The Only Thing

by Marie Harte

  “Racquetball?” She would have made more fun of him if a floral delivery hadn’t interrupted them.

  Immediately nervous, she let Cam handle it.

  “Delivery for Hope Donnigan.” The young guy looked her way.

  “I’ll take them,” Cam said.

  The kid shrugged. “No problem. Sign here.”

  Cam signed a clipboard and took the vase full of yellow roses. Then he handed the kid a few bills.

  “Thanks.” The guy smiled and left.

  Cam reached into the flowers for the small card, which was addressed to her. “You want me to open it?”

  She nodded, feeling tense, scared, and annoyed with herself for getting so bent over flowers.

  He read it and frowned. Then he looked at her.

  “What?”

  “Read this.”

  She took the card.

  Flowers from me, finally. To my very good friend. And thanks for helping me keep the ecosystem clear. J.T.W.

  The note was handwritten.

  She smiled as happiness replaced her worry.

  “What’s this about an ecosystem?” Cam asked.

  She shook her head. “Never mind. And yes, before you ask, they’re from J.T. We’re friends, Cam. Just friends.”

  “Uh-huh.” He shot her a sly grin. “What do you think Del would have to say about your friendly flowers?”

  “I can quit, you know. Then it would just be you here. By yourself. Making your own coffee and filing your own paperwork until Alex gets back. And he’s worse than you with spreadsheets.”

  Cam blinked. “Ah, kidding. You know, I should get back to work.”

  “Yeah, you should.” She watched him hightail it back down the hall.

  Finding herself alone, she took a large sniff of the roses, not surprised to find them sweet, the petals soft, vibrant. So pretty.

  Hope sighed. He’d gotten her flowers.

  She set them on her desk and continued to glance at them throughout the rest of her day.

  After work, Cam walked her to her car, and she texted J.T. to let him know she was leaving—and that she’d gotten the flowers. She’d decided to take them home, because she’d be better off mooning over him in private, and every darn time she looked at the flowers, she thought of him.

  Once at home and ensconced in her favorite ratty pajamas, she had no intention of doing more than watching some TV before getting an early night’s sleep. She’d been playing hooky from the gym lately, and her body felt sluggish.

  Her phone dinged, alerting her to a text. Glad you liked the roses. They smell good. Not as good as you though.

  She had to text him back. Flowers from YOU? That’s romantic. Hey, is this really J.T.?

  He sent her a goofy cross-eyed emoji. You’re spelling correctly. Is this really Hope?

  Ass.

  Witch.

  Speaking of…oh heck. I’m calling you.

  Her fingers were getting tired. She dialed J.T., and when he answered, she said, “Speaking of witch, are you ready to meet my mom and dad?”

  “You’re going to hell for that.”

  “Probably.”

  They both laughed.

  “We’re not done prepping, you know,” J.T. said. “Besides, you haven’t seen my place yet. If we’re dating, shouldn’t you have been over by now?”

  “Yes, but this is a fake relationship.”

  “Yes,” he said patiently. “But a good lie has a lot of truth in it. So if you can describe my place because you’ve really been there, you won’t trip yourself up too much.”

  “Good point.” Not really. They both knew she didn’t need to go to his house to prove anything. But she wanted to see where he lived, and he apparently wanted her there.

  She kept waiting for awkwardness to drive a wedge between them. Not only had they fooled around many times, but he’d stayed the night. In her bed. With her.

  Yet J.T. remained the same. No drama, tons of fun, and he made her laugh when not making her scream from pleasure.

  She groaned.

  “What?”

  “You’re kind of annoying.”

  “Kind of? I must not be doing it right.”

  She bit back a laugh. “Totally annoying. Aren’t guys supposed to be clingy and need a lot of stroking? Not physically—get your mind out of the gutter. I mean, like, a lot of ego stroking?”

  “I can’t speak for all guys in general, but I know I love stroking.” A deliberate pause. “The ego kind, I mean.”

  “Ha ha.” She’d done a lot of that Monday night. They’d touched and kissed and touched some more. But she hadn’t given J.T. a real blow job, and they hadn’t technically had sex, involving penetration.

  She had a feeling no matter how much she kept protesting that they refrain from taking that final step, that for all J.T. agreed with her, they were heading down a dark path. Well, a sex-filled path at least, because she was dying to feel him inside her. So much so that she’d started taking her birth control pills again. A very bad sign.

  “Any other problems with your admirer?” J.T. asked.

  “Nope. Not since Monday. I still feel weird about worrying, because it’s just flowers.”

  “And a pastry. And watching you while we were bowling. Look, the bastard knows enough about you to know what you eat and when you eat there. He knows where you work too. It’s okay to feel weird. I’m glad you’re taking this seriously.”

  “Hey, I’ve seen enough horror movies where the idiot woman—and it’s always a woman—goes into the basement of the abandoned insane asylum by herself. Then lo and behold, she’s chased the entire movie by inbred mutants and dies at the end. No thanks.”

  “Hey, I’ve seen that movie. Except no one wore pants, and it was called The Nine-Inch Beasts of Sex Asylum 13. Great flick.”

  She laughed. “Sounds awesome.” She waited a moment. “Nine inches, huh?”

  “Too intimidating for you? So I guess we’ll never be having real sex, then?”

  “Come on. Nine?”

  “Every man has at one time or another in his life measured his cock. I’m no different. So maybe I’m eight and a half and stretching it. Get it? Stretching it?”

  “Wow. Your jokes are getting worse. Sexual and just bad.”

  “Eh. It’s late, and I worked on a huge pain in the ass today. Cut me some slack.”

  “What happened? And when can I come watch you work?”

  “Anytime you want. But I know your boss is a ballbuster. If he’s anything like his wife, you’d better watch your step.”

  She grinned, then remembered his comment to Cam about blonds. “What did you mean when you asked about your second-favorite blond? Did you and Vanessa date?”

  He burst out laughing, and the brick of jealousy lodged in her brain crumbled and vanished. “Vanessa? You’re kidding, right? I was into her for about five seconds, at the same time she was knocked up with Cam’s kidlet. Nothing happened there. What can I say? I like blonds, and Vanessa is pretty. She’s not you, but she’s decent.”

  Flustered but not wanting to show it, Hope tried to change the subject back to his pain-in-the-butt client.

  “Hold on,” J.T. interrupted her. “If you can ask about Vanessa, I figure I can ask about your guy.”

  “What guy?”

  “You remember, Dr. Steven, the guy your mom is trying to set you up with? What’s wrong with him?”

  “Besides being rich, handsome, and pleasant? Oh, and a doctor?”

  “Yeah, besides that,” he growled.

  She grinned. “Nothing. He’s nice enough, I guess. But he’s got my mom as a referral, which I find a definite mood killer.”

  “Ah.”

  “And before you ask, I met him after the first flowers were delivered.”

  “Oh.�
�� He sounded disappointed.

  “I told him I wasn’t in the market for a man. That’s why I’m with you,” she added in a chipper tone.

  “You’re not that funny.”

  “I don’t know. I’m laughing.”

  “That’s because you’re too far away from me to do anything about it.” He chuckled. “If you were here, I—Hold on a minute.” She heard him yell at someone, then what sounded like a door being opened. “Oh, hey, come in.”

  She heard a woman’s voice, and once again jealousy reared its ugly head. Stop it, Hope. He can have girl friends. Just not girlfriends. Ugh. I hate relationships! Even fake ones.

  He came back to the phone. “Sorry. Rena’s here looking frazzled. I gotta go. Talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

  Rena—his cousin. Hope’s mood perked up again. “Sure.”

  “I’ll come by your work at five thirty.”

  “Make it six. We have a lot going on tomorrow.”

  “Cool. Six, then. I’ll trail you home, then drive you to my place. And Hope?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Bring an overnight bag. We have a lot of cramming to get done.” His evil laughter didn’t help.

  She groaned. “That’s enough out of you. Go comfort your cousin.”

  “Later, Blondie.” He hung up.

  Hope sighed. Wishing she didn’t miss him already. This fake relationship was already better than any real one she’d had in years. Hell, it was better than any she’d ever had.

  “I need therapy… And I’m still not talking to Ava about this.” Because she didn’t want to hear from a trained professional that she was making a mistake with J.T.

  * * *

  J.T. didn’t like his cousin’s puffy eyes and quivering lips. When his sister and Rena had lived together, he’d been close enough to feel like he could help if they needed it. Rainier wasn’t a bad section of town, though it sure wasn’t as upscale as Queen Anne, where Del now lived, or even Fremont, where Hope resided.

  “Okay, tell me.” He held out his arms, and she threw herself into them and started sobbing. “Hey, sweetie. Rena, honey, what happened?”

  She cried until she hiccupped, and when she pulled away, she looked both sad and cute instead of just cute. Everyone liked his cousin, well, except the racist assholes who’d been plaguing Ray’s lately. But from what he’d heard, Heller and a few guys who frequented the bar had been kicking a lot of ass. And Ray hadn’t made idle threats either. The stupid white-power dicks trying to make a move on Ray’s had picked the wrong damn place to set up shop.

  “Does this have to do with Fletcher?” One of the worst offenders.

  He had the sense Fletcher had a thing for Rena, but because she wasn’t white, it was aggravating the shithead something fierce. The attention the guy had given her when she hadn’t been looking bothered the hell out of J.T.

  “Who? Oh, no.” She pulled away in search of a box of tissues. Then she sat on the couch with him, holding the box, and frowned. “Did you clean up in here?”

  He shrugged. “It was time. The dust mites were building condos in front of the TV. It was getting so I couldn’t see.”

  She gave a wan smile and teared up again. “Darn it.”

  “Tell me before I go out hurting random people for maybe bothering you.”

  She sniffed. “It’s the shop.”

  “The shop?” Not a guy harassing her, then. He started to relax.

  She nodded. “The place I’d had my eye on, the one near the garage? The landlady told me it was mine. I’m so close to getting the money all together, J.T. My budget is nearly there. I swung by today, just to look at the place, and someone’s in there.” She started crying again.

  “Rena, you’ll find a better spot.” God knew she’d worked her ass off for years trying to finance her own salon. Rena cut his hair. She styled the guys at the garage and a bunch of their friends too. It wasn’t pity or friendship that had his buddies going to Rena, though. The girl had skill and a smile that made you want to spend time with her.

  “Look. You’ve saved. You’ve taken business classes, and you’re one hell of a stylist. Everyone likes you. Even Fletcher, that shithead, though he hates himself for it.”

  She gave a small laugh and hitched her breath on a sob.

  “You’ll make it work. If that shop wasn’t ready, then the right one is out there waiting for you.”

  “But it took me forever to find that place. It’s perfect.”

  “It was perfect. The next one will be perfect. Let me help. I know people.” And he knew one particular people whose mother was a real estate guru. Wouldn’t Hope love him asking her mom questions about her job and being friendly? He could envision the rage in his curvy blond and already imagined the fireworks that might follow in bed.

  Man, he had to get the woman there, then out of his head. She was driving him insane.

  “How about you?” Rena asked, pulling back to study him. “How are you doing?”

  Uh-uh. No way was he letting his gossipy cousin, whom he loved dearly, learn about his fixation on Hope. He’d never hear the end of it. Del was bad enough. “We’re not finished talking about you. Now what’s this about you and Heller? You finally put the bastard out of his misery or what?”

  She blushed. “There is nothing between Axel and me. He just lost his mother, J.T. I feel so bad for him. We talk a lot, and he’s so sweet under that cool, aloof, ah, I mean—”

  “Serial killer–like exterior?”

  She glared at him. “Axel is a gentleman. He’s never been mean or rude to me. Ever.”

  “He’d better not be. I don’t care how big and bad he is. I’ll take him apart.”

  She patted his chest. “You’re a good cousin.”

  “So are you.” He patted her head, or tried to. She slapped his hand.

  “Not the hair, unless you want to lose that hand.”

  “Well, that got you off your pity party, didn’t it?”

  “Jerk.” She gave him a watery smile though. “So what’s your deal?”

  “My deal?”

  “Please, J.T. The only women you hang with at Ray’s should charge by the hour.”

  “Hey.”

  “Truth hurts. You dish it out, be prepared to take it.” She blew her nose, sounding like a foghorn, and he tried not to smile to avoid hurting her feelings. “You were at Ray’s with Hope Donnigan, the same woman you couldn’t take your eyes off of at Del’s wedding. The same woman who makes you nervous whenever you see her.”

  “What?” He scoffed. “You’re dreaming.”

  “The same woman you barely took your eyes from at Uncle Liam’s almost two weeks ago. You’re into her big time, and we all know it. Plus, I heard from a certain bird that you were seen bowling with her and having fun. Smiling and flirting all night.”

  “Did this little bird have a big mouth? And was she possibly pregnant?”

  Rena shrugged. “I’ve been sworn to silence.”

  He barked a laugh. “You? Silent?”

  “Now who’s being mean?”

  “Oh, stop. I’m kidding.” He wasn’t. But at least Rena no longer had tears in her eyes, more intent on his crush than her lost salon space.

  “You’re different about Hope, Cousin. I’ve watched you. You really like her.”

  “Nah. I mean, she’s great. We’re just friends.”

  “Sure.”

  “We are. I’m helping her pull one over on her mom. That’s all.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I’m getting the feeling you don’t believe me.”

  “That’s true. I don’t.”

  “Rena…”

  “You like like her. But you’re too scared to make a move.”

  “Excuse me, but I’ve already made moves.” Shit. Hadn’t meant to let that slip out.

>   “Aha!”

  “As in, I’m my charming self, and we’ve kissed a few times maybe. But that’s it. Del doesn’t want me screwing things up with the McCauleys if I sully one of their precious Donnigan relations. So I’m keeping my distance.”

  “Bull. Oh sure, you want to keep Del happy. But when, not if, you dump Hope, it’ll be for the typical reasons you always give.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t you?” She patted his arm. “You are so messed up from what your dad went through that you’ve never let yourself truly fall for a girl. And you’re thirty-two. Now that’s sad.”

  “That’s crap. I’ve had plenty of girlfriends.”

  “That you brought home for family dinner? That you hang out with for fun? That you go bowling with or bring to hang out with your friends? Not on hookup night at the bar, but to play darts with and just be yourself with?”

  “Ah, well, that’s different.”

  “Exactly.”

  He felt agitated. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. But you’re upset, so I’ll let it slide.”

  “Sure.”

  “And stop agreeing with me,” he muttered, annoyed.

  “Okay.”

  When he glared at her, she chuckled. “Sorry. No, I won’t stop agreeing with you.”

  He gave a reluctant grin. “Come on. Want to watch a movie together? I can cook up some popcorn.”

  “Sure. What do you want to watch?”

  He turned on the TV and flipped through channels. They settled on The Cabin in the Woods, one of his favorite flicks. Funny and horrifying, an homage to horror films. As they watched, he tried not to think about how much he liked the blond in the movie…if only she looked and acted a little more like Hope.

  Hmm. That was something they hadn’t done yet. A movie together. He wondered what she’d be into seeing.

  “Stop thinking about Hope and focus on the monsters,” Rena said before shoving a handful of popcorn in her mouth.

  He flushed. “I am not thinking of—”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And stop agreeing with me!”

  Chapter 12

  Thursday evening, Hope stood in the foyer of J.T.’s home and stared. She hadn’t expected such a nice place, though she shouldn’t have been surprised. He was an artist, after all.