Standing at the kitchen counter, a cup of coffee in hand, I lean against the cabinets, wearing only a pair of sweats as Kelsey comes strolling in. Her makeup’s done, her hair expertly styled and hanging over her shoulders, and she’s wearing a pair of high-waisted black business pants and a white blouse with a white camisole underneath. And to really fucking kick me in the goddamn dick, she swiped on a dark red lipstick I know matches her panties.
She looks fucking delicious, and even though she claims she’s not tempting me, that red lipstick says differently after the conversation we had last night.
Hell . . . I lost control. I keep telling myself I need to avoid her. That was the plan when I first showed up at this penthouse, but she’s gotten under my skin. When she apologized, it actually meant something to me. It’s why I asked her to lunch. I reasoned that if I start showing her a gentler side of me, she might actually think differently about me. And, fuck, it was working, but last night, when she said she was still going on that date, all hell froze over.
It might have been stupid of me, but I kind of thought that if I opened up—got her to enjoy my company—she wouldn’t go on that date. I thought she’d go to the ball with me instead. One lunch out isn’t going to change her mind, though.
And then she went and sat on my goddamn lap. All control flew right out the floor-to-ceiling windows. I was just grasping on to anything that would keep me from stripping her down and burying my head between her legs.
It was downhill from there. How I ended up pushing her against the wall and digging my fingers into her velvety skin, I have no idea, but watching her cool, well-put-together façade combust was one of the sexiest things I’ve ever experienced.
I left her in the hallway, the taste of her on my tongue, and retreated to my bedroom. I then released the pent-up energy in the shower. Fuck, she tasted magnificent, and I have no clue how I walked away from her after having her on my tongue like that. I wanted more. I wanted to get down on my knees and worship her.
And now, this morning, seeing her dressed up for work, everything that happened last night is at the forefront of my mind.
“Morning,” I say as she steps into the kitchen.
She looks up from the bracelet she’s attempting to fix on her wrist.
“Good morning,” she says softly.
I set my coffee down on the counter and reach out to help her. “Let me,” I say softly, taking the small clasp in my hand.
“Oh . . . thank you,” she says, clearly stunned by my gesture. Don’t blame her. When she said I had mood swings like Tarzan—I think that’s how she put it—she wasn’t wrong. I’ve been up and down. I blame it on my inability to control my daily simmering anger. Anger over losing my father—my best friend—anger over my job, and anger over the fact that I like this girl, I really fucking do, and I can’t get her to look at me the way I want her to.
I take my time fastening the clasp, and once it’s on her wrist, I pause for a second, letting my fingers drag over her skin, and then I go back to my coffee.
Her eyes flash to mine and she slowly takes a step back. I nod toward the oven. “Your breakfast is warming in there.”
“My breakfast?” she asks, confused. “Did you order in?”
“No.” I reach for my protein bar. “Woke up early, couldn’t sleep, so I cooked your breakfast that you like, beans and all.”
“Why . . . why would you do that?”
Because I want you to think I’m a good guy despite how I act.
I want you to see that I like you, but am afraid to tell you because there’s a great possibility you will laugh in my face.
I want you to give me a chance.
To date me . . .
“You know, Kelsey, a simple thank you would be just fine.” With protein bar in hand, I consider going back to my room to eat but, hell, she smells good, and I’m a glutton for punishment. So I take a seat at the dining room table where I’ve already set up a place setting for her.
I hear her move around the kitchen, grab her breakfast, and when she turns to sit at the table with me, she notices the placemat. Once again, those hazel eyes of hers flash to mine.
Before she can question me, I say, “I was bored this morning.”
Nervously, she takes a seat and sets down her plate. After she fixes her napkin on her lap, she glances up at me and says, “Thank you for breakfast.”
“Sure,” I answer and kick my feet up on the chair next to me. I can feel her eyes still on me when I’m opening my protein bar. When I finally look up, I ask, “Can I help you?”
“I’m just confused, is all. It seemed like you were mad at me last night and now you made me breakfast . . . I don’t know how to process this.”
“I wasn’t mad at you last night.”
“You threatened me.”
“Jesus Christ.” I roll my eyes. “That wasn’t a threat, more like . . . a warning.”
“So, you warned me last night. And if that’s the case, then maybe I should warn you.”
This should be good.
“Okay, what do you need to warn me about?”
“Well . . . you shouldn’t be walking around without a shirt on.”
“Uh-huh,” I drag out. “And what’s going to happen to me if I do?”
She stabs a forkful of eggs. “You don’t want to know.”
“I do, actually. I really want to know.”
“Fine.” She shrugs. “If you walk around without a shirt on, I will too.”
A loud laugh escapes me. “And you consider that a punishment?” I glance down at my bare chest and back at her. “My shirt is off now, so please, Kelsey, go ahead and punish me. Strip out of that starchy blouse of yours. Show me the good stuff.”
“Ugh.” She rolls her eyes. “Why are you so insufferable? I’m just trying to make things comfortable for us, but you’re either angry, teasing me, or . . . well . . . you know.”
“I don’t know. Please finish that sentence.”
She pins me with a glare. “You’re . . . well, touching me intimately.”
“That was barely touching you last night. And correct me if I’m wrong, but you seemed to like it . . . a lot.”
“I was faking it.”
That makes me nearly spit out my coffee. “Babe, I tasted you off your finger last night. You can’t fake that.”
“Don’t call me babe.” She scoops up some beans. “Can we just be friends?”
“What did I tell you about workplace friendships?”
“That was some load of bullshit. I’m friends with Huxley and Breaker. So don’t tell me I can’t be friends with you. You just don’t want to be friend-zoned because you want in my pants.”
I smirk at that. “I do want in your pants.”
Her eyes flash to mine as her cheeks blush. Flustered, she says, “Well, that’s not an option for you. So, why don’t we just put that behind us and move on? We can be friends. It’s simple. We just need to do friendly type of things.”
Interested, I ask, “Okay, what are friendly type of things?”
“I can’t think of anything off the top of my head, but—oh, we could go sightseeing.”
“Why does that sound not the least bit interesting to me?”
“It’s totally a friend thing to do. You’ve been here before, clearly, so why don’t we do that after I’m done with my last meeting? You could show me around. I can take pictures in all the obvious places. It could be fun and we could get to know each other.”
“It doesn’t sound fun to me.”
“JP!” she shouts, surprising me. “Stop being difficult, and for the love of God, just go sightseeing with me. Good God.”
Chuckling, I nod. “Okay, no need to get all riled up. We can go sightseeing, but I’ll tell you this—I’ll be a bastard the whole time.”
“It wouldn’t be an evening out with you if you weren’t.” She dabs her mouth with her napkin. “My last meeting is at two today. After I get back, I’ll change, and then we can hit the town. How does that sound?”
“Like a nightmare.” I tilt my coffee cup toward her. “Can’t wait.” Then I stand from my chair and, with coffee cup and protein bar in hand, I head toward my room, only to stop midway. “Kelsey?”
“Yes?” she asks, fork poised near her mouth.
“Just so you know, you can act like we’re friends all you want, but know this . . . I can still taste your sweet cunt on my tongue.”
And then, with a smile on my face, I turn away from her and head into my bedroom. This is exactly what I needed, some more alone time with her. Now, let’s see if I can keep my sarcasm toned down when that happens.
“THIS PLACE IS SO CUTE,” Kelsey says as she walks next to me, taking in everything around us.
“It’s hemorrhaging tourists,” I say.
“Which is exactly what we wanted, right?”
“What you wanted. This is not my idea of fun in San Francisco.” I dodge a couple who are sharing a soft pretzel.
“Ooo, they have a carousel. Let’s ride it.”
“You’re out of your goddamn mind if you think I’m going to ride a carousel.”
She gives me a playful grin and then pulls on my arm. “It’ll be fun.”
“Kelsey, I’m serious, I’m not riding that thing.”
She gets us in line and I attempt to leave, but she loops her arm through mine and surprisingly holds me in place.
“Loosen up. This is what friends do—silly things like this. You can take a boomerang of me on a horse.”
“What the hell is a boomerang?”
“On Instagram,” she says, as if I’m an idiot.
“That clarifies nothing.”
“It’s what we did in front of the Full House houses.”
Yes, we were those people. We searched them out, the Painted Ladies to be exact, and we stood in front of them while taking weird back-and-forth pictures. From there, we stopped by the actual house from Full House, where I took a dozen pictures of Kelsey posing. She forced me to take a picture with her, which she texted to me, saying how adorable we look as friends.
Fucking . . . great.
After that, we came down to the pier, where we are, as you know, currently in line for the carousel.
“How many times have you been up here? San Francisco, that is,” she asks.
“More than I can count,” I answer.
“Have you ever been to Pier 39?”
“A few times. Took a date here once.”
“Oooo, a date,” Kelsey says in such an annoying tone. “Tell me more. I didn’t think Jack Parker dated.”
“Not my name.”
“A solid guess.” She smirks.
“It was a few years ago. We went out for fun and ended the night in my bed. Worth the inconvenience of coming down here.”
“Let me guess—since I won’t be ending up in your bed—this isn’t worth the inconvenience?”
“There’s always time for that to turn around,” I answer honestly.
“Not happening.” She pats my forearm. “But nice try. So, tell me, have you ever had a girlfriend?”
“Yes,” I answer.
“Care to elaborate?” she asks as we take a few steps forward in line.
“Not really.”
“Oh, is it one of those stories where she was the one and only girl to break your heart?”
We keep slowly moving forward as the carousel loads up. “No, actually. I was the one who broke her heart.”
“You were?” she asks. “Was she in love with you?”
“Yes,” I answer.
“And you weren’t?”
I shake my head. “I wasn’t. And I didn’t think it was fair to keep dating her if I knew the feelings weren’t going to grow in that direction, so I broke up with her. She threw a milkshake in my face and then stormed away.”
“Oh my God, she threw a milkshake in your face? What flavor was it?”
I chuckle. “Why does that matter?”
“Can’t be sure, but you know, details make a story.”
“I believe it was vanilla, another reason why I knew we weren’t supposed to be together. Vanilla milkshakes are boring.”
“Hey, no, they’re not. They’re the original. You’re not going to get another flavor without them. Don’t knock the vanilla milkshake.”
“Is that what you order?”
“Of course not.” She flips her hair over her shoulder. “Strawberry is obviously what I get.” I chuckle, and we make it to the front of the line, just to be stopped because the carousel is full. Kelsey turns toward me and leans against the gate. “What’s your milkshake order?”
“Chocolate.”
“Could’ve guessed that. You’re so predictable.”
I scoff at that. “And strawberry milkshake wasn’t predictable? All you have to do is say hi, and everyone knows you’re a strawberry milkshake girl.”
“Nothing wrong with that. So, this girl threw a milkshake in your face when you broke up with her. Was there anything that happened after that, or was the milkshake where it ended?”
I wince and smooth my hand over my jaw. “We had breakup sex that night, but after that, it was over.”
“Oh, Jean-Pierre . . .”
“Not my name.”
She snaps in disappointment. “Still, sex after you broke up with her? Kind of skeezy, don’t you think?”
“Never said I made the best choices,” I say unapologetically.
“How long ago was this relationship?”
“Eh, like two, three years ago. I think she’s engaged now. At least that’s what I surmised when she ‘accidentally’ texted me a photo of her engagement ring. She said it was meant for someone else.”
“Oh, surrrrrre,” Kelsey says, dragging it out, which makes me smile. “That’s what they all say. She sent you that picture on purpose to try to make you jealous. Were you? Jealous, that is?”
“Not in the slightest. Honestly, it’s shitty to say, but I’d kind of forgotten about her until that text.”
“And since then, you’ve been a lone wolf?”
“Yeah, nothing wrong with that.”
“Not saying there is,” she says as the carousel slows. I pull out my wallet to pay for the ride—a ride I didn’t think I’d be going on—and grab a ten-dollar bill to pay for the both of us. “Just fascinating. I, on the other hand, am single because . . . well, apparently I’m unlovable.”
“You know for damn sure that’s not the truth,” I say as I hand the attendant our money and he opens the gate. “What do they always say . . . you just haven’t found the right person yet?”
“But do you truly believe that?” she asks as she hops up on the carousel and finds a blue horse. I take the yellow one next to her and straddle it, feeling like a complete idiot. I’m a grown man riding a yellow horse. This is incredibly off-brand for me.
“Sure,” I answer offhandedly, because I really don’t know what I believe when it comes to that kind of shit.
“That’s not very convincing.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say. You’re hot, so there’s instant attraction. In the work environment, you’re cool, professional, and obviously know sustainability issues front to back. Having spent more time with you recently, I’ve learned that you always want to get your way, in a . . . pestering, control-freak way, and I’m seeing more she-devil behavior that I’m not sure many people know is there. But there’s got to be someone out there who likes that kind of thing.” I shrug.
I like her, even when the she-devil comes out. Regardless, I’m drawn to her.
“Wow,” she says, smiling. “What a lovely picture you’ve painted of me.”
The bell rings and the carousel starts moving so she drops the conversation, pulls out her phone, and starts snapping pictures.
“What do you plan on doing with those pictures?” I ask her as the carousel picks up speed.
“Blackmail, of course.” She smirks and then takes a selfie of the both of us.
“I’d expect nothing less.”
“JP, PUT IT ON.”
“If you think I’m wearing that, you’ve lost your goddamn mind. I’ve already ridden the carousel, taken those stupid boomerang things on a trolley, and pretended to hold Alcatraz in my hand. I draw the line at wearing a goddamn bib at dinner.”
“You’re being a snob.”
“Because I don’t want to wear a bib?”
“Precisely.” She gestures to the restaurant. “It’s part of the experience.”
An experience I didn’t want. She chose where we were going to eat and, of course, she picked the popular tourist attraction, the Crab House, which, granted, I heard has amazing food. But the vibe is not me. I don’t do plastic bibs.
“I’m good with missing out on the experience.”
“Joo-Joo Poo-Poo, put on the bib.”
“Is Joo-Joo Poo-Poo supposed to be a guess of my name?”
“Yes . . . is that not correct?”
“Not even close.”
“Damn, I would’ve absolutely snorted all over this table if it was.”
“Attractive.”
“Here we are,” our waitress says, setting down a giant—and I mean giant, baking sheet-sized—skillet of two cooked crabs and a plate of fries between us, along with melted butter in ramekins. “Enjoy.”
“Wow, that’s a lot of crab,” Kelsey says. “But I’ve worked up quite the appetite.” And before I can even consider picking up a fry, she snaps a leg off a crab and smiles at me.
Uhh . . .
The crunch, the ninja-like way she just did that, the satisfaction in her face . . . makes me think I should be scared for my life.
“What’s wrong?” she asks with a smirk.
“It’s startling how quickly you snapped off that leg.”
“Let that be a reminder to you, JP. Don’t cross me.”
“Clearly.” I reach for the crab and, gently, because I’m not some sort of barbarian, remove a leg and pull out the meat. When I dip it into the butter, I watch it drip, and drip . . . and drip.
Fuck.
When I glance up at Kelsey, she’s just smiling at me with that knowing grin of hers. She lifts up the plastic bib and wiggles it at me.
“Just give it to me,” I say, snatching it from her grasp, causing her to tip her head back and laugh.
I fix the bib around my neck and scoot my chair closer to the table.
“Oh, don’t you look adorable?”
“If you take a picture, I’m going to—”
She lifts her phone and smiles just as I see her finger press against the screen. “Oops, too late.” She smiles again and stares at the screen. “Ooo, this might be my favorite of the night. It’s a keeper.”
“Teasing your boss isn’t in your best interest.”
“You’re technically not my boss as you just oversee things. If we want to get down to the nitty-gritty, my boss is Huxley, as you’ve pointed out to me, and I’m sure he’ll give me a raise once he sees the ‘data’ I’ve collected tonight.”
Unfortunately, I think she’s correct.
“I’ll still report insubordination.”
“Good luck with that.” She winks and then rips loose another crab leg. “Now, will you please tell me why this place isn’t suitable for you? Clearly, the crab is delicious, the views are amazing, the attire . . . top-notch. How could this not appeal to you?”
“It’s gimmicky.”
She rolls her eyes. “Just what I thought, you’re a snob. Don’t hate on a place that does it right for the people who come to visit. This is fulfilling dreams for me right now. Eating crab by the pier, boats just outside the window in the bay, the old subway tile from floor to ceiling, and the simple dining room tables that aren’t quite nautical but offer nautical vibes. This is everything. So, excuse me if I find this completely fulfilling. Now if only the grump sitting across from me would lighten up.”
“This just isn’t my ideal night.”
“Uh-huh. You say that as if you have an ideal night in mind.”
“I do.” I pop a fry into my mouth, and my answer causes her to grow a curious look.
She leans forward, her hand supporting her chin as she says, “Oh, please, do tell.”
“I don’t have to tell you,” I say. “I’m going to show you.”
“Show me?”
I nod. “Tomorrow night, when you’re done with your meetings. I’m showing you what my ideal night in San Francisco is.”
She spreads her hand on the table and in a dramatic tone, she asks, “Wait, so this friendship we’re developing, it isn’t just a one-night thing?”
“This isn’t a friendship, it’s a . . . short-term companionship.”
She laughs out loud, and the addictive sound draws the attention of the tables around us. “Wow, no wonder you’re in charge of the media for Cane Enterprises. You sure know how to spin things. Okay, I’ll bite. This short-term companionship, it’s going to continue tomorrow?”
“Yes,” I answer, taking another fry. Have to admit, this shit is good, despite the goddamn bib. “And I’ll show you exactly what a night out on the town is like.”
“Bet it won’t be better than tonight.”
“Guaranteed it will be.”
“Listen, Julian Prince . . .” She pauses with a wince, waiting to see if she’s correct. I just shake my head, and her shoulders droop. “I gathered damning evidence of you on a carousel and wearing a bib. Nothing is going to beat this.”
“That’s what you think,” I say before grabbing another crab leg.
“OKAY . . . ADMIT IT, THIS IS GOOD,” Kelsey says around her mouthful of ice cream.
When I first met Kelsey, I thought she was this hot, uptight organizer with a dream to fall in love. But I now realize that she had maintained her guarded, professional façade even when we were hanging out with Huxley and Lottie at their house. But slowly, as this night has unfolded, I’ve seen her relax more and more. She’s now talking to me with ice cream on her lips and fudge on the corner of her mouth.
It’s . . . hell, it’s endearing.
She’s dropped that shield of perfection and I like this side of her. Sort of unpredictable, and a whole lot relatable.
“Come on.” She nudges me with her elbow and I decide to give in.
“Yes, this is good.”
“Ha, I knew it.” She holds her fudge-covered spoon in the air. “I knew I’d get you.”
“You didn’t get me, Ghirardelli did.”
After we had dinner, Kelsey demanded that we head up the hill to Ghirardelli to get dessert. It was a bit of a hike, so by the time we got there, dinner was partially digested and we were ready to dig into dessert.
We decided to share a classic hot-fudge sundae. We found a table in the middle of the busy restaurant. Where I would’ve rather walked around outside to eat, she once again wanted the full experience. So we’re crowded around a round bistro table with a marble top, people all around us, enjoying their sundaes just as much as we are.
It’s chaotic.
It’s loud.
And I hate to admit it, but it’s the perfect ending to our evening.
“Oh my God, look over there, that couple is making out.”
“What?” I ask.
She points with her spoon. “Right there, in the corner. What do you think—first date?”
“Do you do that on a first date?” I ask her. “Because from what I recall of our first and only date, you were pricklier than that.”
“Because I was expecting to meet the man of my dreams, and instead it was the man of my nightmares.”
I clutch my heart. “You wound me, Kelsey.”
She nudges my shoulder playfully. “But look at us now, living out a short-term companionship. Miracles do happen.”
“Don’t let it get to your head. We’re barely a short-term companionship.”
“I don’t know, you agreed to a second outing with me, so it seems like we’re committed to each other. If that doesn’t smell of short-term companionship, I don’t know what does.”
“Christ, you’re incessantly annoying tonight.”
“Just a dash of what I have to deal with when I’m hanging out with you.”
And witty.
I scoop up another spoonful of our sundae but focus more on the ice cream than the fudge. I’ve noticed Kelsey is very much into the fudge and figured I’d let her have more.
See, I can be a good guy.
“So, you never answered the question. Is that what you do on a first date? Make out in the corner of a chocolate store so romance voyeurs like yourself can watch the sideshow of lip-locking?”
“Maybe when I was twenty-one I would’ve been more likely to make out in a restaurant, but now that I’m a respectable lady in her mid-twenties, I have standards. I expect a good meal, great conversation, and then, if I’ve been dazzled by the end of the night, I’ll lean in for a kiss.”
“Dazzled, huh? What does it take to dazzle you?”
“Taking notes?” she asks with a raised brow.
“Yes, on how to do the opposite, you know, because if I’m not annoying you, then what am I actually doing with my life?”
Her face falls flat, and I chuckle. “Well, if that’s the case, I’ll be keeping my dazzling to myself.”
I nudge her under the table with my foot. “Just tell me.”
She studies me for a second and then says, “Well, first of all, he can’t be full of himself. He needs to have a level head, and be a good listener, but also not be afraid to talk about himself. Family is important to me, so I want to know that he’s close to his family. Hmm, what else? Oh, a self-deprecating story is always good, because then I know he doesn’t take himself too seriously. I also like little touches here and there, but nothing too over the top. I like to know that he’s interested without crowding me. And of course, interesting questions, a conversation that just flows. Also, I’m super into a good smile, kind eyes, and a man who pulls a chair out for me. A gentleman.”
I slowly nod. “There was a column I used to read, called ‘The Modern Gentleman.’ He always said to open the door for your girl, but as she walks through that door, be sure to run your hand along her ass so she knows who she belongs to. Is that what you’re looking for?”
She blinks a few times and then turns her attention to the sundae. “I mean, I wouldn’t be mad about it.”
I chuckle. “I’m going to take that as a yes. You know, that’s a pretty high standard you’re requiring a man to live up to.”
“Should I feel guilty about that?” she says in challenge.
Not even having to think about it, I shake my head. “No, I don’t think so. Why settle when you know what you want? Although, don’t you think you were settling with Edwin?”
“Edwin was clearly a momentary lapse of judgment. Frankly, I blame you for Edwin.”
“Me?” I point to my chest. “Why do you blame me? I didn’t force you to go out with the dweeb.”
“He wasn’t a dweeb, he was just . . . dweebish.”
“If that makes you feel better, sure. But not sure why you’re blaming me.”
“Because, that dinner we had at the blind date restaurant was atrocious. It made me think I had to lower my standards.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” I say.
“You weren’t the one who was there to meet someone. You were there to fulfill a bet. I was honestly excited. It might have seemed entertaining to you, but it was more disheartening to me.”
Now that actually makes me feel bad. I never thought about it that way, and before I know it, guilt consumes me.
“Sorry, Kelsey,” I say, looking her in the eyes. “I was an idiotic, prideful man that night. You wounded my pride when I first showed up, and I didn’t shake it off. I tried to bring you down with me. I shouldn’t have done that.”
She pauses, her spoon midway to her mouth as she says, “Wow, uh . . . thanks, JP.” She grins while bringing her spoon to her mouth. “Carousel, pictures, bibs . . . and an apology. Dare I say, this might be one of my favorite nights ever? A vast improvement from the blind date restaurant. This whole ‘short-term companionship’ thing is actually rather enjoyable.”
“Glad I could make it up to you.”
“You did . . . Josiah Phoenix.”
“Close.”
Her eyes widen with excitement. “Really?”
I laugh. “No.”
“Ugh.” She pushes me. “That was just mean.”
“I found it entertaining.” I exchange a smirk with her, which to my goddamn delight . . . she reciprocates.
“CAN you roll me to my room?” Kelsey asks as she collapses to the floor of the penthouse and takes off her shoes. “I don’t think I can move another inch.”
She then lies on the floor, fumbles with the waistband of her jeans, and undoes the button before groaning in relief.
“Wow, this is a sight to see.”
Blechhhh.
She covers her mouth from the very unladylike burp that just erupted out of her. She glances at me, shock registering across her face, before she asks, “Did you happen to hear that?”
“Babe, the doorman thirty stories down heard that. It rattled the very floor I’m standing on.”
“Don’t be dramatic.”
“I think San Francisco will be reporting an earthquake on the Richter scale.”
“Stop it.”
“I actually feel nauseated from the aftershocks.”
She swats at my legs, and I laugh as I reach down and grab her by the ankles.
“What are you doing?”
“Pulling you to your room . . . wait . . . nothing going to come out of the bottom end, is there?”
“Eww, do you really think I would do that?”
“Well, honestly, I wouldn’t be able to tell you, because the girl I once knew as the tight-lipped perfectionist just unbuttoned her jeans in front of me and let out a monstrous belch, so . . . I can’t be sure what might happen next.”
She drapes her arm over her eyes as I continue to pull her. “This is why I’ll never find anyone to love me. I’m a closet gross person.”
“No, you’re not . . . you’re just normal.”
She peeks past her arm and says, “You’re just saying that so I don’t actually fart while you’re pulling me.”
“I’m really not. It’s nice to see that you’re not always so stuck-up.”
“Stuck-up? That’s preposterous.”
“Only someone who’s stuck-up would use the term preposterous,” I say as I reach her bedroom. I open her door and drag her in. I consider leaving her on the floor but, bending down, I pick her up. She squeals in surprise before looping her arms around my neck.
“What on earth are you doing?”
“Tossing you on your bed,” I say as I throw her, but to my chagrin, she doesn’t let go of my neck, so instead of me watching her flop onto the bed, we collide in a fit of limbs on the bed. “Jesus Christ,” I mumble into the comforter. “You were supposed to let go.”
“I just ate a whole crab, half a plate of fries, half a sundae, and had to unbutton my pants in front of you when we got home. What on earth makes you think I want to be tossed around?”
“So, this, me pressing into your stomach is better?”
“Could be better positioning.”
“Let go,” I say.
“Oh, right, yes.” She unloops her arms from around my neck and I lift off her. “Now, would it be too much to ask of our short-term companionship to have you strip me down and put my pajamas on?”
I glare at her. “Babe, if I’m stripping you down, I’m sure as fuck not putting anything back on you.”
She rubs her stomach. “Oh yeah? You’d want a piece of this?”
“Oddly, I find it intriguing.”
“Standards, JP . . . standards.”
I shrug. “I have none.” I walk toward her bedroom door. “Are you going to be able to manage on your own?”
She heaves a large sigh. “I believe so. It might take me a hot second to gather myself but, yes, I’ll persevere.”
“Okay, then . . . good night.”
“Good night . . . Jordan Preston.”
I grip the doorway and look over my shoulder. “It’s Jonah Peter.”
A slow, sexy smile passes over her lips before she says, “Good night . . . Jonah.”
“Good night, Kelse.”
BREAKER: Are you dead?
JP: You know damn well I’m not dead and you know damn well I don’t want to talk about it.
Breaker: Dude . . . a carousel? A bib? Kelsey texted Lottie, who showed the pictures to Huxley, who clearly sent them to me. She really has you by the balls, doesn’t she?
JP: I said, I don’t want to talk about it.
Breaker: No way in hell am I going to let you drop this. What the hell is going on?
JP: Absolutely nothing.
Breaker: Did you go out on a date tonight?
JP: No, we went out as short-term companions.
Breaker: Is that what the kids are calling it these days?
JP: Unless you have something productive to talk about, you can go to hell.
Breaker: I’m being serious. You’ve crushed on her ever since you met her, so what’s going on? You trying to start something?
JP: No. It was a simple outing. We have nothing to do here, so she asked me to do touristy things with her. I did. That’s it. When we got back to the penthouse, she burped, and I had to drag her by her feet to her room because she was so full. Trust me, nothing is going on.
Breaker: But do you want something to happen?
JP: Why are you acting like a gossiping mom right now?
Breaker: I just worry about you. You’ve been different lately. I want to make sure you’re okay.
JP: If I’ve been different, it has nothing to do with Kelsey.
Breaker: What does that mean?
JP: Nothing. Don’t worry about it. Listen, I’m tired and I have an early meeting tomorrow with Jeremiah over at The Wharf.
Breaker: Okay, but you know I’m here for you if you need to talk. Huxley might be occupied, but I’m not. You can rely on me.
JP: Thanks. I’m good, though.
Breaker: Good. Also . . . if you have feelings for her, man, go for it.
JP: Get a life, Breaker. Night.
