by A. J. Pine
Grace spun toward the noise and returned to his side in seconds, easing him back onto his stool.
“What the fuck was that?” he asked.
“How many beers did you have?”
He shook his head, waiting for his focus to return.
Pete rushed out from behind the bar and began picking up the broken pieces of plate and spilled food, tossing them into a bus bin. Grace dropped to a squat to help him. Jeremy knew he should do the same, but he didn’t trust his body not to repeat the previous performance.
“You stole the rest of my third,” he said, annoyance in his tone even though he was having trouble finishing the drink. He may have been a little tipsy and feeling slightly lousy on top of the tipsiness, but he didn’t miss the judgment in her tone when she walked away and in her question just now.
“You shouldn’t drink after massage,” she reiterated, lobbing his irritated tone right back at him as she stood along with Pete, who nodded to them both before he rushed back behind the bar to dispose of the mess Jeremy had just made.
“Now you tell me,” Jeremy bit back, raising his almost empty glass of water and throwing back the last couple of sips.
“Give him another one of those,” Grace said, eyeing the water glass. Pete obliged with a refill.
“Sorry I’m late! I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
A sweet and perky voice broke through the irritation, and Jeremy and Grace both turned to see Kaylee standing behind their stools.
“I had to wait for the towels to finish drying before I could fold them and put them away.” Jeremy noted an apologetic tone in her voice. “Which is funny because I thought the towels were done, but Grace said they were still damp, so she put them on for another cycle.”
He smiled, hoping Kaylee could see his apology. Because he was in no shape for whatever might have happened between them tonight.
He chugged the water, hoping it would buy him a few seconds to think of what to say next, how to let one woman down easily while not scaring the other one away.
“Well,” Grace said, standing again with her weird green drink. “I was just—”
“Making sure I got to my room okay,” Jeremy blurted. Grace’s eyes widened just as Kaylee’s narrowed. “I messed up,” he added. “Drinking after massage and, well, now I feel like hell. Rain check?” he asked, grinning at Kaylee.
She crossed her arms, her perkiness turning into something tight and coiled. She could probably use a massage. Normally, he’d kick his own ass for passing up a night with a girl like Kaylee. He tried to convince himself it was nothing more than the combined effects of the alcohol and massage, but he wasn’t ready to watch Grace walk away, even if all that lay ahead of them was a short elevator ride.
“Yeah,” she said, an undeniable bite in her tone. “Sure. Rain check.” She eyed Grace up and down. “Good night, Grace.”
Then she sauntered off toward the other end of the bar where she was being flagged down by someone she apparently knew.
“You’re unbelievable,” Grace said.
He raised his brows and brought his hand dramatically to his chest.
“Me?” he asked. “You’re the one who got us into this situation. Wasn’t it up to you to give me post-op instructions instead of leaving it to the receptionist? And now here I am, dehydrated. Ailing. Imagine the guilt you’d feel if you heard how I fainted in the stairwell.”
She groaned. “What floor are you on?” she asked.
“Two,” he said with a triumphant grin.
“Fine. Only because I’m on the same floor.”
His brows pulled together. “Do you live here?”
She shook her head. “Just on weekends. Now, last I checked, you were a grown man and certainly capable of getting to your room on your own, but only because I maybe should have been the one to give you your post-op instructions, I will walk with you to the elevator—no stairs—and ride with you to the second floor. I will walk to my room, and you will walk to yours, and if at any point during said walking you should happen to faint, I will call for emergency assistance.” She waved her hand in the air like she was swatting at a bug. “Or whatever you do in those situations.”
Jeremy chuckled.
“What?” she asked, clearly still annoyed.
“You’re kind of beautiful when you’re pissed off,” he said.
She shook her head. “Stop flirting with me.” Then she started her trek toward the bar’s exit, slow enough that he knew she was waiting for him.
He stood slower this time, his blood pressure obeying, and called to Pete. “Just put it all on room two-eleven, Pete. Add in whatever gratuity you want and whatever that plate cost, will you?”
Pete glanced at Jeremy over his shoulder as he poured another patron a pint. He nodded, and Jeremy decided to forgive the guy for winking at Grace.
When he caught up to her, he asked, “Why?”
“Why what?” she asked when they made it into the lobby, though she wasn’t slowing down. She couldn’t get to the elevator fast enough. Her finger was on the up button, and the door opened before he responded.
She stepped in first, pivoting to lean on the back wall as she crossed her free arm over her chest and brought her drink to her mouth with the other.
Jeremy waited for the doors to close, making sure they were alone. He pressed two and took a step toward her, yet left a respectable distance between them. He closed his eyes and breathed in the tangy scent of lime.
“Why,” he said softly as he opened his eyes, “should I stop flirting with you?”
His gaze held hers, or maybe it was the other way around, because those caramel-colored irises rooted him where he stood, even though she was narrowing her eyes at him. He also kind of enjoyed her full pink lips wrapped around that straw, even if her intent was to look irritated rather than sexy. She probably had no clue that she couldn’t avoid the latter.
She reached into the bag slung over her shoulder and pulled out a book, slapping it against his chest.
Jeremy grabbed it, breaking their eye contact to read the title.
Man Cleanse: Six Months to a Healthy, Happy You…and the Road to True Love by Suzanne Summerville.
He laughed out loud as the doors opened, and Grace brushed past him in a huff.
“Wait!” he called after her as she stalked down the hallway. “Wait, you’re serious?”
She slowed to a halt, and he rounded in front of her, offering the book back.
She took it. “You seem perfectly well on your feet, now, Mr. Denning. But you should probably drink some more water before you go to sleep.” She dropped the book back into her bag and took another sip of her drink. “And yes. I’m serious. But I thank you for your judgment.”
He glanced to his right. They were standing in front of his room, and he knew for certain he was walking into it alone. Yet something held him there, his foggy brain churning to come up with something—anything—to make her stay and talk to him for a minute or two or three or more.
He backed up to room two-eleven, then slid to the floor, bringing his knees to his chest.
“What the hell are you doing?” she asked.
He looked over his shoulder, then back at her.
“I’m sitting on the floor outside my room.”
She huffed out a breath.
“Why are you sitting on the floor outside your room? You should be in there. Drinking water. Kaylee could even come help you…rehydrate.” She rolled her eyes. “Sorry. That was out of line.”
He crossed his arms and gave her a self-satisfied grin. “I guess I’m not the only one who’s quick to judge, huh?”
She took an angry-looking sip of her drink, biting the straw and sucking the liquid through clenched teeth.
Dammit. She was still sexy. But he could be a gentleman. He wasn’t completely out of practice.
“Tell me about the book,” he said, hoping she could sense his sincerity. “I didn’t mean to judge. I just— I thought you were jok
ing. But you’re not. And…well, I like you, Grace. And I know if I walk into my room right now, I probably won’t ever see you again. So humor me and tell me about your book. I want to know.”
She eyed him for several seconds, sizing him up. She must have decided his request was, in fact, in earnest because she mirrored his move, backing toward the door across the hall and sliding down against it.
He grinned, grateful for a few extra minutes with a woman who continued to intrigue him. “What happens if the inhabitants of two-twelve order room service later and find you outside their door?”
Shit. The thought of such a thing happening if he phoned for a late-evening snack sent his mind to places it shouldn’t go. His dick apparently hadn’t gotten the memo that it was out of commission for the night, and he felt himself harden and strain against his jeans.
Gentleman, he reminded himself.
She laughed softly, setting her drink on the ground and retrieving a room key from her bag. “I should be the only one with a key to two-twelve.”
He whacked his head gently against his own door.
“You’re killing me here, Grace. It’s one thing if I have to say good-night to you and have it end there. But now I have to lie in there knowing you’re just across the hall?”
She crossed her long, lean, bare legs in front of her. Because, of course, she was still wearing what must be her work uniform, her hotel polo and a pair of shorts.
He swallowed hard. She watched him do it.
“So the book,” she said, bringing him back to reality. “You really want to know?”
No. I’d like to kiss you and see what that green drink tastes like.
He cleared his throat. “Yes. I really want to know.”
She pulled it back out of her bag and set it on her lap. Then she reached in again and pulled out a bottle of water and rolled it across the floor to him.
He laughed. “Are you carrying a clown car over your shoulder?”
She pursed her lips. “No. Now drink your water.”
He held up the bottle in a gesture of cheers. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She rested her hand on top of the book. “So, you promise you’re not going to laugh?”
He crossed his heart and took several long sips from his water bottle. Damn he was thirsty. And he was certain he wouldn’t laugh. Because she trusted him, and whether or not he would admit it to anyone else, it felt good to have someone’s trust. It had been a long time since a woman had given it to him. Or him to her.
“Well,” she said, “it’s pretty simple. I have…issues telling the difference between physical attraction and emotional connection. Or, I guess you could say that I let my physical attraction blind me to red flags in a relationship.”
“Red flags?”
She nodded. “You know, giving my ex my debit card so he could borrow the deposit we needed for a great apartment we couldn’t let go, then finding out he gambled it away in this underground poker club. Little things like that. Red flags.”
Jeremy’s hand clenched into a fist.
“Jesus, Grace. Where the hell is this asshole?”
She shrugged. “That’s not the point. The point is that I need to start thinking clearly. I need to clean up my life and not prove my family right that I’ve made all the wrong choices.” She held out the book. “So this is the answer. It’s got, like, a thousand four- and five-star reviews on Amazon. The author is this huge self-help guru, and she claims the cleanse changed her life.” Grace paused and raised her brows. “I needed something big to change mine.”
Jeremy finished his water and tucked away all the innuendo he wanted to spout in response to Grace wanting to change her life. Because as much as he lamented not being able to kiss her—and then some—he respected her resolve. Her resistance. Even if it meant she resisted him.
“How far in are you?” he asked.
She let out a bitter laugh. “Today marks three months of clean eating and clean—”
“Sleeping?” he interrupted, filling the pause.
Her smile softened. “Yeah. I guess you could say that. Also…the no-laughing thing still holds, by the way.”
He nodded. “There’s more?”
“Uh-huh. So, I’m not, like, religious or anything. But I do believe there’s a give-and-take out there.” She waved her hand in the air. “In the universe. And I’ve taken a lot. Then someone—he who I will not name—took from me. And, long story short, because you know way too much already, I need to start giving instead of taking. That’s the only way I’m going to get my head on straight again.”
“Of course,” he said, doing his best to keep his expression stoic.
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re mocking me.”
He sighed. “No. I’m not mocking you. I might be calling bullshit in my head, but I respect that it’s what you believe. I just don’t buy into all that spiritual…stuff.” He stopped himself from being too much of an asshat, but it was the truth. Because if there was some cosmic power out there, he’d probably pissed it off on more than one occasion. Meeting someone like Grace only to find out she was completely and totally off-limits would be a fitting consequence if he had.
She stood up, and Jeremy scrambled to his feet as well.
“Don’t go,” he said.
She smiled, and he thought he saw a twinge of regret in the gesture.
“What would be the point in staying?” she asked. “Why don’t we just call this what it is—bad timing.”
She stuck out her hand to shake, and because he didn’t know what else to do, he shook it. What would be the point in this carrying on any further if it wouldn’t go beyond the hallway or beyond tonight?
“It was nice to meet you, Jeremy.”
Her hand was still in his. He hadn’t let go, and she hadn’t yet pulled away.
“It was nice to meet you, too, Grace.”
She let go, and he was forced to do the same.
“To better timing?” he said, holding up his empty water bottle.
She gave him a half smile and held up her drink as well. “To better timing.”
She raised the straw to her lips.
“Wait!” Jeremy blurted. She flinched. “Sorry. Just—what’s in that?”
She laughed. A genuine yet short-lived yelp of laughter with a smile that brightened the whole goddamned hallway. If he remembered anything from tonight, it would be that he put that smile on her face.
“Kale, apple, and lemon.”
He grimaced. “That’s your usual?”
She tapped the bottom of her cup to his water bottle and took the sip that solidified their toast, and also signaled the end of their brief acquaintance.
“Good night, Jeremy.”
“Good night, Grace.”
She pivoted and walked into her room, and Jeremy watched her disappear through the door, waiting as it clicked shut. And then he stood there for several seconds more, clueless as to why.
It had been three years since he’d wanted to just talk to a woman. Okay, fine. If she would have slept with him, there probably would have been less talking going on. But the fact of the matter was that they had talked. Only talked. And he had liked it enough that he would have sat in that hallway until his seminar began the next morning.
Instead he finally turned toward his own door and walked inside, realizing that he’d been doing more than watching. He was waiting. And even worse, hoping.
He shook his head as the door slammed shut behind him. Hope was overrated, even if the symbol of it was fucking tattooed on his back.
He kicked off his shoes and unbuttoned his jeans, then padded over to the bed. He picked up the TV remote and pointed it at the screen, then thought better of it and closed his eyes instead.
“Better timing,” he said softly to himself. “There’s no such thing.”
Chapter Four
Grace sat in her Subaru, a hand-me-down from her hotshot lawyer sister, and wondered how the hell she kept losing umbrell
as. Seriously. Every umbrella she’d ever purchased ran off in search of a better life, or maybe to convene with all the socks that had escaped from various dryers. Sure, she could always buy a new one, but the only time she lamented the absence of rain protection was when it was freaking raining.
Those weren’t drops hitting her windshield. Rain pelted the glass in Solo cup doses. She didn’t have a choice but to exit the vehicle, though. She needed gas if she was going to make the almost three-hour drive home. She’d had just enough to make it to Madison Thursday night, promising herself she’d hit the first gas station on her way out of town on Sunday—the one that made you pay inside.
Well, here she was. On Sunday. There was a torrential downpour threatening to cave in the roof of her car. And she had pulled up to the only open pump, one not covered by any sort of overhang. Not that it mattered. The rain was moving sideways now, so this would no doubt be a memorable experience.
She popped open the gas tank with the lever inside the car, readied her debit card, and hiked her denim jacket over her shoulders, lifting the collar in an attempt to cover her head.
The rest was a blur. She wasn’t sure if she chose regular or premium, but when she inserted the nozzle into her tank and pressed the handle, the gas started to flow.
She laughed as she ran toward the station store. If she was going to abstain for three more months, at least her car got lucky every now and then. Her laughter ceased as her foot sank ankle-deep into the puddle she hadn’t seen just before she made it to the door.
“Son of a preacher man!” she cursed as she made it inside. Her left Dansko clog was practically its own puddle now, and as she squished past the entrance, the icy cold denim against her arms and legs finally sank in, and her whole body shivered involuntarily.
“Son of a preacher man?”
The voice registered before she looked up and over the shelves of chips and pretzels to where Jeremy faced her from the neighboring aisle. One of his hands held a cup of coffee, the other a soaking wet umbrella.
She couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him, especially since she could barely sleep last night after their…whatever it was…outside their doors.