“So tell me again how this happened, Chess,” Marylou said as she dropped into a chair in the reception area of Second Chance Bridal just as Chessie entered from the hallway leading to the dressing rooms. “I thought you’d made it clear to Will that you weren’t going on any more blind dates he set up for you.”
“And hello to you, too. I didn’t hear you come in.” Chessie slipped the rhinestone tiara back into the glass case and locked it for the night. Katie Harwell had been right, the tiara had been too much, but selling her the cathedral-length train had sweetened the bottom line of the sale, so that was all right. “It wasn’t Will this time. It was Elizabeth. I felt sort of stuck, you know?” She looked across the room at her friend and business partner and frowned. “Tell me you didn’t get more collagen injected into your lips.”
“All right,” Marylou said, holding the cool aluminum of the soda can she’d just taken from the mini-fridge against her mouth. “I did not get more collagen injected into my lips.”
Chessie opened the armoire that hid the minifridge and pulled out a diet cola for herself. “Liar, liar, French-cut pants on fire.”
“Only as a matter of degree. You were being specific. You said collagen. I didn’t have collagen injected into my lips. I had some of my very own fanny fat injected into the area just around my lips. So, not a liar. And the swelling will go down in a couple of days. Ted’s in Vegas with some golfing buddies, and I’ll be all happily pouty but not too swollen by the time he gets back.”
Chessie subsided into the facing chair, sighing. “Marylou, you’re a beautiful woman—”
“I’m a passably attractive fifty-five-year-old woman married to a forty-eight-year-old man who thinks I’m fifty-two. There, how’s that for BFF-to-BFF honesty.”
“Pretty good,” Chessie said, nodding. “Except you’re fifty-six. And,” she said as Marylou tried to make a face—the fanny fat and some sort of injections to her forehead pretty much defeating that effort—“Ted loves you.”
“Yes, third time’s the charm. He knows I’m fifty-six. He still calls me his child bride. I think we’re going to renew our vows next year, in Tahiti. Or maybe Rome. We haven’t decided. I never get tired of wearing wedding gowns. I’m thinking a lace sheath. Ecru, maybe with a colored sash. Now tell me again about this date. Is he someone local?”
Chessie realized she hadn’t asked. In fact, all she knew about Toby Nieth was that he wasn’t the country singer, Toby Keith, and she’d have to remember that or else she’d probably screw up at some point and ask him how his last tour went. “Elizabeth tells me he’s a doctor.”
“Really? Doctors are good. What kind?”
“I don’t know. He’s a doctor-doctor. It doesn’t make a difference what kind of doctor he is.”
“It would if he was a witch doctor,” Marylou said quietly. “Anyway, I’m proud of you for doing this. I know how much you hate blind dates. That’s why I’ve given up. No more matchmaking for me with you, Chess, I took the pledge. You’re just not ever going to get married. It’s very possible you’re still carrying a torch for old what’s-his-name.”
“Rick?” Chessie was shocked. Nobody mentioned Rick to her. Not ever. She could joke about her aborted trip down the aisle, but that was her. For everyone else, the subject had been tacitly agreed to be out-of-bounds. “Why would you mention him? Why would you think that?”
Marylou’s expression being cosmetically rendered unreadable, darn it, Chessie could only listen to the words, not watch for telltale signs of fibbing. Or conniving. “Because he’s back in town and you haven’t said anything about that to me or to anyone, which might mean you’re afraid of old feelings rising to the top and bubbling where everyone can see them. At least that’s the general consensus.”
Was there a Chessie’s World website floating around the internet that she didn’t know about? How did everyone know so much about her private life? Not that she had a private life. One private almost-tryst—did people still say tryst?—earlier this same day, but certainly not a private life. “How do you know Rick’s back in town?”
Marylou got up and deposited the empty soda can in the recycle bin beneath the kidney-shaped registration desk. “I haf my vays,” she said, doing an impression of Mata Hari, or some other spy with a bad German accent. “Not that I know much.” She turned and sort of smiled at Chessie. “He’s living at home with his mother—pitiful— his divorce from the bimbo maid of honor was final six months ago, he drives a three-year-old Mercedes—leased, and the cheaper model—and he’s working as a junior broker at Gibbons, Fiorello and Schultz on Hamilton Boulevard. Oh, and he’s got just the teensiest little bit of a sparse spot starting right at the crown of his head, for which he uses that liquid stuff you buy at the drugstore and rub on your head twice a day.” She rolled her eyes. “Other than that, I know nothing.”
“You never cease to amaze me, Marylou,” Chessie said sincerely. “How do you know he’s rubbing hair restorer on his head? Or don’t I want to know?”
“You probably don’t, although I will say the drugstore at that new shopping center on Cedar Crest Boulevard has a very nice selection of eye shadows.”
Chessie tried not to laugh, but it was difficult. “You’ve been stalking the man? How did you do it? Did you wear a trench coat with the collar pulled up? Or just dark sunglasses and a blond wig?”
Marylou rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. Let’s just say I happened to be in the same place he was a few times in the past week or so. But I’m done with that. Just be glad he doesn’t use that spray-on hair stuff some men use and think we don’t notice. Run your hand through a guy’s hair and come out with sticky gunk all over your fingertips and, believe me, you know.”
“Well, you and the rest of the world can relax. I’m not going to be running my fingers through Rick’s hair, Marylou. He called here once, nearly two weeks ago, and I did not call him back. Clearly he took the hint. And I am not still carrying some torch for him. Rick Peters is filed away under Lucky Escape, and that’s that. I just don’t like being set up. There’s something creepy about it. So thank you for not doing it anymore, and if you could convince everyone else, I’d be eternally grateful.”
Marylou gave her a hug. “Honey, I’ve told them and told them. She doesn’t want your help, I told them. She’s happy as she is. Alone. But you know how happily marrieds can be. They want everyone else to be happily married, too.”
Chessie disengaged herself from her friend’s expensively scented embrace and held her at arm’s length. “So you really did hire Jace Edwards because he came highly recommended? And not in some typical whacked-out Marylou Smith-Bitters idea of throwing him in front of me and vice versa?”
Marylou almost succeeded in making a face this time, she seemed that appalled. “Jace? Don’t be ridiculous. He’s not at all your type. You need a doctor, a dentist—heaven forbid, a stockbroker. Someone more…refined. He’s a hunk, certainly, and seems nice enough. I’m sure I can find somebody for him if I just flashed his photo a few times, and since I’ve given up on you, he might make an interesting project. But not you, Chess, he’s not at all right for you. He’s much too male. Rough and tumble, self-made, a little too earthy around the edges.”
“Too male for me? Are you saying Jace Edwards is too much man for me? That I’m not enough woman for him?”
“No, sweetheart, of course not.” Marylou crooned sweetly as she gave Chessie another little hug, and then patted her cheek.
Chessie wouldn’t have called either the hug or the face-pat patronizing…but only because she couldn’t seem to find her own voice.
“I’m only saying that you’re, well, you’re not very sensually minded.”
“Says who?” Chessie said at last, her voice sounding just a little squeaky. “I am so sensually minded. I think. What does that mean? I mean, to you, Marylou. To me, it sounds like you think I’m a cold fish. Without…needs. I’ve got…you know. Needs. And before you pat my cheek again, you might want to rethink the gesture.”
Marylou raised her hands to show she was harmless. “The fact that you have to ask me what it means to be sensually minded is probably your first clue here, Chessie. Look, let’s conduct a small poll, all right?”
“Are you going to publish the results? Because I have a feeling my life is being discussed when I’m not there.”
“You have friends, Chess. Friends who love you. Everything we do, we do out of love. There,” she ended briskly. “Happy now? Good. Back to the poll. First question—have you ever had casual sex?”
Chessie didn’t answer her.
“Part two of that question while you’re thinking over part one—have you ever had a one-night stand?”
“It used to be a virtue to not sleep around, you know,” Chessie said, wondering why she was feeling so defensive.
“So that’s a no and a no. Question two—how bad a lover was this Rick Peters, anyway?”
Chessie thought her eyes might pop out of her head. “What? What does that have to do with anything?”
Marylou seemed to want to hug her again, so Chessie stepped back, out of reach.
Her friend looked toward the armoire. “We don’t have any wine in there, do we? We really should rethink that. All right, what does your ex-fiancé’s prowess as a lover or lack thereof have to do with it? I’d have to say everything, wouldn’t I? And there’s been no one else since him? Not in six years?”
Chessie lowered her head, rubbing two fingers against the tense wrinkles forming between her eyebrows. She was going to be a candidate for fanny-fat injections herself if this kept up. “Two. There were two, all right? But no one-night stands, no casual sex for sex’s sake. At least I don’t think they were.”
“Two men in six years.” Marylou sighed, blinking rapidly, as if fighting tears. “I’ve heard about women who can take it or leave it. I didn’t really believe you were one of them until lately, but sweetheart, facts are facts. You’ve got this place, the romance without the passion, and you like it that way. You’re an…observer, not really a participant. And that’s all right, sweetheart. Really it is. You simply aren’t—sensually minded. I mean, I’d like to say you’re simply unawakened, and Prince Charming will come riding in on his great white horse and wake you up to what you’re missing, but I don’t think so.”
“I could, too, just be unawakened,” Chessie said hopefully, thinking back to the events in her bedroom earlier today. “I could be just about ready to pop, actually.”
“You say that as if you want me to go back to matchmaking for you.”
“No! No, I’m not saying that. God, no, I’ve already seen your work when it comes to me. I’m just saying that maybe you’re wrong. Maybe…maybe this guy tonight will be the one. He could be. Because I’m not still hung up on Rick. That is so not true. I’ve just been working a lot, establishing my business, and I’m working hard again now that we’re partners. That doesn’t mean I don’t have…don’t have needs. For all you know, I could be planning on having mad monkey sex tonight! Wild, crazy, unbridled sex with…with a complete stranger!”
“Knock, knock” came a male voice from somewhere behind her. “I guess I’m interrupting something? Girl talk?”
“Oh, God,” Chessie groaned, longing to disappear into the floor. Did he hear anything? Of course he’d heard something. For all she knew, he could have been standing behind the door, taking notes. “What do you want?”
Jace Edwards stepped into the room, immediately clogging it with testosterone. “Well, it’s probably a little late to wish I could have been deaf for the last couple seconds, Ms. Burton, so I guess I’ll settle for asking you for the keys to your side door. One of our circular saws took a walk last night, so I want to lock up the tools in your basement until the addition is far enough along to secure it. If that’s all right with you?”
“Yeah. Right. Uh-huh, sure, I’ll…I’ll go get you one.” Chessie kept her head down as she brushed past him and headed for her office. Where she would curl up in a ball and simply die, because it was easier than ever having to face that man again.
“Bye, Chessie,” Marylou called after her. “Good luck on your date tonight.”
No! Don’t leave me don’t leave me don’t— Oh, hell. Chessie flinched when she heard the bell tingle as the front door of the shop closed. Rats deserted sinking ships with less speed.
“Found one?” Jace asked from the doorway.
She kept her back to him. And since she was standing in the middle of her office, several steps away from her desk or anything else that might hold a key, she thought the answer was obvious. “I haven’t looked yet. I was busy mentally composing a new last will and testament before going upstairs and sticking my head in the oven. I’m cutting out Marylou, by the way. You might want to warn her.”
“I didn’t hear much,” Jace said, his voice closer now, so that she hastened over to the desk and began pulling out drawers, looking inside them but really not seeing anything. “Just the monkey-sex part. I never understood that. What do monkeys know that we don’t? Aren’t we supposed to be the evolved ones? Maybe someday we can go to Philly to the zoo, and see if it’s all it’s cracked up to be. Do you suppose the Monkey House is rated R, or do they let just anybody in?”
Her hand closed on a ring of keys and she yanked one off and held it out in his direction. “Here. Take it. Go. You were supposed to be gone an hour ago.”
“Late delivery. You were supposed to have a date. But hey, there’s still time to cancel it if you’d like to grab a burger with me.”
“Thanks, but no thanks,” she said, finally turning to look at him, which was a mistake. He’d changed his clothes. Instead of jeans and a loose button shirt and work boots, he was wearing jeans and sneakers and a black T-shirt that could have been painted on for all she knew.
Black shirt, black hair, gray eyes, a great tan, a bit of a five-o’clock shadow and all those muscles. There wasn’t anything GQ about Jace Edwards. Nothing slick or smooth. If he was going to pose for anything it would be for the cover of one of those romance novels where the guy is all bare-chested and standing with his legs braced apart and the girl is half-naked on her knees in front of him, touching his abs and looking up at him as if she wanted to start a hands-on inventory from where she was, working her inquisitive fingers to all his most interesting places before—
“After you lock up, drop the keys through the mail slot. I’ll give them to you again in the morning.”
“I am bonded,” he told her in some amusement. “And I don’t think I’d look too good in any of those gowns back there anyway. But, okay. I’ll take the key in the morning, slip it through the mail slot every night. Chessie? Are you sure you’re all right?”
The disturbing mental image of Jace as virile romance hero and her as eager virgin in a low-cut gown and all but begging to be tossed to the ground and ravished in wild and sundry ways went pop and disappeared. She’d added a dashing eye patch just moments earlier, and a pirate sword at his belt. They’d both been nice touches, she’d thought. She should have lost the eye patch and added a gag….
“Of course I’m all right. I’m always all right. I make it a point to be all right. Why wouldn’t I be all right? Oh—would you please just go away?”
“I like you in that color,” he said, just as she was seriously considering braining him with the stapler. “What’s it called?”
“Pink. It’s called pink.” The bell over the front door tinkled in warning. “Oh, damn it, he’s here.”
“Just what a man wants to hear when he’s showing up for his first date with a woman. Encouraging as all hell,” Jace said, chuckling. “Why don’t you go get yourself a glass of cold water or something. I’ll keep him company until you get back.”
“Don’t you dare go out there and—”
But he was already gone. And he was probably right. She did need a few moments to compose herself before meeting Toby Keith—Nieth. Before meeting Toby Nieth.
She snuck out of the office and took the stairs two at a time, heading for her kitchen and the pitcher of ice water she kept in the refrigerator. She didn’t have a headache, but took two aspirin anyway, just because someone as upset as she was at the moment couldn’t be counted on not to have a coronary or something and aspirin was supposedly good for that.
Then, realizing she’d just left her date and her whatever-he-was downstairs together, she bounded down the steps once more, smoothed down her skirt, ran her fingers through her hair, moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, put a smile on her face and walked toward the lion’s den…er, the reception area.
She saw Toby Nieth before he saw her, so she took that moment to look him over, see what it was Elizabeth seemed to think would appeal to her. And didn’t find much. He was tall, although not as tall as Jace. He was slender but also looked fit, as if maybe he ran or cycled for exercise. She wondered if he shaved his legs. She’d known a bicyclist once who shaved his legs, said it cut down on wind drag or something. That had been a fast one-date thing. She just couldn’t get past the mental image of a guy sitting on the edge of the tub, lathering up his legs and taking a razor to them.
Back to Toby Nieth.
His hair was sort of sandy and maybe a little too short around the ears, a little too stylishly long on top. He wore tan leather loafers, no socks, khaki slacks with knife-sharp creases, a dark green open-neck golf shirt, and had a white sweater edged in green over his shoulders, the sleeves tied in a knot over his chest.
Tennis, anyone? The expression entered her head and she banished it just as quickly as it had come. This was what Elizabeth saw as a good match for her? Toby Nieth seemed so contrived, so what-the-well-dressed-young-executive-should-look-like. So fake.
But probably safe, which would have been Marylou’s comment if she were here and thank God she wasn’t. Nonthreatening. Not so overwhelmingly male.
Like some people Chessie didn’t want to mention and wished on the other side of the universe right now. And what was he doing? Handing Toby a can of soda and offering him a chair? As if he was some kind of host or something? Oh no. Oh, no, no, no. Don’t you go sitting down, Jace Edwards, not unless you want me to dump you out of that chair on your head!
“Hi!” she said just a smidgen too enthusiastically as she walked into the reception area, her right hand outstretched as both men got to their feet once more, “I’m so sorry I’m late. I’m Chessie. And you must be—”
“Toby Nieth, Ms. Chessie Burton,” Jace interrupted. “And she really is sorry. I told her earlier. I said, Chess, honey, we really have to stop talking and get you ready for your date. But you know how women are.”
Chessie’s eyes popped open wide. He made it sound as if he’d been sitting on her bed or something while she got dressed for her date. And how women are what? But she didn’t ask, because he’d probably have an answer.
“Yes,” she said instead. “Jace here is putting a little addition on the back of the building for us. Nothing too difficult, as we don’t want to strain his intellect, or spread his limited talents too thinly. But he’s coming along, and we’re always happy to help a struggling entrepreneur. Still taking those classes, aren’t you, Jace? One day you might be able to say you’re a real honest-to-goodness plumber. Your mother will be so proud.”
Toby Nieth spoke for the first time. “I thought you said you owned your own construction company,” he said, looking at Jace.
Whose ears were such a nice shade of red at the moment. Ha!
“Chess likes to tease. Don’t you, Chess,” Jace said with his back to Toby, smiling at her in a way that probably would look good on a serial killer. “Before you go, I do have a question about the new storage room. Do you want a separate thermostat in there? Because it might be a good idea to cool it down a little.”
“Really? I didn’t think it was all that hot in the first place.”
“Chessie?” Toby said, looking like a man who’d just walked in on the second act and hadn’t been told any of his lines. “Look, uh, I parked my Benz in the loading zone out front, so how about I go out there and keep watch, and you join me when you’re ready.”
She nodded and then promised she’d only be a minute.
The moment the door was closed, she turned to Jace in a fury. “What is the matter with you? What did you think you were doing?”
“You’re not going to have hot monkey sex with that plastic jerk tonight,” he said flatly.
“Oh, I’m not? How do you know? And it was mad monkey sex, not hot monkey sex.”
“There’s a difference? We really need to take that trip to the zoo during mating season. Or, you know, maybe we could catch something on one of those nature channels.”
“Would…you…shut…up!”
“He’s wearing his sweater over his shoulders and tied in a knot. You caught that, right? You two going to dinner, or a tennis match? And he’ll be waiting by his Benz, Chessie. You ought to count tonight, see how many different brand names he can drop into the conversation. I’ve already heard about the Benz and the Rolex, and I’d only been talking to him—okay, listening to him—for five minutes. Next up, I’m thinking, will be the two glorious weeks he spent in Machu Pichu.”
“He’s been to Machu Pichu? Oh, never mind, you’re just making that up. And what do you care?”
“I don’t know, and you’re right, I don’t care. And I’m being honest here. Not totally honest, because I heard more earlier than I’d like you to know I did. About you being, you know, repressed sexually? I just don’t feel comfortable thinking I might have wound you up just to have you let it go with that guy.”
Chessie felt herself make a face rather like a high-speed animation of a prune turning into a raisin; probably not her best look. “Wound me up? You—if you don’t have the biggest head in the known world. Wound me up? What? And now you’re worried maybe you’ve unleashed a sex-starved monster into that world? Well, hell, Jace, don’t just stand there. Run outside and warn poor Toby Keith away, why don’t you?”
“Nieth. Toby Nieth,” Jace corrected maddeningly, exasperatingly. “If you’re going to go to bed with the guy, you really should know his name. But you won’t like it, Chess.”
“Yes, I know,” she said, her voice dripping sarcasm. “One lousy kiss, and you’ve spoiled me for all other men. In your dreams, Jace Edwards, in your dreams, which is the only place I’ll ever be with you.” She grabbed up her purse and slung the strap over her shoulder. “You just remember to put the key through the mail slot when you’re done.”
She stormed out of the salon and down the walk, stopping when she saw Toby Neith striking a clearly planned and not nonchalant pose against the Benz, his bare ankles crossed just so as he readjusted the knot in his sweater sleeves. Was Elizabeth out of her mind?
Maybe they all thought she was sensuality deprived. Maybe they were just all tired of setting the table for five instead of six, seven instead of eight. Maybe they thought she could only relate to men as harmless as Elizabeth was probably sure Toby Nieth was. And, Chessie had learned, it was always the safe-looking ones, the polite ones, that turned into eight-handed octopusses—octopi?—once they got you home again.
Or maybe they were all afraid she’d jump at the chance to be with Rick again.
Did none of her friends really know her?
Chessie looked back up the walkway toward the salon. Given the choice of a pleasant evening with Will and Elizabeth and another maddening confrontation with the totally unacceptable and maybe even unlikable but definitely sexy Jace Edwards, she knew which one she’d choose. In a heartbeat.
Which begged the question: Did she even know herself?
Three hours later, Jace heard the Benz pull away from the curb, and grinned the sort of grin that could get him in big trouble if anyone else saw it. Poor Tennis Anyone Toby. The guy was going to need new tires if he kept laying rubber like that.
He got up off his knees, sliding the hammer back into his tool belt, walked to the entrance to the reception area, and waited for the sound of Chessie’s key in the front door. The slam of that same door brought another wicked smile to his lips.
He casually flipped the light switch next to him, turning on the overhead chandelier. “You’re home early. Let me guess, your evening didn’t go all that swimmingly?”
Chessie let out a small yelp of alarm that quickly turned into a “What the hell are you still doing here?” explosion of what might have been a touch of anger (a pretty big touch, almost a physical shove of anger, actually). “It’s ten o’clock.”
“Yes, and you left here at seven. Three hours. Factoring in travel time both ways, drinks before dinner, and that was a pretty quick evening. Did you decide to skip dessert?”
Chessie slipped off her high-heeled sandals, seemed to consider tossing one of them at him, but then put them down on top of one of the display cases. “Not funny, Jace. I repeat—what are you still doing here?”
“Puttering. You told me to put the key through the mail slot when I was done hauling the tools down to the basement. I did that. You never told me to close the door first. Or to leave.”
“Next time I’ll be more specific. But for future reference, you were supposed to leave.”
He was driving her crazy. But she seemed to like it. He’d seen her smile before she could hide it. “I had nowhere to go. I’d eaten an early dinner, the Phillies are traveling on the West Coast so they won’t even be on TV until ten-thirty, and I had nothing else to do. Unlike you, with your busy social life.”
She surprised him with her next question. “Are you sure? I thought they came on at ten.”
“Late start. You like baseball?”
She picked up her shoes. “We’re not having a conversation here, Jace. I was only making a comment. What do you mean? Puttering?”
He followed her toward the stairs, since she’d asked a question and it wouldn’t do either of them much good for him to answer it with him downstairs and her up in her apartment. He’d like to think of it as an invitation to join her, but asking if she had any beer in the fridge would probably be overdoing it.
“Puttering is pretty much what it sounds like. When I took the tools down to the basement, I noticed that you had some dripping going on from the faucet in the laundry tub. I put in new washers, and then decided to check the rest of the faucets in the house as long as I had my handy-dandy wrench out anyway.”
She stopped at the top of the stairs to turn her head and look at him, rolling those great big baby-blue eyes at him. “Handy-dandy wrench?”
“That’s what we apprentice plumbers call it,” he said to her back, as she was on the move again. “And by the way, my mother is still having trouble accepting that I’m a contractor. She’d hoped for another lawyer in the family. Except when she’s calling me to come over and fix something, that is, because my father the lawyer couldn’t screw in a lightbulb without a consultation with three other lawyers and a written brief on clockwise-versus-counter-clockwise.”
“Now that’s funny,” she tossed back at him. “I’m listening. Keep going.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, longing to give that pert backside of hers a playful slap. “You didn’t need any more washers, but the door to your bathroom was really out of plumb—old houses settle, and what hung straight in the nineteen hundreds can go crooked. You’re lucky you never got stuck inside the bathroom. Or outside of it. I don’t know which would be worse.”
Chessie tossed her shoes and purse on an overstuffed chair and headed for the kitchen. “I suppose you want coffee?”
He followed yet again, and then leaned one shoulder against the door jamb, admiring the view. “The gracious hostess. Yes, thank you. Please notice that there’s now a cover on that outlet. Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to not have a cover on an outlet? Especially a kitchen outlet?”
“The old one cracked a few weeks ago, probably from old age. I was meaning to buy a new one,” she said as she filled the coffeepot at the sink. “Okay, so we’ve established what puttering is. Unsolicited puttering, mind you, so don’t try adding it to the bill. Anything else?”
“Your lingerie drawer sticks.”
She swung around so quickly, a heavy earthenware coffee cup in her hand, that she nearly took out the pot of African violets on the windowsill. “That’s not funny,” she said once she realized he had been joking.
“I don’t know, Chess. I liked it. You came into the shop as if you couldn’t wait to slam the door behind you, and on Tennis Anyone, and then he peeled out of here in his Benz as if somebody was chasing him. Was your date really that much of a bust?” I hope, I hope.
“It wasn’t that bad,” she said, turning back to the counter. “Will and Elizabeth are always good company, and she made her special chicken-and-rice dish I really like. There was plenty of conversation. Fourteen,” she ended, sounding more relaxed, even amused.
“Fourteen what— Wait, I get it now.” Jace took the coffee cup she offered, shaking his head to the offer of cream or sugar. “Fourteen brand-name mentions. Damn. I think I had an even dozen in the pool.”
“Well, some of them were repeats, although I counted each one, and other people had to have some time to talk, and I wasn’t with him that long. Still, it comes out to more than four every sixty minutes. Sort of like commercials on TV.”
“Except you couldn’t pick up your remote and change the channel until they were over.”
She followed him back into the living room. “Good point. We didn’t really hit it off from the get-go, no thanks to you. He made a move on me anyway, probably just because he thought I’d expect one.”
Jace put his coffee cup down on the table beside his chair. Probably a little too hard. “That bare-ankled bastard.”
Chess took up a spot on the couch, pulling her bare legs up next to her on the cushion, making Jace immediately rethink his stupid decision to sit in a chair.
“Why so surprised, Jace? You made a move on me. So obviously it’s not like you think I’m un-move-on-able material.”
“He didn’t even know you.”
“Oh? And you do? Three days of you outside making way too much noise and me inside wishing you’d go away does not make for a great acquaintance.”
“I’ll ignore that. What kind of move?”
Chess took a sip of coffee. Or pretended to, so she could hide her smile, which Jace saw anyway. “What do you mean, what kind of move? He drove me home, we sat out front in his Benz while I thanked him for a lovely evening, I didn’t want him to walk me to the door so I sort of leaned over a little so he could kiss me good-night—that seemed only fair—and he made a move on me.”
Jace wanted to hunt down Toby Nieth and seriously rearrange his sweater sleeves so that the knot was in much closer proximity to his Adam’s apple. He didn’t know why he was having this reaction, and really didn’t want to delve too deeply into that why, but right about now Toby Nieth should be considering himself a very lucky man that he hadn’t pulled his stunt inside Second Chance Bridal.
“Okay. So what did you do?”
“Oh, no. If I tell, then I wouldn’t be able to use my trusted countermove on you if you ever tried anything.”
“I tried something this afternoon,” he reminded her, getting up from the chair and redepositing himself beside her on the couch. “I just might be about to try something again now.”
“No, you aren’t. You’re smarter than that.”
“I am?” Jace raised his eyebrows in surprise. He really did plan to kiss her. Wanted to kiss her. More and more needed to kiss her, if just to see if what happened that afternoon had been a fluke, and he wouldn’t have that same gut-clenching reaction with a second kiss. “Why am I smarter than that?”
She laid her head back against the cushions and sighed. “One, you can tell that I’m upset by what happened with Toby. Two, you wouldn’t want to be seen as taking advantage of me in my fragile condition. Three, you’re giving me time to get to know you, and for you to get to know me, so that we both don’t make a mistake at least one of us will regret. And four, I’m holding a cup of really hot coffee three inches above your crotch.”
Jace, who had been otherwise engaged, visually taking in her profile, the sweep of her neck, picking out his initial point of approach, quickly looked down toward his lap. “You make a compelling argument,” he said, careful not to move.
Her laugh was warm, throaty, and he actually sighed in relief as she sat forward once more and placed the cup on the coffee table. “I thought you might see it my way. Now, are you going home, or do we talk? I’m really not sleepy, and the coffee isn’t decaf, so it’s either you or the Phillies and the Dodgers.”
“How about both?” Jace reached across her body, careful to keep his hand visible and nonthreatening, and picked up the TV remote before easing back to his previous position. “So you really are a Phillies fan?”
“I have season tickets to the Iron Pigs, if that answers your question. Third baseline, but up under cover, because I’m not enough of a fan to have to worry about foul balls and errant bats that might go flying in my direction. I like seeing players who might make it to the big show, and the ones who come down here for rehab before going back into the regular lineup.”
“Interesting. How about football?”
She rolled those big blue eyes as if his question had been just too obvious for words. “Eagles fan. Isn’t everyone? Now I’ve got one for you. Chocolate chip or peanut butter? Cookies,” she added when he shook his head. “I’ve got both in the kitchen, and both homemade. Not by me, understand, but homemade. Which do you like?”
“Only a cruel and sadistic woman would ask a man to choose between chocolate chip and peanut butter. Although I’d like to trade in this coffee for a glass of milk. For dunking.”
“Dipping,” she told him very seriously. “One dunks a donut. One dips a cookie.”
“Sorry. Didn’t know I was dealing with an expert,” he said, helping her to her feet before picking up both coffee cups and, once again, following where she led. It got easier and easier, following where Chessie Burton led.
Should he point out that a quick left turn would get them to her bedroom?
Probably not.
She wanted to get to know him, he’d let her get to know him. And, in turn, he would get to know her.
Then they could make that left turn into the bedroom.
Because some things couldn’t be avoided. Not for long, anyway.