The One I'm With (A Sweet Somethings Novel Book 3)

by J. Lynn Rowan

  “You must miss them terribly, being away on business so much.”

  Josh tries to hide a grimace and keeps his voice light. “Well, the girls are old enough to understand why Uncle Josh isn’t around as much as he used to be. We Skype once a week or so when I’m gone. But my nephew— I just hope I can be there for him as he gets older, as much as I was for the girls. A kid’s gotta know his uncle.”

  “Totally understandable.” I pass the little pitcher of coconut milk to him. “My nephew and I have never lived in the same city. Even if we had, I was all of ten when he was born.”

  “Big age difference between you and your sister?”

  “Yeah, but she also had him young. She expedited just about all her milestones. Graduation, marriage, motherhood.” The unspoken list of all the ways I’ve lagged behind filters to the top of my mind. Lifting my glass, I notice the hint of understanding in his gaze.

  Maybe he’s lagged behind in a few ways, too.

  “Do you like your role in your family’s business?” I ask.

  The question makes him straighten, as if he’s surprised by it. “There are . . . parts of it I enjoy. The travel’s pretty sweet. I don’t mind the paycheck.” Reluctance slows his words.

  “But . . .” I prod.

  He stares at me for half a minute, then lowers his gaze to his plate as he idly stabs at his food. “I’m almost thirty-three. Home for me is a suite of rooms at my parents’ house in Christiansted, because I’m never there long enough to warrant having my own place. I’ve spent the last eight years doing for Mattingly Enterprises what any mid-level manager could do, and only because I got an MBA at my father’s insistence, instead of focusing on computer programming like I’d planned when I finished undergrad.”

  “Trouble in paradise, it would seem.” My voice comes out far softer and less lighthearted than I intend.

  “My family’s good people,” Josh says, looking up again. “But you know how it goes sometimes. Obligations, expectations, putting your own goals to the side. Do it often enough, and you forget what they were.”

  “Yeah.” Or you remember, but know you’ll never reach them. I sigh and force a smile. “Heavy stuff for a first date.”

  “I thought it was our second date.”

  “Coffee didn’t count. That was a test run to see if you deserved a first date.”

  Just like that, the serious expression on his face vanishes, replaced with the swoon-worthy half-grin that floored me across a dim and crowded bar. He catches the attention of our waiter, who swoops in with the check. Josh studies it, then stands. “I’ll go take care of this while you scout some movie times. Back before you can miss me.”

  My jaw drops slightly as he heads off to pay for our meal. I’m the queen of avoiding personal stuff, and while he didn’t exactly spill like he’s on a therapist’s clock, Josh certainly hinted at a lot of things that seem to be bugging him.

  Interesting. Maybe I’m not the only one in this equation who’s been screwed over by life.

  The rest of the evening passes without further reference to family or career status. We agree to catch the next showing of the latest comic book-turned-blockbuster movie, during which we both pretend to ignore our elbows bumping on the armrest or the brush of our hands when reaching for a handful of popcorn.

  I fail miserably at not noticing Josh watching me more than the movie.

  Despite this, he keeps up a lively commentary on the stereotypical elements of superhero movies during the drive back to my house. My laughter punctuates many of his remarks, and a little disappointment hits me when we pull into my driveway and park in front of the house.

  Nerves swelling, I twist the strap of my purse around my fingers. “This was fun.”

  “I’m glad you had a good time.” Josh touches the key in the ignition, appearing to think things through before cutting the engine. Then he shifts in his seat until he sort of faces me. “I know you’re busy during the week—”

  “So are you.”

  He pauses, letting my interjection slip away. “I’d like to see you again.”

  Though I fight it, I turn to look at him. The glow of the front porch light catches the contours of his face and highlight a soft smile. Something tells me this is usually the point at which he makes a move. Maybe just a kiss, but I expect it’s often more. My throat closes slightly as my gaze drifts to his lips.

  I wonder what it would be like if he did kiss me.

  Wildfire rakes through me at the thought, but so does a dash of sobering warning. The playboy vibe is all over Josh Mattingly, no matter how politely he’s behaved with me so far. I don’t have to Google him to know he’s probably been romantically linked with dozens of women, just by virtue of his family’s stock portfolio.

  I play the game to protect myself.

  He plays it because it’s fun.

  Which makes me wonder why he hasn’t made a move yet.

  “Sundays are usually better for me. I don’t work Sundays.” Now why did I say that? Only a woman who wants another date would make a blanket statement about her availability.

  Josh nods and opens his door, then rounds the car to open mine. He offers his hand, his smile deepening. “I’ll call you, then. Maybe you can show me around the area.”

  I unbuckle and let him help me out. “Sure. Just leave a voicemail if I don’t pick up.”

  Did I just agree to a second date? A third? More than that?

  Wobbling a little, I start toward my front porch. Awareness that Josh is trailing my steps blazes over me. I don’t know if he’s just being a gentleman by seeing me to the door, or if he expects something after all. And whether or not I’ve thrown my own rules out the window, he deserves to have fair warning about how far he’ll get with me tonight.

  Or ever, for that matter.

  After I climb up the three brick steps, I pause and face him. “Listen, Josh . . .”

  Thankfully, my words halt him at the bottom of the steps. He hooks his thumbs into his jeans pockets and tips his head to one side, smirking. “Uh, oh. That doesn’t usually precede something a guy wants to hear after a first date.”

  “Oh, no. I wasn’t going to say . . . Let me start over.” Closing my eyes, I draw a huge breath. Then I release it slowly, willing my skittishness to go with it, and look at him again. “People who know me—or at least know of me—will tell you I date. A lot. My friends will even tell you that, and they give me shit about it all the time.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with dating a lot,” he says, frowning a little.

  “No, of course not. But to most people, it seems like I, well . . .” I pause, thinking how to phrase things. “I don’t exactly have a reputation, if you know what I mean. But I haven’t dated anyone seriously in a really long time.”

  A perplexed line forms between his brows. “How long are we talking?”

  “Three years.”

  He lets out a soft whistle.

  “But like I said, I’ve dated. Nothing long term. Four or five dates at most. I just— I have my reasons.”

  Josh gazes at me for a few seconds, then climbs up the first two steps to my porch. The move brings him within six inches and manages to knock the air out of me without him even touching me. We aren’t quite at eye level, but it’s close. He’s still taller.

  “So we’ll take it slow,” he murmurs. “You decide when and where. We get to know each other. We have fun. And if we get past four or five dates . . .”

  I don’t think I’ve breathed in the last sixty seconds. My head spins. “Then what?”

  “Then . . .” He leans forward until his smooth-shaven cheek brushes mine, his lips drifting close to my ear. Sparks fly across my skin as his breath tickles my neck. “Let’s just say it’ll be a nice change of pace for both of us.”

 
How can a whisper feel like an intimate caress?

  A series of twitches flicker down my arms as the impulse to grab ahold of him and steal a kiss races through my muscles. But before I do anything, he backs down the steps, a look of satisfaction on his face.

  Neither of us says anything else as he returns to his car, climbs in, and drives away with a quick triple-beep of the horn.

  I can’t move until his taillights disappear from the end of my driveway.

  Chapter 6

  A Dark and Stormy Night

  Other than the basic rundown of how the date went, I refuse to give my friends any details about Josh. I also stubbornly bury myself in work for three full days before returning the voicemail he leaves Monday afternoon. When I do finally call him back on Thursday evening, the sound of his voice results in palpable joy on my part.

  Weird. I haven’t felt this giddy over a guy since before Jared the Asshat walked out on me. I almost wish I’d kicked my rules to the curb a long time ago, wondering how many other great chances I’ve missed out on because I was afraid of getting hurt again.

  But then I probably wouldn’t have met Josh.

  We agree to meet up on Sunday morning for brunch, then drive to Chimney Rock State Park for some hiking. Josh arrives prepared, toting a backpack loaded with bottled water, dried fruit, trail mix, and granola bars. He sports a beat-up baseball cap and a pair of hiking boots that show evidence of wear and tear.

  My surprise morphs into appreciation. Even if he bummed the gear off a coworker, it tells me a lot about his willingness to go out on a limb for a girl. I’d recognize him as a fake from a mile away if he showed up with brand new hiking boots.

  The afternoon couldn’t be more perfect weather-wise as we take the scenic route to Chimney Rock. We aren’t the only ones hitting the trails, though the park isn’t crowded. Since we only plan to spend the afternoon and this is Josh’s first time hiking here, we keep to the shorter trails, taking a break at mid-afternoon for a snack and rest. The required level of concentration on some stretches means little to no conversation, but Josh manages to say a lot by helping me over rough terrain, taking my arm or placing his hand on my lower back for support as needed.

  We’re both exhausted when we drag ourselves into the car and head back to Asheville. By the mutual agreement of our growling stomachs, we stop at a pizza place on our way into town. Over slices gooey with cheese and glasses of iced sweet tea dripping with condensation, Josh regales me with stories about hiking he’s done in the Virgin Islands.

  By the time we part ways for the night, I feel like I’ve known him for years, instead of a few days and two dates.

  Panic over this doesn’t set in until I’m halfway home. A hot shower doesn’t wash away the sense of belonging, the knowledge that dating Josh will mean something far different from anything I’ve experienced in the past. Even with Jared, with whom I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life.

  I should cut things off. Now, before they get serious. I almost convince myself, until Josh texts me a selfie he took of us on one of the scenic lookouts today, the view of Hickory Nut Gorge stretching behind us as we both make ridiculous faces of sweaty triumph.

  Pictures or it didn’t happen, right, Red? reads the caption.

  My stomach twists with pleasure. When did a color, a stupid nickname he gave me when he didn’t know my real name, become an endearment? Because every time I hear it, even just reading it, I know that’s how it’s meant.

  Over the next few weeks, we manage to meet up for most of the day on Sundays. Usually we do something casual, like walk around some of Asheville’s hot spots and grab a cup of coffee somewhere. Josh never lets me pay, despite my insistence that I don’t mind. He also finds dozens of little ways to initiate brief contact. A brush of our fingers as we stroll down a sidewalk. A touch to the small of my back as we enter a building. Plucking a leaf out of my hair during a walking tour of the historic Montford neighborhood, when I show him the three-story Queen Anne Victorian gem I’d give my left leg to call home.

  Every time we say goodbye at the end of a date, he drops a kiss to my hand, like a knight out of a fairytale. And then, just before he turns away, he gives me a smoldering gaze that weakens my knees, and says, “Until next time, Red.”

  And though he hasn’t tried to kiss me—not even once—I can tell by the look in his eyes that he’s dying to as much as I am.

  The steady trickle of rain draws me to the window, though I can’t see anything other than the reflection of the kitchen. Sighing, I turn around. “Is it supposed to rain all night?”

  Behind me, Caitlin, Mel, and Ava crowd each other at the island, hovering over the final design sketches of their boutique’s decor. All three glance at me before dropping their gazes back to the papers on the counter.

  “Weather report said intermittent showers,” Ava answers. “Chance of thunder and lightning once that front comes through.”

  Weather this time of year, in that cusp between early and mid-summer, can be unpredictable. Flooding isn’t common once you get far enough away from the French Broad River that cuts Asheville in two. But a couple of my neighbors have had their driveways wash out during torrential rains. I can manage if I get stuck for a couple days, but I don’t want my friends stranded.

  Caitlin catches my worried gaze and straightens. “You’re doing that mother hen thing.”

  “I’m not trying to rush you out, but—”

  Mel gathers the sketches into a neat stack. “But you don’t want us to end up in your ditch again. Though I’m still convinced that had more to do with Ava’s driving than the rain.”

  “Hey!” Ava props her hands on her hips, but her angry expression ripples with amusement at the memory of the four of us trying to dig her car out of four inches of mud last spring.

  I shrug. “I just know the only real food I have in the house is half a box of Cheerios, a couple eggs that might be past the sell-by date, and a cheesecake.”

  “Ah, so that’s why you want us to leave,” Caitlin says. “You want to spend some quality time with your guilty pleasure.”

  “Maybe.”

  Mel studies me, then pushes away from the counter. “I think it’s something else. A different guilty pleasure, perhaps?”

  Caitlin and Ava look from Mel to me.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, crossing my arms.

  Ava gasps. “Like a booty call?”

  “What?” My mouth drops open. “Ridiculous.”

  Caitlin taps her lips with one finger. “No, no. Hold up. It’s like June twentieth. Didn’t we make a bet that Marissa would be moving furniture with Mr. Tall, Bronze, and Handsome by now?”

  Eyes bright with laughter, Ava whips to face her. “Oooh, you’re right!”

  “Girls. Please.” I shake my head. “This is so stupid.”

  Now the three of them pin me with an expectant stare.

  Something unsettling bubbles at the pit of my stomach. My dating life, regulated by my long-standing rules, has always been a source of amusement for all of us. But with Josh, it’s different. I don’t want to joke about him, or dish about how far I’ve let him get with me.

  My cheeks warm. “Can we drop it?”

  “Your face is getting red,” Caitlin points out. “You might as well spill, because we’re not leaving without an update on Josh Mattingly.”

  In a show of solidarity, they rest their elbows on the counter, staring me down.

  “Dates,” Ava begins. “How many, where’d you go, is he as gorgeous in the daylight as he is in a poorly lit bar?”

  “I actually lost count of how many dates.” Their eyes widen at my revelation. “And before you start in, yes, it’s been more than five. And no, we haven’t moved furniture. In fact, we haven’t even kissed yet.”
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br />   “Whoa,” Mel interrupts. “How is that possible?”

  “Not everyone moves at lightning speed with this stuff,” I mutter weakly.

  Caitlin holds up one hand. “More importantly, why haven’t you kissed?”

  I frown at her. “You told me to throw the rules out the window. So I did. Believe me when I say I desperately want to kiss this guy. And I’m reasonably sure he feels the same. It just . . . hasn’t happened yet.”

  “Unprecedented,” Mel mutters.

  “He’s gotta be getting frustrated,” Ava chimes in. “You’ve been dating for . . . like, a month, right? I doubt he’s a saint.”

  “I would bet he’s got a sizeable trail of broken hearts in his wake. Guys like him always do.” I grab the stack of sketches and idly flick through them, just so I don’t have to meet their puzzled stares. “And I don’t know why he hasn’t tried to kiss me yet, or more. But what I do know is that he works hard for his family’s business, and he has two nieces and a nephew he’s crazy about. And he’s taking it slow with me.”

  Caitlin circles the island and rests her hand on my arm. “And you’re okay with this?”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s not how you operate.”

  I look at her. “It actually feels kind of nice to be seen as a person by a guy instead of a score. And honestly, now that I’ve been handling things differently with Josh, I’m glad I threw out the rules. If I’d followed them, he’d probably be done with me and moved on by now. Instead, I’m getting to know somebody who I think might be a great guy.”