by Bria Quinlan
John held out my wrap. As I shrugged into it, he ran his hand down my arm and clasped my hand. I smiled up at him, trying not to be all girly and start crying. This was John. Sweet, smart, funny, thoughtful, rescues-me-from-my-own-absurdity, John.
Tears would just be a red flag to his soft soul.
“Ready to go?”
“Um, yes?” I wasn't sure where we were going. Was he going to fake going home with me? That was definitely above and beyond the call of duty. Of course, the whole darn night was the definition of above and beyond.
John waved to the group and pulled me along, my hand still wrapped in his.
“The door guy said they have a deal with a cab company. We should be able to get one pretty quickly.”
“Great.”
John glanced down at me. The tone of my voice must have put not so in front of the great. I offered him up a smile, trying to move things along.
Luckily there was one cab left when we got to the portico. John opened the door and I slid in, only half-surprised when he joined me as I gave the driver my address. The driver asked lots of questions about our night and our outfits and whodunit. He seemed thrilled to hear we’d won, like we’d become local celebrities.
I listened with half an ear, trying to mmhmmm in the right places. When we pulled up in front of my condo, John paid the man and slid out behind me, not asking him to wait.
I have never felt so awkward in my life. So divided. I didn’t want him to leave. I wanted to just keep being with him, enjoying that smile and humor. But what I really, really needed was to just be alone for a little while.
“Did you want to come up?”
“No.” He grasped my hand again, sliding his fingers between mine and giving them a squeeze. “I was just going to walk you to your door and head home.”
“Oh. Okay.” Wow, well said, Sarah.
At the front door, John pulled my hand, forcing me to turn me to face him.
“I had a lot of fun tonight. Your friends are great. I really do like Becca and her guy.”
“Yeah. He was surprisingly nice. I was a little nervous about the whole met-on-a-plane thing. And she’s so sweet, I wouldn’t want to see her end up with someone taking advantage of that sweetness. I mean, she’s just so able to like everyone. She even likes Claire. Not that Claire is horrible. She just has this ridiculous competitive streak that seems to really come out around me. And she’s never mean to Becca. Kind of almost mothering sometimes. So, I guess that explains that. Angie is the one who—”
“Sarah.”
“—hardest to peg down. She’s the one who balances them ou—”
“Sarah.”
“—and keeps the peace.”
“Sarah.”
“I mean—”
John’s hand rose and wrapped around my cheek, pulling me up toward him as his mouth settled over mine. His kiss was everything I’d want in the perfect kiss. More powerful than I’d expected from him. Where I’d thought his kiss would be sweet and soft and comfortable, it was powerful and strong—overwhelmingly so. I felt it down to my toes and then back up to my knees just as they gave out. His other arm came around my waist and held me to him, keeping me there in his warmth as if I’d try to escape.
Slowly, with little brushes across my lips and down my jaw, he backed away. Still holding me to him, he blinked.
“Sarah—”
“I—”
“Don’t start babbling again. As endearing as it is, I need to get this said.” He brushed my hair back out of my face, that soft smile lying about what those lips could really do. “I don’t want you dating anyone else. Not at The Brew, not anywhere else. This isn’t about you being the last single girl—unless it’s about being my last single girl. I’ve been trying really hard for weeks not to throw out every single man who walked through the door. I’d been considering implementing a policy that if you weren’t accompanied by a woman, you weren’t allowed in.”
“Oh.” That was perfect. But…“Who’s sweetheart? The girl you talk to on the phone?”
John looked confused a moment before he started laughing. “Sweetheart would be my goddaughter, Emmi. Emmi calls me weekly to tell me about kindergarten.”
“Emmi?”
“Right. Emmi. Goddaughter.” He brushed another kiss across my cheek. “You’ve driven me to insanity. And I kept waiting—hoping—you’d come in one day and say, John, I don’t want to date any of these eLove guys. I realize after watching a parade of tall, wealthy suits that I’m not your type, but I want to date you. I don’t want you dating anyone else.”
He stopped and gave me that look. That look he gave me when I was doing something he thought was going to get me in trouble. I couldn’t help but wonder if he thought dating him would get me in trouble.
I looked up into those brown eyes, the crinkles in the corner etching out as he looked down at me.
“Well?”
“Well, I was worried about being the last single girl…”
“Sarah, I’m not joking.”
“I…” I was trying so hard to play it cool, but I had no idea what someone who was playing it cool said when they were being offered exactly what they wanted. “When you walked in tonight, I was more than relieved. I was ecstatic. But I thought you were seeing someone. And before that, I didn’t know…I’d been miserable thinking about seeing you again and having to just be friends. I was already coming up with reasons—”
His mouth came down on mine again, softer this time, less urgent, but still so, so very sweet.
“Again with the babbling.”
“Babbling equals kiss. I’ll keep that in mind.” I grinned, too happy to do anything else. “Did you know that in the twenties, the art deco movement that was so popular here actually originated in France when—”
That’s as far as I got before he kissed me again.
Worth the Fall
Worth the Fall
Kasey Lane is having a bad week.
Understatement.
Her idea of success never involved losing her job, man, and apartment in 24-hours. Now, with nowhere to go and no way to pay for it anyway, Kasey decides it’s time for a fresh start, which means a new apartment, a new career, and…no men.
But as a magnet for ridiculousness and absurd brushes with the law, her start goes from fresh to stale in record time. It doesn’t help that Mr. Wrong keeps showing up during her adventures gone awry and taking over. Now, as Kasey plans her way to independence she has to decide if the only path to success is going it alone...or if maybe a partner in crime can make the journey sweeter.
1
“You’re dumping me?”
I could not believe this was happening. Every time. Every time I thought this week couldn’t get worse—BAM! It did.
“Come on, Kasey. You can’t be shocked by this.” Jason looked at me over the very nice, very expensive dinner he’d invited me to, pity shining through those narrowed eyes.
I sucked in a deep breath, glancing away to focus because this just didn’t make sense.
“You’re really doing this tonight? Seriously?” At the moment, I was more shocked than heartbroken. Although, as I pondered it, heartbreak would probably attack as soon as I was home alone in my apartment…my very, very empty apartment.
I’d have to sit on the floor to have a good cry.
“I’m sorry you’re so surprised,” Jason said, although he didn’t sound the least bit sorry.
“Surprised? I was supposed to move in with you this weekend.”
He tipped his head to the side and looked at me like he might be humoring a child. “You can’t really move in now, right?”
“Well, not if you’re breaking up with me I can’t, can I?” My voice shot up. It sounded a bit hysterical even to my own ears. In the back of my mind, I realized people were beginning to look our way. Jason was going to hate that.
He reached across the table and wrapped his hand around mine, giving it a harsh squeeze. Even his fake comfort was�
��well, fake.
“If you moved, how were you going to pay your half of the rent? How would you be able to carry your weight?”
Carry my weight? We’d been dating for almost three years and now he was dumping me because I might not be able to pay rent for a couple months on a condo he already owned?
“Give me a break, Jason. I lost my freaking job yesterday. Do you think I have nothing in the bank? You pick the day after I got laid-off to do this?” The hysteria was gone. In its place my emotional cup was filled to the brim with near-blinding rage.
“The economy is tight.” He shrugged as if none of this really mattered. “Who’s to say you’ll find something right away?”
I could not believe this. Could. Not. Believe it. Just last week we’d finished selling all my furniture on Craigslist because his already “fit” in his place. I’d canceled my lease, paid the fine to break it, and was homeless as of the end of the month—which conveniently happened in two days.
“Here.” He handed me a card.
A card. I looked at the lavender sealed envelope. Was I supposed to open it? Did Hallmark really make an I’m-Dumping-Your-Ass-But-Good-Luck-With-Everything card?
“What’s this?”
“That’s the first month’s rent and half of the security you’d paid. I figured it was only fair to give it back.”
You think? I looked down at the card again, wondering what he’d written in it, tempted to open it right then. In retrospect, giving him the security deposit should have been the first sign.
Okay, maybe not the first.
“So, where exactly do you think I’m going to live?”
Scorn. I’d moved from rage to scorn. I was now officially a woman scorned.
No wonder men weren’t supposed to cross us. If hell had no fury like me at that moment, it still had a lot of leash to run on. I could have gutted him with the fancy fish knife resting against my plate.
“Well, I don’t want to sound heartless,” Jason continued studying his plate before looking up with the least empathetic expression I’d ever seen, “but that’s not really my problem now, is it?”
The woman at the next table gasped and that’s when I realized most of the tables had fallen silent to the melodrama playing out that was my life.
“No. I guess not. I guess when you dump your girlfriend because she lost her job, you think just about nothing is your problem.” I pushed my chair out, wrapped myself in my Ann Taylor jacket, and picked up my purse. “Oh, wait. You know what your problem is?”
He shook his head, a small smirk yanking his mouth up into cruel tips on each side.
“Getting Bordeaux out of cashmere.” I picked up our half empty bottle of wine and dumped it out on his head. “Good luck with that.”
I stormed away, a smattering of applause following me in my wake. Angry tears nearly blinded me by the time I reached the lobby.
“Please. Allow me.” The host pushed the door open and held it for me as I marched into the cool, spring night. “Good luck, miss.”
Yeah. I was going to need it.
2
In front of the restaurant, off to the side, sat Jason’s BMW M5. Just sat there. Innocently enough. Of course, it wasn’t offering me a ride home and Jason had picked a restaurant nowhere near a bus or train.
But, there it was. Right there. Jason didn’t believe in paying for valet parking and this spot had been dumb luck.
I waited a moment to see if he’d come out to check on me. If maybe—just maybe—he was human enough to make sure I was okay and give me a ride home.
When two minutes went by with me adjusting to the slight sting of night air, I realized there was no way he was going to waste a perfectly good steak. He’d probably stripped off that sweater, tossed it at a waitress to soak, and dug back in.
I eyed the BMW.
I eyed the valet.
I eyed the BMW again.
To be fair, it hadn’t done anything to me. But, as an extension of Jason, this mess of a night, and everything that was wrong in my life right now, it was a pretty good target. Slipping down next to the front tire, I took the cap off the air valve. With my key, I sloooooowwwllly let the air out of the tire with a gentle shush until the rim rested on the ground.
Then I moved on to the next tire. And the next.
I considered leaving one tire inflated just because it looked out of place. But when you got right down to it, that little hiss of air was extremely cathartic. So, I deflated that one too.
Settling on a sidewalk bench, I called a cab hoping I wouldn’t have cause to stress about the expense later. I ignored the chilly end-of-summer night air and waited.
It took Jason seven more minutes to finally appear. I wondered if he’d had dessert. Probably. Probably even made sure it was that flan I loved, just out of spite.
He pretended not to notice me and he definitely didn’t notice all the flat tires. Until he opened the door. Then he noticed the car seemed to be a little lower than normal. Then the tires. Then me.
The look on his face—it was a beautiful thing.
He didn’t approach me or come around the Beemer. He just screeched at me over the hood.
“You slashed my tires?”
“No. I would never slash anyone’s tires. Even yours.” Then, because I could admit to myself this might have gotten a little ridiculous—no matter how cathartic it was—I added, “Grow up.”
Kettle, pot. Good times.
“So they magically flattened themselves?” Snide. How had I never noticed this snide streak in him?
Three years of not noticing? That seemed excessive even for someone as focused on her schooling and career as I had been. I began to question every conversation where he made himself out to be the clever one, smarter than everyone around him and realized clever probably hadn’t been the right word. That was definitely on me. I had better get a little more aware if I was going to survive in the world as an adult.
And maybe stop insisting that Jell-O was a food group. But, some standards remained with us past childhood.
“I don’t know about magic. I mean, what is magic anyway? I think it would have been magic if my cab had gotten here before you decided to see if I’d been picked up hitchhiking. But, alas, I’m still waiting.” I smiled at him. One of those big, shiny smiles that really says Ha Ha To You Buddy instead of Hey, You’re Kinda Cute. No more Cute smiles for him. “So, I suspect, the world of magic is dead.”
I picked up a newspaper someone had left on the bench and pretended to read. It must have looked silly there in the dim light of the streetlamp, but it seemed like a logical prop for this farce I was finally taking an active role in.
“You think you can just flatten my tires and I’m not going to call the cops?” He was already dialing. “Hello? 911? Yeah, I want to report an assault. No. I’m not hurt. I wasn’t the one assaulted.”
At this point I was having a hard time believing he’d called 911—that he was calling this an assault—not to mention I’d actually dated this idiot for thirty-three months. That was more than a month for every year of my life.
Maybe I was the idiot.
“No,” he continued, still glaring at me over the hood. “No one is hurt. Well, not hurt exactly…I’m not sure what the weapon was…No, I don’t need an ambulance. Just a cop.”
By this point, the host had come out to join the valet. The two whispered and stared. I heard a snicker escape from one of them.
“My car…She assaulted my car…Well, the tires are flat…Does it matter? I want a cop and I want one now.”
Christmas came the same time every year. Maybe, just for the heck of it, I’d send him a copy of How to Win Friends and Influence People. You know, with a nice little note in the front about his people skills and a good luck with life note.
“Fine. But he better hurry. What do I do if she tries to leave?” He looked my way again, laying his hand on the hood and petting the paint job lightly. “What do you mean I can’t hold her against her
will? Fine. But I better hear sirens within the next three minutes.”
He hung up, shoved his phone in his pocket, and he stabbed a finger at me from twelve feet away. “Do not go anywhere.”
For the first time since I’d called the cabbie, I was kind of hoping he’d gotten lost. It might be worth having a record to watch Jason’s tantrum play out.
When the cop showed up a few minutes later, there was a distinct lack of sirens. I was almost disappointed.
The officer got out of the car and glanced at the BMW. He shook his head a little as he reached back in the car for a notebook, straightened his cap, and then headed toward Jason.
“What seems to be the problem here, sir?”
Oh. I liked this guy already. If the flat tone of his voice showed how he was really feeling about this situation, I really liked him. I didn’t think I was going to mind being arrested by someone who saw the ridiculousness here.
“My car has been assaulted.”
I really couldn’t believe he hadn’t rethought that wording since hanging up with the 911 dispatcher.
“She,” he stabbed that finger my way again, “attacked it.”
I was back to pretending to read the newspaper and ignoring him.
“She attacked your car?” The cop was walking around the car for the second time and squatted to look at the front tire closest to the restaurant’s lights. “These aren’t slashed.”
“They’re flat.” Jason sounded as if this was the equivalent of a mass war crime.
“But they aren’t slashed. Someone just let the air out.”
“But, they’re flat.” Jason finally came around the hood and kept coming. Before I knew what he was going to do, he grabbed my arm and yanked me to my feet. “She flattened my tires. I want her arrested.”
How had I ever dated such an ass? Really? I should probably see a therapist just to figure out if I was over whatever stupidity I’d been living under for the last few years.
Of course, to see a therapist I was going to need health benefits.