by Lauren Layne
“So, you’re sure your last name isn’t Heather Foul?” Josh asked, glancing up from where he was reheating an electric kettle.
She would have given him the finger if not for the presence of his sweet mother.
“I should go,” Heather said, ignoring Josh altogether and pasting on a smile for Sue. “You’re welcome to the milk.”
Sue frowned. “You don’t like pancakes?”
“I—”
“Don’t fight it, 4C,” Josh said. “Coffee?”
He poured the water into a French press, the smell of dark roasty beans hitting her nostrils within seconds, and . . . damn. Heather was a sucker for a good cup of coffee, and somehow she knew this was going to be a good cup of coffee.
Josh caught her eye and winked. “Gotcha.”
“Shut up,” she muttered, earning a delighted laugh from Josh’s mom, who led her to the kitchen table.
“Sit,” Sue said. “You sit right there, and I’m going to make you the most delicious pancakes you’ve ever had while you tell me all about yourself.”
“She’s a wedding planner who’s not a night person, and apparently not a morning person, either,” Josh said. “She also hates music.”
“I don’t hate music, I hate you,” Heather said.
She glanced at Josh’s mom in apology for hating her son—but really, she did sort of hate him—and saw Sue giving Josh a curious look.
Josh noticed, too. “Mom. What.”
“You know what Heather does for a living,” Sue said, her eyes sparkling as she assembled a whole slew of ingredients on the counter.
“Because she told me.”
“You didn’t know what April did for a living.”
“Who’s April?” Heather asked, mostly because she sensed Josh was almost squirming, and it was lovely to turn the tables a bit.
“Josh’s overnight guest,” Sue said.
Heather glanced around. “I thought it smelled like bachelor pad in here.”
And it really was the quintessential man-space. From the dark leather couch and the TV the size of Montana right down to the guitar in the corner.
The guitar made her remember their first meeting, and she looked around curiously. “Where are the rest of your noisemakers?”
“Second bedroom,” Sue answered, apparently understanding Heather’s meaning perfectly. “Drums, more guitars, the whole deal.”
“I can’t believe the landlord lets you do that,” Heather said.
Josh shrugged. “The unit below me is the community space. As long as nobody has the room reserved for something, nobody’s there to hear us make noise or care. The staircase is on the other side, and on the other side is . . .”
“Me.”
“Yup.” He plunged the coffeepot. “And I just want you to know, I’d be happy to take any requests for your favorite songs. A nice lullaby to get you to sleep, perhaps?”
“You are not playing that”—she pointed at the guitar—“while I go to sleep,” she said.
“Well now, how’s that going to work, 4C? Because best I can tell, you’re always just off to bed or just out of bed.”
“I’ve seen you exactly twice. At two a.m. on a Saturday and seven a.m. on a Sunday, and I’m—”
“A wedding planner?”
“I was going to say a light sleeper,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Huh. Your hair seems to take the whole bed thing pretty seriously. Cream and sugar?”
Heather ignored the slight on her hair. “Black, please.”
He lifted his eyebrows and walked toward her with two steaming cups in hand. Heather tried to find a way to accept the plain white mug without touching his hand, but he’d seemed to arrange his fingers to make that impossible. Deliberate, probably.
“Thank you,” she muttered, ignoring the little fissure of awareness she felt at his closeness.
“Heather, honey, do you like music?” Sue asked, glancing up from where she was alternating between watching Heather and Josh and scooping flour into a mixing bowl.
“Um, sure?”
“Liar,” Josh said, dropping into the chair beside her.
He smelled a bit like soap and coffee, and Heather tried really hard to remember that he’d just had a woman in his apartment last night. That there’d probably been a constant stream of women in this apartment, and that she didn’t want to be one of them.
“I do like music,” she replied.
“Just not my music?”
“Not your music at two a.m.,” she clarified, lifting her mug and pointing it at him.
Then she took a sip and moaned in pleasure. “Oh my God, what is this?”
“Italian roast from that little place around the corner.” His voice was a little bit husky, and she wasn’t entirely sure if it was because he shared her pleasure in the coffee or because he was appreciating her pleasure, and right now she didn’t care.
“It’s incredible,” she said reverently, glancing down at the coffee with what could have only been described as love before looking back at him with something decidedly less so but also with a bit less animosity than before. Any man who appreciated coffee like this couldn’t be all bad.
Their eyes locked, and for a moment, Heather lost her breath. He was just so darn good-looking, with his sleepy sexy eyes and his casual charm, and his really yummy Italian roast coffee. And then there was the matter of that dream . . .
“What about hedge fund managers?” Sue asked, slowly whisking some of Heather’s milk into the bowl.
Heather was still looking at Josh when his mother asked the random question, and she was surprised to see something that looked like pain cross his face, followed by a complete shutdown.
It was as though the guy she’d been talking to vanished and was replaced by someone a hell of a lot more broody.
“Um, what?” Heather asked, forcing her attention back to Josh’s mother and trying to figure out if she’d blacked out and missed some sort of transition. Why were they talking about hedge fund managers?
“Josh used to be one of those,” Sue said as she placed a skillet on the stove and dropped a blob of butter onto it.
“Mom.”
Josh’s voice was sharp, and Sue glanced at him in confusion. “Am I not allowed to say that? It’s not something to be ashamed of, honey.”
He lifted a thumb to his face, pressing his thumbnail along the crease between his eyebrows just briefly as he closed his eyes. “I’m not ashamed. I’m just not that person anymore.”
“I didn’t say you were,” Sue said in a happy voice. Too happy. As though she knew full well that she was pushing her son’s buttons but was determined to feign ignorance. “I said you used to be a hedge fund manager.”
“Which was relevant to the conversation how?” he snapped.
“Well, we were talking about careers, and I know you’re taking a break from Wall Street for a little while, but eventually . . .”
“Mom, enough.”
Heather took another sip of coffee as she debated the most subtle way to take her leave and let them settle what was obviously a personal, family matter.
Josh apparently read her thoughts, because he reached out a hand to stop her. Not touching her, but there was no question that he wanted her to stay.
She shouldn’t, and yet . . .
Heather glanced at his profile, taking in the sudden tension and the rawness that had replaced his easy cockiness. And though she didn’t know him, she ached for him.
And she wasn’t completely immune to the pain on Sue Tanner’s face, either, as she pressed her lips together and focused on ladling scoops of pancake batter into the now sizzling skillet.
“I just want you to be happy,” his mom said quietly.
Josh exhaled a tiny sigh that only Heather could hear before he stood and wal
ked over to his mother, wrapping his arms around her in a hug that tugged at Heather’s heart.
Sue reached up a hand and patted her son’s cheek in reassurance that they were okay, and when Josh stepped away, Heather’s heart twisted even further when she saw his mother swipe a tear from her cheek.
What the heck had she stumbled into?
“Don’t do it, 4C.”
Heather glanced at Josh as he came and sat back in the chair next to hers, reaching for his coffee.
“Don’t do what?”
“Don’t go all soft on me now and let me think you’re nice. I won’t be able to handle it.”
“I am nice,” she insisted. “Super nice.”
“Excellent,” he said, back to his easy charm and wide smile. “So would now be a good time to tell you that my band’s coming over to practice tonight?”
Heather shoved her empty coffee mug his way. “Let’s just say that you making me more of that heavenly coffee is your best chance of me not strangling you with a guitar string.”
He scooped up her mug and stood with a wink. “Damned if I don’t like you a little bit, 4C, especially when you’re all pissy and shit.”
Heather ignored this, pointedly looking out the window as she waited for him to return with more of the insanely good coffee.
But damned if she didn’t like him a little bit, too.
Chapter Five
WHEN JOSH HAD QUIT his old life cold turkey, he’d figured that the best part of “new Josh” would be the lack of rigid routine. No more five a.m. wake-up calls after a two a.m. nights. No more seven thirty meetings followed by coffee obligations and lunch obligations and happy hour obligations and dinner obligations.
Hell, no obligations of any kind. No commitments. No routine. He’d be able to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. To live each day free and clear of yesterday, and more importantly, to live each day free and clear of tomorrow, because if he’d learned anything, it was that tomorrow was far from a guarantee.
Which was why it was so annoying to realize that despite his very deliberate intentions to embrace the carefree musician lifestyle, complete with its odd hours, one-night stands, and don’t-give-a-fuck mentality, he was still very much a creature of habit.
Grocery runs on Sunday nights. Wake up at six without an alarm, regardless of how late he’d gone to bed the night before. Breakfast of smoothie and vegetable omelet to offset his penchant for pizza. Out the door by eight to get to the gym, followed by a stop for an extra large cup of coffee, followed by shower, followed by a lunch of protein shake and salad . . .
Fuck he was tired of himself.
Which was why, as Josh let himself out of his apartment at 7:55, the way he did every morning, he felt a slow smile creep over his face as Heather stepped into the hallway and pulled her door shut at the exact same time.
Sure, he could have done without her wince and sigh of dismay as she spotted him, but then again, maybe that was part of the appeal. Josh was desperate for a change—desperate for a challenge—and the neighbor in 4C with her determination not to like him was exactly what the doctor ordered.
“Morning, 4C,” he said with an easy smile, giving her a slow once-over as they locked their respective doors.
She looked . . . hot. White blouse tucked into a gray pencil skirt with sky-high blue stilettos. Nice if you liked the polished-career-woman look, and he normally did. And yet . . . Josh’s eyes narrowed a little because it didn’t seem quite like her. She pulled it off nicely, but he’d seen the inside of her apartment; he knew that she liked just a little bit of funk, and nothing about her clothing choices represented the quirky personality that he was pretty sure lurked beneath the surface. Still, he supposed he knew as well as anybody that sometimes you had to dress the part.
“Leaving the house before noon,” Heather said, dropping her keys into her purse and turning to face him. “I’m shocked. Where’s your redheaded friend?”
“Ginger?” he asked as they headed toward the stairs. Technically, their building had an elevator, but it was slow as molasses and not much good for anything other than furniture delivery.
Heather halted at the top of the stairs. “Tell me you did not just call your red-haired one-night stand Ginger.”
“That was her name.”
“A ginger named Ginger?” Heather asked skeptically.
“Don’t know if it was her real name,” Josh said with a shrug. “Didn’t ask.”
“You’re a pig,” she muttered.
“Hurtful, 4C. Very hurtful.”
“Yeah, you seem like a real softie underneath all those muscles,” she muttered.
Josh moved quickly, descending onto the first step while she was still at the top of the stairs, minimizing the height difference between them and leaving them almost at eye level.
He leaned in slightly and lifted his eyebrows. “Noticed those, did you?”
Heather raked her gaze over him. “Hard not to, what with the too-small shirts and all. Do you shop in the children’s section?”
Josh gave her the slow, lopsided smile that had coaxed more than one girl into his bed, but Heather Fowler was no adoring groupie and merely narrowed her eyes.
This time when he smiled it was a quick and genuine grin. Yup, definitely a challenge. Just what he needed.
“You’d better watch yourself, 4C. I’m going to figure out what softens you up. Other than pancakes.”
“Don’t sound so smug,” she retorted. “Yesterday’s pancakes were all your mother’s doing.”
“Ah,” he said, holding up a finger. “But the coffee was all me.”
Heather’s eyes narrowed further. “Are you seriously trying to seduce me with coffee right now?”
His eyebrows lifted. “Is it working?”
“No. I made my own coffee this morning.”
Josh’s grin grew. “Dear God, please tell me that’s a sexy euphemism for . . .”
He trailed off, and Heather frowned as she followed his train of thought, then her mouth dropped open when she put the pieces together.
“Did you just ask me if I masturbated this morning?” she hissed.
“No, I begged you to tell me that you masturbated. Willing it to be true is not the same as asking a woman if she did. That would be rude.”
“You’re unbelievable,” she said, stepping to the right and trying to move around him.
He sidestepped, blocking her departure. “Okay, but did you?”
“I’m not answering that!”
Josh sighed and shook his head. “No wonder you’re all keyed up. You could use a little . . . you know.”
“Not all of us run on orgasms,” she snapped.
“Maybe if you did, you wouldn’t be so riled up all the time.”
“I’m not riled up all the time. Just when work’s crazy.”
“Best I can tell, your work’s always crazy,” he countered.
“Because I like it that way.”
“Bullshit,” he shot back. “Nobody likes it that way.”
“A little PTSD from your hedge fund days?” she asked.
This time it was Josh’s turn to narrow his eyes. “Don’t go there, 4C.”
“No problem, 4A,” she said sweetly. “You stay out of my business, I stay out of yours, and maybe, just maybe, we can refrain from killing each other.”
“If anything kills you, it’s going to be a heart attack. You’re a workaholic, sweetheart,” he said, falling into step beside her as they walked down together.
“Just because I’m not sleeping with a different woman every night and strumming my guitar into the wee hours doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy my life.”
“I don’t sleep with a different woman every night,” he countered as they stepped onto the scuffed marble floor of the lobby.
“Oh, so there are rep
eats?”
“God, no,” Josh said. “I meant that I take some nights off.”
“Gotta give the little guy a chance to recover?” Heather asked with a pointed look at his crotch.
“More like the other nights are devoted to band practice. The guys don’t like it when I’m distracted by girls, the girls don’t like when I’m distracted by the band.”
Heather put a hand over her chest. “You poor thing. And you’ve lived this long?”
Barely. He’d barely lived this long.
Josh frowned as the dark thought overtook him. He didn’t let his mind go that direction these days. Figured that his storm cloud of a neighbor would rub off on him.
Time for a subject change. “Where you from, 4C?”
“None of your business.”
“Would you quit being prickly for two minutes?” he asked, exasperated. “I’m just making friendly conversation.”
“You are not, you’re trying to get in my pants.”
“Honey, if I wanted to be in your pants, I’d be there already,” he said, even though he wasn’t at all sure it was true. She seemed very determined to dislike him.
“Go away,” she muttered as they stepped out onto the sidewalk.
“Tell me where you’re from, and I’ll leave you alone.”
For now.
She rolled her eyes. “Midwest.”
“Where in the Midwest?”
“What do you want, like, a map?”
Josh’s head fell backward as he stared at the sky. “How about a state, 4C. Jesus. Why of all the women did you put this one next door to me?”
“It’s not like I’m begging you to talk to me,” she grumbled. “I’m just trying to go about my business.”
Josh let out a little laugh. “Fine. You win. I’ll leave you to take over the world of weddings.”
He lifted his own hand for a cab. One stopped immediately, and she huffed in annoyance. “Of course.”
Josh opened the car door and gestured for her to get in.
“No, go ahead,” she said grumpily.
