by Beth Orsoff
Jake did. For the rest of the match. And by the time they finished the eighteenth hole, he realized it wasn’t such a bad idea. Not to make Whitney jealous—that was ridiculous—but as a way to insinuate himself into Samantha’s life. He knew there was nothing Samantha wouldn’t do for her sister, and he was sure he could work that to his advantage.
Chapter 37
Samantha
“Have you heard the latest?” Jake asked.
I pulled on my headset so I could keep my hands free to work. Ever since Michael had moved into Jake’s guest room almost a week ago—which I still didn’t understand (I hadn’t thought they were that good of friends)—Jake had been calling me with daily updates of the soap opera that was now Whitney and Michael’s relationship. It was like having a new gossipy girlfriend, but one I fantasized about sleeping with.
“No,” I said, searching the piles of paper on my desk for the marked-up Teller Pre-Nup, which I’d promised my boss I’d review by the end of the day. “Whitney was asleep when I got home last night, and she was gone when I left this morning.”
“And why were you out so late last night, young lady? Hot date?”
I laughed. “Yes, with my computer. It was a very stimulating evening. And presumably you spent the night romancing some poor unsuspecting woman who had no idea you’re a lady-killer?”
“Nah, I stopped romancing years ago. Now I go straight for sex.”
I laughed again. “Good to know. So tell me the latest. What has Whitney done now?” It’d been fun hearing her side of the story and then getting Jake’s “impartial male observer” point of view. It’d also been fun talking to Jake every day. I thought he might hate me after I’d kicked him out on Friday night then refused his invitations for the rest of the weekend. But it appeared he’d reached the same conclusion I had—we worked better as friends.
“She’s cooking a romantic meal tonight, and she’d like some privacy.”
All she’d told me via text was that she and Michael were having dinner. I’d assumed that meant at a restaurant. She should’ve asked first if she wanted the house to herself. I’d planned on leaving work early tonight so I could spend quality time with my television. Now I’d either have to work late again or spend the night hiding out in my bedroom. “So I’m supposed to make myself scarce?”
“No, I am. It’s happening at my place.”
“Why your place?” Whitney always cooked at my house. Normally I didn’t mind because I’d get to eat the leftovers.
“Maybe she didn’t want to inconvenience you. Or maybe she thought Michael would be more comfortable here.”
I knew it couldn’t be the first explanation—Whitney never minded inconveniencing me. “Why would Michael be more comfortable at your house than mine?” He was a guest in Jake’s house too.
“You know,” he said.
“No, I don’t.”
“C’mon, surely you know Michael thinks you don’t like him.”
This was news to me. “Why would he think that?”
“I don’t know the particulars, but I was under the impression it was something Whitney had told him.”
I was going to kill my sister! “I never said I didn’t like Michael. My only objection was that they were moving too fast. Call me crazy, but I think two people should actually know each other longer than ten days before getting engaged.”
Silence.
“Do you disagree?”
Chapter 38
Jake
Tread carefully. He knew this was one of those trick questions that could land him in the doghouse for weeks if he didn’t answer correctly. According to Rita, Samantha didn’t believe in marriage. Considering her line of work, he could understand why she’d feel that way, but he knew it was more complicated than that. Plus, she seemed eager for Whitney and Michael to get back together. And he hadn’t met a woman yet who truly didn’t want to ever get married, despite their protestations otherwise.
“I completely agree,” he said, not even sure exactly what he was agreeing to. But it didn’t matter. It was what she wanted to hear.
“I knew you’d be on my side.”
Score!
“Now why can’t my sister be as level-headed as you?” she asked.
Another trick question. If he agreed with her, he’d be criticizing her sister—never a good idea. And if he disagreed with her, then they’d end up in an argument over nothing. Better to sidestep and get to the point of this phone call. “It’s a mystery. So since I promised Whitney I’d make myself scarce this evening, I thought maybe we could grab dinner. I still owe you that pizza.”
“Isn’t it me who owes you the pizza? I’m the one who invited you over.”
It was the first time she’d mentioned that night. Obviously she’d changed her mind about sleeping with him so quickly. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t much care, because he was confident they’d get there eventually, and the sooner he could make it happen, the better. “Either way, we both need to eat.”
“I can’t tonight. I have to work.”
“Me too. We can make it a working dinner. You can bring me up to speed on Selena’s divorce.”
She laughed. “That’ll take about two seconds. Nothing’s happening.”
He already knew. Selena’s husband was working overtime to win her back, and Selena was having second thoughts about leaving him. He was the one who’d told Caroline to email Samantha and let her know. “Then you can regale me with stories from your other celebrity clients’ nasty divorces. Otherwise I’m going to have to go home and barge in on your sister’s big romantic evening, and I know you wouldn’t want me to do that, would you?”
Chapter 39
Samantha
I knew when I was being manipulated. “Surely you must have other friends you could meet for dinner? Or perhaps an attractive woman whose phone number you asked for, then never called?”
“You’ve got me all wrong, Samantha. I stopped bothering with phone numbers years ago. Now when I meet an attractive woman, I just sleep with her the same night. Keeps things much simpler that way.”
“No doubt.” I knew he would’ve slept with me the night we’d met—both times.
“Seriously though,” he said. “I really would like to take you to dinner.”
And I would very much like to be taken to dinner by Jake Jensen, and then taken to bed. And therein lay the problem. “Jake, I really just want us to be friends.”
“I’ll pinky swear not to make a move on you if you pinky swear not to make a move on me.”
“Pinky swear? I don’t know. That’s serious.”
“I understand if you can’t. I mean, I am irresistible.”
“Irresistible! Who told you that lie?”
“I’m a perceptive man, Samantha. Obviously if you won’t pinky swear, it’s because you know it’s a promise you can’t keep.”
I let out a laugh. “Not too much of an ego. Okay, Mr. Irresistible, you’re on. I pinky swear. And just to prove to you how resistible you actually are, I’m inviting you over for dinner at my place.”
“I can’t wait.”
I hung up with Jake and called Jenna to tell her the good news.
“Well, that was stupid,” she said. “Unless you really do want to sleep with Jake, in which case, bravo.”
“You don’t think I can spend the evening with Jake at my house and not sleep with him?”
“I’m sure you could. The question is, why would you want to?”
Yes, that was the question. The answer depended on which part of my body you asked. My brain had logical reasons for not wanting to sleep with Jake. But the lower half of me had other ideas.
“Because I enjoy his company—outside of bed.”
“And you don’t think you would enjoy his company in bed too?”
No, I was sure I would. Perhaps a little too much. “You know I don’t get involved with people I work with.”
“For the last time, you do not work with Jake. You share a cl
ient. And you said the Selena case was on hold anyway. He’s definitely old enough, smart enough, and attractive enough, so what’s the problem?”
“I like him.”
“Most people would consider that a reason for sleeping with someone.”
I wasn’t most people. “No, I really like him.”
“Oh,” she said. “That’s too bad.”
Chapter 40
Jake
Jake tossed his keys on the foyer table with a loud clank. “Don’t worry, I’m not staying,” he called out. He didn’t think Michael and Whitney would be going at it on the dining room table, but he didn’t want to take a chance of walking in on anything. He’d only stopped at home for a quick shower and a change of clothes before heading over to Samantha’s.
His statement elicited no response, which was weird since he knew he wasn’t alone. He could hear dishes rattling in the dining room, so he headed that way. He wasn’t surprised to find Whitney there, but he was surprised to see her pulling the dishes off the table instead of setting it.
“I’m not staying,” Jake said again.
“Neither am I,” she replied. “And there’s a whole pan of paella in the fridge. Just heat it on the stove for a few minutes, and it’ll be good to go. You can tell your date you spent all day cooking. She’ll be so impressed it might even get you laid tonight”—she gave him the once-over—“not that I think you need any help in that department.”
My date? She couldn’t be referring to Samantha. Whitney would not be encouraging him to lie to her sister, then take her to bed. “What happened? Where’s Michael?”
“Working,” she said and stomped into the kitchen. “Apparently he changed his schedule without bothering to tell me,” she continued as she dropped the still-clean silverware in the drawer and slammed it shut. “So I’m going home.”
No, no, no, she was not going to ruin another night with Samantha. He needed to fix this. “Whitney, you’re acting like he spoiled your plans intentionally. This was supposed to be a surprise for him, remember? He had no idea.”
“So? I’m his wife. He should’ve consulted me before changing his schedule, or at least let me know.”
A wife who’d walked out on him on the honeymoon, but he kept that sentiment to himself. “I’m sure it was an oversight.”
“I’m not,” she said. “But it doesn’t matter anyway. I’m leaving.”
He jumped in front of her to block her way. “This is silly. You cooked a wonderful meal; you might as well enjoy it. In fact, you should stay and wait for Michael to get home. I’m sure after a long day at the hospital, he’d love to find you here with a glass of wine in one hand and a plate of paella in the other.” In sexy lingerie too, he thought, but he didn’t want to push it.
“I bet he would. But it’s not going to happen.”
“Why not? What’ve you got to lose?”
She stood with her hands on her hips and stared at him. “What’s your angle?”
“My angle?”
“You’ve been trying to get me and Michael back together since he moved in here. And that’s another thing I don’t understand. Why is he staying with you instead of his sister?”
“I have more room,” Jake said, hoping to deflect from the real issue.
“No, you don’t. Rita’s house is twice this size.”
“But there are five people living there, and only one of me. He has a lot more privacy here. You both do.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and continued staring him down. “You still haven’t told me what you’re getting out of all this.”
“Just doing a favor for a friend,” he said.
“Yeah, right. This wouldn’t have anything to do with my sister, would it?”
“No,” he lied, he hoped convincingly.
She threw her arms up. “I don’t understand her. When I want to marry Michael, she’s against it. And now that we’ve split, she wants us to reconcile.”
The key is to placate. “I think she just wants you to be happy.”
She returned her hands to her hips. “How the hell would you know what my sister wants? You better not be fucking her too.”
Too? It’d been weeks since he’d had sex, a situation he was still hoping to rectify with Samantha in the not-too-distant future. “That’s not really any of your business.”
“It is if you’re sleeping with Lydia.”
How the hell did she know about Lydia? He hadn’t spoken to his ex in months.
Whitney reached for the pad he kept near the phone. “Lydia called,” she read aloud. “She just got back into town and would love to see you again.”
“She’s a friend,” he said.
Whitney continued reading: “Please tell him Private Austen misses Sergeant Bishop.” She tossed the pad onto the counter and folded her arms across her chest. “She said you’d know what that meant. Let me guess, you’re Sergeant Bishop, or at least part of you is,” she added, glancing down at his crotch.
Jake focused on his anger to head off his embarrassment. The role-play had been Lydia’s idea. Plus, the best defense was a good offense. “And why are you answering my phone? You’re a guest here, Whitney.” One he wouldn’t be inviting back anytime soon.
“Because it rang.”
“Which is why I have voice mail. Private voice mail.”
“Well, how was I supposed to know? I thought I was doing you a favor.”
He doubted that. She probably thought she was checking up on Michael. “Lydia and I split up last year. We’re friends, just friends.”
She actually snorted. “Sure you are. That’s why she’s calling leaving you messages that Private Austen misses Sergeant Bishop, because those two are friends.”
“Well, Sergeant Bishop doesn’t miss Private Austen. Sergeant Bishop has moved on.”
“As long as Sergeant Bishop hasn’t moved on to my sister, I don’t really give a shit what Sergeant Bishop does.”
“And what if Sergeant Bishop likes your sister?”
“Then Sergeant Bishop and I are going to have a problem.”
Chapter 41
Samantha
I’d just stepped out of the shower when the phone rang. I left a trail of wet footprints on the carpet in my rush to answer it.
“Change of plans,” Jake said. “Your sister’s on her way to your house.”
Uh oh. “What happened?”
“I’ll let her tell you. The point is, my place is empty, and I have a pan of paella in my fridge that’s going to end up in the trash if I can’t find someone to come over here and share it with me.”
Oooh, I loved Whitney’s paella. “That is a dilemma.”
“I was hoping you could help me out.”
Of course I was going to his place. I just didn’t want to appear too eager. “I don’t know, Jake. I was really jonesing for pizza.”
“But think of all the shellfish who gave their life for this meal. Their deaths shouldn’t be in vain.”
“When you put it that way, what choice do I have? Which do you think would be more appropriate to honor them—red wine or white?”
“Definitely white. But I’ve already got a bottle chilling in the fridge.”
He answered the door in jeans and a button-down, but his hair was damp, so I knew he’d showered recently too. Then he leaned in and kissed me on the cheek, and I breathed in his aftershave—something clean and woodsy—and I practically swooned. Just friends, just friends, just friends.
Chapter 42
Jake
He was surprised she wasn’t wearing a skirt. Not that he had a dress code. It was just that the women he usually dated wore skirts or dresses, at least early on. But she looked sexy as hell in her hip-hugging jeans and sleeveless blouse, so he wasn’t complaining.
He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. He would’ve preferred to kiss her mouth, then her neck, then her breasts, and farther downward, but he’d promised himself he’d take it slow. He knew if he moved too quickly, she’d
run. She’d been very clear about wanting them to be just friends, which he interpreted as friends first and then lovers.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he said, tamping down on his smile. He hadn’t realized he was being so obvious. He was thinking about how much time and energy he’d put into this relationship, the fact that he even considered it a relationship, and he’d laughed. Normally he avoided women who required this much effort. But this time he was enjoying the pursuit.
He nodded toward the living room. “Make yourself comfortable. Dinner will be ready soon.” He returned to the kitchen and checked on the paella, then poured two glasses of wine.
“It smells delicious,” she called out to him.
He agreed. Obviously Whitney was a good cook. “If it were anyone but you,” he said, joining her on the couch and handing her one of the wineglasses, “I’d take credit for it.”
“But you can’t with me because you know I know the truth?”
Yes, but that wasn’t it, not entirely. “You asked me to be honest with you. This is me being honest.” Not one hundred percent, of course, since he was pretending to be her friend when he wanted much more, but this was as close as he got.
He thought she’d be pleased, but she frowned and turned away. Wasn’t this what she wanted?
Chapter 43
Samantha
Why, oh why did he have to bring that up? Now I’d spend the rest of the night obsessing over that stupid please-be-honest-with-me speech I gave him the last time we were together. This man was a humiliation magnet. I needed alcohol!
I inhaled the saffron-scented air and said, “You should probably check on the paella. You don’t want it to burn.” I waited until he was out of the room before I took a big gulp from my wineglass. Then I took an equally big gulp from his so the levels would be even. I didn’t want him thinking I was a lush. But when I held up the two glasses to compare, there appeared to be more wine in mine, so I took another sip. Then the level in his glass looked a little higher, so I tried to even them out again. When I heard the oven door slam shut, I wiped my lipstick from both glasses and set them down on the coffee table. I looked up, innocently, I hoped, just as he walked in.