by A. J. Pine
“Are you in it for her?” Jamie asked. But he didn’t wait for Jeremy to answer. Instead he nudged him toward the space where the bar opened to the rest of the brewery. “Take a break and get yourself cleaned up,” he added, reaching into the cabinet of Kingston Ale House tees behind the bar. He balled it up in his fist and chucked it at Jeremy. “No wet T-shirt contest tonight.”
Jeremy did as he was told, figuring patrons wouldn’t want their brews served by a guy who looked like he could barely pour them. Grace stood at the end of the bar, waiting for him.
“I can explain why I’m late,” she said as he approached, but then her eyes widened at his appearance.
Jesus, he must have been a sight. What was it about this girl that made him unable to hold his liquor or stand on a window ledge—or pour a fucking pint?
“I got outed as former Lincoln Park player on local television.” He held out his free hand as if to say ta-da. “This was the result.”
He brushed past her and headed toward the employee bathroom that was just outside the kitchen. He hadn’t meant to be a dick, but then he hadn’t meant not to be. Everything was just…a lot at the moment, and he was trying to process.
“You’re angry,” she said flatly. “About me being late? About what Whitney said? Or all of it? I texted. I couldn’t call without letting things out of the bag that shouldn’t be out yet. I mentioned the baggage, didn’t I? This is the circus that is my life right now.”
God, he was an asshole. He let Whitney get to him just like she always had, and it only took him seconds to project his own hurt onto Grace.
He turned to face her, and his gut twisted at her stoic expression.
“No. I’m not angry. Just…out of practice, I guess. Is it this hard all the time?” he asked, forcing a smile. “Because that’s why I got out of the relationship business in the first place.”
She wasn’t laughing.
“Grace…” He took a step toward her. “Come on. You gotta admit this is not the most conventional setup we have here.”
“Do you mean the sex?” she asked, raising a brow. “Because I thought you were okay with—you know—the not having it.”
“I was. I mean, I am.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “But there’s the whole being-on-TV thing. There’s the not showing up to our date because you’re on one with your ex. And yeah, you add the sex thing to it, and it’s a lot. So I’m probably being an ass here, but maybe cut me a little slack. It’s not every day Lincoln Park’s reformed player falls for an abstinent massage therapist who has a blackmailing ex-boyfriend. I’m still getting used to it.”
Grace’s hand flew to her mouth, and although she covered it in time, he knew she was smiling. He could see it in her caramel eyes. And when her shoulders shook with laughter, he knew they were going to be okay. Because despite all of it, he couldn’t turn off how he felt.
“We sound like something out of a bad rom-com,” she said through peals of laughter. “Like, who wants to watch a player and an abstinent hippie not kiss and not have sex?”
He took another step closer. “Don’t forget—while also being blackmailed.”
She burst into another fit of laughter.
“Yeah,” she said when she was able to catch her breath again. “I think I can cut you some slack. As long as you can do the same for me.”
“Did I mention my parents divorced while Annie and I were in high school but didn’t tell us until about a year ago? You think you’ve got baggage, sweetheart? I wrote the fucking book.”
Her brows drew together, and her laughing ceased.
“That’s actually awful,” she said. “I’m sorry, Jeremy.”
He shook his head. “Shit, no. It’s okay. We were supposed to be lightening the mood, right? That’s what I was going for.”
Grace was the one to close the rest of the distance between them, wrapping her arms around his midsection without hesitation, despite him being soaked through with beer. God, it killed him to have her this close and yet have to stop short of crushing his lips to hers.
“Jeremy,” she said, her voice soft but insistent. “There’s nothing funny about that—what your parents did. It’s okay to admit things get to you.”
He shook his head. “The goal is not to let shit get to me in the first place. Then there’s nothing to admit. As for my parents, it’s better than fine, actually, because now they’re like these freakishly good friends,” he told her. “But yeah. I think I can cut you some slack, too,” he added. “Until we figure out what to do about the ex situation.”
“And what to do about Thanksgiving.” She looked up at him with pleading eyes and a smile that knocked the wind out of him.
“Thanksgiving?” He’d been looking forward to doing nothing. His parents—his mom with her new boyfriend and dad with his girlfriend—had decided to fly out to whatever state Annie and Wes would be in that weekend. Was it Georgia? Maybe Nebraska. It was some state that ended in A. At any rate, he had no dysfunctional Denning family obligations for Thanksgiving, and with the brewery being closed, he had the day to himself for a long run in the morning, and then a whole lot of nothing in the afternoon followed by just as much nothing in the evening. It was going to be glorious.
She nodded. “Yeah. Thanksgiving. At my parents’ place so they can meet the guy I’m not sleeping with.”
Sure, he was nuts about this woman. But parents? In a few weeks?
It’s too soon.
I don’t really do the whole parents thing.
I was kind of looking forward to a day to myself.
Those were all the thoughts swimming through Jeremy’s head, but he wasn’t thinking with his brain these days. And surprisingly, he wasn’t thinking with his dick, either. So when he said, “Sure. My family’s gonna be out of town anyway,” he knew exactly what had made the decision for him.
His goddamned heart.
She beamed at him, and that look alone was worth it. But there was still the question of where she’d been tonight—and the fact that he needed to change his shirt.
“I should take care of this,” he said, waving the fresh tee between them.
She nodded. “Let me help, okay?”
She didn’t wait for him to answer but instead pushed him the rest of the way to the restroom, which consisted of a toilet, a sink, and a supply cabinet. Grace closed and locked the door, then proceeded to lift his shirt over his head so he was standing there. Half naked. With a woman he couldn’t touch—and who sure as hell couldn’t touch him.
She stared at him for a long moment until he couldn’t take it anymore. Then he quickly pulled on the dry shirt.
“Sorry,” she said, trying to suppress a grin. “I was just admiring the view.”
“I’m not always such a mess, you know,” he said with a soft laugh. “I mean, that day we met—it was technically your fault I got all dehydrated after a couple beers. You were supposed to warn me not to drink.”
Grace crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “And now you’re going to tell me an old and ignored car accident injury is my fault, too? After I finally got over the intense guilt of you collapsing onto the floor of my almost storefront?”
He shook his head. “No. Just that first one is your fault. The sciatica thing was all me.”
She glanced at the soaked shirt in her hand and finally tossed it in the sink. “And that?” she asked.
He blew out a breath. “All Whitney,” he told her. “I don’t regret claiming my spot as your cleanse-breaking kiss, but I was naive enough to think Whitney wouldn’t exploit the situation.” He smoothed out a nonexistent wrinkle in his tee. Then he shrugged. “This is what I get for trusting her.”
“And what about trusting me?” she asked. “Do you trust that I wasn’t with him tonight?”
He nodded. “I do. I mean, I want to. But I’m still new at knowing who to trust. I don’t have the best track record.”
She laughed. “Welcome to my world,” she said. “I always thought physical chemi
stry meant that everything else was there, too—emotional connection. Trust. But I kept getting it wrong. And it took Mark’s betrayal to teach me that crazy-good sex does not equal a crazy-good connection.”
Jeremy coughed. “Crazy-good? Like, on a scale of one to ten, what are we talking? An eight? Maybe a nine?”
He was never one for performance anxiety, but he’d already been building up the day in his head—the one where he planned to knock it out of the park with Grace. He hadn’t considered that he’d be competing with the last guy she slept with. Or that despite the asshole stealing eight thousand dollars from her, she still remembered how crazy-good he was in bed.
She bit back a grin.
“I’m not going to quantify he whom I will no longer name. He doesn’t deserve any praise. I was just trying to make a point.” She motioned between them. “That we connect on a different level. I get it now, how good it can be. How good it will be between us because we haven’t even done the physical thing yet, and it’s already so good.” She paused, her face growing serious. “Isn’t it?”
He cupped her cheek in his palm, the closest he could get to showing her how he felt.
“Yes,” he said. “It is. But I think you should know that in six weeks I’m going to show you a whole new world. You won’t even remember the name of the guy you’d care not to name. Just sayin’.”
“A whole new world, huh? You got a magic carpet or something?”
He raised a brow. “Or something.”
“Mmm,” she hummed. “I can’t wait.”
And just like that, it felt like his jeans shrank two sizes just below the hips.
“Damn,” he said, his voice quiet and hoarse. “I’ve got to make it three more hours before I can go home and do something about how sexy you sound.”
She smiled. “Want me to call you in case you need a replay? I can do it again. And again. And again.”
He groaned, then adjusted himself before he exploded right there in his jeans.
“Six weeks,” he said. “With not even a kiss.”
She shook her head. “I can’t kiss Lincoln Park’s reformed player until it’s in front of a television camera. Rules.” She skimmed her teeth over her bottom lip, and he groaned again.
“Jamie, Brynn, my sister, and Wes are at a table across from the bar. I’ll meet you out there in five,” he said, and Grace gasped.
“You’re not going to…?”
“No. I just need a minute or two without you so close so I can stop thinking about you getting even closer.” He ran a hand over his face. “I’m probably not making any sense, but that’s basically what happens when I realize how badly I want to touch you and know that I can’t.”
She backed toward the door. “I’m sorry.” But she was laughing.
“You’re a terrible liar,” he said, but this only made her laugh more.
Her palm rested on the door handle, but she paused a moment longer.
“It was a client, by the way,” she said. “The reason I was late. I know you trust me, but I need you to know it wasn’t Mark and that I would tell you if it was. She’s a regular, and it wasn’t her day, but she pulled a muscle in her yoga class. I know. Ironic. But she was at my place when I went to drop off my table. Anyway, I texted, but maybe I should have said more than just ‘running late.’” She paused for a deep breath. “Sorry. My mother showing up in my kitchen unannounced this afternoon kind of threw off my whole day.”
Jeremy pulled his phone from his pocket and swore under his breath.
“You texted,” he said quietly. “Shit. It didn’t show up until just now. My phone must be acting up.” Then his eyes met hers. Her arms were crossed.
“But you trusted me anyway, right?” She raised her brows.
He smiled. “I did. I do. But I’m still glad you told me it wasn’t him.” He glanced down at his pants and chuckled. “Now get back out there and give me a minute to…collect myself.”
She covered her mouth, but that didn’t stop the laughter.
“Good-bye, Grace,” he said, eyes narrowed.
“Good-bye, Jeremy.” Her eyes fell on his obvious bulge. “Jeremy Junior, I hope you’ll behave.”
Then she slipped out the door without another word.
But the sound of that sexy hum—and her promising to do it again and again—only made Jeremy Junior want to misbehave even more.
He’d probably need more than a minute.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Graced loved coming home for Thanksgiving. Even if she felt like the odd girl out in a house full of lawyers, good food and the comfort of home never got old. But tonight she paced back and forth in front of the kitchen island while her mother poured a glass of red for her sister, Sarah, and Sarah’s husband, Jeff.
“You sure you don’t want one, Gracie?” Sarah asked, raising her glass once it was filled. “Looks like you could use one.”
Grace stopped long enough to roll her eyes and groan. “I’m not putting anything in my body that could impair my judgment for at least twenty-two more days.”
Sarah sipped her wine and grinned. “So it’s no wine, meat, or a man’s penis?”
Jeff coughed before he could swallow his wine, and a small dribble of red leaked out of the corner of his mouth so that he looked like a freshly fed vampire. Still, Grace was not amused.
“See?” she said. “This is why I wasn’t going to tell any of you.” She grabbed a carrot stick from the vegetable tray on the island and pointed it at her mom, whose eyes widened in feigned innocence. “You,” Grace said. “You don’t do social media.” She waved the carrot at Sarah and Jeff. “None of you do.”
Sarah made her way around the counter and put her arm around her baby sister.
“No,” she said. “But Jeff has a crush on WBN’s new weather girl, who is apparently turning you into the next local celebrity.”
Jeff was still cleaning wine from the corner of his mouth, but he grinned.
“Whitney Gaines? So you’ve met her, right, Grace?”
“See?” Sarah said. “Major crush. Maybe you can get him a signed head shot or something.”
Grace bit off the end of her carrot stick.
“You don’t care that your husband is, like, jaw on the floor and drooling for another woman?”
Grace’s mom joined in. “Their relationship is airtight.” Then she let out an exaggerated sigh. “Just like I thought you and Mark were. Honey, are you sure about this bartender? I mean, if you’re not going to be a lawyer, you can still marry one.”
Great. Her family had barely shaken hands with Jeremy before her dad asked for “help” walking the dog, and already her mother was trying to marry her back off to Mark.
“And we have lists,” Jeff continued, guiding the conversation back to him and her sister. Sarah nodded her agreement. “You know, our hall-pass list.”
Grace opened her mouth to protest—about her and Mark being airtight, about Jeff’s ridiculous list that included her current boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend—but what would be the use? She couldn’t really argue the way she wanted to. Not with the whole truth if she was still protecting them, which, of course, she was. So she shoved the rest of her carrot in her mouth, crossed her arms, and narrowed her eyes at her mother who simply shrugged and took a long swig of her cabernet.
Yeah. Grace sure showed them.
She rested her hand on the marble countertop and stared down at the reclaimed wood flooring. Only the best for her parents. And she knew, in their own way, they wanted the best for her. But they didn’t have the first clue what that was if they were still hanging on to the possibility of Mark.
“Mom…” Grace hesitated before going any further, but her mother’s eyes were already on hers.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
Grace swallowed, her mouth dry. Sarah was right. She could use a glass—or a bottle—of wine right now. But no. She would persevere. Or endure. Or something, depending on how her mother answered the next question.
&nbs
p; “This is it, right?” she asked. “Just us and Jeremy and Dad for dinner. You didn’t invite anyone else. Did you?”
Her mom lowered her now-empty glass to the island and let out a long breath.
“I did,” she said, disappointment evident in her tone. “But your aunt and uncle decided skiing in Vail sounded better than your father’s corn bread stuffing.” Then she absently refilled her glass and did the same for Sarah and Jeff.
Grace let out nervous laugh, and her mom looked up again.
“Oh, come on, Gracie. You don’t really think I’d invite your ex-boyfriend for Thanksgiving when you brought your new boyfriend for dinner. Do you?” She huffed out a breath.
“Well?” Grace said. “It’s only been like, I don’t know, half a year since we broke up, and you still thought we were working it out.” She used finger quotes around the last three words.
“So you’ve really never kissed him?” Sarah asked.
Grace groaned. “No. Zero physical contact that could be construed as sexual.”
“Honey,” her mom said. “How do you know you’ll be compatible in bed? I’m not about to deny he’s a good-looking young man, but to commit to each other without knowing if the chemistry is there between the sheets—”
“Mom! Geez. Don’t you get it? The whole point of what I’m doing is to connect with someone on another level. Mark and I had plenty of chemistry between the sheets, and…”
She trailed off, realizing she couldn’t defend herself any further without risking retaliation from Mark. Because she wasn’t his intended target, not directly at least. They were.
“And, what?” her mom asked, but Grace just picked up another carrot.
“And nothing,” she said, popping it in her mouth to keep herself from saying any more.
Seriously. Where were her dad and Jeremy? It didn’t take that long to walk the dog.
As if they sensed her anxiety, the front door opened, and Grace heard the pitter-patter of paws on the wood floor. She bolted into the living room to meet them, but before she could get to Jeremy, she was greeted by an overly excited black Lab.
