“Sure am.”
“I’ll drive,” she offers, and her year-old pink luxury sports coupe beeps twice as she unlocks the doors. That’s how we met—even though we usually work on older cars, she talked Gary into doing a custom paint job, complete with ghost flames. Vanessa’s dad is in software, so money was no object. Gary took the job, and I took out the girl.
I think we both regretted it before the week was over.
“You sure?” I ask, casting a longing glance at my truck. “I don’t mind.”
“Of course I’m sure.” She squeezes my arm and presses against me. “I invited you on this little outing. The least I can do is drive.”
“Okay…”
I get into the car, which is undeniably comfortable.
“Hook up!” she chirps, and then she throws the car into reverse and screeches out of the drive.
As the scenery and my life go flashing before my eyes, I grit my teeth and try to shove away the thought that I could have spent the evening with Addison if I hadn’t been so stubborn.
17
It’s good Carter didn’t want to come over tonight. Great, in fact.
Last night felt like something, and I’m pretty sure we almost kissed again this morning, but I’m definitely better off without him. Because I do not want to open that can of worms.
Nope. Sure don’t.
“What’s up?” Jessa says when she answers the phone.
“Listen, I don’t want to talk about it because it’s really stupid, and I shouldn’t be even a tiny bit upset, but do you think you can come over? I mean, I know you’re married now, and you probably have plans—”
“Franklin is watching some sci-fi marathon on TV,” she interrupts. “I’ll bring chocolate.”
“Okay,” I say, and dang it, my voice hitches at the end.
Thirty minutes later, I open the door and find Jessa standing on my porch with a grocery bag and a latte. She hands me the coffee, pushes back her sunglasses, and says, “Okay. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Cocoa tries to knock her over, but I push him back and shuffle to the couch.
“Why are you walking like that?” she asks, and then she spots the pillow and gasps. “What did you do?”
“Didn’t Carter tell you when he called last night?”
“He asked me to check on Cocoa, but he made it sound like you guys were out doing something fun.”
I end up telling her about slipping in the water and Carter taking me to the emergency room—I even tell her how he spent the night on the couch, and how I thought that maybe…
And then I rip open a bar of chocolate.
Jessa sits on the couch across from me, legs crossed, drumming her fingers on the armrest. “So…I was right. You do like him.”
I give her a halfhearted shrug.
“I don’t get it,” she muses. “Carter did all that, and then he disappeared?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m going to call him.”
“What?” I lean forward. “No.”
Too late, she’s already holding her cell to her ear. “What are you doing?” she says as soon as he answers, and then a scowl falls over her face. “Why is it so loud?”
I hold my breath.
“A baseball game?”
He didn’t mention a game.
“With whom?” she demands, and I know I don’t want to hear the answer because her eyes narrow to tiny little slits. “Never mind…we’ll talk later…yeah, I’m fine.”
I rest my head against the back of the couch and stare up at the ceiling. Carter had a date, and he didn’t want to tell me. And of course he did. He’s Carter Dalton—he always has a date.
Jessa hangs up a few moments later and stares at me like she’s trying to figure out how to break the news gently.
“Do I know her?” I ask, my tone flat.
“Remember the girl he went out with a while ago, the one with that tiny dog and the obnoxious laugh?”
I close my eyes. “Surely you don’t mean Vanessa.”
“That’s the one.”
“He didn’t even like her,” I snarl. “I heard the guys talking. She’s super clingy.”
But she’s beautiful. Really, really beautiful.
Jessa leans across the couch and breaks off a square of my chocolate. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”
I know exactly what’s wrong with him; I just don’t know what’s wrong with me. I knew better—I’ve always known better. Carter is off limits for more than one reason.
“I’m supposed to have a date with Gio tonight,” I say with a sigh.
Jessa perks right up. “The cooking instructor? The crazy hot one?”
“Yeah.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that?”
I wish I were more excited. “I kept forgetting to tell you. And now I have to call and cancel, so it doesn’t matter.”
“Why are you canceling?” she demands.
“Um…I don’t know.” I gesture to the super sexy donut pillow. “Maybe this.”
“You’re going to miss out on your first date in I-don’t-know-how-long because you fell on your butt in his class?”
“Believe it or not, there’s nothing on the list that tells me how to navigate tailbone injuries.”
She snorts, shaking her head. “Fine. Call him—get it over with.”
I stare at her for several seconds, trying to think of an excuse why now is a bad time, and then I finally give in. Taking a deep, bolstering breath, I bring up Gio’s name in my phone. Two seconds later, the phone is ringing, and I’m praying it goes to voicemail so I can leave a message.
“Addison,” he answers after the second ring, dashing my hopes. “How are you?”
“Well, I’m okay. Sort of. I am actually going to have to take a rain check on our date—”
“No,” he says, faking a dramatic groan. “Don’t say that.”
“The tile in the community center must be tough because I smacked my tailbone good. The doctor I spoke with last night says I need to take it easy for the next few days.”
“Then I’ll make you chicken soup,” he says. When I laugh like he’s joking, he continues, “No, really. I don’t want to brag, but I make the best.”
“Gio—”
“You know, this is all my fault. The least you can do is let me make it up to you.”
Jessa stares at me with wide eyes. I’m sure she wishes she’d asked me to put the call on speaker.
“Oh yeah?” I ask Gio. “How is it your fault?”
“If I’d only been a few seconds quicker,” he teases, “I could have caught you before you went down.”
“Oh—good point.”
“So, you see, I’ll never forgive myself if you don’t let me make you soup.”
I could argue that soup is for colds and stomach bugs and not bruised derrieres, but instead, I stare at Jessa, apologizing in advance.
“What?” she whispers, leaning forward.
To Gio, I say, “Fine, you can bring me soup—but on one condition.”
“Soup?” Jessa mouths.
“Anything,” Gio says.
Looking at Jessa, I say, “You have to make soup for four—we’ll do a double date with my best friend and her husband.”
He chuckles into the phone. “I can do that.”
“All right. I’ll see you at six,” I say, and then I give him directions to my house.
As soon as I hang up, Jessa says, “Sure, Addison, Franklin and I would love to crash your weird soup date. Thank you for asking.”
“Please,” I scoff. “You would love to crash my date, and you know it.”
She grins and settles back against the couch, eating another piece of chocolate. “I really would.”
“And besides, what was I going to do? Let him show up here alone? That’s like a horror movie in the making. I’m not stupid.”
“Safety first,” she agrees, licking her finger like a messy five-year-old.
I sit back, unable
to keep from worrying this is a bad idea. After a minute, I wrinkle my nose. “How are we going to get Franklin over here?”
Jessa raises a brow. “Your soup date is going to have to be a sci-fi marathon date too.”
Sounds like a party.
* * *
The doorbell rings, and I find Gio standing on the step, holding two paper bags, which are presumably full of soup ingredients.
“Come on in.” I hold the door open for him.
When he steps inside, I just barely hear Jessa murmur, “Oh my stars.”
Yeah. He’s that handsome.
Gio must hear her too, because he looks her way and flashes a devastating grin.
“I’m Gio,” he says to her, nodding his head in greeting because he can’t shake her hand with an armful of bags.
“I’m Jessa,” my best friend answers, and then she motions toward her husband, who’s nearly glued to the television. “This is my husband, Franklin.”
Franklin spares us a glance, raises his hand in greeting, and then gets sucked back into his show. The people in the red shirts are having a meeting with the people in the blue shirts. It appears tense.
Gio shifts the groceries in his arms, looking unsure what to do with them.
“Oh, right,” I say, shaking my head to clear it. “Come on into the kitchen, and you can set those down.”
“You have a lovely home.” He places the bags on the counter and surveys his workspace, nodding in approval. It’s a pretty big kitchen, but the space is wasted on me. “I hope you don’t mind, but I assume you have cookware. I didn’t bring any with me.”
Growing nervous, I lean against the counter. “What do you need?”
“A cutting board, a chef’s knife, and a stock pot.”
Chef’s knife? If you’re a chef, aren’t they all your knives?
When I ask him, he gives me a funny look. “It’s large—and pointed.”
“Oh, all right. I think I have one of those.” Proud of myself, I fetch everything he needs, though my knife has him raising his brows.
“You use this?” he asks.
So the blade is a little thin and floppy—it came free with a set of casserole dishes. What do you expect?
“Me?” I answer. “Oh no—I don’t cook.”
A slow grin spreads across his face. “That explains the tomato attack.”
Jessa joins us and sits on one of the bar stools, folding her hands in front of her. She tries not to laugh when Franklin yells like he’s watching a ball game. Laser shooting noises come from the front room, followed by what sounds like a spaceship explosion and a series of red alert beeps.
“So, Gio,” Jessa begins, talking over the chaos, sounding like she’s about to conduct an interview, “Addison says you’re a cooking instructor. Is that your full-time job, or is it more of a side gig?”
Gio pulls ingredients from the bags, washes the produce, and then begins chopping celery. “I’m actually a personal chef. I work for several local families. I have Fridays and the weekends off, so when I was offered a position at the center, I decided to take it. That was several years ago. I learned I enjoy teaching people how to cook.”
“Even those of us who are nearly impossible?” I ask him.
He smiles at me as he makes my poor, sad knife fly across the cutting board. “No one is a lost cause.”
I’m not sure that’s true, but I don’t bother to argue.
“Why don’t you sit down?” Gio says to me. “Relax, have a glass of wine.”
I stand, watching him work. The last thing I want to do is drag my donut in here. I’ll hover all night if I have to.
“I’m okay. I’ll just watch.”
Gio shrugs, and less than 30 minutes—and one very sore tailbone—later, his soup is bubbling on the stove. I have to admit it smells fantastic.
“We can go in the other room now.” He sets a timer on his phone. “No reason to stay in here and stare at it.”
“You go ahead,” Jessa says. “Addison and I will get drinks.”
Nodding, Gio disappears around the corner to join Franklin.
As soon as he’s gone, Jessa widens her eyes and says quietly, “Addison! He’s gorgeous.”
“I know.”
“And he cooks.”
“Most likely an important skill to have if you’re a home chef and cooking instructor.”
She gives me a withering look and opens the fridge. A few minutes later, she’s carrying a tray into the living room. Franklin is trying to explain the finer points of his show, and Gio looks a bit dazed and confused.
I sit on my side of the couch quickly, hoping he doesn’t notice my special pillow.
“Are you comfortable enough?” he asks, his brow wrinkling with concern.
So much for that.
“I’m fine,” I assure him.
He sits next to me, and it’s obvious both of us are a little uncomfortable. Franklin, though usually the most cordial man in the room, is practically antisocial. Jessa tries to instigate a conversation, but every time she starts, Franklin waves his hand in the air, begging her to be quiet.
I glance at Gio, wondering if he wishes we had rescheduled. He looks miserable, the poor man.
“I take it you’re not a space ships and aliens kind of guy,” I whisper.
He looks my way, perhaps unsure if he should tell me the truth. I don’t think he knows that Franklin is the only one in the room who truly enjoys shows like these.
“It’s okay,” I assure him. “It’s not really my thing either.”
Relief washes over his face, but before he can answer, the alarm on his phone goes off, alerting us dinner is done.
I follow him into the kitchen and pull bowls from the cupboard.
He stirs the pot and asks for a spoon to test it, telling me, “I would usually let it cook all day.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine. It smells delicious.”
He’s just ladling soup into the second bowl when there’s a knock at the door. I freeze, momentarily panicking. What if it’s Carter?
Then I tell myself I’m being stupid. He was at a Diamondbacks game when Jessa talked to him. Those can go for hours, and he was all the way in Phoenix.
It’s just my teenage neighbor with Cocoa. I paid him five bucks to take my dog for a walk earlier, and they had so much fun, he asked if he could keep him at his house for a while.
I’m guessing Cocoa has overstepped his welcome.
Jessa opens the door before I get there. “Hey.”
“I’m just bringing Cocoa back,” he tells her, looking a little moon-eyed at my pretty friend.
“He didn’t destroy anything, did he?” I ask when I join Jessa.
The fifteen-year-old pulls his eyes from Jessa and smiles at me, showing off a mouthful of braces. “No, he was great.”
“Thank you for taking him for the afternoon. I know I’m not a lot of fun for him right now.”
“I’ll take him tomorrow, too, if you want.”
“That would be great.”
Austin grins and hands me the leash. Cocoa trots inside, looking as happy as a dog can be. Then he sticks his nose up in the air like a bloodhound catching a scent and takes off for the kitchen. Usually, I could hold him back—but not today. I accidentally drop the leash, and he’s gone.
There’s a holler, then a yell…followed by a crash.
“Oh no!” I breathe as I run for the kitchen—well, sort of run. It’s more like a spritely hobble-trot.
Jessa passes me and comes to a dead stop at the entrance.
An entire pot of chicken noodle soup puddles over the tile floor. Cocoa laps it up, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the liquid is so hot, it’s steaming. His tail wags like crazy, and I’m confident he thinks he hit the jackpot.
Gio stands in the middle of it all, looking shell-shocked.
“I am so sorry,” I say, horrified. “I had no idea he would do that.”
I step onto the tile, ready to wade through the soup so I
can start cleaning up, when Jessa and Gio both yell, “No!”
Right—we don’t want a repeat of last night.
“I’ve got it,” Gio assures me. “You just stay there.”
“But I—”
“I’ll help him,” Jessa offers, cutting me off. “Why don’t you keep Franklin company?”
My eyes lock with hers, and she flashes me an exaggerated grimace.
This might be my worst date ever.
I end up back in the living room, waiting for them to finish up. When they’re done, Gio comes out and stares at the television screen for several minutes—not sitting, just standing. I don’t know what to say, don’t know what could possibly make this any better.
The credits roll, and Franklin looks over, morphing back to his usual, friendly self. He inhales through his nose. “Dinner smells great. Is it ready?”
I resist the urge to slap a hand over my face.
“We could order pizza,” Jessa suggests.
“I’ve got the number saved in my phone,” I mumble, already pulling it up.
Gio makes a funny noise and then looks at me without really looking at me. “I think… I should go.”
I would argue with him, beg him to stay, but there’s nothing to salvage. I slowly stand and meet him by the door. “Thank you for coming. I’m sorry about…everything.”
He gives me a seasick sort of smile. He’s actually taking the whole thing better than I expect, but it’s obvious he’s not going to be laughing about it anytime soon. If he were Carter, he would—no. It does absolutely no good to go down that rabbit trail.
“Okay, well…” He moves in like he’s going to give me a hug. Awkwardly meeting him, I pat his shoulders with my hands.
Then he takes me by surprise and shifts closer as if he’s going to try to—
Just at the last minute, I turn my face so he kisses my cheek instead of my lips. He looks confused, and I feel sort of freaked out.
“See you in class,” he finally says, and then he makes a hasty getaway.
Once he’s gone, I lean against the door and turn to face Jessa and Franklin. “That was a catastrophe.”
27 Ways to Find a Boyfriend Page 11