Friends.
If any other guy had thrown her a line like that, Emily would have laughed in his face. Okay, she wouldn’t do that because even guys with bad lines had feelings. But she’d have been thinking “Ha!” in her head as she nodded politely and then found a considerate way to say no…in no uncertain terms.
But this wasn’t any other guy. This was Jase. The man who’d told her in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t friendship material. And now he was asking her for a chance to try again. To show her that he could be the friend he should have been in high school. To prove to her that she could trust him…with more than just her body.
Talk about the stuff of nightmares.
Intentionally making herself vulnerable to the guy whose shabby treatment of her in the past had devastated her? She’d have to be crazy.
He knew it too. Which was probably why, when she’d been too stunned to even answer, he’d filled the silence with the simple statement, “Just think about it. I hope you’ll come.”
She wished she could say that simple curiosity had kept her from dismissing the offer out of hand. A need to discover for herself what friendship, Jase-style, encompassed. If there was a benefits package. How quickly she’d be eligible.
Only deep down she knew it was more than that.
Which made the fact that she was standing outside his door—with bags of pretzels, Bloody Mary mix, an arsenal of drink fixings, and vodka in one hand, and a Pyrex dish of her favorite fatty, cheese-based dip topped with sweet-pepper relish in the other—absolutely insane.
It wasn’t too late. She could still leave. He’d never have to know she’d been there.
Yeah, that’s what she’d do. She’d take the dip, go home, and eat the whole damn thing herself.
She hadn’t taken a step when the door opened. But Jase hadn’t seen her yet. He was turned into the apartment, telling someone behind him that Molly was on her way up. She knew enough about Jase and his group of besties to know that Molly was Molly Brandt, Max’s sister. The only double X chromosome in their group and, from the few brief encounters they’d had, a crazy lot of fun. She could do this.
Just then, Jase turned and the instant his eyes landed on her, that easy smile he’d been wearing was wiped from his mouth, replaced by a look of clear shock.
Emily shifted uneasily, her eyes darting down the hall for Molly, or anyone, before she looked back at Jase and, with a resigned sigh, handed him his jacket. “I didn’t… Um… Thanks for this last night.”
Then clearing her throat, she nodded down to what she was carrying. “So I didn’t know how much to bring.”
Suddenly, that smile he’d been wearing was back, only brighter and more devastating in every way.
“You brought yourself. That’s all I was hoping for,” he said, stepping back to let her into the apartment instead of pulling her into his arms. Which made sense under the framework of friendship, she figured. And her hands were full. Then he was taking her bags and leading her back to the kitchen she knew in the biblical sense—where Brody O’Donnel was wearing a half apron tied around his waist, his jaw-length russet hair tied back from his face while sautéing something that smelled unbelievable.
“Hey, Emily, good to see you,” he offered, then held up a wooden spoon. “Try this, and tell me if it needs more heat.”
Jase was setting her bags down on the impressively sturdy breakfast table she’d been introduced to before when he turned back. “You still like spicy, right, Em?”
She nodded and accepted the taste, moaning in a way that only Jase had ever made her moan before.
Maybe he recognized the sound, because suddenly he’d stopped what he was doing and turned to her with a raised brow.
Heat rushed into her cheeks and she lifted her hands, laughing. “It was that good.”
“Better have been out of this damn world to earn that sound from you,” Jase teased, standing just close enough to keep it between them. Then—in the name of friendship, she supposed—he stepped back again. “She brought Bloody Marys.”
“Can I make you one?” she asked.
“Hell, yes,” Brody boomed with a smile suggesting she’d offered him a first-class upgrade on his international flight rather than a drink, and she found herself laughing for no real reason, except that the guy just had a way of making her feel good.
She started on the drinks, happy to have something to do rather than stand around ogling Brody’s cooking or, worse yet, Jase in his jeans, sexy bare feet, and Blackhawks jersey.
“Hey, boys,” a singsong voice called from where Jase had left the front door open. Then Molly was breezing in, a shock of fuchsia mixing with her flyaway white-blond hair. She stopped, her mouth dropping open. “Emily, so cool you’re here. And with drinks too!”
Molly piled her load with the rest, unloading a couple of bags of chips, a tub of french onion dip, and three beers. “Max is running late, but he’ll be here in about thirty, and Sean will be up anytime. He was stuck on his phone out front, doing that thing where he pinches his temples with one hand and looks like he’s talking to his shoes. I’m guessing it’s his dad.”
Molly ripped open a bag of her chips and stuffed one in her mouth, chewing with an indulgent smirk. “Tasty.”
“How you doing, Molly?” Jase asked, walking over to take her coat and grab a chip of his own.
“Better now that I’m here.”
Jase popped the chip into his mouth, coughed, and grabbed the bag, his face a mask of horror.
“Dill pickle? Jesus, if I were less of a man, I’d be spitting that shit in the sink.”
Molly laughed and called him a pussy. Which of course had Emily laughing too.
Then Molly was leaning against the wall beside the counter where Emily was assembling skewers of cheese squares, pickles, and a cooked shrimp for the Bloody Marys. “Those look awesome. I would’ve brought more beer, but that douche drank most of the twelve-pack I picked up yesterday.”
Brody’s head shot up, and his pan clanked against the burner. “Are you fucking kidding me? What did I tell you about him?”
For a moment Emily struggled to remember Molly’s relationship status, but thinking back, she couldn’t recall ever seeing her at a wedding without one of these guys. And at parties or when they ended up at the same club, well, Molly had always seemed part of the crowd rather than with anyone in particular.
“Yeah, yeah. He needs to go,” she agreed, accepting a drink from Emily with a wide smile. “And he will, just as soon as I find someone else to cover his rent.”
Jase and Brody spoke up together: “I’ll cover it.”
Which had Emily’s brows pushing high.
The guys exchanged a look and shrugged.
“Aww, you two. Thanks, but pass. I’ll handle my roommate myself.” And in case either of them had any ideas about pushing the topic, Molly gave them a look eerily reminiscent of one of her brother’s and added, “End of discussion.”
Wow. Molly had always struck her as pretty cool, but now Emily was really looking forward to getting to know her better.
* * *
The rest of the guys eventually straggled in, all of them far too polished in the art of wingmanship to show even a hint of surprise at Jase having invited her to join what she’d heard was a fairly closed group. They were welcoming, and the conversation and laughter never stopped.
“Any updates on Janice?” Max asked, returning with what had to be his sixth plate of food from the kitchen.
Holy cow, the guy could eat, but he didn’t have an ounce of fat on him.
Jase’s head rocked back, and he covered his stomach with his hand like he was suddenly sick. Emily sat up a little straighter.
“Nothing. I talked to her this morning—”
Molly held her skewer up, now down to only the cheese cube. “Wait, you made your secretary, who’s thirteen months pregnant, talk to you on a Sunday morning? There’s a special place in hell for you, mister.”
But then Jase was waving her off, giving her an annoyed, but not really, look before going on. “Okay, first, she called me,” he said, defending himself.
At which point, Emily cocked her head. “Your pregnant secretary calls you on Sunday mornings?”
Jase’s head snapped around to her and he put up a staying hand, warding off whatever unholy thought she’d had about this Janice.
“It’s not like that. We’ve been working together for years, and I care about her a lot. She’s thirty-five, this is her first baby, and she’s just—”
“She’s scary,” Molly cut in matter-of-factly. “I mean, I love her. But—”
“But she’s already six days past her due date, and I’m concerned for her. Like any boss would be.”
Emily felt something deep in her chest warm at the thought of Jase worrying over a pregnant woman.
This time, Max piped up. “I don’t know, man. I’m not sure just any boss would be quite as involved as you. How big is the binder these days?”
Jase flushed, and Emily sat straighter still. “Binder?”
Brody laughed and slapped Jase on the shoulder. “With all the safety reports Jase started printing out for her when he found out she was prego.”
Sean—who was apparently the grown-up of the group, the most reserved and polite by far—turned to her, a pitying look in his eyes. “He researched breast pumps.”
And that was when everyone in the room, Emily especially, fell apart.
* * *
The game was a nail-biter, going into overtime before the Hawks brought home the win. Emily had had a great time, never once feeling left out. The guys made it a point to include her, going to the trouble to give her the backstory whenever an insider joke came up—and there were dozens.
They grilled her about Jase in high school, and despite their past, she had more than enough cherished memories from those early days to share with the group. It was funny to think that these people had known Jase almost as long as she had. They’d all lived in the same dorm freshman year—except Molly, who was three years younger and hadn’t gone to college except to visit her brother at his. Apparently, she’d spent enough time there the school had been ready to start charging her rent. And while technically, Emily had known Jase longer, these friends knew him in a way she didn’t. They knew the guy he’d been and everything that had happened along the way to make him the man he’d become today.
They were lucky.
“Have fun?” Jase asked, coming up beside her as she loaded the remains of her cocktail bar back into her bag.
She smiled. “I did. Thank you for inviting me. You sure I can’t help clean up?”
“Nah.” He met her eyes, but then looked down to the floor and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “But maybe we could all hang out like this again sometime? We play darts at Belfast on Wednesdays. And before you get all nervous that I’m trying to trick you into a date and planning to show up with flowers and a box of candy, Wednesday is friends’ night. We used to call it guys’ night, but then Molly got all pissy because she’d been tagging along since the start—and anyway, it’s not gender exclusive. Wednesday is for friends. Been that way since college.”
“And no way would you break that code.”
His mouth slanted into the smile that left Emily thinking thoughts that weren’t exclusively friendly.
“These guys would never let me live it down. Meet us there?”
As appealing as it was to believe that somehow she and Jase could become friends, especially after the afternoon she’d spent as part of that inner circle, the truth was it didn’t seem possible.
This time, she was the one to look away. “Maybe.”
* * *
When Jase walked back into the apartment, cleanup was in full swing. Brody was scrubbing out the sauté pan, Molly was on drying duty, and Sean was bagging up the garbage. Meanwhile, Max was reorganizing Jase’s refrigerator. Again.
“Thanks for waiting until she was gone,” Jase said, returning the platter Molly had just dried to the cabinet over the fridge. Yes, he was interested in more time with Emily, but he’d been worried about what would happen if she stayed. If somehow she’d ended up being the last one there. If they were alone, and the part of him still hungry for Emily in his bed got in the way of the part of him working to become her friend.
Based on what had happened at the club, Emily might not have minded. But once the sex was over, they’d be right back to her walking out of his place, thanking him for a good time—and PS, don’t bother calling.
That wasn’t what Jase wanted. Not anymore. And now that he’d admitted it to himself… Well, drastic measures were needed until all parts of him got in line.
“So Emily, huh?” Sean asked, propping a hip against the counter. “Molly said there was something going on with you two, but after Skolnic’s wedding, I thought she was full of shit.”
And with the audience gone, Sean had let his hair down.
“I told you so,” Molly sang quietly, the small smile playing at her lips making her look a hell of a lot sweeter than she actually was.
Jase grabbed the stack of plates next. “I know. And sorry for springing her on you. It’s just that she and I go back pretty far. And there’s some stuff I need to make up to her before I can—”
“Do her,” Max suggested, that too-serious face of his split into a mischievous grin.
Molly shook her head, muttering something about Max being the funniest guy she knew, earning a snort from Sean.
“Bite it, Max. It’s not like that… I mean, yeah, I’m into her.” What fool wouldn’t be? “But with all the crap we’ve been through, my first priority is proving to her that she can trust me. Showing her that we can be friends.”
Max closed the fridge and crossed his arms, the grin gone.
“So you’re trying to convince her she’s your friend, so she’ll trust you enough to let you nail her?”
Molly whistled out a breath and, eyeing Jase like he was a festering boil, mouthed “Douche bag.”
“Jesus, do you seriously think I’m trying to scam her into the sack? I want something with her. Something real.”
“You talking more real than what you had with Tiffany or Camila?” Brody asked, the look on his face no less disapproving than the others. “Because real usually implies lasting, Jase. Which isn’t exactly your MO. And Emily’s had enough of your shit.”
Jase got it. Tiffany and Camila were the last two women he’d dated, Tiffany before Skolnic’s wedding and Camila about three months before that. He’d had to work on Camila to go out with him. Something about his reputation preceding him, if memory served. He’d convinced her, but not by promising something he had no intention of delivering. He’d convinced her that what he was offering—all he’d been offering—was something she wouldn’t want to miss.
And when they’d broken it off—amicably, he might add—she’d told him he’d been right.
Tiffany? Well, he could still remember that slap landing across his cheek, but he’d known she was drama going in. He hadn’t offered her anything more than he had Camila, but somewhere along the way, Tiffany had gotten it into her head that he should have. Their parting hadn’t been quite so amicable. It happened.
Both were fairly representative of his relationships in general, but neither of them could be compared to what was happening with Emily. Nothing could.
He didn’t know why things were so different with her.
Why she pulled at the places other women couldn’t touch. But when he was with her, it wasn’t just about want. It was about need.
And whatever that pull was, it had already taken him beyond the limits he’d set for every other relationship he’d gone into. He was now in uncharted territory. He didn’t know where it was going to lead, but he knew he didn’t want to be there alone.
“She’s different.” That was all he could say. His only defense. Well, that and… “I invited her to Belfast on Wednesday.”
Silence.
The weird kind.
And then Molly clutched her hands together, her lips pinched between her teeth. Sean grunted, grabbed the sack of trash, and walked out to dump it. Max reopened the fridge and resumed his grumbling over the jelly being hidden behind the milk and what they were doing on the same shelf. And Brody… Brody stepped in close so the others couldn’t hear.
“No more fuckups with this one, Jase. She doesn’t need it.”
Okay, so they were good.
* * *
Wednesday night took its sweet time rolling around. The week was rough. Jase was worried about Janice, who still hadn’t had her baby and to his consternation had continued marching into the office each morning like she wasn’t walking around with a stomach so big and round it looked ready to pop. Only these days, that belly didn’t always look so round. This morning it had been disconcertingly off-center. A little oblong. And damn, was it hard.
He wanted her at home with her feet up and a nurse standing at the ready. A phone in her hand with Labor and Delivery set on speed dial.
But no. That wasn’t Janice.
So he’d spent the better part of his workweek hovering around his assistant, trying to come up with quality, on-the-spot lies to cover his actions. Because the hovering? She didn’t appreciate it. Just like she hadn’t appreciated the arugula salad he’d tried to get her to eat when he read it helped start labor. And she didn’t like the yoga ball he’d replaced her chair with for the same reason.
She’d disliked it so much that she’d all but shoved him into his office that afternoon, closed the door behind her, and then done the unthinkable.
“You brought this on yourself, Foster,” she’d hissed, pulling up her stretchy maternity shirt to just above her belly button. And that straining, mottled orb… Holy hell, there were some things a guy just couldn’t unsee.
No more yoga balls. Check.
The only thing that had gotten him through the day had been the idea of confessing his arugula sins to the one woman whose laugh might make the trauma go away.
But here he was at Belfast at quarter to ten, surrounded by friends who’d officially transitioned from upbeat assurances she’d be there to sympathetic looks mirroring what he already knew. She wouldn’t.
The only question now was what was he going to do about it?