by Aven Ellis
“Now we’re ready,” JP says, starting the car.
I use the moment to reset the conversation from the awful one I dragged us through before he went into the store.
“So, my dessert is a surprise?” I ask as he drives.
“A surprise and a test,” JP says, easing into traffic.
“A test? I’m being tested?”
That sexy smile passes over his face again, and my heart, despite knowing the situation, rises from the dead.
“Actually, test might be the wrong word,” JP says thoughtfully. “It’s more research on my part.”
I burst out laughing. “Research?”
“Yes. I need to know some things about you, important things, and by conducting this research experiment, I’ll have the information I need going forward.”
“JP, I’m not going to try to pretend to understand what you are up to.”
“Reese, you will understand as soon as we are back at my place.”
I find myself smiling as he teases me. I love his sense of humor.
I steal a peek at him while he’s driving, studying his profile as the lights of the city illuminate the interior of his car. JP’s only been back in Dallas for about twenty-four hours.
In those twenty-four hours, he’s already turned my world upside down.
And I know he’s only just begun.
We reach the high-rise that JP calls home.
“It’s a beautiful building,” I say, craning my neck to look up at the modern, gleaming glass structure.
“I bought a condo here over the summer,” JP says, entering the parking garage. “I wanted something with a great view. There’s a market on the ground level, which is handy.”
JP parks the car and we head over to the elevator. As it chimes open, we step inside, and JP punches the button for the twenty-seventh floor.
“I bet you have great views from there,” I say.
“I do. My terrace is incredible. I can’t wait to show you.”
“I can’t wait to see it.”
“Remember one thing, though, when you come inside,” JP says. “I’ve just come back from Switzerland. I still have my old furniture, and everything is still in boxes. I don’t want you to think I’m messy because I’m not.”
I find myself grinning. Oh, the irony of him worrying about this is so funny.
He has no idea who he is talking to, I muse.
“What?” JP asks.
The elevator chimes open to the twenty-seventh floor.
“JP, there’s something you should know about me.”
JP ushers me down the corridor to a unit on the corner. “This sounds serious.”
“It is.”
JP hesitates at his door. “Um, I hope the answer isn’t you are some kind of black widow and you’re about to slip a drug in my drink and make off with my belongings.”
Now I do laugh. “The way your brain works fascinates me, JP.”
“That’s probably part of my problem with women,” he says. “Nobody gets me.”
I do, I think without hesitation.
“That’s their problem,” I say, gazing up at him with admiration. “Fascinating is good.”
JP doesn’t say anything for a moment.
“I never thought so,” JP says, keeping his eyes on the door. Then he slowly lifts his gaze and his brilliant eyes meet mine. “Until now.”
My stomach flips upside down in excitement.
JP clears his throat. “So, what do I need to know about you that is so serious?” he asks, turning the key in the lock.
“I hope you can handle it.”
JP opens the door and allows me to enter. As soon as he flips on the light, I gasp.
His space is gorgeous.
Floor-to-ceiling windows make up one whole wall, and the Dallas skyline glitters ahead of me. I move into the center of the room, dodging some of the moving boxes stacked in it, and take in all the details, from the pale gray hardwood floors to the completely open floor plan. The kitchen is modern, with light-gray cabinets and white marble countertops, and provides a full view of the city.
“I only have my old couch because I’m getting new furniture,” JP adds, setting the bags down on the kitchen countertop. “Brand-new pieces for the living area and an actual dining table. You know, stuff a grown-up should have.”
I can visualize what he would select for his home: all contemporary furniture and pieces with clean lines. It would suit him, I think.
I move toward the glass and stare out at the city, the sparkling lights glowing against the black sky.
“This place is so you,” I say.
“How so?”
“It’s sophisticated. Minimalistic,” I add, turning around to face him. I long to add the word sexy, but I decide not to.
Even though it’s true.
Instead, I turn back toward the window, gazing out at Dallas. “I can’t imagine having this view every night.”
“Did you notice the terrace that runs alongside?” JP asks.
“Oh! You do have one,” I say, noticing it for the first time. “I was so taken with the city I failed to see it.”
“It will be great when the weather cools down.”
“You’re so Swiss. I could sit out there in ninety-five-degree heat and be happy,” I tease.
“Are you saying I can’t handle the heat like a native Texan can?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”
JP laughs. “Are you sure? You were pretty confident about your bowling game, and that ended up costing me a dinner.”
I can’t repress the smile on my face. I like how he doesn’t give an inch on me.
“That was only because my muscles are still recovering from that photo shoot.”
“Right.”
I arch an eyebrow at him. “You don’t believe me? I’ll make you go to the next one. You can see how hard I work.”
JP stares straight at me. “Promise?”
I feel as though the wind has been knocked out of me. He’s not kidding now. JP is one hundred percent serious about wanting to see how I work on a shoot.
To my surprise, my normal instinct to blow that comment off, laugh, or change the topic to keep guys out of my personal life hasn’t surfaced.
“Yes,” I say simply. “You can.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
Ooh!
“I’ll have to set a date then,” I say, my heart beating out of my chest.
“You will,” JP says, “and I’ll be there.”
I know you will.
“Okay. I’ve got to set up your surprise, so you need to turn around and close your eyes. I know you can see my reflection in the glass.”
I dutifully turn around and close my eyes. I can hear him rustling in the bags as I wait.
“You never told me what I need to know about you,” JP asks.
I hear him open a cabinet and the sound of plates being taken out.
“Put the plates down first,” I instruct. “You might drop them in horror.”
I hear the plates being set on the countertop. “Plates are down. I’m prepared.”
“I’m messy.”
“Messy? How do you define messy?”
I hear him open another cabinet and then what sounds like glasses being put on his island.
“Messy, as in I leave plates on the coffee table. My mail is in a heap. My bed is never made. If I need to make a video for my Connectivity followers, I have to clean a spot first. I operate in full-on mess mode. Not dirty. Don’t confuse the two. But messy.”
JP is silent.
“It’s too much for you to bear, isn’t it?” I ask.
�
�If you ever ask me over, just be sure to shovel a path so I can find my way to the sofa. Oh, and remove all your fitness magazines and workout clothing so I can have a place to sit. Then I’m good.”
Another smile spreads across my face.
“You obviously like to embrace danger.”
“You have no idea,” JP deadpans. “All right. I’m ready. I’m going to come over and lead you to the kitchen because I don’t want you to open your eyes until I’m ready for you.”
“Okay.”
I turn around, keeping my eyes closed. I hear JP approach me, and then I feel him move around behind me. His hand gently covers my eyes, and every nerve I have jumps from the sensation of his touch.
He lowers his head toward my ear, and his wonderfully spicy cologne envelopes me.
“Insurance that you won’t peek,” he murmurs sexily in my ear.
My pulse skyrockets the instant I feel his warm breath against my ear.
Oh, my.
JP guides me through the living room. My heart is racing. Those butterflies are dancing.
And I don’t want to fight them.
“You’re in front of the island,” JP says, bringing me to a stop. “On three you can look. One . . . two . . . three!”
JP lifts his hand from my eyes, and I blink.
I gasp in complete surprise. In front of me are packages of Oreos, in all different flavors. I see the classic Oreo, Golden Oreo, Birthday Cake Oreo, Peanut Butter Oreo, and Mint Oreo. Then I spot individual cartons of all types of milk: dairy milk, almond milk, coconut milk, cashew milk, and soy milk.
JP did all of this.
Just for me.
I turn around to face him, absolutely delighted by the thought he put into my treat tonight.
“JP, this is amazing! All the Oreos!” I cry excitedly.
“Not all of them, but every flavor they had in stock.”
“This is the best surprise ever.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” I say happily. “I love this. Thank you.”
“You’re thrilled with Oreos and milk?” JP asks as if he doesn’t believe me.
“Who wouldn’t be?” I ask.
JP is studying me with that thoughtful expression again.
“You appreciate the small things.”
“Of course, I do. I appreciate the thought put into them, too,” I say softly. “Thank you for that.”
“What if I told you there was a motive?”
“Well, it’s not to get me into your bed, so go ahead,” I tease.
JP remains serious.
“I want to know your favorites,” he says. “What Oreos you like best. If you drink milk with them, and if you do, what kind of milk you drink. I need to know.”
I swear my heart is about to jump out of my chest.
“Why?” I ask quietly.
“It matters,” he answers, “because you matter. As far as you’re concerned, I want to get things right. Down to the Oreo.”
I can’t breathe as I look up at him and see his eyes shining back at me with nothing but complete sincerity.
JP is different. He’s not like any other man I’ve ever met. JP is worldly. Intelligent. Sophisticated. He pays attention to things that matter to him.
I’m one of those things, I realize, staring up at his gorgeous face.
And to my surprise, I find I like the idea.
Chapter 9
“Down to the Oreo, you say?” I ask, trying to project calm and cool when inside I’m dying over JP’s sweet gesture.
And even sweeter words.
“Down to the Oreo,” JP repeats, moving around to face me across the island. “If you had to pick one of these, which would it be?”
“How can I pick one?” I say, acting aghast at the question. I study the Oreo varieties in front of me before selecting one with chocolate cookies and birthday cake filling. “For research purposes, I like all of them, but tonight I feel like birthday cake.”
I peel back the tab to reveal the tray of cookies, but instead of eating one, I slide the package toward JP.
“I need to see how you eat an Oreo,” I say. “For research purposes. This is my version of important information I need to know.”
I wait to see how he responds to my test. I know I'm goofy. Strange. A lot of guys don't get me, and I'm curious to see if JP does.
I wait for the usual furrowed brow and question of why.
JP lifts an Oreo out and locks his eyes on me.
"There's only one way to eat an Oreo."
He twists the wafers apart. JP slowly eats the filling, pausing to lick the bottom of his lower lip to get the last of the filling before eating the chocolate part.
Oh, my, that’s hot.
JP finishes and turns to me.
"That," he says with certainty, "is how you eat an Oreo."
I can't breathe.
Because I'm pretty sure I just met my future husband.
I don’t say anything as JP pours himself a glass of milk to chase the cookie down with.
Did I just think husband?
Because he didn’t blink at the Oreo test? Because he eats it the exact same way that I do?
Shit, shit, shit.
Yes. That phrase again.
I’m losing my mind.
“Your turn,” JP says, sliding the package back toward me and interrupting the lunatic thoughts short-circuiting my brain.
I gladly take an Oreo as a distraction. I twist it apart, eat the filling, and then pop the chocolate wafers into my mouth.
JP grins at me. “We’re Oreo compatible.”
We’re compatible in a lot of ways, JP, I think as I look at him.
I shove the thought aside.
We’re hanging out.
That is all.
“We are,” I say.
“What can I pour you?” JP asks. “As you can see, I have craft milk on tap tonight.”
I giggle. “We’re such dorks. I’ll take a glass of coconut milk. That’s my preferred milk, by the way.”
“Good to know,” he says, opening the coconut milk and pouring me a glass. “One coconut milk.”
“Thank you. Where’s your tip jar?” I tease.
JP flashes me a smile, and my heart flutters as I return it.
I open the peanut butter Oreo package and retrieve one. “Don’t let me have any more than this. I’ll be monitoring my diet carefully tomorrow as it is.”
“I’ll join you in one more, but I want the classic,” JP says, lifting the top off that package.
We each indulge in a second Oreo, and after I finish mine, I sigh happily.
“I love these cookies so much,” I say. “They bring back happy memories for me. My grandma used to let us have these as a treat when we went to her place in Houston. I thought it was paradise. Mom was super restrictive on what we could eat, and sugar was forbidden.”
“Never?” JP asks, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “Not even on special occasions?”
“Nope. I remember my birthday cakes as a kid,” I say, cringing at the memory. “Ugh. Mom tried to make these healthy, alternative, all-natural cakes. They were horrible. Kids at school always teased me about the awful cake at my parties. Obviously, being the tallest girl in the class wasn’t enough to be teased about. I had to be the giraffe with the crappy birthday cakes, too!”
“I’m sorry you went through that,” JP says simply.
“Why? Every kid goes through shit at school,” I say. “It’s part of life.”
JP studies me thoughtfully before responding.
“You genuinely are Real.Life.Reese, aren’t you?” he asks, referring to the title of my website and blog.
&n
bsp; “What makes you say that?” I ask.
“You’re so honest,” he says quietly. “About the way you live and your life experiences. Most people design their online image. The perfect outfit, the perfect food shot, and the perfect filter. It’s unreality. But you don’t. You talk about eating cookies. You shoot yourself without makeup on. You’re telling me about being teased for being tall. You don’t pretend to be something you’re not.”
“I don’t think you do, either,” I say. “You were very real when we talked last night at dinner.”
“You got the real me last night, as you always will,” he says. “I don’t play games. I don’t pretend to not care when I do. I’m not a project for a girl to fix. I’m not a challenge, and I refuse to pretend to be one. I’m losing hope that women still want a good guy, but I’m not going to be an asshole to test that theory.”
My heart holds still. JP is once again laying his past hurts in front of me, pain caused by what he perceives as not being something he can’t be. He thinks he’s somehow not exciting because he’s nice and is the sweet guy who will always finish last with women.
Which is bullshit.
“Not all girls want a challenge.”
JP blinks.
I don’t.
“What do you want, Reese?” he asks softly.
My heart hammers against my ribs. I swallow hard. The instinct to joke, to make him laugh, to somehow push him a step back from getting closer should appear like it always does when a man asks me relationship questions.
My heart pounds harder with the realization that pushing JP away is the last thing I want.
“I want real,” I say, the words coming out before I think of stopping them.
I wait for him to flinch, for him to shove me back, perhaps, as I push the boundary of hanging out a bit. Because if we were merely hanging out, why would we talk about what we want in a relationship? It wouldn’t matter.
We’re talking about it because that’s what I want, I realize with a shock. I want to push this boundary.