“That isn’t true. Just because a person is famous doesn’t mean he’s shallow. Not all of us like full-body massages and seaweed wraps.”

“You’re telling me that if a girl showed up at your house on Monday morning with a table, essential oils, and a jar of mud, you wouldn’t lie down then and there and let her get to work?” April took a sip of her chai green tea latte—something she had never ordered before but made herself choose under some weird sort of coffee shop duress—and set it on the table between them.

“Well, of course I would if it was free and she had nothing better to do. I just wouldn’t let her show up every morning for the same reason.” Jack folded his hands in front of him and looked around the room before settling his gaze back on April. “I would, however, draw the line at the mud. Seems like such a strange thing to spread over a person’s body, and I’m not buying the stupid health benefits.”

April raised an eyebrow. “So you’ve heard of them?”

“Of course I’ve heard of them. I just wouldn’t pay for it, not when this entire state is made of red clay. That works just as well. And it, my friend, is free.”

Once again, April’s stupid heart gave a stupid flip in her chest. This was Jack Vaughn. So why was it getting harder and harder to remember all the reasons she was mad at him? It was time to give her brain a little refresher course. Time to step up the put-downs.

“At least we’ve established that you’re cheap.”

“Sweetheart, I grew up in a single-wide trailer. You have no idea.”

Again with the flip, and this time it added a little thud. The term sweetheart certainly wasn’t helping matters. She picked up her mug just to have something to do with her hands. “I forgot about that. Does your mom still live there?”

Jack picked up his napkin and tore a piece from the end. He smiled, a small amount of wonderment filling his expression.

“No, I bought my mom a house in Franklin last year. She objected until we unpacked the last box, but I’m glad she lives in a better place now. I owed it to her after all she sacrificed to raise me.”

So much for stepping up her game. The thought of him taking care of his mother lost her a few dozen anger points. “How does she like it?”

He set the napkin down and looked at her. “She likes it fine, but she won’t willingly spend a dime of my money unless I force her to. Like last month, I offered to take her to get a pedicure and buy her some new clothes. She told me she owned a perfectly good pair of nail clippers and what was wrong with her new Vanderbilt sweatshirt?” He shifted in his seat and pulled the white mug to his lips, but April saw the way he grinned. The mug wasn’t big enough to hide it.

April laughed. It surprised her, but it felt good. “I suppose you should count your blessings.”

“Why?” His eyebrow came up.

“You could have a line of family members only interested in your money. Your mom could be the type who asks for a monthly stipend to fund trips to Rodeo Drive and the plastic surgeon.”

Jack set his cup down. “Those family members exist. Believe me, they exist.”

“Uh-oh. Long-lost uncles?”

“And aunts and cousins and best friends from high school I supposedly hung out with whose names I don’t even remember.”

April shrugged. “Sucks to be you.”

The sentence held steady in the space between them, both of them aware of the words left unspoken. April would love to be him, would in fact be him if he’d been more of an honest person a few years back. Thankfully, she smiled.

“New subject,” she said.

Jack barely suppressed a sigh of relief. “Back to the seaweed wraps,” he said. “Are you telling me you would regularly subject yourself to that awfulness just because some idiot says it’s good for you?”

April smiled up at him over the rim of her cup. “Not only would I subject myself to it, I would gladly pay the fee no matter how much it costs. Every single day. Because that’s the difference between you and me, Jack.” She leaned forward and looked him in the eye, well aware it was a flirtatious move but suddenly not in the mood to care. She was having fun. She was having fun with a man. She was twenty-two years old, available, and maybe it was the late hour or the fact that she was tired or the idea that going home alone to an empty apartment right now sounded more depressing than going to her sister’s wedding dateless—which was her current plan. But for now, April was having fun with a man.

She wished the man wasn’t Jack Vaughn, but that seemed to be just the way her life worked.

He blinked at her. “What’s the difference?”

She blinked back. “The difference of what?”

He gave her a curious look. “You didn’t finish your sentence. You said, that’s the difference between us, Jack. But you never said what those differences are. And unless you want me to start guessing—”

“No, don’t guess,” she blurted. But for the life of her, she couldn’t remember what they had been talking about. Quickly, she retraced her steps—the idea that she was young, that she didn’t want to head home to an empty apartment, that Jack Vaughn was attractive. Wait, she had not been thinking that, so where did the thought come from? She forced her brain back into compliance. They had been talking about seaweed wraps and massage appointments and—

“I’m not cheap. That’s what I intended to say.” She wanted to give a little victorious fist pump to commemorate her sudden surge in memory, but refrained. Thank God for good judgment.

“I might argue that point,” Jack said. “I haven’t gone on a date in years that cost me only eight bucks. You just might be the cheapest woman who ever lived.”

April gave him a long look and motioned for the waiter. That little dig was going to cost him. In the form of a slice of cheesecake. Maybe two. No one called her cheap and got away with it.

She was feisty; he liked it. She was incredibly hot; he liked that too. She was also quick to put him in his place, something he hadn’t seen for a couple of years now. He liked that most of all; probably a little more than he should. But something about April Quinn had him feeling instantly connected, and that was something he didn’t need. Not at this point in his career. Maybe not ever.

But every time he considered taking her home, he came up with two new reasons not to.

She was funny.

He wanted more coffee.

Traffic was bound to be busy at midnight.

She had just ordered cheesecake. A move he saw right through but somehow liked anyway. Note to self: never call April Quinn cheap. Although if that’s what it took to spend more time with her . . .

And above everything else, he wanted to see more of April Quinn.

This was the worst reason of all. He needed to get out of here before the desire to spend time with her took over. Before he found himself asking for another date and another and another.

Under the table, something kicked at his shin. He looked up into April’s amused face.

“What was that for?”

“You disappeared. It’s one thing to call me cheap. It’s another to check out on our date altogether.”

His mouth tilted, his signature wicked grin that almost always worked on women. “Is that what we’re on? A date?”

She shrugged, stifled a yawn. “Just repeating what you said earlier. Personally, I would call it more like a peace offering given by you, yet still up for debate on my end. I haven’t decided whether to accept or not. Maybe I’ll have some pie while I think it over.”

Apparently the signature grin thing didn’t work on April.

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Cheesecake and pie? Are you trying to put on weight while you do all this thinking?”

She gave him a look. “Careful Jack, you should never call a woman fat. You never know when she might retaliate. You could be up onstage singing or—”

“Why didn’t you sing with me tonight?” He hadn’t meant to ask the question, but the opportunity had practically landed in his lap.

“Because I knew why you asked, and I wasn’t about to make it that easy for you. If you want to smooth things over with me, you’ll need to get a lot more creative than that.”

More creative than pulling her up onstage for a duet? He was Jack freaking Vaughn. It didn’t get more creative than that. He swallowed all the retorts that floated through his brain and tried to think up a response—one that didn’t make him sound like an arrogant jerk. It wasn’t easy.

“You got any suggestions? Something in particular you want me to do?” She probably wanted him to sign over all his royalties. Give her a writer’s credit. Make a public statement declaring his guilt. Make a ridiculous apology on camera. He might have done that a couple of years ago, but not now. No way. Not happening.

Again, she shrugged. She almost looked . . . annoyed. “Well, I can tell you right now I don’t want anything obvious. It’s not like I want back pay or anything. That would be ridiculous.” She laughed a brief, impatient laugh, one that had him baffled.

She didn’t?

Jack drained the rest of his mocha latte and set the cup in front of him. “Then what do you want?”

April looked at him a long moment before giving him a barely perceptible smile. “I don’t know, Jack. But I’m sure you’ll think of something.”