“Still have a bunch,” Ethan confirmed.
“Go ahead and get to it. I’ll wait here.” He turned to Heather. “You want to wait with me or do you want Ethan to drop you at your shop?”
“I came to rescue an erection bouquet. I’m going to see that through.” Heather crossed her arms. No one could say she didn’t finish things once she committed.
Ethan nodded to her and climbed back into the delivery van. “Really, sorry.”
“Don’t beat yourself up. It happens,” Jase replied while his hand ran over his face.
“That’s not entirely true.” Heather brushed at her jeans.
“What’s not?”
“Well, it’s just that an inappropriate cookie bouquet being delivered to a funeral home because an old lady decided to go all Grand Theft Auto on a delivery van isn’t really something that just ‘happens.’”
“Well, when you put it like that…” Jase shook his head.
Ethan headed out of the lot, turning onto the street.
“Poor guy,” Heather said.
It wasn’t his fault the morning had gone how it had gone.
“Man, this day,” Jase said to no one in particular.
“Things you never expected to do today for five hundred, Alex.” Heather turned to Jase. “This is not how I anticipated spending my lunch break.”
“No kidding.” Jase flipped over a white bucket and gestured for her to sit. Then he repeated the process for himself.
“For a fake couple who fake broke up, we spend a lot of real time together.” Heather picked at the cuticle of her fingernail.
Jase closed his eyes and leaned his head against the brick exterior of the building. “Times like this make me seriously reconsider my commitment to our breakup.”
“Oh no, bud.” Heather patted his knee. “I get my leather seats out of this shebang. Don’t try to weasel out of it by telling the truth.”
He peeled open one eye. “Grab lunch when we’re done here?”
“You buying?” she asked.
“Sure, what the hell,” he replied.
“Then absolutely. But to be clear, it’s not a date. It’s just the two of us celebrating the freeing of the cockies.”
The cockies, which were in a vase. A pretty large vase.
“How are we going to get the cockies out of here and back to the shop?” she asked.
He ticked his head to the side. “I guess you can hold them between us?”
“You want me to hold a vase filled with penis cookies between us on your motorcycle?”
“You have a better idea?” he asked.
“I could call a car. From my phone,” she pointed out. It’d be a much more comfortable way to get back.
“Then you won’t get lunch with me.”
Well, there was that. Not that she wanted to have lunch with him, particularly. Just lunch in general. Also, free lunch was a good thing.
They sat in silence for a beat.
“You, me, and a bouquet of cookies might be the kinkiest thing I’ve ever done,” she finally said.
He closed his eyes again. “Then you need to get out more.”
That much was true. She really should start getting out more. She’d thrown herself into her business over the past months. And any spare time was spent volunteering at the retirement home. She loved the elderly. They said what they meant and meant what they said. So, she helped out there. Anything to prevent her from actually getting out with people under the age of seventy-five.
“Why penis cookies?” Jase asked, eyes still closed.
She shifted on her bucket. “What do you mean?”
He opened his eyes, sat up, leaned forward. “I mean, of all the shapes in all the world, why’d you pick those?”
“Can’t a girl just appreciate a nice—”
“Absolutely. And she should. But that doesn’t mean she should immortalize them in cookie dough.”
She gave him her slyest smile. “Maybe you just don’t know the right women.”
He snorted. “Touché.”
“Years ago, I made the cookies for a bachelorette party and they were a hit.” Looked like they’d be waiting for a while. She might as well tell the story. “Friends started asking for them, so I baked on the side for a while. Got pretty good at it, and expanded into other shapes. Then I figured one can’t sell corrugated cardboard forever, so I decided to make cookies. The cockies were an obvious choice. I mean, I’d already created an underground following with them. Might as well monetize that.” She lifted a shoulder. “Never thought that choice would lead me right here with you, though.”
“Pretty awesome that it did.” Jase lifted his eyebrows at her.
“See, this is what I don’t get. We’re all fake broken up, and you keep flirting with me.”
“And?”
“And what am I supposed to do with that?”
He chuckled and flashed a set of dimples she had no idea he had. “Flirt back?”
Seriously, where had he been hiding those dimples? “I don’t think you could handle my flirting. I mean, it’d ruin the breakup you’re so committed to.”
“You think?”
“I know.”
“Give it a try, let’s see what happens.”
“And then what?”
“And then we take your inappropriate cookie bouquet and go grab lunch.”
“Not tacos,” Heather replied.
“Tacos are the best.”
“It’s just that they played such a pivotal role in the pretend demise of our never-happened relationship. Maybe we should have something else instead.”
Jase cocked an eyebrow. “Sandwiches, then?”
That totally depended. “Hot or cold?”
“Which do you like?” he asked.
“Depends on the sandwich. Hot sandwiches definitely pair well with cockies.” Oh dear Lord, had she really just said that?
Jase grinned huge. “Yes, I guess they do. Hot sandwiches it is.”
“It’s still not a date. Just you and me and hot sandwiches while we eat cockies.”
“I’m not eating those,” he said. “I make it a point not to eat anything shaped as an appendage. Personal rule.”
“Turn it over and pretend it’s a rainbow.” Heather did her best to dare him with only her eyes.
“Don’t you have to get them to their rightful owner, anyway?” he asked. “We could, you know, not eat them and deliver them after.”
“Candy ran a spare set over. These are all ours,” Heather said proudly.
The heavy metal door creaked open, and a man in a suit stepped through with the bouquet of cockies. “You’re here for the cookies?”
“That’d be us.” Jase stood and snagged the outstretched vase. “We’re very sorry for the mistake.”
“I hope whoever these are for appreciates them.” Mr. Funeral gave Jase a pointed glance before heading back inside.
“Heather?” Jase asked.
“Uh-huh,” Heather replied, taking the cockies from him.
“I need a drink.” Jase headed across the lot to the dive bar up the road. “You coming?”
Heather shrugged.
Why not?
* * *
The scent of bottom-shelf booze, peanuts, and powdery wood particles tickled Jase’s nose. So maybe this dive took the word “dive” to a whole new level.
He held the door open for Heather and her bouquet, tucked against her side.
She barely set foot through the windowless wooden door of the bar on Champa Street before turning on her heel. She ran straight into a solid wall of Jase. Not that he intentionally blocked the doorway.
It just happened that way.
He didn’t dislike the way her chest pressed against his own in that instant. As a matter of fact, he appreciated the contact on a carnal level. He’d always been attracted to Heather, even when she was off-limits. Ever since he found out she was single again, his body seemed to be on a mission to override his brain circuits. He shoo
k the sawdust haze from his brain.
“Trying to run already?” he asked.
“Not even a little.” She shifted the bouquet a bit.
Hands on her shoulders, he twirled her so she faced the long bar top where a handful of rough-looking guys in cowboy hats tossed back bottles of beer. He did a quick inventory of the bar. Four cowboys at the bar top, a guy playing pool with a brunette, and the bartender. Some things stayed the same when he got discharged, including inventorying the room whenever he walked in.
She stumbled along as they shuffled across the peanut-shell covered floor.
“I wasn’t running. Just checking to see if you were behind me.” She clearly did her best attempt at recovery, sauntering deeper into the room.
“Beer?” he asked.
“Sure. I generally wait until after noon to hit the hard liquor.” She winked at him.
Flirted.
Well, looky there. Just a little wink, and she made him go all warm inside.
“I’ll take whatever’s on tap,” she continued as though she hadn’t just given him the one-eyed go-ahead to flirt back.
He hooked his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans so he wouldn’t be tempted to touch her and headed toward the bar top. The place was decked out in neon beer signs, a small, empty stage splattered with God-knew-what, and a mechanical bull. He should get a mechanical bull for the flower shop. Now that would be kickass.
On that thought, he snagged their beers and headed back.
She nudged her bouquet to the side of the table and glanced around the room in an exaggerated motion. “So, this is our first not-a-date, huh?”
“What can I say? It’s where relationships go to die.” He took a pull of Bud.
A couple of the cowboys at the bar glanced in their direction.
She ran a fingertip around the rim of her mug. “Did you know, every morning when I wake up, I start a list of all the things I need to get done that day?”
“How’s that going for you?” He took the stool across from her.
A flick of her ponytail, and she hit him square with her brown eyes. “Today’s list said things like hand out posters, make cookies, balance my checkbook, touch base with my parents. It said nothing about pretty much anything that happened after I tried to hand out my first poster to you.” She tossed him a look that should’ve sliced him into individual bite-size pieces.
“If it makes you feel better, when I wake up in the morning, I just roll with life. After today, I’m seriously thinking about making some lists.” And drinking more beer.
She chuckled. “Maybe there’s a lesson in here for both of us.”
“You know what we should do?”
“I bet you’re going to tell me.”
“We should embrace the crazy of the day.” ’Cause fighting it wasn’t working out. “Play hooky.”
“Or maybe we don’t?” She sipped at her beer.
“Give me two good reasons you don’t want to do it.” His mother played this game when he was a kid and didn’t want to do something. It had always worked in her favor.
“One, I need to get back to work and, two, something tells me you’d go all in, we’d end up skydiving or bungee jumping, and, frankly, I don’t want to break my neck.” She counted the two reasons on her fingertips.
Heather was, apparently, quicker at the game than he’d ever been.
“You’re not going to break your neck.”
“Work.” She gestured to her Heather’s Cookie Co. polo shirt.
“Just remember Jase-and-Heather-Land could be our special, fun escape place.”
“Work,” she replied.
“Fine.” He didn’t push because, well, he liked his family jewels where they were and not rearranged by her toes.
“I tell you what. We can do something fun today. If you do something for me.”
“You’re already getting leather seats and satellite radio.” What else did a woman need?
She leaned forward, right into his space. “Help me with the senior ‘senior’ prom. I need warm bodies on the committee.”
Negative. Committees. His muscles tensed. “That’s not really my thing.”
She batted her eyelashes dramatically in his direction. “Please?”
“Don’t do committees. But I can see if Mom wants to boss people around for you?”
She let out a deep sigh. “Okay, fine, no committee for you. But if we’re going to hang out in Jase-and-Heather-Land, you need to tell me something about yourself. Something no one else knows.”
“That’s a hard one. I’m an open book.” He leaned back and opened his hands wide in illustration.
She pursed her lips, crossed her arms, and waited.
Okay, there was one thing he never shared with anyone. Even his ex-wife never knew how random images on the television would trigger flashbacks to his time in the military. Then again, they had never shared their deep, dark secrets with each other. Hence, the ending. All over. Time to go. “I think television is overrated. I don’t watch it. Movies, either. Don’t even own a television.”
Sure, he’d tried when his friends were around. Made an attempt at video games with them. But it always triggered nightmares. So, he stopped.
Heather’s mouth dropped open. “How can you even say something like that? What do you do when you’re relaxing? Trying to veg?”
What any man would do. “I listen to music.”
Nothing like a good hair band to relax the muscles.
“Just music?” she asked.
“Yup. Music. A good workout. Ten-mile run? I’m all in.”
“Ten miles?” She gave him the look like he’d just said his favorite pastime was sticking his dick in a meat grinder.
“Twenty just seems excessive, you know?” he said.
“Right, twenty would be excessive.” Heather flicked her ponytail. “I think you just haven’t watched the right TV shows. A little Jeopardy, Wheel of Fortune, Price is Right? Easy escape.”
“I don’t get why people go nutty over it. All the binge-watching? Not my thing.” He’d told his secret. It was her turn. “Your turn. Something no one else knows.”
She paused. “I don’t like getting flowers.”
It was like she was throwing down the gauntlet. Running right into the kill zone.
He didn’t even blink. He’d accept this particular challenge. Aside from defusing 155 artillery shells, making people love flowers was his skill set.
He studied her for a beat. Pink roses. She was a pink roses kind of girl. Not just any pink roses—raspberry carrousel roses, to be exact. Sissy-ass name, but a kickass flower. Rich cream on the bottom, like the color of her skin. Deep pink at the tips, like the shade of her lips. “Then you’re just not getting the right flowers,” he heard himself say aloud.
“Nah. That’s not it. It’s just not my preference for gifts. Chocolate? Yes, please. Sweets? For sure. Flowers? Eh.” She pulled a face like her beer had gone sour.
Time to engage his inner fucking Freud. “What’s the first time anyone ever gave you flowers?”
She tilted her head from ear to shoulder, ear to shoulder, then took a pull from her Budweiser before finally answering. “Twelfth grade. Guy asked me to a dance and used a dozen roses.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad. I’d think you’d have liked that.”
“Well, maybe I did when I first got them. But he ended up breaking it off and going with a junior instead.”
Ass. Jase leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Who’d you go with?”
She laughed. “No one. I didn’t go. My date dumped me and went with someone else.”
Well, that sucked.
“Don’t feel bad, though,” she continued. “It didn’t work out for them, either, and it’s not like he was crowned homecoming king or anything. He was just a jerk who went for someone else. No big deal.”
That didn’t sit right with Jase.
“Second time someone bought you flowers?” he asked, digging deeper.
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She rolled her eyes. “Pretty sure the next guy who bought me flowers was probably a boyfriend who did something wrong and wanted to make up for it. It’s not a big deal why I don’t like flowers. I just don’t care for them.” She rolled her eyes at nothing in particular. “Don’t get me wrong, I like them when they’re in the ground or on a bush. I just don’t think murdering them for my personal enjoyment makes much sense.”
Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot. Hold up. “No one murders the flowers.”
She pinched her lips to the side. “They’re alive one minute. Hacked off their life source. Dead and on your dining room table the next. Seems like murder to me.”
He crossed his arms. She’d fall in love with flowers. He’d see to it.
The phone in her purse chimed. She checked it.
He couldn’t rip his gaze from her. There was an invisible weight there, holding it in place.
“Damn,” she said. “Jase-and-Heather-Land is about to be cut short. Candy says your grandmother is still convinced she’s employed by me. She’s now taken over the kitchen.”
Shit.
“We should go fix that.” Jase pushed off from his stool. Yes, his grandmother and her fuck-with-you games.
Heather didn’t look up from the text she tapped out. She tucked her phone back in her purse, stood, and stumbled a little.
Jase caught her around the waist.
She gripped his shoulders for balance and they stayed like that. Her eyes locked with his, her lips parting, her eyelids falling heavy. Lavender and vanilla countered the smell of the cowboy bar, inflaming his senses, forcing his body to demand more. He didn’t ache for a woman. Hadn’t ached for a woman in forever. But, in that moment, his desire for this woman bordered on crazy.
“I want to kiss you,” he said.
She closed the gap between them, her lips brushing his. He wanted more, but it was Heather who took things deeper, leaning into him, opening her mouth.
God, she tasted good. He couldn’t even describe it. Just Heather.
She broke the kiss for an instant, a look of shock written on her features. “Screw it,” she said and then went back in for more.
He did not object.
Heaven. Kissing Heather was like heaven. Her mouth met his with hungry demand.
Blow Me Away: A Mile High Matched Novel, Book 2 Page 5