by BJ Harvey
When I don’t elaborate further, her chair scrapes against the polished wooden floor and she marches over to me, a huge grin on her face and one of her index fingers poking my chest. “You’re not here to check my boiler. You’re here to talk to me about this woman you’re seeing.”
“I’m not seeing her as such, not yet. We just . . . had a heart-to-heart where it became clear that we both have feelings for each other and are interested in seeing where it might lead.”
“And now for the real reason you’re here, because what you just told me doesn’t sound like an issue.”
“You want a coffee? Or a wine? Because I definitely need a beer before we talk about this.”
“Zachary . . .” she says. “Just tell me.”
“It’s Zander’s sister,” I say hurriedly, opening the refrigerator and pulling out a bottle of white wine.
She whacks my arm with an open hand. “Zachary David Cooper. They’re both married!”
“Not Zoe or Mia. It’s Danika.”
“Oh,” she says, taken aback. “Well, then . . . maybe I will take that wine,” she says, reaching her hand out for the bottle.
I can’t help but chuckle. “Thought as much.”
Once there’s a bottle of beer in my hand and a full glass of wine poured for Ma, I pull out the pork chops from the fridge as well as some potatoes and green beans and set about preparing dinner. It’s then that I bring my mother up to speed with everything that has happened between Danika and myself.
“So she’s had a crush on you for the past seven years and the moment she tells you, it hits you like a lightning bolt that you like her too?” she says, a ghost of a smile dancing on her lips.
My eyebrows lift up so high I swear they hit my hairline. “Not like that. I admired her. I was attracted to her, but my friendship with Zander motivated me to keep my distance.”
“What’s changed now then?” she asks.
I look her straight in the eye. “I can’t stay away any longer.”
“And what about Zander?” she asks the six million dollar question.
“Dani wants to keep it between us until we’re sure there’s something there to tell him about.”
“And you agreed?”
“I don’t like it. I know Zander is going to lose his ever-loving mind, but if it makes Dani more comfortable, I’m willing to take the chance.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to go to Zander before anything happens and ask for his blessing?” she asks. How is it that moms can always see the most obvious solution to their children’s biggest problems?
Ma takes another sip of wine while I check on the chops in the oven, taking the opportunity to bide my time before answering. Standing up straight, I lift the beer bottle to my mouth and take a long swig before meeting her eyes. “Part of me doesn’t want to know whether I’d have his blessing or not because if he wasn’t to give to me, then that would say a lot about what he thinks of me.”
“It would,” she agrees.
“And a big part of me doesn’t need the knowledge that my best friend doesn’t deem me worthy enough to date his baby sister.”
“Do you really think he would think that?”
“No one, and I mean no one, would ever be good enough for Dani in Zander’s eyes. Past or present. She was three when her dad died. Zander may’ve only been thirteen, but he’s always been uber protective of her. She’s the baby, the exceptionally gifted and always-going-places one. She’s beautiful, funny, and so damn smart, and every time I’m near her I can’t help but smile. She’s nerdy and occasionally awkward, but they’re two of her best qualities.”
Ma’s eyes shine brightly as she listens to me. “That’s something I didn’t expect to hear you say. You’ve always gone for loud and outgoing.”
“You’re telling me,” I scoff.
“So you’re hooked?”
“Beyond hooked, and it’s tearing me apart and filling me up all at the same time.”
“Oh, Zach.”
“That’s me—the clichéd man falling for his best friend’s baby sister. The thing is, I have no plans to stop doing it.”
“Then don’t,” she replies, and my head snaps from the boiling pot on the stove to her face.
“I . . . what?” I ask, dumbfounded by her words.
“Don’t. I know Zander and I know you, and I also know that I haven’t seen you this twisted over a woman in a long time.”
“He’s my best friend.”
Mom puts down her wine glass and walks over to me, lifting her hands up to my face and cupping my cheeks, pulling me down until I’m eye-to-eye with her.
“And she might be the best thing to ever happen to you. Even Zander would not stand in the way of that, for either of you.”
All day I’ve been a bundle of nerves. Dinner, alone, at Zach’s house. Zach—my childhood crush, my teenage fantasy, and now my real-life dream man, within my grasp.
I stand outside his door, I’m not worried about what might happen or scared that I might embarrass myself by slipping into geek speak. I’m excited. How is it possible to go from rocking in the corner to bouncing up and down? I still don’t know despite doing nothing but for the last two hours.
I agonized over what to wear tonight. Abi had sprawled across my bed playing fashion police while I tried on at least ten different outfits. I went from smart and casual, to flirty cool, to classy but seductive¸ to slutty and obvious, and finally settled on comfortable and sexy with a side of skin.
The door swings open and I’m met by Zach wearing a white wifebeater and loose-fitting black sweats. The word “dayum” plays on constant repeat in my head as I take him in, head to toe and back up again.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hey,” I reply in a Zach daze, walking past the threshold of his apartment. I stop in the entranceway, taking in a large living area on the left, a hallway stretching out in front of me, and a kitchen to the right. It’s cozy and inviting, a home if ever there was one, but with a definite masculine touch—minus the beer kegs and smelly sports gear.
My nerves return tenfold. I stand there, frozen in place as the smell of garlic assaults me and the soft hum of Coldplay fills the air. The door closes behind me, and Zach’s arms slowly hook around my waist, making me jerk.
“You okay?” He brings his chest to my back, his warmth seeping into me as I sag into his hold and drop my head against his shoulder.
“You’re an adult,” I blurt out.
He chuckles. “News flash, but so are you Dani.”
I throw my hand up and wave to the space in front of me. “But you have your own place.”
“So do you . . .” he says, his voice a quiet murmur against the skin of my neck, sending lightning bolts of heat straight down between my legs.
“I don’t own it, though.” I remember Zander telling me that Zach bought his own place two years ago.
His head dips and he plants an open-mouthed kiss on my shoulder. “Bonus of being an adult for longer,” he says, his voice light and playful.
It’s not as if I’ve forgotten our age difference. I’ve always been more than well aware of it, but neither one of us have raised the issue since things started between us. I have a nagging worry deep inside that nine years might become insurmountable in certain aspects of our lives. Case in point—he owns his place and lives alone, whereas I share with Abi.
“Dani,” Zach says, dropping one of his hands to my hip and spinning me around to face him. He puts his hand under my chin and tilts my head up just as he lowers his down, and he kisses me gently at first, a slow-burning caress that calms me. Then his tongue traces my lips and invades my mouth, lazy, languid strokes against mine earning a whimper and then a moan. My hands roam his back, my fingers gripping his shoulders as I let go, deepening the kiss and leaning all of my weight into him, losing myself in the bliss that is Zach’s kiss.
Then, as if hit with a lead balloon, I stop and wrench myself free, taking three steps back from him, horrified that
I completely lost my mind. “I’m so sorry.”
I catch him off guard. “Dani,” he says gently, “don’t ever apologize for showing me how you feel.” He walks toward me, framing my hips with his hands and bending his neck down to look straight at me. “But given that I have Bolognese cooking that I really don’t want to screw up, because I’m hoping to wow my gorgeous date with my cooking prowess . . .”
My lips twitch, and I struggle to hold back a wry grin. “Prowess?” I tease.
“Don’t doubt my ability to blow your mind, Danika Roberts.”
“Is that a promise, Zachary Cooper?” I whisper, my heart racing and my breathing labored. He moves closer until his lips touch mine but don’t move. His warm breath fans over my skin; he turns me on more than any other man has done before and with the barest of touches. I’m starting to see Abi’s point about dating, sex, and everything in between being better than any game I could ever make.
“I never say anything I don’t mean, Dani, and never promise anything that I know I can’t deliver.”
“I think . . .” I murmur, getting lost in his hooded blue eyes, my resolve to not climb him like a spider monkey in heat again wavering.
“Tell me . . .” he rasps, the sexy roughness in his tone almost my undoing.
“I think you need to feed me before we end up skipping dinner completely.”
He wasn’t lying when he said he was out to impress. With his hand in mine, he leads me into his dining room, and I falter when I see a fully set table complete with a red candle in the center. “Zach . . .” I whisper in awe.
“It’s our first official date. I wanted it to mean something.”
I tug on his hand and he looks down at me. “Everything means something with you.”
“Jesus,” he says, his eyes darkening as they scan my face. “How did I resist you for so damn long?”
I’ve asked myself a similar question for the past week. I’ve had three kisses from Zach Cooper and each one has left me floating on air. We haven’t even sat down for our meal and I’m already counting this as the best date I’ve ever had—bar none.
I must be cock-dumb. It’s the only explanation. Maybe there’s an abundance of leftover teenage hormones coursing through me and they’ve short-circuited my brain. No man can be this amazing, this sexy, this consuming. God! We haven’t even reached second base—something I’m totally hoping to rectify tonight though.
“I’ve got to check the sauce. Would you like a drink?” Zach asks, snapping me out of my in-depth internal analysis.
“Wouldn’t want you to get distracted while cooking dinner again,” I tease, remembering how he set his kitchen on fire during a date back when Zander was his roommate.
He groans and shakes his head. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”
“Probably not,” I say with a shrug.
“Can it be noted that if I burned down my kitchen again, it would be all your fault?”
Unable to stop myself, my mind drifts to all the ways I could distract him.
“You totally just zoned out. Am I boring you already, Little Grasshopper?”
“Not at all,” I reply as my cheeks heat up.
“Well, we can’t have that now. Would you like to hang in here with me and I’ll pour you a glass of wine?”
“Sounds awesome,” I reply, gasping as he lifts me up and plants my ass on his counter.
“How was work?” he asks, stirring the bubbling sauce that smells amazing.
“Really good today. We had a few patches to roll out for our bestselling platform, but it all went smoothly so everyone wins.”
He pours us both a red wine and walks my glass over to me, smirking when he catches me staring at him.
“You’re enjoying it still?” he asks, leaning back in his chair and watching me.
“I love it,” I reply. “I never thought I’d have a job that was my passion and get paid to do what I love. But that’s what’s happened.”
“You’re very ambitious. It’s inspiring,” he says, taking a sip of his drink.
“It’s nothing like you though. You save lives.”
“I do. Well, as a team we do. I love working on something I’m proud of.”
“Me too. That’s exactly it.”
He holds his wine out to me and I reciprocate. “To doing what we love,” he says.
“And loving what we do,” I reply, clinking my glass with his.
“Are you hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Well, I best get my girl fed then,” he says, and my breath catches. My girl. His girl. Swoon alert, aisle five. Clean up imminent.
During dinner, I decide to ask what’s been playing on my mind ever since our kitchen scene almost two weeks ago. “What do you like about me?”
“You seriously asking me that shit?” he says, lifting a fork to his mouth.
“Well, I know I’ve liked you for what seems like most of my life, but I didn’t know you liked me too. So yeah, what do you like about me?” I reply with a grin, taking another sip of my wine.
“In order?” he asks.
My brows shoot up. “You mean there’s a list?”
“Oh yes, and it grows longer every day.”
My heart flips and my belly goes warm. “Okay, then. Give me the top five.”
“Your heart, your smile, your drive, your lips, and the way you tilt your head to the side when you don’t even know you’re doing it, making me want to kiss it straight again.”
My mouth drops open, and he smiles wickedly at me. “You like my head tilt?”
“You’re doing it now,” he says. I realize he’s totally right and move it back up, making him chuckle. “And what about me?”
“You don’t have to tilt your head for me to want to kiss you. Just breathing is enough.” He blinks—a few times—and his breath hitches, his body staying completely still. Shit, why did I say that?
Needing to do something—anything—to change the subject, I stand up and gather the dinner plates and carry them into the kitchen. A minute later, Zach follows behind me.
“Just leave them on the countertop. I can do them in the morning.” He takes the dishes from my hands and stacks them in the sink.
I walk over to him and pick up a kitchen towel from a side rail. “If we both do it, they’ll be done in no time, and then you can relax tomorrow.”
“Want to call in sick?” He looks over to me with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
I gasp in mock horror and lean a hip against the counter, watching him as he rinses off the plates. “Are you trying to lead me astray?”
“Is it working?” he asks, turning off the faucet and drying his hands on a dish towel before sidling up to me and snaking his arms around my waist.
I love the ease with which he touches me. It’s unapologetic, definitely not timid, and it’s very much a sign of a man who knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to show it.
I stand up straight and run my hands over his back. “Maybe . . .”
“Do you need more convincing?”
I rise up on my toes. “Definitely.”
He lowers his mouth and kisses my cheek. “Like that?”
“Uh-huh.”
He trails his lips down to the hinge of my jaw and kisses me again. “And that?”
“Mmhmm . . .” I murmur, closing my eyes and taking in his touch and his smell—seriously, the man should bottle up whatever it is and sell it. I present to you Zach Cooper Eau de Parfum. Lady boner guaranteed or your money back.
“How about now?” Dragging his lips along my skin to the corner of my mouth, his tongue traces the line leaving a trail of fire in its wake. I turn my head and whimper into his mouth, accepting his kiss and finding myself totally convinced with just that.
The kiss turns wild. My hands glide up into his hair and grip tight, holding his lips to mine as we ravage each other. This is not like any other kiss we’ve shared before; this is definitely a step up, and I’m so far from complai
ning it’s not funny.
His hand moves up my side, grazing my bust and then tangling in my hair. He tilts my head and kisses my neck, nipping, and sucking, and driving me insane. My hands claw at his back, dropping down to dip under his tee. When skin meets skin I moan loudly, the combination of his heat and his mouth on me doing crazy things to my brain—and my wonder button.
“We should stop . . .” he says between kisses.
“Yeah we should . . .” I moan, moving my hands out of his tee but not moving away. Instead, I wrap my fingers around his biceps as his mouth comes back to mine for a long, deep, spine-tingling kiss.
My nerves are now but a memory. At no time has Zach made me feel uncomfortable. If anything, he seems to want me to be myself and nothing but myself. For a woman who feels overshadowed by cool, outgoing, sassy women, the freedom I enjoy around him is heady.
Mom always told me that I’d find someone who I could be my dorky self around, and that he’d like it. I’d always scoffed, because I’d never thought a guy like Zach would want someone like me. It wasn’t a lack of self-esteem; it was more my eyes-wide-open approach to life.
Before Zach, the guys I’d been with had been the brooding, intellectual types. We’d have a mental connection but nothing ever came close to the way I feel when I’m in the same room as Zach.
Now that I’ve touched him, tasted him, felt his body hard and ripped against mine—even if we still haven’t seen each other naked—I don’t know how I could ever settle for anything less. Shit. How can I have kissed the guy, spoken on the phone, and not even passed second base with him and be halfway gone already? My sisters would have a conniption if they knew that I was falling for a guy this quickly, let alone the fact it’s Zach.
I’d be lying to myself if I said I wasn’t half in love with him already, and not just the idea of him, which I’ve held close to my chest for more than seven years.
Up until last year when I moved back to Chicago, whenever I saw Zach—usually at family events or the group’s get-togethers that Zander would bring us to—I hid my feelings from him. When he’d bring a girlfriend—thankfully I only ever met two—it would hurt like a bitch, but I made sure to never let it show.
