Crazy Over You (Love with Altitude #2)

by Daisy Prescott

  “You’re no fun at all.”

  “Then why are you calling me?”

  “I need to raid your closet.”

  “You’re kind of far away to raid my closet in Boston.” She’s silent for a few beats. “Why?”

  “I have a date,” I whisper.

  “Should I ask why you’re whispering? Is he there already?”

  “No, I don’t want the cats to find out. You know how jealous they get if they think they’re going to have to share my attention with someone else.”

  “What about the dog?” I hear rustling on her end of the call.

  “They barely acknowledge his existence. It’s the best way to maintain peace.”

  “You’re really weird.” True, but I amuse her.

  “Old news. Moving on. I need an outfit for a dinner date.”

  “With?”

  “A man.” I give her nothing.

  “I hate you.”

  “I’m not sure if I like him or not.” I don’t say anything about the Norse god hotness or charms of a serial killer. I don’t want her to worry.

  “Then why are you going out on a date with him?”

  “He invited me to the crepe place in Aspen.”

  “You love crepes.” I hear the thunk of something heavy hitting a carpeted floor. “Okay, I get it now.”

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Plausible deniability?”

  “Better that way. You should wear jeans and your black lace top with the high neck. The outfit needs to say ‘I like sex, but I’m not sure if I’m going to have it with you’ in a classy way.”

  “All that from a top and jeans?”

  “You’d be surprised. The lace will make him think of lingerie. The high neck says Victorian lady.”

  She has a good point. “Thanks. Please don’t go to jail. I’m not sure what I’d do without you.”

  “Orange has never been my color. And if I’m in jail, how will I come out and visit you in a few months?”

  I miss her. There’s nothing like a best friend who will always have your back.

  Feeling better after our call, I get ready for the evening.

  I’m not exactly optimistic I’ve met my soul mate in Landon, but I’m not dreading dinner.

  Will this dinner ever end?

  How long can a man talk without taking a breath or pausing to sip some water? How is it possible his throat isn’t parched?

  I smile and reach for my glass. Torn between my desire to do something to stave off a yawn and adding more liquid to my bladder, I toy with the stem. Instead of drinking, I flip my knife back and forth next to my plate like I’m flipping a coin.

  Blade facing in. Pee my pants before he stops talking.

  Blade facing out. Run screaming for the bathroom.

  Blade in. Blade out. It’s the world’s worst, least dangerous knife game.

  I’ve had to pee since we sat down, but there hasn’t been a break in his monologue long enough for me to politely excuse myself to the ladies’ room.

  At least now he’s moved on from talk of his passion for water sports.

  The typical kind.

  I hope.

  My poor bladder.

  I squirm and recross my legs while I wait for the right moment to escape.

  Landon must take my wiggling as excitement because he smiles at me and says, “Right?”

  “Sure.” I have no clue what he’s said and pray I haven’t just agreed to something horrible, like a big game hunt or a second date.

  I wonder if this is what racehorses feel like. Where does the expression “pee like a racehorse” come from anyway? Does a full bladder make them run faster? Or is it all horses? Do the other equines tease the racehorses about holding it so long? As a veterinarian, I feel like I should know the answer to these questions, but as a small animal vet, it’s out of my repertoire.

  I need to stop thinking about peeing. I should focus on dry things.

  Like California’s drought, month old Christmas trees, British wit. And my vagina while listening to the world’s most boring date mansplain to me about his fantasy football club.

  Zoning out on his pretend football team’s stats, I plant a vague, but interested smile on my face and stare over his shoulder. Behind him, a waiter fills glasses of water for the table of four chic women. To their left, a waitress opens a bottle of wine and pours a few splashes into the bowl of a large goblet. A couple on the right sips a creamy soup from large spoons. When a toddler in a high chair tips over his mom’s glass of water and the liquid creates a waterfall from the table to the floor, I reach my breaking point.

  “Hold that thought!” I practically leap from my chair and speed toward the bathroom, keeping my hand pressed against my abdomen to encourage my pelvis muscles to not give up the fight just yet.

  I plow past the woman leaving the single occupancy bathroom with a quick thank you as she momentarily fights to maintain her hold on the door. With a quick tug, the door shuts and I fumble with the lock while my other hand begins undoing my jeans.

  “Ahhhh,” I moan with relief. If someone were eavesdropping, they might think I’m in here having sex with how loud I am.

  Finishing up and washing my hands at the sink, I frown at myself in the mirror. One month in Colorado and I’ve broken my biggest rule.

  No more boring dates with boring men who don’t realize how boring they are.

  Life’s too short.

  On paper, Landon seems … nice.

  I’m not going to lie and say his name didn’t have something to do with me accepting the date. Landon, like Michael Landon. Pa on Little House on the Prairie was my first great crush. I know, I probably should’ve crushed on Almanzo, but Pa was so manly and kind. Not every man can pull off suspenders and make it hot. Don’t get me started about all his thick, wavy brown hair and his broad shoulders. There’s something about a man who can build things with his hands. Throw in the fiddle playing and the gentle strength, how could anyone resist?

  This Landon is proving more than easy to resist.

  At least both men share the manly part. Or at least I assume it’s a penis Landon keeps touching beneath the tablecloth.

  I dry my hands on a paper towel from the neat stack in a basket next to the sink.

  If I’m being honest, I also said yes to the date to check out this restaurant. La Belle Femme is charming in a shabby but elegant way only the French can ever pull off. Their crepes are to die for.

  Or at least worth putting up with a boring date and a nearly burst bladder.

  Winding my way through the intimate restaurant crowded with small tables, I witness two things almost simultaneously.

  First, Landon is chatting up our waitress like they’re old friends. Or old friends with benefits. His hand is on her slim waist, and as I spy on them, he moves it lower to give her a pinch. On her ass. While me, his lovely date, is in the bathroom.

  Second, standing at the hostess desk is Jesse. He’s grinning at the slim hostess like he wants to roll her up in a crepe and have her for dessert.

  If I had my bag with me, I’d keep walking straight out the door without a backward glance.

  What is it with guys in this town? Do they think they’re the only men in the world? Has the altitude addled their brains into thinking they’re gods among us mere female mortals? Blessing us with their presence and attention one minute, taking it away the next because something else has caught their fancy? Because they can?

  The waitress laughs a little too loud, drawing not only my attention but Jesse’s.

  As his gaze sweeps the room, his eyes land on me.

  Great.

  Now he’s seen my date flirting with the waitress.

  I don’t care about Landon and his imaginary sports team, but I do care about the humiliation of being that girl. The one whose date is a loser. A cad. A bad stereotype.

  I can do better.

  Ignoring Jesse, I breeze thro
ugh the tables to Landon while forming my excuse.

  Once I reach him, I gently place my hand on his forearm, inches away from where he’s fondling another woman’s hip.

  “Sorry to interrupt, but I need to go. Emergency at the clinic.” My words might be polite, but my tone says I’m through. Or something that rhymes with through but sounds more like “fuck you.”

  Our waitress jumps a few inches to the side. Her long blond-highlighted hair swings behind her back like Rapunzel. Landon’s hand hovers in the air like he’s falling off a cliff and she’s the rope he’d been clinging to.

  “You’re a doctor?” Pretty waitress blinks her warm brown eyes at me.

  “She’s only a vet.” Landon corrects her.

  “Right.” My voice is as cold and flat as a metal pole. “Well—” I’m about to say thank you for a lovely evening because being polite is so ingrained into me, but I stop myself. With a quick nod, I turn and walk away.

  Really, what more needed to be said?

  “Only a vet,” I mumble as I collect my coat from the rack next to the front door. “Only a vet coming from a guy who probably got his associates degree online. Just a vet.”

  I’m so infuriated by his insult I can’t get my arm in the sleeve of my coat. Wrestling with the puffy tube of death, I spin myself around like a dog trying to catch its own tail.

  “Only a—”

  A hand stops my spinning. “Here, let me help.”

  I recognize Jesse’s deep voice. My knight in a down parka holds onto the sleeve of my coat.

  “I don’t need rescuing,” I say without an effort to sound grateful.

  “If you’d like to continue your whirling dervish impression, by all means, don’t let me get in your way.” He drops my coat and steps away.

  I grudgingly shove my arm into the sleeve and tug my parka over my shoulder.

  “This is the part where you say thank you,” he suggests quietly.

  Under normal circumstances, I would—because it’s the polite thing to do—but I’m riled up and don’t want to do the expected.

  “I didn’t need your help.”

  “Never said you did.” He stares over my shoulder. “You’re on a date?”

  “More of a social experiment.” I refuse to turn around.

  “He doesn’t look very happy.”

  “Good.” I’m being petulant, but ask me if I care.

  “Was he a jerk to you?” Jesse straightens his back and rolls his shoulders, making him appear more like a bear than a man.

  “To me, to the waitress, although she didn’t seem to mind.”

  Jesse’s eyes flash to mine. “Seriously? He flirted with the waitress in front of you?”

  “No, he did the gentlemanly thing and waited until I was in the bathroom.”

  He stares down at me and his lips part like he’s about to say something but is trying to resist. With a shake of his head, he erases the words. Instead, he runs his fingers across the center of his forehead. “Right.”

  I don’t know what he means. Is he agreeing with my sarcastic remark about Landon’s manners? As I’m trying to figure out his strange response, he gives a smug look behind me.

  “Wha—”

  I don’t finish the word. Or the thought. Because Jesse kisses me. Right in the middle of La Belle Femme. Blocking the front door. In front of the entire restaurant.

  It’s not a peck on the lips. Oh no.

  He wraps an arm around me, pressing his forearm into my back and shifts us so he can properly kiss me. His tongue invades my mouth and it’s not at all polite or mannered. No. This is the kind of kissing that puts the tongue in PDA. Not the sort of kissing you do in public. Not even in a romantic French restaurant. This is a kiss I feel spark throughout my body, igniting dormant, parched areas and setting them aflame.

  My body remembers this kiss. We’re still kissing soul mates.

  I press my hand against his shoulder, unsure if I mean to push him away or pull him closer, but my touch snaps him out of the kiss. He leans away, settling me back on my feet, and brushing his hand over my shoulders.

  My feelings are a jumbled mess inside my head. Should I feel thankful? Insulted? Turned on? Assaulted? All of the above? What the hell just happened?

  His big hands gently lift my hair out of my coat and set it free. He tugs on a curl and lets it bounce back into shape before speaking. “There. All better.”

  The gesture is both sweet and confusing.

  I couldn’t be more confused if he sprouted fur and actually turned into a bear right in front of my eyes. Why am I always thinking about bears when he’s around?

  “Uh, what was that?” I whisper, casting a glance to see if everyone is staring at us. My focus wanders over to the table I’d occupied with Landon a few minutes ago. It’s empty.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” the hostess speaks up, “but your friend left without paying.”

  Simultaneously, like synchronized swimmers, Jesse and I turn to face her.

  “Sorry.” She holds up the bill folder. “He said you’d take care of it.”

  “When did he leave?” I whisper.

  “While you two were kissing. He stomped out of here. You didn’t see him?”

  My eyes widen. How long were we kissing that my date up and left, sticking me with the tab? What sort of voodoo magic did Jesse wield over me?

  “It happened really fast,” our waitress joins the conversation. “Jesse helped you with your coat and by the time you two were lip locked, Landon was on his way out the door.”

  “Hi, Mae.” Jesse gives her a little wave and an embarrassed half-smile.

  “Hey, Jesse.” She waves.

  “You two know each other?” I ask, my focus split between the two of them.

  “Forever,” they both reply at the same time.

  “It’s a small town,” Mae says.

  “Especially if you grew up here,” Jesse adds.

  “Sorry about your date.” Mae gives me an empathetic smile. “I’ve known Landon a long time. You dodged a bullet there. Thanks to Jesse.”

  “Oh, the date was DOA before he showed up.” I don’t bother sharing the “just a vet” comment. Moot point.

  “I didn’t really get the date vibe from your table. Then when you went to the bathroom, he started chatting me up.”

  Feeling you up is more like it.

  “He’s always been a handsy guy. Knows we won’t make a big fuss because the customer’s always right and we work for tips. I should’ve stayed on the other side of the table.” She’s pretty in a pierced-nose, carefree, naturally pretty kind of way.

  “Please don’t apologize for his actions. He’s a jerk,” I say.

  “You were on a real date with Landon?” Jesse interrupts.

  “There won’t be a second one.”

  “Why was there a first one? Of all the men in town, you thought to yourself, Landon Roberts is the one for me?” He shakes his head in disgust, or maybe disbelief.

  “It was just a date. I love crepes.”

  “Then come for crepes by yourself.”

  While I agree with him on almost everything he’s said, I’m not going to admit it. What business is it of his?

  “And be the lonely woman dining all alone?”

  “I’m here. You could’ve come with me.”

  I stare at him.

  “As friends. This town’s too small to date locals. Right, Mae?”

  Mae glances between us and holds up her hands. “No comment.”

  Wait a hot minute. Does that mean she and Jesse have already dated? If they’ve known each other forever, the odds are likely they have. I can see them together with their Colorado fresh-faces and excellent genes swooshing down mountains while laughing and being good looking.

  Who hasn’t he dated?

  Other than me.

  And probably the table of ladies with the giant rocks on their hands and Botox in their faces.

  “Thanks for the tip.”

  “No problem
.” He picks up a to-go bag from the hostess stand. “It’s been fun, ladies.”

  He gives me a slight nod and leaves, cold air blowing in behind him when he opens the door.

  “Wow,” Mae says. “I’ve never seen him do that before.”

  “Kiss a random woman in public?”

  She shifts her gaze to her desk, avoiding the truth we all know. “Not that part.”

  “Didn’t think so.” He’d kissed me within a minute of meeting me for the first time.

  “Defend a woman’s honor. That’s what I was going to say.” She wraps her long hair around in a loose bun at the nape of her neck.

  “Is that what he did? Whose honor?”

  “I meant yours. He doesn’t like when the customers get flirty, but we all know it’s part of the business.”

  “Mine?”

  “He watched the whole thing go down at the table.”

  “Wonderful. Nothing like creating a scene.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that. It’s so dark in here, I doubt anyone could see past their own noses.” She smiles and it’s genuinely friendly. “How do you know Jesse?”

  “I don’t really. We’ve …” I pause to think of how to phrase it so I wasn’t giving away the whole sordid past, “… met a few times. He rescued me from a panic attack on the mountain a few weeks ago.”

  “I see. You didn’t ask for my thoughts, but I’ll tell you I’ve known him for over a decade. Super nice guy. Terrible boyfriend material.”

  Her words ring true, but the truth doesn’t stop the disappointment from taking up residence in my chest.

  “I get the feeling you’re new to town.”

  “Is it obvious?”

  She laughed. “You’ll see how it is. Might be a glamorous ski destination, but it’s still a small town. If you’re looking for friends, some of us get together and go to Taco Tuesdays. It’s a girls only night and I think you’d fit right in with the group.”

  “I’d love to join.”

  Mae and I exchange numbers and then I reach for my wallet.

  She waves away my credit card. “Your bill’s been taken care of.”

  “I thought you said my date left it for me.”

  “He did. Jesse paid for it.” She flashes me a grin.

  That man! I didn’t know if I wanted to yell at him or kiss him again.