by A. J. Pine
“I really didn’t scare you off?” she asked. “I mean, you thought you were just getting a girl on an abstinence mission, but I’m a hell of a lot more than you bargained for.”
He shook his head. “You’re going to have to try harder than a little baggage.”
She smiled up at him. “What if I don’t want to try harder?”
He shrugged. “Then I guess you’re stuck with me for now.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “I cannot wait to kiss you,” he said.
She groaned. “If ever I wanted to hit pause on the whole cleanse thing for just a few minutes, it would be to kiss you in that tux.”
He raised a brow and smiled.
“What?” she asked.
“What if you did kiss me in this tux?”
“Jeremy, you know I can’t just— I mean, I thought you were okay with—”
She couldn’t even get the words out because after the past month and what they’d said to each other and sleeping in his arms last night, how could he pressure her now?
He shook his head and laughed. “You’re pretty gorgeous when you’re flustered. But I wasn’t talking about now.”
“But you just said—”
He shushed her—lovingly, of course—and she crossed her arms and sighed.
“Come with me to the wedding,” he said with an expectant grin, and Grace’s stomach leaped into her throat. “It’s the day after our epic first kiss. Makes sense we should follow it up with an entire epic evening.”
“Really?” she asked softly. It shouldn’t be such a big deal. They were planning on sealing the deal on live television the night before, but going to Jamie and Brynn’s wedding was a real thing. Like, a thing that couples did. They hadn’t done any of that real stuff yet. Smoothies and looking at retail space didn’t count. There weren’t tuxedoes involved or…or future planning. In fact, she’d involuntarily blown off their first date last night, yet he still trusted her and wanted her as much as she wanted him.
“Yes, really.”
“Yes, really what?” Brynn appeared from around the corner and gave Jeremy an approving whistle. “Looking good, Mr. Groomsman,” she said. “Very, very good.”
“Yes, really, I want Grace to be my plus one at the wedding.”
Brynn waved a hand in front of her face. “Dammit, Denning. I promised Jamie I wasn’t going to get all weepy today. I already broke down when we tasted cakes last week. But now you’re all dashing in your tux and making a commitment to a girl, and it’s hitting me right in my feels!”
Jeremy unbuttoned his tuxedo jacket, took it off, and threw it over his shoulder with a wink.
Brynn’s tears quickly morphed to snorting laughter. “Okay there, GQ. But no one’s showing up my groom.”
Jamie strode up behind her just as she said this, wrapping his arms around her torso as he kissed his bride-to-be on the neck. “Glad you only have eyes for me, B.” He tilted his head up to face Jeremy. “Are you a man of commitment now, Denning? Does that mean you’ll be signing some legal documents soon as well?”
But before Jeremy could answer, Brynn spun to face her soon-to-be husband, kissing him right there in the middle of the dressing area. Then she tugged him toward the front of the store.
“Don’t bug Jeremy about the paperwork now, babe,” Brynn said, leading Jamie away. “He’s committing to a girl,” she said under her breath, but she was still within earshot so that Grace could hear.
When Grace turned back to him, Jeremy dropped the runway pose and draped his jacket over one arm. He was looking at her with his head cocked to the side, appraising her. Or something.
She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, sure that her wild bedhead was still less than tamed. Then she rubbed her chin, wondering if she’d dripped coffee on it earlier without noticing. Finally she couldn’t take it anymore.
“Tell me what it is before I freak out!” she said.
He reached for her hand and pulled her to him again—as near as Jamie and Brynn just were but without the kiss. Somehow, though, being close enough to kiss Jeremy felt even more intimate than not kissing him. The air between them was charged with the energy of anticipation. Grace couldn’t put her finger on it, but something had shifted in just the few seconds since Brynn and Jamie had walked away.
“What if he’s right?” Jeremy asked, lips against her ear. His voice was soft yet full of realization. And he was close—so freaking close that his stubble rubbed her jaw, and her knees grew weak.
“About what?” she whispered.
He brushed his lips lightly against her cheek, so light she almost wasn’t sure he’d done it except for the intense fluttering in her belly that told her otherwise.
“Jamie asked if I was a man of commitment, and a few weeks ago I would have blown off answering. In fact, I did. But I was ready to answer him without hesitation just now. I was ready to say something I promised myself I wouldn’t say about any woman again after what Whitney did to me.”
He was still whispering in her ear, so she couldn’t see his face—couldn’t gauge his expression. She wasn’t sure she wanted to, if given the choice, because the earnestness in his words was enough to know that Jeremy was about to say something big, and Grace didn’t want to react the wrong way.
As if on instinct, he pulled back to look at her, and when their eyes met, he held nothing back.
“What if after three years I am a man of commitment? Whitney always thought I didn’t have direction or ambition, that I just took whatever came my way because it was easy. It didn’t matter that I wanted to commit to her if I couldn’t commit to some higher purpose.” He ran his hand through his overgrown ginger locks, hair Grace thought about touching in much the same way every day. “But is it so bad if I get what I want just by living my freaking life?”
Grace shrugged. “I’ve chased everything I’ve ever wanted. I still am. I don’t think I’d complain if something, for once, simply fell into my lap.”
Jeremy scratched at the stubble on his jaw. “So you don’t need me to chase you down and stake my claim? You trust that I’m committed to this? Because the pieces all just fit—you, the career—all of it?”
She nodded, trying to ignore the tiny knot in her belly, the one that said maybe, just a tiny bit, she wanted to be pursued by him, by someone who wanted her for the right reasons. But there was nothing to chase because she wasn’t running. Man Cleanse was about reclaiming her life from people like Mark, who roped her into his selfish agendas, or from the expectations of a family where she always feared she didn’t quite fit. But here was this beautiful human who just sort of fell into her path.
“So I’m a piece that fits, huh?” she asked. Because that part she did like. He was practically Jerry Maguire saying, “You complete me.” So what if she wasn’t playing hard to get? The whole point was that love wasn’t a game.
Love.
“Are you sure you don’t remember anything that happened last night—or anything you said—after I came over?”
His brows pulled together. “I made an ass out of myself, didn’t I? It’s okay. You can tell me. Did I try to cop a feel? Or ask to see your breasts? Not gonna lie—I have very vivid fantasies about what lies beneath.” He raised his brows but dropped his gaze to her chest. “Is it okay if our first date ends up being with my sister, her fiancé, and Brynn and Jamie? And that it’s at Kingston’s because I’m working? I promise you the best green smoothie you’ve ever had.”
She grabbed his chin and forced him to look her in the eyes again. “No,” she said, laughing. “You were a perfect gentleman. Although now I’m seriously doubting your swagger. Cop a feel?”
He grinned and shrugged. “When I drink like college me, there are residual effects. But if I did say anything to offend you…or hurt you…”
She shook her head. “No. It’s fine. I was just curious if you really lost the whole night.” Or if you remembered saying you might be in love with me. No big deal. Must have just been the alcohol talking.
“So
is that a yes, then?”
“What?” she asked. “Oh, right. First date.” He reached for her hand, and she threaded her fingers through his. “What girl can say no to a smoothie and hanging with what seems like a really great group of friends?”
Jeremy glanced down at his tux and then back at her. “I should probably take this off before I leave, though. Huh?”
Grace chewed her bottom lip. “On one condition. That the next time you’re wearing it, I get to be the one to take it off you.”
She watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “Does that mean you’re officially my plus one for the wedding?”
“Yeah. I think it does.” An alarm sounded, and Grace pulled her phone from her bag. “Shoot. That’s my calendar notification. I have to go. My first client is in an hour, and I have to get home to grab my table and supplies. See you at Kingston’s around eight?”
But she was already backing away. Because the alarm that kept buzzing wasn’t really an alarm. It was her ringer. And the person on the other end would not take voicemail for an answer. Grace was barely out the door and around the corner when the second round of ringing began, and she finally hit the dreaded green accept button.
“Mom!” she said, her tone the brightest and cheeriest she could muster. “How are you?”
There was a beat of silence before her mother spoke.
“Hello, sweetheart,” was all she said at first. But what Grace heard was, Hello, sweetheart. You’ve been avoiding your family for weeks. And if you think you’re hanging up this phone without committing to dinner with us and your conniving ex whom we adore, well then tilt your head up to see the pigs flying, and then glance below your feet so you can see hell freezing over.
Yeah, her mother could pack a lot into a greeting.
“And I don’t think you should be asking how I am as much as where.”
Grace stopped midstride and glanced over her shoulder. She suddenly felt like she was in some terrible spy movie where she was playing an equally terrible spy. Grace was anything but subtle, craning her neck at odd angles looking for her mother hiding out in a phone booth. The woman would probably be wrapped in a trench coat, fedora perched on her head, and the look would be topped off with a pair of aviators.
But this was the new millennium, and there weren’t any phone booths. And really, she’d prefer Benedict Cumberbatch in the trench, collar turned up, and a deerstalker instead of the fedora.
“Grace, did you hear me? Or are you doing one of your meditation tricks where you tune me out but pretend you’re listening and think I won’t notice?”
She picked up the pace again, her free hand shoved into the pocket of her jacket while she trudged forward against a throng of midday city shoppers who were headed in the opposite direction.
“Sorry,” she said. “I was just expecting you to jump out from behind a lamppost or something. I give up, Mom. Where are you?”
Her mom sighed, loud enough for Grace to hear. This was on purpose, of course. Her mom loved to let her know when she was being exasperating, which was basically every conversation the two of them ever had. Even if it ended well, it wasn’t without sighs.
“I’m at your apartment, darling. Do you really only have that tiny one-cup coffeemaker? And are you planning to brew kale, because the only other thing I see in your refrigerator is a log of goat cheese.”
Grace couldn’t help but grin. She was going to splurge tonight on a goat cheese and beet salad. It wasn’t that she was so excited about her choice of ingredients. It was that mention of said ingredients reminded her that she was no longer having salad for one tonight. She was finally going to have her first date with Jeremy. While he was working. With all of his friends.
Details.
And then her smile vanished as quickly as it came once her mother’s words registered in her brain.
I’m at your apartment.
Grace managed to wave down a taxi while still holding the phone to her ear, but now her mom let the silence roll out between them.
“Corner of Belden and Geneva,” Grace told the driver as she collapsed into the backseat.
“Oh good,” her mom added. “You’re on your way. Should I brew us each a cup of—decaf? Oh, Grace, honey. Why would you do that to yourself? Better yet, how could you do that to your guests? It’s like you don’t want your guests to stay.”
She rolled her eyes. “Mom. How did you even get into my place? You’re not exactly a guest if it involves breaking and entering. Plus, I’d think someone in your line of work would have the wherewithal not to break the law in broad daylight.”
Her mom chuckled softly. “Please,” she said. “I used my key.”
Grace’s brows pulled together. “You don’t have a key,” she said.
Again, there was that laugh. “Remember that time we had brunch at that little coffee shop next to the True Value store?”
Grace nodded, and her mother—omniscient as she was—must have seen because she continued.
“Well, when your father said he needed a private moment in the men’s room—and we both know a moment equals at least twenty minutes—he borrowed your keys and ran to get copies made.”
Her jaw hung open now like a cartoon character, completely unhinged with her chin on the floor of the cab. As much as her mother made her crazy at times, she wasn’t one to deceive.
“But that was—” She sputtered. “Dad even took the crossword puzzle from the paper with him.” She counted backward on her fingers to make sure. “That was six months ago,” she said, her voice rising an octave by the time she got to the last word. “And forget breaking and entering. I’m going to have you arrested for stealing.”
“Oh, Grace. Don’t be dramatic. Your father and I have always hated you living alone in this place. You don’t even have a doorman,” she said. “Who’s going to keep you safe if we can’t check up on you every now and then?”
The cab slowed to a stop, and Grace looked up to see they were already in front of her building. She swiped her debit card and hopped out, even though the last thing she wanted to do was rush into her apartment.
“I haven’t lived at home since I was eighteen, Mom. Eight years I’ve been perfectly fine on my own. Why the whole helicopter-parent thing now?”
She was putting her key into the dead bolt, not at all surprised that her mother had locked the place back up. So when she strode through the door, her mom was able to look her in the eye as she spoke her next words.
“Because,” she said, “I want to hear all about this Man Cleanse book you’re reading and why some weather girl is giving you twenty-five thousand dollars to do it.”
Grace was still holding the phone to her ear, but her mom had already ended the call. It didn’t matter. She heard the woman loud and clear.
In other words, she was sixteen and caught red-handed trying to top off the bottle of vodka with a little splash from the kitchen tap only to turn around and see her mom holding the used shot glasses she’d left on her dresser in her bedroom.
Busted.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jeremy paced behind the bar. Not his usual MO. But eight o’clock had come and gone with no word from Grace. In fact, it was now a quarter past nine, and he was trying not to let déjà vu get the best of him. He resorted to pulling out his phone and checking Facebook, bracing himself for another picture of Grace and her ex enjoying an intimate meal, but the page had been silent since the night before.
Even though it was a Monday night, the bar was slow since the Bears weren’t playing. So he started pouring himself a pint of stout while trying to care about the teams who were playing, but he couldn’t focus. That was, until the station cut to a commercial during a time-out and the image of Whitney Gaines filled the screen.
“Good evening, Chicago. We’re in for a cold snap this week. Tune in tomorrow for the upcoming five-day forecast. And don’t forget to head to Grace Bailey’s Facebook page to stay up to date on her cleanse—and how she’ll deal wi
th the last several weeks of it now that she’s found a new man. Will twenty-five grand be enough to motivate her to keep her distance from former Lincoln Park player Jeremy Denning? I guess we’ll just have to wait and see…”
Jeremy felt something cool on his wrist, and when he realized he was still pouring his stout, he jerked his hand away from the tap, splashing the full glass across his chest.
“Shit!” he hissed, tossing the empty glass onto the bar and staring down at his soaked T-shirt.
“Am I going to have to remove the TVs?” Jamie asked, and Jeremy looked up to see his boss standing with his arms crossed, but the hint of a grin tugged at his lips.
Jeremy wrung out his shirt, but there was no salvaging it. He’d have to grab a fresh one from their small stock of merchandise.
“I knew I was going to be a part of this whole circus,” he said. “But Whitney’s taking this thing too far. It’s like she’s taunting us. Like she doesn’t want Grace to make it to the end without fucking this up.”
Jamie nodded.
“She’s advertising her product,” he said. “And you’re part of the product now. The prize money means nothing to Whitney. Only her ratings. Remember what it means to Grace. That’s what’s important now, right?”
Jeremy let out a long breath. He realized now that Whitney wasn’t going to go easy on them. He knew he wasn’t just committing to Grace, that he was agreeing to put himself on display for everyone to judge. But Whitney wanted ratings, and it looked like she would create whatever drama she could to get them.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “That’s what’s important. I guess I just gave Whitney more credit.”
Jamie shook his head. “Look, Denning. There are two types of people: those who are in it for themselves and those who are in it for the ones they care about.”
Jeremy’s brows furrowed. “In what?” he asked.
Jamie laughed and nodded toward the table where Brynn sat with Annie and Wes.
“Life. Relationships. Whatever it is that motivates you. For me it’s Brynn. Making her happy. I’m in it for her.”
The front door of the bar flew open, and Grace hurried inside, her eyes wide and questioning when they met his.
