by Aven Ellis
A cold feeling rushes over me. A knot forms in the pit of my stomach, and to my surprise, tears prick my eyes.
As soon as I feel them, I will them to stop. My reaction is an overreaction. So what if he doesn’t want to go out? This is why we agreed to casual. I shouldn’t feel this way at all. In fact, this is for the best. It reminds me that we are simply hanging out, and it’s never going to be anything more than that.
And because we’re casual, JP isn’t offering any reason why he can’t make it.
He doesn’t have to.
So why do I feel so hurt?
I move next to Jordan’s apartment building, leaning against the brick wall, and text him back:
Okay.
Then I hit send.
But it’s not okay.
I head to my car, parked along the curb in the blazing sunlight, confused as to why this is happening. In the past, I’ve always been the one who canceled. I was the one who wanted to take a step back. Now I realize what a crappy position this is to be in, on the other side of it, left in confusion and wondering why.
Did JP wake up this morning and change his mind? After we talked all night and he held me in his arms? Did I get too close? Or did he realize how goofy and strange I am and it’s too much for him? Was he skating with Matt this morning and realized he wasn’t feeling it?
A pain grips my heart. How can that be? After the way we talked, after the way he held me . . . did it mean everything to me and nothing to him?
The fact that being in JP’s arms already means so much to me scares me to death. I’ve never had feelings like this. Normally, when a guy is embracing me, it feels nice. When I was with Drake, my ex, it was comfortable. I liked it.
But I didn’t need it.
With JP, the second I had to let go of him last night, I missed him. All I wanted was to feel his touch again. His skin against mine, my head on his chest, inhaling the scent of his cologne on his skin.
And now I might have to get my head around the idea that I’ll never be in his arms again.
Beep!
I open the door to my Prius, the hot air escaping as I do, and sit inside the stifling car. I wonder if the text is from JP, and if it is, I’m scared to check it. I’ll die if it’s an excuse or promise to reschedule soon, a promise that will never be kept.
I turn the AC on full blast and close my eyes.
Beep!
I need to read my messages.
Beep!
But I’m afraid they’ll hurt my heart.
I force my eyes open and pick up my phone.
All three are from JP. I man up and read the first one:
There’s a reason why I can’t do Friday.
Ugh, no. No, no, no, here comes nice guy JP with some polite, manufactured excuse as to why he can’t make it to spare my feelings.
I draw a breath of air for courage and read the next one:
I can’t do Friday because I can’t wait that long.
I freeze.
What?
I go on to the most recent text JP sent:
I need to see you, Reese. Can we make our date tonight instead?
My heart practically bursts with joy. Excitement surges through every inch of me, and pure relief takes over.
JP wants to see me now.
And I want to see him, too.
I happily reply:
Are you suggesting a night out in Gotham this evening, Batman?
Then I hit send.
Beep!
I still need to confirm your feline vision, Catwoman. If you are game for tonight, that is.
Oh, I’m so game.
I text back:
Yes, I’m in. Details?
Beep!
You only need one. My place, around seven-thirty. Bring a swimsuit.
Swimsuit?
We’re going to swim.
Which means I’ll get to see JP’s athletic body in swim trunks.
Oh, yes.
I grin and respond, deciding to tease him:
Are you checking my vision or my abs tonight, JP?
I bet he’s turning pink right now.
JP replies:
Je voudrais vérifier les deux choix
Ooh, he’s texting me in French!
Talk about sexy.
I respond:
I have no clue what you said.
Beep!
You might find out tonight.
I smile happily to myself.
Yes, I fully intend to.
And I can’t wait for an evening swim with my sexy date this evening.
Chapter 12
September 14th
Today’s schedule: Teach barre class, 6:30 AM
Shoot stretch routine for Connectivity, include product placement for yoga wear line, upload to YouTube/Instagram/Website, schedule Tweets. Ignore sugar police commenters who flame me for daring to eat cookies.
Spanish Inquisition re: JP/Lunch with Jordan, noon.
Meet JP at his place, 7:30 PM, for evening swim date.
“What if this romper is all wrong?” I ask, fashion regret filling me. “Should I zip it up so JP can’t see my bikini top sticking out? Or leave it as is? Or stop in the lobby restroom and change into my ‘Mermaid Hair Don’t Care’ T-shirt and cut off shorts? But wait. He’s already seen me in a graphic T-shirt, and I want him to know I have more in my closet than T-shirts—”
“Stop. For someone who is merely hanging out with JP, you seem overly concerned about what you are wearing for your date tonight,” Holly points out.
I let out an exasperated sigh. “You are an extremely annoying bestie, you know that, right?”
I’ve called Holly from the lobby of JP’s high-rise. I’m on my way up to see him, but now I’m doubting my outfit. Apparently, when I care, I have as much fashion indecision as I have food indecision.
“I’ll ask Matt what you should wear,” Holly says. “He should know what JP likes. Although, I think you could wear one of your reusable canvas bags and The Swiss One would still think you are hot.”
“Don’t you dare ask Matt!” I cry, mortified.
“Matt!” Holly yells. “Where are you?”
“Stop it!”
“You wanted advice, and I’m giving you the gift of the male perspective, from JP’s best friend. What more could you ask for?”
“I’m asking you to stop embarrassing me.”
I hear Holly moving around her house, then I hear her voice, but it’s muffled as if she’s holding the phone away so I can’t hear. Then I hear Matt’s voice and laughing.
Shit, shit, shit.
I want to die of embarrassment.
“Okay,” Holly says, returning to our conversation. “Matt says definitely the romper with the bikini top peeking out.”
“That’s hot,” Matt yells out.
GAH!
“I hate you,” I say matter-of-factly.
“Wait, I have more intel,” Holly goes on, ignoring what I said. “JP apparently is a leg guy, so your defined legs are bound to seal the deal tonight.”
“I’m so unfriending you.”
Holly laughs. “Not until after a sexy swim tonight.”
“You need to find a new best friend.”
“You need to get your butt in the elevator and go see JP.”
I can’t help but smile. I love Holly, even when she’s torturing me.
“All right,” I say, drawing a breath of air. “I’m going to the elevator.”
“I want a full report tomorrow. Otherwise, I won’t let you shoot poolside in my backyard.”
I smile. Matt and Holly are gracious enough to let me use their fantast
ic backyard for some of my yoga shoots, and tomorrow is one of those days.
“I’ll bring you breakfast,” I say. “Açaí bowls?”
“Bring me all the details, and I’ll be happy.”
“Ha-ha. Goodbye,” I say.
Holly laughs. “I’d say have fun, but I already know you will.”
Then Holly hangs up.
I head to the elevator bank and punch the button. I’m so nervous. Which is crazy. I spent hours with him last night and talked to him today. JP even moved up the date because he is anxious to see me.
But I haven’t kissed him yet.
And the idea of kissing JP excites me and terrifies me at the same time.
It’s exciting because the chemistry between us is already hot. A kiss between us would be nothing short of scorching. Once I kiss him, I know there will be no going back.
Which is exciting.
And absolutely terrifying, too.
Because if my heart responds to this kiss, I’m losing control.
Something I’ve never wanted to do before.
Until JP.
Ding!
An elevator opens, and I move toward it and step inside. I punch the button for the twenty-seventh floor and catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirrored wall. My jet-black hair is long and straight. I have minimal makeup on, just my glossy lipstick and waterproof mascara. My black romper shows off my defined legs, and taking Matt’s advice, I leave the zipper pulled down enough so my L*Space bikini top is peeking out of the top.
It’s definitely flirty.
I want JP to like it.
As the elevator heads up, the familiar tingling sensation sweeps over me. This is happening: a real date with JP with dinner and swimming.
And possibly with his lips opening mine in a searing kiss.
Ding!
The doors open. I grip my canvas tote bag a little tighter, trying to hold on to some kind of calm, which is hopeless.
I reach JP’s door, draw in a deep yoga breath, and exhale.
Hanging out, hanging out, hanging out.
I need to remember my mantra.
It’s one date.
That’s it.
As long as I keep this at the top of my mind, I’ll be safe.
I press the doorbell and wait.
The sound of the door being unlocked sends my pulse into overdrive. Then I find myself face-to-face with JP.
Oh, my.
He’s wearing navy swim trunks and a simple white T-shirt that stretches across his broad chest. I take in his wonderful forearms and tanned skin, my eyes dropping down to his calves and then back up to his torso, and I wonder what he’ll look like shirtless . . .
“Wow,” JP says, interrupting my thoughts. “You look gorgeous.”
I lift my eyes from JP’s body to his face. Apparently, he’s been drinking me in the same way I have been doing to him, and my pulse leaps as a response.
“Thank you,” I say.
“Come on in,” JP says.
I step inside and notice he has dinner set up on the kitchen island for us.
“Aww, JP, you made dinner,” I say, dropping my bag on the sofa and heading straight toward the island.
“I ordered dinner,” JP corrects, flashing me a smile. “According to the stalking I did on your Instagram and Connectivity pages, it’s balanced the way you like with proteins, carbohydrates, and fat, and some of your favorite foods. Outside of the Oreo group, that is.”
My heart flutters as I study the beautifully set plates, filled with grilled shrimp, bok choy, green beans, and brown rice.
“This is amazing,” I say, surprised that he went to all this trouble for me.
“For the record, I did not make it, but I get full credit for meal planning and ordering it.”
“I love your way of stalking,” I say, grinning as I sit down on a stool.
“I should say research. That sounds better.”
I laugh, and JP takes a seat next to me.
“Thank you for agreeing to move up our date,” JP says.
I see nothing but happiness in his hazel eyes, which have taken on a greener hue today.
“I’m glad you asked,” I admit.
“Good,” JP says.
I clear my throat and pick up my fork. “I’m sorry, but I’m so hangry,” I tease. “I’ve got to dive in right now, before I get stabby.”
“Stabby?” JP asks, furrowing his brow.
“Don’t people ever get stabby in Switzerland?” I say, spearing a shrimp with my fork. “Translation is crabby.”
I eat some shrimp, and I’m hit with the flavors of coconut, chili, and lime.
“Is stabby extra crabby?” JP asks, taking a bite of his food.
“JP, this shrimp is all kinds of deliciousness. So, so good.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh, yes. It’s the perfect combo of hot and sweet.”
“Sounds like me,” he teases, flashing me a playful smile.
I realize the dish is exactly like him: hot as hell with a sweet edge.
“Yes,” I answer honestly. “It’s like you.”
JP’s eyes linger on my face, and I don’t blink.
I realize how significant this is. With other dates, if they were staring at me like this, I’d do something to distract them like teasingly punch them on the arm, tell a stupid story, or make them laugh. I’d always divert them from looking at me seriously.
But sitting here right now, enjoying this meal with JP, diversion is the last thing I want.
“That’s a good thing?” JP asks.
“Very.”
Ooh, I feel the sexual tension between us. I’m already losing this battle and his lips haven’t even come close to mine.
JP shifts his attention back to his food, taking a bite of his rice. “I’ll give my compliments to my chef. I had her prepare this for us.”
“You have a chef?”
“Yes, I have a chef because I like restaurant-quality food, but to make it meet my nutritional needs is a challenge. It’s the one investment I make for not only hockey but for myself because I live to eat. Some of the guys on the team simply eat to meet nutritional goals, but I want to enjoy my food.”
“I’m the same way,” I say. “When people ask me for fitness advice, I always tell them to find healthy food they love, or I suggest websites with good recipes and creative ways to make healthy food. I love food too much to not enjoy my meals.”
“Exactly,” JP says, reaching for his glass of water and taking a sip. “I found Gretchen through Harrison Flynn,” JP says, referring to the captain of the Dallas Demons. “She’s a chef, and she was Kylie’s roommate before she married Flynn. Anyway, she’s awesome. Gretchen understands my nutritional needs and is creative in getting them in my meals. When I’m in town she preps my meals for the week, labels everything, and leaves it in my fridge. I begged her to do dinner on the fly tonight and she agreed.”
“I would love to have a cooking lesson with her,” I say. “Or have her as a guest on my blog.”
“I think that could be arranged. I could have her teach us how to cook a meal if you’d like that.”
Would I like that? That is something I’ve always wanted to do on a date!
I just never found the guy I wanted to cook with.
Until now.
“I would love it,” I say.
“Consider it done. We’ll come up with a couple of days that would work and see if Gretchen can get us on her schedule.”
“Ahh! I’m so excited about this,” I say, taking another bite of my brown rice.
“Me, too. What’s your schedule like next week?”
I think for a moment. “I have to d
rive down to Austin on Monday for a shoot for a yoga website, but that’s the only shoot I have scheduled. The rest is on my own time, uploading some new workouts to my YouTube channel and creating some exclusive content for my paid members.”
“How often do you travel for modeling?”
“Not as much as you’d think,” I say. “A lot of shoots are done in Austin, but most of the time I’m home that night. Monday’s shoot is like that. I’ll get down there early in the morning, hold the same yoga poses over and over all day, then come back home. I will be so sore on Tuesday. People think modeling is easy work, but doing athletic modeling, and repeating the same movement over and over, wrecks your muscles. I love what I do, but it’s not the career I planned at all. Sometimes life doesn’t take you in the way you think it will.”
“No, not at all. Trust me, when I was growing up in Switzerland I never dreamed I’d be playing hockey in Texas, of all places.”
“How did it feel to be traded here?” I ask.
“I was excited about it,” JP says, pausing to eat some shrimp and rice. “I was in Buffalo at the time, and Dallas is a winning organization. Everything here is top of the line, Harrison is a great captain, and I know we’ll be in the running for the playoffs for a long time. The idea of living somewhere as different as Dallas was intriguing.”
“I can’t imagine living anywhere else,” I say. “I’m a Texan. I love being a Texan.”
“I never know where my career is going to take me,” JP admits. “My contract is up in a year, so I’ll be a free agent, but I hope the Demons will re-sign me. I want to play here. I want to stay in Dallas.”
As his eyes meet mine, I realize I want him to stay in Dallas, too.
Not just for him.
But for me.
Chapter 13
“JP, this pool,” I gasp, stopping as we step out onto the rooftop deck. “This is incredible.”
It truly is. A large infinity pool spans across the top of the high-rise roof, surrounded by cabanas and deck chairs. The skyscrapers of Dallas shimmer all around us, and stars dot the sky overhead. Lush landscaping fills in the areas around the pool, from bright pink hibiscus plants to palm trees, providing a tropical oasis high above the city.
