Reaching Gavin (Good Girls Don't Book 3)

by Geneva Lee

  We were currently engaged in a hot debate over what pizza toppings to order.

  “I don’t eat meat, Gavin,” Imogen said with a weary sigh, the kind usually reserved for conversations between a sister and a brother.

  Gavin rolled his eyes. “So that this week’s diet?”

  “Behave,” I muttered and elbowed him in the side. Engaging in physical combat was one of the perks of sitting next to him. It wasn’t the only one though. Even in the crowded restaurants, I caught the spicy notes of his cologne, which smelled like smoky leather combined with heaven. It was taking considerable effort not to bury my nose against his neck and take a deeper breath. “Be supportive.”

  Imogen pointed a manicured finger at me. “I like this one. Keep her.”

  “We’re just”—

  “It’s not like”—

  “Sure.” Imogen shut her menu and shot me an impish smile. “My brother is a pain in the ass, but he’s a pretty hot, eligible bachelor. Even Seattle Magazine says so.”

  Gavin’s head fell backwards as he groaned to the heavens. “I don’t need you to get a date for me.”

  “Obviously, you do.”

  “My sister,” Gavin gestured toward her, “making my life hell since 1997.”

  “I can’t help it if you’re relationship-challenged. I mean, some of the girls he brings to these functions our parents make us go to, I wouldn’t be surprised if I found out he was paying them to be there.”

  I mashed my lips together, holding down a giggle. I was glad I’d come out after all.

  “I have never paid for a date. I just don’t have the greatest taste in women,” he said to me as if he needed to do some damage control.

  “You actually have to put some effort into it,” Imogen advised “or, even better, just date her. She’s perfect and she’s your type.”

  “I don’t date,” I asserted myself into the conversation, but I’d caught the last bit. I was his type, huh?

  In-ter-est-ing.

  “Neither does Gavin,” Imogen said with meaning. “I have an idea! You guys could not date each other, not get married, and not have beautiful babies!”

  “I begged my parents for a brother,” Gavin grumbled next to me.

  We were delivered from the sibling bickering by the arrival of the waiter. Ten minutes later, and two pizzas ordered, I realized that these two could fight anywhere. It wasn’t obnoxious though. I’d watched my best friend fight with her mother and that had been awkward to be around. Instead, this reminded me of my relationship with my own siblings. The love between Gavin and Imogen was tangible. I could feel it. I could see it. They just chose to show it through good-natured ribbing and doing their best to embarrass the hell out of each other.

  “As I was saying, Gavin doesn’t date.” Imogen leaned across the table and covered her mouth with one hand as if sharing a secret. “He’s looking for the one.”

  “I’m not looking for anything, except for the reason why I invited you to come out tonight,” he broke in, tugging at his collar. It was warm in here, but I suspected his sister’s need to dish his secrets was what really had him bothered.

  “You called me,” she accused. “I had other things to do tonight, but then you’re on the phone telling me I have to get dressed and be ready”—

  “You guys want to play Skee-Ball?” Gavin interrupted her.

  My eyebrows shot up at this development. “She was in the middle of a sentence!”

  But he grabbed my hand and dragged me toward the arcade section before she could finish it. I guessed the conversation was on pause. He whipped out his credit card and purchased two gameplay passes so fast my head spun.

  “Aren’t you going to get one for her?” I asked, tipping my head toward his sister.

  “Imogen can take care of herself.”

  “So can I,” I said defiantly. I wished I hadn’t left my purse at the table, so that I can take out my credit card and buy my own pass on the spot. Before I could head back for it, Gavin pressed a card into my hand.

  “Yes, you can,” he said genuinely. “But you shouldn’t always have to. Let me do it. Just for tonight.”

  If I wasn’t careful—if I let him keep saying things like that—they were going to be mopping me off the floor of Cheesy Pete’s.

  “Okay. But I have to warn you that I’m going to kick your ass at Skee-Ball.” I marched over toward the machines, not waiting for him and swiped my card. The familiar sound of nine plastic balls rolling down a chute greeted me instantly. Gavin took the spot beside me and started his own game.

  “I don’t think you know how good I am at Skee-Ball,” he warned me as his own balls racked up.

  “Care to make a wager on that?”

  He straightened, a blue, plastic ball in hand and asked, “What do you have in mind?”

  I looked over to the prizes section where a variety of ridiculous, nostalgic toys and items were on display. They ranged from before my childhood up until the new millennium. Everything from Pound Puppies to Britney Spears posters was on display, all meant to elicit a sentimental reaction from someone who was far too old to go out and buy these things now. I spotted exactly what I wanted on a top shelf.

  “I bet you I can get you something off the top shelf.” These were fighting words. Anyone who had spent any time in arcade as a kid knew exactly how many tickets were needed to claim said top shelf prize. He studied the bounty of choices on display, grinned, and nodded.

  “You’re on.” He didn’t wait for me to start instead he assumed a crouched position and let the first ball role. Right out of the gate, he hit a fifty pointer.

  Damn, he was good. Too bad for him that I was better. Bending down, I angled my body until I had the perfect position. Then, I let my ball go. It took just the right amount of finesse to hit one of the coveted corner rings. Most people believed it wasn’t even possible and that even if one could get a ball near them, the holes were too small and would send the ball shooting back out to be collected by the ball hop at the end. I knew differently. My ball sailed up and dropped into the coveted ring.

  Gavin paused mid-roll, his mouth dropping open. If he had any further thoughts on the matter, he didn’t share them. Instead, he reached for his next ball.

  I waited to see what he would do. A rookie would try to do the same. A seasoned Skee-Ball player, who wasn’t good at 100 point ringers, would stick to his strengths. Gavin nailed another fifty-point score.

  So, he did know what he was doing. That was kinda hot. I managed to hit another 100-point mark, putting me firmly at double his score.

  “Your luck isn’t going to hold out forever,” he warned me as he rocketed off another ball.

  “It’s not luck.” I shot back. But my smack talk proved to be too big a distraction. My next ball skimmed over the plastic ring and then fell down into the ball hop without giving me any points. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d whiffed so hard.

  Gavin didn’t say anything, but I caught a smug grin on his face. Oh, it was on.

  I didn’t bother to keep track of individual games. We were playing too fast for that. Instead, every few minutes I would dare a glance at the stream of tickets his Skee-Ball machine was awarding him. I thought I still had him beat, but it was close. Without stopping to actually count, and because I wasn’t keeping track in my head, I couldn’t be sure. Gavin had loaded our play cards with more digital tokens than we could get through before our food would arrive. When he finally tapped me on the shoulder and nodded toward the table, I’ve been so in the zone that I hadn’t looked over to check his score for at least ten minutes.

  “Food’s there.”

  “Giving up?” I asked him as I snapped my tickets off the machine and began to fold them into a large pile.

  “Never.” He grinned. “But kicking your ass is making me hungry. Intermission?”

  “Okay,” I agreed reluctantly. We headed back toward the table where Imogen was already serving herself a giant slice of veggie pizza.

>   “You two abandoned me.” She pretended to pout, but I had no doubt that someone her age had spent most of the last half hour on her phone.

  “I’ve never been here before,” I told them as I helped myself to a slice of veggie and a slice of pepperoni. Gavin’s eyes widened at the pile of food I was making myself on my plate, but he didn’t say anything.

  “Lucky you. Gavin makes me come every week and he never lets me win.” Imogen stuck her tongue out at her brother.

  “We come once a month,” Gavin corrected her. But I saw the look he shot her. It was full of warning.

  “So, you come every week?” I said with a laugh, folding my pizza in two so I could take a bite without losing half the toppings.

  “I do, and when she’s in town, she’s forced to come,” Gavin admitted. “She’s not a Skee-Ball addict like me.”

  “Skee-Ball addict?” I raised my eyebrows, pretending to be impressed before I shook my head sadly. “And you still can’t hit a 100.”

  “You’re going to have to show me how you do that,” he said as he shook Parmesan on to his slice.

  “Not until I win,” I told him.

  Across the table, Imogen smirked, pizza paused midair. “You two are perfect for each other.”

  The Skee-Ball battle continued after we finished our pizza. This time Imogen joined us. She might act too cool to be in an arcade, but she had some serious moves. She might not come with him every week, but she came often. I watched as Gavin pretended to steal her tickets and felt a twinge of homesickness grip my heart. My entire family was too far away for me to get to spend much quality time with them. Most of my interactions with my younger siblings were over the phone. Gavin and Imogen were lucky to get to see each other as often as they did.

  It took me far too long to figure out the Gavin hadn’t loaded up our cards with an insane amount of gameplay, he had actually purchased the unlimited pass. Every time I expected the card to come back and tell me I had run out ,it only sent the balls funneling down the chute one more time. It was why I didn’t notice that Imogen was the one playing next to me instead of Gavin. I straightened up, arching my back to stretch it out. We’d been playing so long that I was starting to get sore. I had the tickets to show for it though.

  “Where did your brother go?” I called over the noisy restaurant.

  She shrugged, abandoning the waiting balls and following me in my stretches. “Bathroom probably.”

  “So how often does he really drag you here?” I asked.

  She returned my grin. “It’s usually once a week. Unless one of us is traveling.”

  “And you hate it?” I didn’t believe that she did but getting her to admit otherwise in front of him would never happen. That was sibling rule number one.

  “No. I just enjoy giving him a hard time.”

  “That I understand. What got you into historical preservation?”

  “I’ve seen a lot of strip malls.” She pretended to gag. “It’s a hazard of your dad having a coffee shop in every city in America.”

  Or five in every city, but who was counting?

  “Not a fan?” I asked.

  “Have you ever been to London on Paris? If they tore down buildings for strip malls, imagine what they would look like.” Her voice was rising slightly, filled with passion. I’d found what made her tick.

  “America isn’t nearly as old as those cities. Those buildings are hundreds, sometimes over a thousand, years old,” I pointed out.

  “Well, five hundred years from now, I don’t want America to be full of preserved strip malls.”

  “That’s a long-term plan.” Apparently, Gavin’s younger sister wasn’t going to be content to sit around and spend the family money either. She might not be building her own empire, but she seemed to be putting the family name to good use.

  “What’s up with you two?” she asked, shifting the subject from the relatively benign topic of architecture. “Are you dating?”

  I shook my head. Trust the very young to not see why us dating would be problematic. “He only got me to come out tonight, because he said you would be here.”

  “Ouch. You wanted a kid sister buffer? He really does need to start dating. He’s losing his mojo.”

  That made me laugh. I couldn’t imagine any woman who would want to go out with Gavin and his kid sister when she could get Gavin to herself. “I wanted to talk to you. I’m working on a presentation for the Majestic Theater.”

  “Double ouch. You used him to get to me! I’m going to have to rub that in later,” she teased.

  “Getting to play Skee-Ball was just a bonus,” I added.

  She edged closer, ball in hand, and glanced over her shoulder as if looking for him. “Really? You’re not interested in him at all?”

  “Gavin is my boss,” I explained. Why did I get the feeling he had put her up to this? I felt like I was being passed a note in study hall. “He’s just taking pity on me, because he found me in the office late on Friday night. Nothing is happening between us.”

  “He’s so not taking pity on you. He’s got it bad for you. But don’t tell him I told you that,” she added conspiratorially.

  So, she wasn’t put up to this, and she wasn’t just playing matchmaker—if it was true. And if it was true, did it change anything? No. Did it still make my insides feel like they were melting into a pile of gooey cheese? Yes.

  “And you’ve got it bad for him,” she guessed.

  “Who’s got it bad for what?” Gavin asked, coming up to us with his hands behind his back.

  “Me!” Imogen chirped. “I’ve got it bad for historical preservation. I was just telling your brilliant intern that. She was asking about the theater.”

  I liked Imogen. I couldn’t help it. I suspected she would make our lives a living hell as we tried to move forward on this project, but it was nice to know that she was all bark and no bite. Plus, whatever sibling rivalry—however good-natured it was—that caused her to want to embarrass him at every turn didn’t include me. She could have told him the truth: that I was totally into him. I knew she had she seen right through my flimsy excuse. Still, she hadn’t. I could see myself becoming friends with her. Maybe if I wound up with a job in Seattle next year, we could hang out.

  “I’m going to grab a beer,” Imogen announced far-too-dramatically before disappearing into the crowd.

  Maybe in a year I wouldn’t be humiliated by her blatant attempts at matchmaking.

  “Where did you go anyway?” I eyed him suspiciously and tried to grab for the hands he still kept behind his back.

  “I told you I would win,” he said smugly. From behind his back he produced a top shelf prize, and not just any prize, the very one eight- year-old me would have picked out: a My Little Pony with rainbow hair and a variety of accessories.

  To my everlasting horror I squealed.

  “I chose correctly then?” he asked.

  I grabbed it out of his hands. “How did you know?”

  “You told me you were from Texas. That you grew up on a ranch. I assumed a pony was a safe bet.”

  He had assumed correctly. Although it was really less of an assumption and more that he’d paid attention. That made the prize that much sweeter. “I haven’t had one of these since I was a kid.”

  “I can probably win you another at the rate you’re keeping up with me.” He rubbed his hands together like he was warming up for the next round.

  “Oh please.” I scooped up my pile of tickets, plucking the last one from the machine, and beelined toward the prize counter. He might have been the first to win, but neither of us were walking away empty-handed. As they counted the tickets for me, I tried to ignore the staccato beat of my heart. He had been paying attention. He’d picked the thing off the top shelf of prizes that I would have chosen as a little girl. He’d been paying attention. I couldn’t get over that fact. I scanned the other prizes looking for the perfect one to win for him. What did I really know about him? Except that he was humble when he didn
’t have to be. That he loved his family and obviously treated them like a priority, even when his kid sister was being annoying. That he worked hard and he chose to build his own success. All of that told me that he was a good man, but it didn’t tell me about who he was as a kid. I wanted to find that giddy, optimistic, inner child, he’d learned to keep hidden in the office. Just like he had found mine.

  I bypassed a selection of superhero toys and transformers before my eyes landed on the perfect thing.

  “That one.” I pointed up to the highest possible shelf, the one that stocked the best prizes. The guy behind the counter had to use a step-stool to get it down.

  “You still have five left,” he told me.

  I opted for a Tootsie Roll.

  When I found Gavin at our table, I pranced up holding my own prize behind my back. Imogen was nowhere to be seen. “Where did your sister go?”

  “She begged out early. Apparently, there are bars and clubs that she needed to get to,” he said wryly.

  “Doesn’t she know this is the hottest place in town?” I teased.

  He spread his hands on the table. “I tried to tell her.”

  “Well, all is not lost. I got you a prize.” I pulled it out from behind my back and presented him with the box of Legos. When complete, the set would create a replica of the Seattle Space Needle.

  “This is,” he hesitated, before adding, “perfect.” The words were thick and spoken with emotion. Gavin looked up, his eyes smoky with some barely suppressed desire, but before he could express what he was feeling, I placed the Tootsie Roll on top of the box.

  “Does this count as bonus points?”

  It affectively broke the heady tension building between us. Gavin tore his eyes away from me and grinned. “You win.”

  Somehow tonight it felt like we had both won.

  Chapter Twelve