by Lauren Layne
But neither woman was paying attention to him anymore.
“So what do you do, April?” Sue asked, going to Josh’s tiny pantry and pulling out the container of flour she’d stocked for him, again without his asking.
“I’m a marketing analyst,” April bubbled. Josh rubbed his temples. Good God, had her voice been that chirpy and annoying last night? “Technically, I’m based here, but I travel a lot.”
Sue made a tsking noise as she pushed Josh out of the way so she could place all of her dry ingredients on his counter. “Traveling’s no good. Must be hard to maintain relationships.”
Josh turned around so April wouldn’t see his grimace. “Coffee, ladies?” he asked.
“Always,” his mother said. “Your father insists on buying that cheap stuff whenever he does the shopping.”
“Is that why you’re here unannounced?” Josh asked. “Because my coffee’s better?”
“That, and I want a pancake. If I make them at home, your father will eat them, and if he eats them, he’ll put syrup on them, and the diet I’ve put him on will be for nothing.”
“The diet you were doing . . . together?”
“You hold your tongue, son,” she said with a little wink.
His parents had both put on a bit of weight after turning sixty. Something Josh’s dad had accepted just fine, but his mom was always on a “lose a dress size” mission.
At least until she got a pancake craving.
“Oh darn” came a quiet mutter from Josh’s kitchen table.
Josh’s one-night stand turned breakfast companion looked up from her cell phone with an apologetic look on her face.
“I’m so sorry, but I have to get going,” April said. “One of my coworkers has a stomach bug and needs me to cover a conference call for her.”
“No problem,” Josh said, just as his mother exclaimed, “Oh no!”
“Rain check?” April said, standing and coming over to touch his mom’s arm.
Absolutely not.
He liked April. She was a nice woman. Cute. Smart. Likable.
But he’d made it perfectly clear last night that he was only looking for last night. Only last night.
His mother’s unexpected appearance had bought her a reprieve for this morning, but no way was he looking to turn this into a thing. That wasn’t his style—at least not anymore.
Josh was already braced to counteract whatever invitation to dinner his mother had at the ready, but to his surprise, Sue Tanner gave April a noncommittal pat on the back of the hand.
“It was just lovely meeting you, dear. Good luck with your meeting.”
“Thanks,” April said, gracious enough not to press any further. She turned toward Josh and opened her mouth to say something. Then, seemingly seeing there was nothing to say, simply glanced down at the oversized clothing he’d shoved at her. Probably debating leaving wearing something three times too big versus putting on last night’s dress, which if he remembered correctly was flesh-toned, skintight, and probably not what she’d hoped to meet a guy’s mother in.
“They’re yours if you want them,” Josh said, jerking his chin at the clothes.
Her head snapped up. “Really?”
Josh smiled. “Really. Keep them.”
The light in her eyes dimmed just a little bit as she put the pieces together that keep them had a very different meaning from you can give them back later.
There would be no later.
Not for April.
Not for any of the women that came by.
Five minutes later, April was teetering across his living room in her high heels and last night’s dress, apparently deciding that a going-out dress at seven in the morning was a better option than wearing a one-night stand’s T-shirt back home.
“It was really nice meeting you,” April said, giving Josh’s mom a little wave.
“And you, honey,” his mom said with a wave, helping herself to the rest of Josh’s French press.
And because he wasn’t a complete ass, Josh walked April to the door, even though there wasn’t much to be said at this point.
Even still, she hesitated briefly, giving him a chance to ask for her number.
He did not.
“See you around,” April said, giving him the same awkward wave she’d given his mother.
“Absolutely,” he said, bending to kiss her cheek.
He wouldn’t be seeing her around, and they both knew it. Or if he did see her around, there wouldn’t be a repeat of last night. They both knew that, too.
Josh let out a little sigh of relief as the door shut behind her. Bachelor status firmly in place, exactly as he wanted it. Needed it. Life was too short—way too short to sleep with only one person.
Did that make him an ass? Maybe. Did he care? Not particularly.
“Well. She seemed nice,” Sue said, holding her mug in both hands and taking a sip as she watched him over the rising steam.
“Thanks for not asking her to Christmas dinner,” he said, heading back into the kitchen to make another pot of coffee, since his mother was drinking faster than him.
“I wouldn’t have done that,” she said, sounding scandalized.
“No? Just ask her to breakfast?”
“You don’t feed them after you’re done with them?”
“Mom.” He winced.
“Am I wrong?” she said. “This is the third one in as many months I’ve seen that’s left just like that. Nothing but a good-bye.”
“Well, perhaps if you called once in a while, I could spare you that,” he said pointedly.
Sue sighed. “I know. I’m sorry. I just . . . sometimes I need to see you. You know?”
Josh’s chest constricted, understanding immediately what his mother was saying as well as what she wasn’t saying, and grateful for it.
He didn’t need reminders about those days. Didn’t need a reminder of just how fiercely he’d needed her and his father.
And yet he knew that he wasn’t the only one with scars. Just like he was trying to put those days behind him, Sue Tanner was trying desperately to make sure they never came back.
And if that meant her stopping by, looking him over, all but checking his temperature . . . he could deal.
Josh glanced over, held his mother’s blue-green gaze, her eyes the same color as his own. “Mom. I do know. I understand, and I don’t mind. It’s why you have the key to my apartment. Just . . . some warning next time, okay?”
Her eyes crinkled as she smiled at him. “But if I call first, you might tell me not to come.”
“I’ll just tell you to come over later. You know. After.”
“After you’re done wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am-ing, you mean.”
“Jesus. Mom. Did you spike your coffee?”
His mother had never been the frail and dainty type, but she wasn’t quite normally so bald in talking about his . . . relationships.
“I’m sorry if I’m embarrassing you, dear. Just once I’d like to come over here and see a girl that you actually look at.”
“What?” he grunted, scooping beans into his grinder.
Sue gestured with her mug in the direction of the front door. “That girl right there was beautiful and sweet, and I’m not even sure you noticed.”
“I noticed.”
Last night.
He’d noticed this morning, too, he just . . .
Didn’t care.
His mom was shaking her head as she went to the fridge. “One day you’re going to find a girl that you can’t look away from and I hope I’m there to relish every minute.”
“Oh, I’m sure you will be,” he muttered.
“Josh Tanner, you’re out of milk!”
“Yeah, well, I eat cereal most days,” he said, mentally adding milk to his grocery list. “It hap
pens.”
“Well, I can’t make pancakes without it. What about buttermilk?”
“Of course I keep buttermilk on hand. What thirty-three-year-old bachelor doesn’t?”
His mom shut the fridge door. “Sarcasm’s not going to get you pancakes.”
Josh sighed. “I’ll run to the bodega.”
“Nonsense. Just ask Mrs. Calvin for some. That’s what neighbors are for.”
“Moved out,” Josh said, drinking the last swallow of his coffee. “Wanted to be closer to her family.”
“Well, that’s too bad. She was a nice lady. And deaf, which meant she didn’t have to suffer through the late-night band practice.”
“You too, huh?” he asked, heading toward the bedroom for shoes.
“Me too what?”
“The new girl in 4C’s all in a tizzy because of my music.”
It had been a week since she’d banged on his door, and he’d played his music just a little too loud nearly every night since then in hopes she’d come over for a repeat of that kiss. For a short, shut-her-up kind of kiss, it had been surprisingly hot. He wouldn’t mind a repeat, followed by something a little more naked than kissing.
“A band member’s hardly the ideal neighbor, dear,” his mother said.
“Yeah, she let me know that in no uncertain terms,” he muttered, flashing back to the way the curly-haired firecracker all but ripped him a new one. Hideous, uptight creature.
Hot though. Definitely hot.
Inspiration struck, and Josh halted on his way to the bedroom, instead turning left toward the front door.
“Where are you going?” Sue asked.
“I think you’re right, Mom. Borrowing milk is exactly what neighbors are for.”
Chapter Four
JOSH TANNER’S HANDS WERE all over her, and oh God they were good hands. Brooke and Alexis had been onto something with the hot musician thing, because he played her every bit as well as he played the guitar.
His palms skimmed up her sides, his fingers dragging over her rib cage teasingly before gliding over her breasts, circling her nipples teasingly while he sucked at a deliciously sensitive part of her neck. Heather shifted beneath him, spreading her thighs and moaning in need when he settled between them, rubbing his erection where she was wet and throbbing.
Her hands found his ass, grabbing greedily as she tilted up to him, suddenly aware that they had on too many clothes, aware of—
A rude knocking on her door.
Heather’s eyes snapped open, unsure which was more horrifying. The fact that someone was knocking on her door at seven thirty on a Sunday or the fact that she’d been having a dirty dream about her annoying neighbor.
It was a definite toss-up, but when she rolled out of bed, shuffled grumpily to the front door, and looked out the peephole, it was decided for her:
The neighbor was the more annoying part.
“Are you kidding me with this?” she muttered, resting her forehead against the door.
“Heather, darling, it’s me. 4A.”
As if she could forget the abs. And the face. And the voice. And the hands. The really skilled hands.
Although the abs were covered up today with a T-shirt, she noticed with just the slightest pang of disappointment. A tight, nicely fitting T-shirt, but still. She’d barely gotten over the six-pack hangover from the last time she’d seen her horrible neighbor shirtless.
“What. Do. You. Want.” She didn’t lift her head, much less open the door.
“Are you wearing those cute little pajamas again?” he asked.
“Tell me that’s not why you came over to wake me up.”
“Oh, were you asleep?”
His voice was all innocence, and Heather narrowed her eyes in suspicion, raising her face to the peephole once more, only to squeak in surprise when she saw his eye right there staring back at her.
“Damn it,” she said, jerking the door open so suddenly he nearly fell inside. “Who does that above the age of seven?”
He looked her up and down before a slow grin slid over his face. “Nice.”
Heather couldn’t help taking a quick glance down to affirm no strap had accidentally fallen. Nope. Technically she was covered, but she liked to sleep with her windows open to keep her bedroom cool, which meant she had a little headlight situation happening.
“Can I borrow some milk?” he asked.
She looked back at him. “Milk.”
“Yeah. You know, white, creamy, delicious, comes from teats . . .”
His gaze dropped to her chest again, and Heather cursed, reaching for the gray zippered hoodie on the hook by the door and pulling it around her.
“I don’t know if I have any milk,” she said.
But he was already moving past her, entering her apartment uninvited. “Cute,” he said, glancing around.
Heather didn’t bother to say thank you. She already knew it was cute. Had deliberately made it so, with endless hours searching Pinterest for inspiration followed by more endless hours searching every vintage furniture shop in the city. She’d wanted a combination of minimalist and Bohemian chic, and she’d nailed it, if she did say so herself.
The walls were painted a dark teal, with plenty of original and slightly beat-up-looking canvas prints adding contrast. The area rugs were bright and slightly tattered, and intentionally so. The white couch was kept from looking stark by a handful of bold throw pillows, and a bunch of stubby pillar candles in varying heights covered her coffee table, end tables, and the windowsill.
But the real crown of the room was her window seat. An actual window seat with a view of Central Park.
Hell. Yes.
“Mrs. Calvin used to love sitting here,” he said, running a finger over the purple cushion. “Although she had an ugly yellow pad.”
“Insisted on taking it with her,” Heather said dryly.
“I’m sure you were crushed. You have no idea how many times I watched her drop a glob of cottage cheese onto the cushion before the Chihuahua gobbled it up.”
Heather refused to engage or be charmed. “I don’t think I have any milk.”
“Now, now, neighbor,” he said, turning to face her. “You didn’t even look.”
“Fine. If it’ll get you to leave . . .”
She stomped into the kitchen to look for milk.
“The other night when you were so cranky, I thought for sure you must be a morning person.” He followed her into the kitchen and leaned his forearms on her counter as she jerked open the fridge door. “I see now that that this irritable thing you have going on is more of a twenty-four/seven thing.”
“Since you remember last weekend so well, I don’t suppose you also remember that I mentioned that I’m a wedding planner, with Saturdays being my biggest days?”
“Today’s Sunday.”
“I know it’s Sunday,” she said, yanking out a carton of milk and slamming the door shut as she turned to face him. “I know it’s Sunday because I spent all of yesterday on my feet, trying to pry champagne out of drunken teenagers’ hands before they could get into a car, and then got felt up by the bride’s drunken uncle.”
He studied her for several moments, his eyes searching her face, before he rapped his palm lightly on the counter and stood up. “You know what you need, 4C?”
“Yes. Sleep.”
“Pancakes,” he countered.
“Pancakes?”
“Exactly.” He came toward her and plucked the milk from her hand, glancing down at it. “Nonfat. Not my usual jam, but I think Mom can make this work.”
“Mom?”
Before Heather could register what was happening, Josh had placed a big warm hand on the small of her back and was ushering her toward the front door of her own apartment.
“I don’t want pancakes,” she said throug
h gritted teeth as she tried to push herself backward against his hand, to no avail. Jesus, those muscles didn’t lie—the guy was strong as an ox.
“Everybody wants pancakes, 4C.”
And apparently, just as stubborn.
“Heather. My name is Heather.”
“That’s way too pretty a name for someone as snippy as you.”
“I’m not snippy, I’m tired,” she said, meaning it. She knew she was sort of a bitch around this guy, and she wasn’t loving herself right now, but he really did have the worst timing.
Heather just wanted one good night’s sleep before she faced him again, and then maybe she could find her smile, find something nice to say, maybe even flirt.
But because she was exhausted, neither her brain nor her legs were working as well as usual, and before she knew it, she’d let herself be ushered toward 4A.
Josh shoved the door open and nudged her inside. “Mom, I brought you something sour,” he called out.
“The milk was no good?” came a female voice from the other room.
“The milk was fine,” Josh told the older lady who entered the living room. “It’s 4C here who’s a bit curdled.”
“I’m not curdled,” Heather muttered.
She wanted nothing more than to run for the door, but then the other woman was coming toward her with a wide smile. “You must be the nice girl that moved into Mrs. Calvin’s place! Oh my, aren’t you pretty.”
Heather did find a smile for that, because, well, who wouldn’t?
“Don’t get excited,” Josh said in a loud whisper as he headed toward his kitchen. “She says that to all the girls.”
“I do,” Josh’s mom said with a wide smile. “But I don’t always mean it. Today I do.”
“Oh, well, thank you,” Heather said, lifting a self-conscious hand to her hair and trying to wrap it into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. She liked her curls most of the time. Early morning before they’d seen shampoo or hair product was not one of those times.
“I’m Sue Tanner,” the other woman said, extending a hand.
“Heather Fowler.”
The other woman looked exactly as a mom who made pancakes was supposed to look. Short, a little bit plump, her hair short and curly and graying. She was well dressed but not Manhattan trendy. The smile, though, was the best part. Wide and friendly and genuine.
