“Everything okay?” Louis asks. Jace’s gaze locks on me as well, those haunting eyes even more beautiful than I remember. Defined biceps strain at the weight of the sheetrock. I only allow myself a passing glimpse of the exposed skin above his jeans.
“Sorry to interrupt. I was wondering if I could borrow Jace for a second to help me move something in the shed.” The suspicion on both their faces? This is why I should never attempt coy.
“If you give us a few minutes we can both help,” Louis says.
“Oh no, that won’t be necessary. I hate to set you back. Just one would be fine.”
“Okay. Well, I’ll be down—”
“No problem, ma’am. Just give me a second,” Jace interrupts. I don’t miss the hard look they exchange, but Louis doesn’t seem as keen for a fight today.
“Oh… okay, thanks,” I mumble, fleeing back down the hall.
I hate games. Hate my pathetic attempts to play even more, but it’s too late. I pulled the trigger and A + B = boom.
I lead Jace out to the shed when he comes down a few minutes later. Once inside, I back in far enough to allow him safe entry as well. He looks around the cluttered space, probably searching for whatever it is that dragged him from his work.
So you got him here, genius. Now what?
“Thanks for coming,” I force out. I add a smile, but it’s probably more awkward than comforting when his attention centers on me.
“What do you need moved?”
I swallow, that annoying heat traveling up my neck again. “Nothing actually. Sorry about the deception but I didn’t want to get you in trouble with your father again.”
His brow lifts with the half-smile that devastated me yesterday. “Okay?”
No, no! This is going all wrong. My instinctive retreat sends an empty paint can crashing to the floor behind me. I flinch; his gaze scans the evidence on the floor, then back to my face. I clear my throat. “I heard what he said to you yesterday.”
His stance changes slightly, but if he’s upset, he hides it well. “Sorry you had to hear that. He’s an asshole.”
“Why do you let him treat you like that?” I cringe when his expression hardens. “Sorry, that came out wrong. What I mean is, you look old enough to be on your own. No one should have to be treated that way.”
“Thanks, but it’s complicated.”
“I know it’s scary to take that step—”
“Look. Sienna, right?” He reaches out and rests a strong, calloused hand on my arm. “I appreciate your concern, but I can handle it, okay?” The glimmer of humor returns.
“Sorry! I didn’t mean to imply—”
“And you can stop apologizing for everything.” His smile moves to his eyes. Deadly, that combination. “You’re going to get me in trouble again, so if there’s nothing else I should get back.”
“I’m sorry. I just…” I shake my head. “Anyway, if you ever want someone to talk to, you know where I live.”
“Are you inviting me over? First a run, now coffee?”
“What? No! I didn’t say coffee.“ The flush spreads in full fury this time.
“You blush a lot.”
My hands instinctively cover my cheeks. “Yeah, it’s embarrassing, sorry.”
“Why would you be embarrassed? It’s cute.”
“Cute? I’m old enough to be your mother.”
“Doubt it. How old are you?”
“Excuse me?”
“What? You’ve asked me way more intrusive questions.”
He’s not wrong.
“Thirty-eight.” There I go blushing again.
“Hmm…”
“How old are you?
“Twenty-three.”
“Ugh. You are a baby.”
“A baby? Wow. Is that what I look like?”
His smirk tells me he knows the answer.
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Seems like you’re handling that for me.”
“Pfft.”
He laughs. “Okay, I should get back. Just… Don’t worry about me.”
“I won’t.”
“Good.”
He pauses, turns back. “Hey. I’ll be rehearsing with my band nearby tonight. Maybe I can stop in and say hi.”
My pulse races. “I’d like that.”
“Sweet. It’s a date.”
At what point does clock-watching shift from responsible to pathetic? I grunt as my eyes swing to the glowing numbers for the hundredth time. Okay, thirty-seven to be exact. Still ridiculous.
Joe’s voice penetrates deep into my brain. See? You were lucky to have me.
My mother. Don’t you think it would help to get a little work done on yourself? You’re not exactly supermodel material anymore, Sienna.
Frustrated, I stalk to the office and fire up my laptop. Charts. Spreadsheets. Reports. That’s where my head needs to be. Safe with numbers. Black and white. No hazy gray promises like maybe I’ll stop by. Secure in the one place I excel.
I’m good.
Rosie squawks as she jumps to my lap and curls into a ball. On instinct, my hand finds her warm fur, and the muscles in my shoulders relax.
“Their cash flow is in big trouble if they don’t negotiate more favorable payment terms with their customers,” I tell my cat. She purrs her agreement. “They’re also going to need a line of credit to finance the growth they want.” Rosie’s on board with that as well, and I open a new document to start outlining my recommendation.
Thank goodness for numbers.
Chapter 0 – 3 = -3
After an initial greeting, I lock myself in the office while Louis and Jace work upstairs. I read through my notes from last night, pleased that I got a head start on this project. The client will appreciate getting a proposal this afternoon, three days earlier than promised. Their situation is challenging, but not impossible, and I’m careful to infuse confidence and hope in my report to counteract the warnings.
A scratch at the door, followed by a desperate chirp, pulls me from my bubble. I glance at the clock and cringe. Crap, forgot to feed the girls. Sure enough, two fur balls wait shoulder to shoulder when I open the door, tails lifting in salutation.
“Sorry, baby girls. Lost track of time. Let’s get some lunch.”
Little paws patter behind me on the way to the kitchen, where my obedient babies wait as I open two cans of food and fill clean dishes.
“Thank you for staying off the counters,” I say, leading the parade to the food mat by the back door. They immediately set to slurping and nibbling the disgusting concoction of minced proteins.
“Smells delicious. Mind if I try some?”
I jump, heart hammering at the voice. I force a smile through sudden nerves as I turn.
Jace leans against the kitchen doorframe, muscled arms crossed, that sexy smirk turning up his mouth. The way his gaze rests on me… my body shudders from forbidden memories we don’t share.
“Sure. Would you like your bread toasted?”
His smile grows into a grin. He straightens, filling the entryway with his powerful form. “Perfect.”
“Aren’t you worried about your father?” I ask, moving toward the fridge to avoid more gawking.
“Nah. We’re on break while he argues with a vendor over a tile delivery. Besides, I promised I wouldn’t ravage you with my insatiable lust.”
And there it is. The heat. Fire that grows hot between my legs and shoots up to my face.
“I’m kidding,” he laughs. “God, you’re adorable.”
I glare over at him. “I know you’re kidding.”
He shakes his head, aqua eyes glowing with humor.
“I don’t think I’ve ever met a girl as shy as you.”
“Girl?”
“Woman, sorry.” He actually does look sorry. More than that. Is his gaze swallowing me like mine devours him? My pulse picks up. He clears his throat. “Anyway, I saw the guitar upstairs. You play?”
I steady my reaction. “A little. Not as
well as I’d like.”
“That’s cool. I do too.”
“I know.”
His brow lifts. “Really?”
“Yeah. You were going to stop by last night on your way to rehearsal, so I figured you must be in a band.”
“Huh? Oh, shit! I did say that.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Damn, Sienna. I’m so sorry. I was running late because—” He shakes his head. “Never mind, but I was running late. I totally forgot. I hope you weren’t waiting or anything.”
Relief flutters through me. Hope. “No, it’s fine. I had work to do anyway.”
“Can I come by tonight? Maybe we can jam for a bit.”
And there goes the peace. My heart rages again, pounding blood in hard echoes through my head. “You have rehearsal two nights in a row?”
“No. I’m free tonight. Just us.”
Pound. Pound. Pound.
“And you want to spend it hanging out with an old lady?”
His laugh. It’s breathtaking. Good thing it’s his turn to speak.
“I’ll be sure to document it for my scout leader.”
A chuckle escapes me, and I meet his eyes. Not flirty anymore. Kind. Thoughtful. Sweet. So many dimensions when you look closer. This calculation keeps getting more and more complex.
“I’m not very good at the guitar. I probably wouldn’t be fun to jam with.”
“Then I’ll teach you some stuff.”
Wait, he’s serious. His gaze locks on mine as he waits. For me?
“Maybe I’ll even let you interrogate me some more.”
Amusement finally pokes through my shock. His own smile lodges in my chest. “Ha, okay then. I suppose that would be fine. What time? Would you like me to cook dinner first?”
“Nah. It would have to be later. Around nine or so? Is that too late?”
“I mean, I usually try to be in bed by 8:30.”
His startled expression relaxes when I break into a grin.
“You’re funny,” he says, pointing at me.
“You are too.”
His smile lingers as he backs toward the door. “I should get back to work. See you at nine?”
“See you then.”
Tonight, Jace keeps his word. After an evening of doing my best to stay busy and not resemble a pathetic prom date in fear of being stood up, my heartrate jumps at the slam of a car door in my driveway. Two minutes after nine, he’s on my porch, looking amazing in ripped jeans and a plaid button down shirt rolled up to the elbows.
“You came.” There’s more surprise in my voice than I would’ve liked.
“You look great,” he says.
“Thanks. So do you.” He must catch the tremor in my voice, because he’s unleashing that deadly grin again.
He holds up the guitar case. “Can I come in?”
“Oh. Right. I mean, yes. Come in.” I step back and try to ignore the amusement that floats over his lips as he passes.
“You nervous, Sienna Porter? I promised not to ravage you, remember?”
The blush deepens as my mind rushes to buttons flying off a plaid shirt that I rip open. Tight boxer briefs bulging beneath—
Stop it, Sienna! Seriously, what is wrong with you?
“I told you I wasn’t good at the guitar,” I say, concentrating on imperfections in the hardwood floor instead.
“So let’s change that.”
“I’m a little old, don’t you think?”
“Old for what?” He looks genuinely confused when I peek over to watch him crouch down and pull his guitar from the case. I’d already brought mine down in preparation for this moment and remove it from the stand. Sitting on the couch, I hold my breath as he lowers to the other end and starts tuning.
I’m not an expert, but his guitar is no piece of junk like mine. I watch in awe as his fingers mold around the neck and seem to form into the wood. I’ve never seen an inanimate object brought to life like this. Even the gentle tuning sounds infinitely more beautiful than anything I’ve been able to squeeze from my strings.
“Wow,” I mutter before I can stop it.
He glances up, eyes already full of music. God, he’s beautiful. “What?”
“Sorry. Just, you clearly have a gift.”
He laughs. “I’m tuning.”
“I know, but…” I quiet, regretting my interruption. He finishes too soon.
“Okay, so why don’t you show me what you’ve got.”
I almost snort. “Um. I know a G-chord.” With some effort, I manage to tighten my fingertips against the frets to produce a vaguely recognizable sound.
Is he cringing? But strangely his expression warms rather than embarrasses me.
“Yeah, okay. Kind of,” he says. It’s even funnier that he’s trying to be encouraging.
“Told you I suck.”
“I mean, those are the correct strings. Let me see that.” He leans his guitar against the couch so he can take mine. After a few passes at the strings, his wince becomes brutal. “Where did you get this piece of shit?”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Sorry,” he laughs. “I just mean… Here.” He hands me his instrument, and I stare back, eyes wide.
“Really? You don’t mind?”
“Of course not. The action on yours is terrible. Plus, the strings probably should’ve been changed before I was born. I doubt anyone could play this thing. Just try mine.”
My heart races as I stare down at the guitar. It’s already so different in my hands. Lighter somehow, smoother. My fingers brush the strings, and when I push, they move! With half the effort I needed to squeak a chord on my guitar I can ace a G on this one.
“Oh my gosh,” I whisper.
“Nice, right?”
My gaze lifts to his, my lips forming a matching smile. “It’s amazing. Can I try another one?”
“Definitely. Play an E minor. They’re easy.”
“I think I know that one.” I push down on two adjacent strings and cringe.
He only smiles. “Up a fret. Here.” He shifts beside me and reaches over. My skin burns as he adjusts my fingers into the proper position. Pulse pounding, stomach raging, I shudder from hair brushing my cheek and the smell of shower-clean skin. The smell of man. The heat. The presence. The…
“You okay?”
I blink and force my attention back to the guitar. “Yeah. Thanks.” A quick smile. Can’t tell if he believes it. I strum the new chord for good measure. Yep, E minor.
“Good. Now try putting them together.”
It takes a second to arrange my fingers back into G, but this time when I move them to the second chord, it sounds real.
“Oh my… I did it!”
He laughs. “You did. Sounded great. Want to try another one?”
I nod, eager for more.
Next, we review the C chord. Then the D. He explains that these four together would be enough to play a simple song in the Key of G. An entire song! I don’t believe him until he proves it, and holy Toledo. He can sing too. I forget all about my victory as I watch his mouth form around melodies that burrow inside me. Why is this guy wasting time on drywall when he clearly should be melting hearts around the world with his music?
“Amazing. Wow.”
He glances over, almost shy. “Thanks.”
“That song is incredible. Who sings it?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’d love to add it to my playlist. It’s a great song.”
The smile returns. “Thanks, but it’s not recorded yet. Just something I’m working on.”
“Wait, you wrote that?”
“Yeah?” His brows knit into a clear duh vibe. “I write all my songs.”
“Then why aren’t you on a world tour?”
He snickers with the same disbelief from when I asked about college. I cross my arms and give him a hard look until his humor fades.
“It’s not that easy.”
I don’t miss the way the guitar suddenly becomes armor.
“Okay, but it can’t be easy having a gift like that and not using it day in and day out.”
His eyes flash to mine, harder than I’ve ever seen them. The aqua waves have almost darkened into mossy green. “Let’s just play, okay? What else do you want to know?”
The chords he’s referring to don’t seem to matter anymore. Not much does when he’s so close.
“Why are you upset?” I ask.
“I’m not.”
“You are. Your eyes have changed.”
“You know so much about my eyes?”
More than I should. I pull in a deep breath.
He blinks and looks away. “Anyway, it’s getting late.”
“It’s not late.”
He glances at me again. I’ve surprised him. Good or bad? Good, I think when he relaxes back into the cushions. “You should do that more often.”
“What?”
“Confidence. It’s hot.”
As hot as my skin right now? Or the sexy smirk on his lips as he studies me?
“Yeah? Well maybe you should do that less.”
“Do what?”
“Flirt.” But I can’t keep a straight face.
His smile widens, eyes igniting back to oceans and sex. “Really. Not into flirting?”
“I’m thirty-eight.”
“So?”
“So…” I stop. He stares. Tell him.
Tell him what, exactly?
He shifts closer. “You’re not attracted to me? Is that it?” There’s not a person on this planet who wouldn’t find him attractive. He must know that.
“Of course I am,” I huff out. Mistake! Mistake! Where’s this going?
“You’re seeing someone?”
“No!”
“Okay, so what’s the problem with flirting?”
I push up from the couch. “Do you want something to drink? I’ll get us some—”
His fingers wrap around my wrist and pull me back down. They don’t let go. The heat of him. The pressure of his skin on mine. It’s been so long. I close my eyes.
“What are you afraid of?” The teasing is gone from his voice. He shifts even closer. Our thighs almost touch. Wait, they do. I feel the brush of denim over every nerve in my body. Against my will, my gaze drops to his zipper, to fantasy and forbidden, raging fires. It drifts up to buttons covering… I know what they’re covering. Everything I want to touch, taste and own for just a moment of pretending. Up again to cyan eyes that hold mine, brave, confident, unafraid of barriers like numbers. He licks his lips. His thumb moves over the pounding vein in my wrist.
Young Love Page 3