked good, too. Haley had nailed the outfit. Not that I’d admitted that, lest she got ideas for the future. If she had even an inch of knowing she’d been right, she’d be rifling through my entire wardrobe by the time I got home.
As for now, I was tugging uncomfortably on the collar of my leather jacket, standing in the middle of my living room. I wanted to pace, but if I did, I knew my feet would kill within the next hour.
I was antsy. I didn’t want Dex to see me like this. I didn’t know why, just that this whole night added a dynamic to our relationship—one there was no place for.
The sound of a car pulling up on the gravel drive outside my house drew my attention out of my head and to outside. I peeked between the blind and looked out.
Dex’s truck stopped, the lights illuminating the driveway. It was that weird, dusky time where the sun couldn’t decide it if were up or down, and I was glad I didn’t have to drive, I had to be honest.
I drew in a deep breath as three, loud knocks sounded on my door. Steeling myself, I let it go and opened the door.
He stood in front of me, looking like a completely different person. He still had that five o’clock shadow over his jaw, but his hair was slicked back and held in place by wax or gel or something.
A bright, white shirt stretched across his body, and the top two buttons were open, giving me the hint of a glance at his collarbones at the base of his neck. I sent my gaze downward to where his shirt sleeves were rolled just above his elbows, leaving me full view of those veiny forearms of his.
It was tucked into a pair of dark jeans that hid suede, dark brown boots.
And he was…clean.
So was I.
Miracles did happen.
Dex shifted uncomfortably on my doorstep. He kept looking at me and glancing away, and he brought his hand up to his hair only to stop and drop it again.
“Hey,” he said after a long moment of us both looking to the side awkwardly. “You look…”
I waited for him to finish, and when he didn’t, I fought a smile. “Wow, you know how to compliment a girl.”
He grimaced. “Would you believe I practiced telling you look beautiful just to be a good date?”
“Not in the slightest.” I hid a laugh. “You don’t have to pretend to be a good date. Neither of us want to be here. Let’s just focus on getting through the night without killing each other.”
“Sounds like a plan to me.” He glanced at my feet. “I will help you get in the truck, though, because if you break your neck in those things, I’m the one who’ll get the blame.”
I snatched my clutch from the windowsill and stepped out onto the doorstep right next to him. As I locked the door, I said, “I can climb into your truck, Dex. I d
on’t need you to throw a rope down to help me.”
“Actually, I was going to give you a hand in the hopes I could touch your ass.”
“And there he is.” I checked my phone when I tucked my keys away. “Five minutes before you let your inner jackass out. Go you.”
“I try,” he admitted, stepping onto the gravel. “Come on.” He walked to his truck and opened the door.
“Hold on.” I held up a finger as I drew level with him. “Ground rules, since you’re already being a dick.”
He sighed. “I can assure you I’ll be doing everything possible not to talk to you tonight. You don’t need rules.”
I raised my eyebrows. “One,” I said. “If you must touch me under the guise of being a gentleman—”
He snorted.
“—then you can touch my hands, my waist, or my back. If you touch anything else, even knock my foot with yours under the table, I will junk-punch you.”
“I’ll do my best not to touch you at all. I can’t think of anything worse.”
“Two.” I held up two fingers. “If you mention anything about me being inferior to you at work, I will junk-punch you.”
“I’ll make sure you’re out of earshot when I do.”
“Three.” A third finger went up. “I don’t have a third, but I don’t think I need one.”
He held his hands up. “You’ve got a deal. I happen to like my junk, and I don’t want it to get hurt anytime soon.”
I rolled my eyes and slipped past him, only just brushing up against him as I did. He stepped back muttering under his breath, and I hauled myself up into the cab.
“Hey…You said I can’t touch. Does that mean I can look?”
I slammed the truck door.
He held up three fingers and nodded.
There was point three.
Not that it would stop him if he really wanted to, but still.
I needed those points in place.
Chapter Thirteen – Dex
Don’t touch.
Don’t talk.
Don’t look.
The first two? Doable.
The last?
Fuck me dead and serve me on a platter—that was impossible.
How the fuck was I supposed to not look at her? If she was beautiful in denim shorts and covered in oil, she was fucking beyond that dressed the way she was right now.
