“No, I don’t need a ride,” I mumble. “I’m just waiting for my driving mojo to return.”
His grin grows. “That might take a while. The way you were bashing your head like that—you might have a concussion. So why don’t you just get a ride with me?—start on that deal you cooked up. In fact, I could touch your cheek right now.”
He goes like he’s actually going to do it—touch my face. I yelp. And lurch away from him.
His brow quirks quizzically, though he’s got a grin on his gorgeous lips that he’s trying to hide.
I quickly explain, “No need to do it now—save it for in public.”
He looks around. “It’s public.” Then he adds, “Also, it seems like maybe you need practice.”
Heat swamps my cheeks. “Practice standing still?”
“And letting me touch you—yeah.”
In kindergarten he kissed my ear once. It had been after he had come over to my house and we were painting in my backyard. His mom had arrived to pick him up, and when my mom called out to him that his mom was here, he said, “Okay,” and he got up to leave, but when my mom went back into the house, he turned back to me really fast and said, “I forgot to do this,” and then he kissed me on the ear. Then he had sauntered away, having totally rocked my kindergarten world.
It’s funny that I’m thinking of that now.
But I guess he is too. Because a lazy smile spreads on his lips. “I kissed your ear.”
I nod. “Yes. You did.”
He laughs a little. “That’s not where I was aiming. I was nervous.” Then he says softly, “I’ll do better this time.”
No way. Nothing could be better than that kiss … well, except the one I gave him—you know, the other day when he was the “pizza guy.” That had certainly come close.
But that’s not what I tell him, of course. Instead I announce quickly, “No way, buck-o. There will be no kissing.”
His grin quirks upward. “Aw, come on. I need to prove to you I’ve improved since kindergarten.”
“You can’t. Because you didn’t—you became a heartbreaker. That’s not an improvement. It’s sad.”
Geez, why am I so snappy with him? He’s just playing around. Chill, Faith.
I duck my head. “Sorry, I’ve just had a bad day.”
“Oh that’s right. Your ex-husband trapped you with him in the supply closet.”
My jaw drops. “How did you know that?”
He shrugs. “Small town, smaller school.”
With a note of gentleness in his voice he says, “You could call me the next time he bothers you.”
The offer is actually reassuring.
With a playful glint in his eyes, he says, “Actually, there are two stories about the way the whole closet-thing went down.” He quirks an eyebrow, “Did you like it?”
My face goes up in flames.
He arches an eyebrow playfully. “Ohhh, you did. I’ll have to remember that.”
“No! I didn’t like it, of course. Not at all. Never do that to a woman—unless you want her to press charges against you and put you in jail.”
He grins and juts his chin, “Is that what you’re going to do to him?”
When I don’t answer, he does it for me, “No, instead you’re going to pretend we’re dating. Which I’ll admit is a bright spot for me. It almost feels as good as winning at hopscotch. By the way, is that little poem about me off the bathroom wall?”
I quickly change the subject. “Touch my cheek.”
This surprised noise comes from the back of his throat, but his rough hands come gently on my face almost immediately. Mmmm. This is not going to end well for me. Because electrical sparks skitter through my entire body from his touch, and heated stare. Holy smokes! I’m on fire.
“Well-well,” Daisy says coming up to us with an incredulous smirk. She huffs, “I just saw your text from earlier, Justin, begging me to talk to you. But apparently I should leave you two love-birds alone.”
“Okay,” Justin murmurs all dreamy-like, his love-struck eyes still glued to mine.
Wow.
When she’s gone, I finally let out my breath that I hadn’t even realized I was holding.
“Whoa, you’re good at that,” I tell him, stunned and amazed. (And still on fire.)
“Thanks.”
Then he adds, “Good at what?”
“Faking love.”
“Oh, that.” He clears his throat. “Yeah, faking.”
I’m still trying to catch my breath, and my heart is still pounding wild just from the memory of his spectacular touch and his warm stare, though his hands are now in his pockets, and he seems kind of amazed at what he did with them.
He grins, “My heart’s pounding hard.” His lips twitch, “—and that was just from touching your cheek. What if I’d touched your lips?”
I hold my breath, for a moment thrilled/terrified thinking he might, but it just makes him chuckle. He says with a teasing gleam in his eyes, “I probably would have died. My heart would have exploded. Is that why you have this no kissing rule? You kill men with your kiss?”
“Yes, it’s my super-power.”
“That, and drawing me to you like a magnet with your eyes,” he murmurs. “Well, and your kiss. That had been some kiss, Faith. It keeps me up nights—and yes, it has me dying.” His eyes twinkle, “—dying for more.”
FLIRT!!
His eyes go slightly serious. “How’s your son taking all this?—men wanting to kiss you?”
I blink. “Men?”
Another grin creeps on his lips. “You have to know men are dying to kiss you, Faith. Not just me. Any single man in town. Your ex is trying to scare them off—but it doesn’t change things as much as it may appear. They still want to kiss you—they’re just afraid to try.”
This is news to me. And probably not true. He’s probably just teasing. Probably.
Still, I feel my face swamp with heat.
“I don’t want to be kissed right now—by anyone,” I lie. (Since, well, I’d like to kiss him—but I won’t, ever, never again, so I quickly go on with my next part, which is the total truth, by the way.) “I just want to concentrate on Toby right now—and healing my heart—and getting some sort of balance in my life—mine, and Toby’s. My parents have been wonderful support. I’m lucky to have them around.”
“Yeah,” he murmurs.
A jet of sympathy crashes through me—since he doesn’t have his parents around. His sweet mother died, and his father is an alcoholic.
“You’re lucky to have your son’s grandparents nearby though,” I tell him hopefully.
“Yeah, well, my son is lucky they are nearby. Me, not so much. They never really cared for me—since, you know, I was a,”—he cringes—“hockey player. I had to go out of town a lot—for my job. They didn’t like that. They wanted their daughter to have a traditional family life. I couldn’t provide that. I loved her, and was faithful to her—but that wasn’t enough for them.” He grins weakly. “They seem to feel it’s my fault she got cancer and died.”
I swallow. “I’m so sorry, Justin.”
He shrugs, “Well, like you said, my son is lucky to have them around. They adore him. That’s all that really matters to me, I suppose.”
“Well … that’s a good attitude,” I tell him. “It must be hard to share him with them sometimes though.”
His jaw muscles flicker. “A little. But I want what’s best for him. They’re good people. I know my wife would have wanted them to be in his life, so I just give them what they want. Really, they just want to look after my son—can’t hold that against them.”
I sigh, “I suppose that’s the same with Chad’s parents. I sometimes wish they wouldn’t interfere … but I know they love Toby. So, I try to accommodate them.”
Justin grins. “You try to accommodate everyone.” He raises his eyebrows, “I know because I hear you through the walls.”
My face redness. “What do you hear?”
A
grin spreads on his lips, but he seems to be weighing in his head whether he should tell me or not. “I hear you read aloud as you work on your stories, I hear you pray with your son, and sing in the shower, I hear you talk to your mom, and to Rachel, who is, by the way, dead—and I hear you try to placate your emotionally abusive ex-husband. You know you’ll never win with the guy, Faith. You know that, right?”
I nod.
I’m kind of amazed to be talking to him about all this stuff. It’s kind of like he’s Rachel—an understanding friend. It’s amazing to me that he cares. That the heartbreaker has a heart.
But thinking about Chad and the fact he’s emotionally abusive and will never willingly let me be happy without him makes me feel like rocks are churning in my stomach.
Justin pulls me out of my uncomfortable reverie by slowly waving a hand in front of my face.
I blink up at him.
A tiny smile spreads on his lips like I’m adorable. His eyes practically caress me. (Flirt!) “You looked like you needed to be woken up,” he says playfully. “Like what you were dreaming about wasn’t the nicest—not your usual lollipops and rainbows.”
“No, it wasn’t,” I murmur.
“So you’re welcome,” he says.
He gives me a lingering look that I can’t read, then he says, “Look, I’m headed to referee at my son’s soccer game right now. Come with me. I’ll touch your cheek during the water breaks.”
He grins, quickly interrupting me before I can protest, “—the soccer games are very, incredibly, super public. In fact, Daisy’s son plays on one of the teams. Maybe the one my son is playing against today.”
Before I can protest he raises his eyebrows, quickly reminding me, “My laptop is in pieces—just like my heart will be if you say no.”
I groan, super dramatically.
He grins, “Yeah, that’s a cheesy line. I was just trying to lay some guilt on you to get my way. But in all seriousness, don’t worry about the laptop,” then he adds with a playful grin, “—just worry about my heart.”
I groan again.
It just makes him laugh softly. “So you’ll come right? Get me started on my big non-heartbreaker ruse.” Then he adds, “What will really help with that—I think—is getting the poem about me off the bathroom wall.”
I smirk. “You don’t really care about the poem.”
He raises his eyebrows, “I don’t?” Then he relents, “Okay, I don’t. I won’t mention it again, if—IF you come with me to my son’s soccer game and let me touch your cheek—twice.”
“I’ll go to the game, but no touching.”
He ducks his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “Man, you’re a cold hard bargainer.”
He’s only teasing. His grin always gives it away, though he’s always trying to hide it.
“Okay,” he says after a long moment as though he’s being tortured—by not getting to touch my cheek. “You have a sad little deal.”
CHAPTER 21
Justin stopped at his old childhood home to pick up his son and little niece. They were out in the front yard, waiting for him.
My heart tugged a little—well, a lot—seeing his old house again. His sister lived there now, but it looked very much the same as it had when we were kids. Realizing once again that his sweet mom passed away makes my heart squeeze. She was the nicest lady. She would always bake cookies when I came to their house. And once she patiently taught Justin and me to make a pie.
“I’m sorry about your mom,” I whispered.
His eyes sparked and his breath caught for a moment. His jaw muscles flickered, then he gave my hand a quick squeeze. “She really liked you. She was always asking about you.” He grinned, “—always.”
He emphasized the word with frustrated amusement.
Meanwhile, his son galloped to the car, “Hi Faith, did you bring Toby?”
“No, sorry, Drew. Toby has an art class today.” (Toby is three years older than Drew—but Toby enjoys having a fan.) I told Drew, “I’ll bet he’ll draw you a picture though.”
“Of me and my dad and you and Toby?”
“Um … sure.”
“Me and my dad think you should get married—then Toby and me can be brothers.”
“I didn’t—” Justin clamped his mouth shut. But for once he seemed to be blushing. Maybe. Perhaps. I mean, the man never, ever blushes, ever. Yet his ears looked slightly red, I tell you.
With a chuckle he said, “Hop in, kiddo. Let’s get going. Gotta get your soccer on,” then he added, “And remember—what we say at the dinner table, stays at the dinner table.”
“Oh right! I didn’t tell her that you think that she looks like mommy—and that you think she sings like an angel—and that mommy is an angel in heaven, and she’s an angel here on earth.”
Red, I tell you.
Justin shot me a tiny sideways peek. “We talk about angels a lot,” he said, as though to clarify, but he murmured it around an adorable grin that made my heart melt like butter.
Toby said, “Faith, did you know that the waitress at Slugger’s played an angel at the town play?—what’s her name, dad? Tulip?”
“Uh, Daisy.”
“Right, Daisy. I always get that mixed up—flowers. But she was an angel, and she gave my dad a big hug after the play—and she gives him free food when we go to her restaurant, and we go there a lot because it is my favorite restaurant. I like their milkshakes.”
“Me too,” I murmured, a little bit heartbroken, though I knew it was ridiculous. After all, that was what this excursion was all about, right? Getting Justin in with Daisy. It was suddenly sounding like it wouldn’t be too hard. Not hard at all, actually. In fact, ridiculously cake. (Weep.)
**
Justin’s little niece was adorable. I bought her a hot dog and soda and popcorn while we sat in the stands rooting for her cousin’s soccer team, and admiring Justin’s refereeing skills. (Well, I admired them.) (And many other things about him.) (Namely, his smile.) (And his eyes.) (And stare.) (And …)
I couldn’t help comparing this experience to ones I’d had with Chad refereeing at Toby’s games. The biggest difference being, Chad had never paid any attention to me at them, yet Justin did the whole entire game. He kept peeking over at us and waving.
Every time he did, my heart melted.
So, this was bad. Very, very bad.
Because it seemed I was hooked on the heartbreaker.
I was a goner.
CHAPTER 22
After the soccer game we took Justin’s little charges out for ice cream. I have to admit, I was in love the moment—in fact with the whole experience: being with Justin, seeing him be all sweet with his family, seeing him keep sneaking little peeks at me. It all had my heart drumming and my mind going, awww!
When Justin pulled up to my driveway, he asked me huskily, “Are you sure you don’t want to come over to my house for a while? You can see me make dinner and take out the garbage and other non-heartbreaker-type stuff.”
Though I was tempted more than he could possibly know (so tempted), I rolled my eyes, trying to get a grip. I mean, let’s not forget Dear Daisy, right? So I reminded him (sort of bitter-like), “It’s not me you’re trying to fool.”
He smiled weakly. “No. It’s you I’m trying to convince.”
I huffed, “Don’t bother. I’ve already had my heart broken by you Justin. So you can’t convince me you’re not a heartbreaker. I have the proof—a shattered heart.”
Justin ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Isn’t it maybe slightly unreasonable that you’re holding something against me that I did back in fifth grade?”
Heat swamped my cheeks. He had a point. I guess. Probably. But I quickly shrugged the thought off, since I was in jeopardy of losing my heart to him—yet he was trying to win Daisy’s. Ugh.
So I muttered, “It might have happened to me in fifth grade, but you went on to do it to other girls in the sixth, seventh, and eighth grade—and all through high scho
ol, and right on up until now. So I’m not really just holding your past against you—your present is pretty scary too.”
As I start to stomp out of his car, Justin says, “Wait.”
With a frustrated sigh, he opens my car door for me, then walks me to my front door.
With another frustrated exhale of breath, he holds out his hand to me. Then, rather than the customary kiss that comes at the end of a wonderful date (which face it, this was), instead of the kiss, he shakes my hand.
Then, just to be a rebel, he gently swipes my cheek playfully with two warm fingers.
He winks. “Couldn’t resist.”
You know, since the deal was he couldn’t do it.
I tug on his hair, “Couldn’t resist.”
He grins, “Touché.”
CHAPTER 23
***JUSTIN***
JUSTIN
Back in kindergarten, I had been sick for Valentine’s day. My mom wouldn’t let me go to school, though I kept begging her—well, in between my puking.
My mom just smiled sympathetically, “Your sweet little girlfriend will understand, Justin.”
“I know she’ll understand,” I grumbled. “But I don’t want her to have to understand. I stayed up all night making my valentine for her—I want her to have it in class. I want to give it to her.”
I puked as I said the last part.
Mom smiled slightly. Gently. “Justin, what you’ll give her is the flu. Do you really want her to be sick too?”
“Yes,” I lied. “At least then we could be together. It’s Valentines. She was going to have me come over to her house and we were going to build a tree fort.”
Faith ended up coming to my house—after school. She snuck to my window, and brought me all the valentines I’d gotten, and the cookies she made for me, and she was wearing this cute little headband with two bouncy springs connected to it like antennas.
“I’m your love-bug,” she explained, bobbing her head up and down so her antennas bounced.
My mom caught her at my window and smiled huge—because Faith was adorable. And sneaky! Coming to my window and all. Mom didn’t chastise her though. Instead she quickly hunted up her camera and took a picture of me and my “love-bug.” I still have the picture.
The Heartbreaker Next Door (The Hockey Team Book 1) Page 7