Blow Me Away: A sexy, friends to lovers rom com! (A Mile High Matched Novel Book 2)

by Christina Hovland

  Not quite. “I want you to pretend we broke up.”

  “Because you don’t want a girlfriend?” She crossed, then uncrossed, her arms and propped them behind her on the side of the trunk. “And you’re too scared to actually stand up to your grandmother.”

  “Yes.” Had she not just witnessed the devastation his grandmother could wreak when she was on a mission?

  And why did he feel like he’d been summoned to the principal’s office? A sexy-as-hell principal in a hairnet, but still.

  “Even after your grandmother tried to get revenge on me for breaking your tender heart.” She smacked her mouth closed.

  “Well, yeah. But I’ll make sure she doesn’t do anything else to you.” He could definitely, probably, make sure of that.

  Heather took a few deep breaths. She paced from one side of the car to the other. “I don’t get it. Why do you want to have a pretend break up? You asked me out. Twice.” She held up two fingers, for good measure.

  “I don’t want the kind of girlfriend they want me to have.”

  “What kind is that?”

  He shifted. “Look, chicks can be demanding.”

  And that was the truth.

  “I had no idea.” The sympathy in her tone was anything but sympathetic.

  He stepped closer to her.

  “You’re not that kind of chick.” He got close. Not up in her space, but close enough he could smell the lavender in her shampoo.

  The light behind her eyes flared. “So if I agree to lie to your grandmother about us, what about my van?”

  “Here’s what I’m thinking.” Jase pointed to his delivery van in the alley. “We’ll share my van today. Ethan can help out with your deliveries. We don’t call the police. We don’t involve insurance. I just…” Fuck it. What the hell. “Buy you a new van.”

  “What about tomorrow? And the day after that?” Heather’s voice started to get pitchy, but she held herself tall.

  “Ethan and I will help you out until we get you another van. We’ll order it today.” Jase’s grandmother was going to owe him.

  “A pink one,” Heather confirmed. “With a cookie on the top.”

  “Right. Just like this one.” But without the Buick indentation along the side. “Though, my delivery driver may quit when he realizes he has to deliver penis cookies.”

  “Oh please. We box them up so you can’t see what they are,” she said. “I can’t exactly walk through town with a cockie bouquet without getting hate mail.”

  Then everything was fine. Win. Win. Win. “Perfect. All sorted.”

  Ethan never had to know what he was delivering.

  Heather didn’t move. “I want a year of satellite radio, leather seats, a premium stereo system, and a fresh tank of gas every week for a year.”

  He groaned internally.

  “And I’m not taking the bus to the grocery store. You’ll lend me your car whenever I need it.” She shrugged. “Or we can do this thing the right way. The way that involves police and insurance.”

  He focused his gaze on his grandmother. She had no license. And this was not her first offense. Hell, she should be the one forking out the money. But this was his fault—at least partially. He’d suck it up, open his checkbook, and take responsibility.

  She could wind up in jail. Or worse, house arrest. Somehow, she’d probably manage to make that happen at his apartment. “Fine. Done. Leather. Satellite. Stereo. Gas. Plastic Cookie. Personal chauffeur.”

  “And pink paint,” she confirmed.

  “And pink paint.”

  “Will there be tears?” she asked.

  “Sorry?” What had she asked? He was busy doing the math of how much money he’d just dropped on a delivery van that he’d never use.

  “You’re pretending I broke your heart. Don’t you think you’d be so upset that there’d be some crying on your part?”

  Ha. No. “Not a chance.”

  Her chest heaved on her exhale. “I think you’d cry for me.”

  “No.”

  “Give me sad, longing looks?”

  “No.”

  “Then I guess I’ll make that call to police.” Heather started to walk away.

  He hesitated for an instant. “Longing looks, mostly sad.” He held his hand to her.

  She turned. “Fine. With one exception.”

  “What?” His hand still hung in the air between them. Unshook.

  “I don’t lie to my friends.”

  “Fair enough. Just my family.” He gave a pointed glance to his still outstretched palm.

  She shook it, latex gloves and all, a naughty smile touching her lips. “Nice doing business with you.”

  Shit. If she kept that up, he would be in tears. Or at least he’d wind up on his knees.

  Then again, that could be fun, too. On his knees. In her bedroom. Or office. Or kitchen.

  They headed back toward the scene of the crime.

  “Why aren’t we reporting the accident?” Velma asked, genuine confusion written across her face.

  Okay, just so they were clear.

  “Babushka doesn’t have a license,” Jase began. “It’d be a huge help to me, a personal favor, if we didn’t involve the police.” Police who very well might arrest his grandmother for driving without a license…again.

  Velma stood tall. “And you’re gonna replace Heather’s van.”

  “I am. And make Heather’s deliveries for her in the meantime.”

  Ethan would murder him if he found out he was delivering penis-cookie bouquets. But Jase would deal with that. And everything else. When the time came.

  4

  Chapter Four

  “You want to talk about it yet?” Velma asked from where she sat across the worktable in Heather’s commercial cookie kitchen.

  Heather had figured out the layout herself. The ovens and the huge kitchen vent were on one side of the room, separated by a line of racks for cookie-cooling. The other half of the room—the one closest to the front of the store—was for decorating and boxing.

  Velma had offered to stick around and help ice eyeballs on the snuggle-bird cookies Heather had to finish up. She was on maternity leave but hated being stuck at home. So she sometimes came to help Heather while baby Lily napped in Heather’s office.

  Meringue icing flooded a wing of one of the birds on Heather’s tray. The cookies, heart-shaped with two iced birds snuggling inside, were a customer favorite. “There’s absolutely nothing to talk about.”

  “Okay.” Velma went back to piping the black pupils on the birds. “You’re just doing Jase a pretty huge favor.”

  A favor that would net her leather seats and satellite radio. Heather ignored the way her blood pressure knocked around her heart at the mention of Jase.

  She’d have thought that him catching her looking at rings would’ve been embarrassment enough. Nope, that was just the icing on the tip of the dick. When Logan left, she’d promised herself she didn’t need to find a guy to find any sort of fulfillment in life—even though that was what all her friends were doing. Of course, calling off the search didn’t mean she didn’t like bling. So, she’d promised herself she’d buy her own damn ring. Pick it out. One that was a gift to herself.

  A promise ring of sorts.

  “And he’s not hard to look at,” Velma said, not looking up from the tray of cookies.

  Heather’s stomach fluttered ridiculously at the memory of Jase’s early-morning dance party.

  “Not that I’m looking,” Velma continued.

  Velma wasn’t looking. She’d found her guy. He was the exact opposite of anyone Heather would’ve ever paired with Velma. And they were brilliantly happy together. For a while, Heather had thought she and Logan were headed that way, too. To the blissful relationship stage of things. Then he’d started shutting her out. Just like all of her boyfriends before him. Heather was a lot of fun, she’d been told that often, but she wasn’t the kind of girl men wanted to spend forever with. Love like that wasn’t meant
for everyone. She’d come to accept that.

  Heather’s little sister and head-cookie-baker, Candace—mostly known as Candy to everyone she knew—brought Heather another tray of sugar-cookie hearts ready for icing.

  “That man has abs that go on for miles,” Candy said as she popped the tray onto the table.

  Miles and miles. Heather refused to think about his body or the way he smelled of cinnamon.

  What she needed was a night in with a marathon of Family Feud.

  “I bet he’s amazing in bed. With a body like that?” Candy smacked her lips together.

  “Candy?” Heather asked, not raising her eyes from where the tip of her piping bag touched the pastry.

  “Yeah?”

  “No.”

  Velma snort-laughed. Candy winked at her.

  Heather swallowed any thoughts of Jase in bed.

  “You know Mom and Dad would adore him,” Candy continued.

  “Mom and Dad like everyone.” Their soft-spoken mother and father rarely raised their voices. That was the kind of people they were. So, no, Jase wouldn’t have to do much to win their adoration.

  Laying down the piping bag, Heather grabbed Velma’s finished tray of cookies and pushed through the swinging doors to arrange them in the case.

  The string of jingle bells on the door tinkled as two women jostled their way in—Jase’s Russian Mafia granny and a woman about Heather’s age.

  Heather’s internal monologue dropped some serious cuss words.

  “Hi,” she said with as much cheer as she could muster. They headed toward her. “What can I get you?’

  “Um, I’m not sure.” The younger woman had a funny expression on her face, like she was trying to place Heather.

  “Take your time.” Heather refused to shrink away from the blatant inspection.

  “Let’s get this over vith,” Nadzieja said. “I came to apologize for your van. This is Anna. She came to be sure I did.”

  Anna…Jase’s sister.

  Heather splayed her hands on the counter. Well, that was nice of them to stop by. Nice-ish. “Thank you. I’m so glad you’re okay.”

  “Also, ve vant you to let Jason take you to dinner,” Nadzieja continued.

  Shit.

  “We’re supposed to be smooth,” Anna said out of the corner of her mouth.

  “Excuse me?” Heather recovered from her momentary inability to process oxygen.

  “He’s a great guy and he really likes you. Whatever happened between you, we’re hoping you’ll hear him out.” Anna shifted the purse strap on her shoulder and dropped it to the counter.

  “You’re both here.” Heather pointed at them. “To get me.” She pointed to her chest. “To get back together with Jase?” She pointed toward the flower shop across the street.

  They had to be kidding.

  “After you took out my van because he’d told you we’d broken up,” Heather said with a firm look at Jase’s grandmother.

  “I have apologized. You vill call me Babushka and I vill cook for you,” Babushka announced. “When you have dinner vith him.”

  The younger woman nudged Babushka. “That’d be weird. They can go wherever. Even here.”

  “And that wouldn’t be weird?” Heather asked.

  “Wherever you’re comfortable.” Anna leaned forward and whispered as if she were selling government secrets to Russian spies. “Just, you know, communication is a good thing.”

  “No, I don’t think so.” Heather made a sound in her throat—half clearing, half breathing. “But thanks for stopping in. Would you like to buy a cookie?”

  “For sure. We’ll take a dozen of whatever,” Anna replied.

  Heather started filling a box with snuggle birds. She made the mistake of glancing up at Anna.

  Anna, who was chewing at her bottom lip. “Jase could just use a break, that’s all.”

  “Hey, Anna,” Velma said as she pushed through the doors behind Heather.

  “Oh, Velma, good, you’re here, too,” Anna said, relief in her tone. “We’re trying to get Heather to give Jase another chance.”

  “Oh, I don’t think—” Velma started.

  “What. The. Hell,” Jase said from the doorway. Red-faced, out-of-breath Jase.

  Heather’s jingle bells hadn’t even jingled.

  “Your family is trying to convince me to take you back.” Heather held up the cookie tongs and pointed at his sister and grandmother with them.

  “All the Dvornakovs out of the shop,” he demanded.

  “Hey, now. Not until they’ve got their cookies,” Heather said. Hey, a sale was a sale.

  “No cookies. Out you two.” He pointed toward the door.

  “They’re customers. They’re buying things. If you have a problem, address it with management. In writing.” Heather went back to boxing cookies.

  “You own this place,” he said, biting out the words.

  “Then perhaps you should mail me a letter.” Heather squared her shoulders.

  A muscle in Jase’s forehead twitched, or maybe it was a blood vessel.

  “You can’t throw out my customers.” Heather continued loading the box. “Especially when they’re in the middle of buying things. Once the transaction is through, you can take your family wherever you’d like.”

  “Holy hell.” Anna glanced between the two of them. “She’s perfect.”

  The tension in the room notched higher; even the cashier stopped mid-button-punch to watch.

  “You two should talk privately. I vill run the counter.” Babushka shuffled around the pastry case. “I vill need an apron.”

  None of Heather’s muscles worked as the old woman headed toward the sink and began to wash her gnarled hands.

  “What is she doing?” Heather asked Anna, with a glance to Velma.

  “I think she’s preparing to work here,” Velma replied.

  “C’mon, Babushka, you work at the flower shop. Let’s go back there.” Jase was clearly doing his best to stay calm.

  “I quit.” Babushka began familiarizing herself with everything behind the counter.

  Heather tossed Jase her best please-help-me look. Okay, so maybe she should’ve let Jase toss out his family when he’d tried. Hindsight and all that.

  “What are you talking about?” Jase asked.

  “I quit. I vill be vorking vith Heather now.” Babushka had found the stash of aprons and tied one on.

  “Um…no. I’m all staffed up. Don’t have the funds to hire anyone else.” Heather’s heart was kicking in her chest. What was this day, anyway?

  She’d left a nice-paying job selling corrugated cardboard designs to open the shop. Sold everything. Her town house. Her car. Even some of her clothes. Moved into the small apartment above the shop and refused anything but success.

  “No charge.” Babushka shuffled toward the register. “Favor because I wrecked your van.” She shooed her grandson. “Jason, you may go, I vill check in.”

  “This is so not what I expected,” Velma whispered.

  Candy popped her head out from the back. “Heather, there’s a problem with the deliveries. The Smith delivery only got two bouquets, not three.”

  Oh no. The Smith delivery was three cockie bouquets and an extra four boxes filled with very inappropriately shaped cookies.

  Heather glanced to Jase. “I think there’s a missing bouquet of…” She did her best to telepathically say erection cookies while keeping her face as neutral as she could.

  Jase clearly got the message with the speed he pulled out his phone and punched in some numbers. “Hey, Ethan…one of the bouquets didn’t make it to the Smith delivery…can you check the back…” He shifted from foot to foot while he waited. “No, I’m sure…they called Heather…where did you—”

  He had gone pale.

  Where the hell had the cookies been delivered?

  “Then go back to the funeral home and grab them,” Jase continued.

  Heather’s stomach pitched. Oh, that wasn’t good.

/>   Jase shoved his phone back in his pocket and gave her a look. A look that wasn’t good.

  “Tell me you did not deliver my cockies to a funeral.” Heather’s knees went weak, and she actually felt the blood drain from her scalp.

  Jase didn’t move. She’d never seen anyone go so still.

  “I think that means he did,” Velma said from behind her.

  5

  Chapter Five

  Heather’s arms wrapped around Jase’s waist, the wind in her hair, the rumble of his motor between her legs—yep, Heather was on Jase’s Ducati zipping through Denver. Her thighs pressed against him. And, dammit all, she enjoyed it.

  For a moment, she closed her eyes, pretended they weren’t going to rescue her cockie bouquet from a funeral home. Instead, they were riding through the Italian hillside. Just the two of them, maybe a picnic on the side of a hill. She’d lay out a blanket, and they’d cuddle together and make out for a while. No expectations, just enjoying the feel of each other’s lips. The taste of one another. Things would get heated, and they’d make lazy love on a picnic blanket in a foreign country. No cares. Just the two of them.

  He pulled the bike into a space in the back of the one-story mortuary, right next to his delivery van.

  Nothing killed a wet dream quite like a visit to the neighborhood funeral home. Heather peeked around Jase to where Ethan leaned against the bumper of the delivery van.

  She scooted off the bike. Jase followed.

  “What’s the damage?” he asked, setting his helmet on the seat.

  “Funeral started before I got here. The director can’t grab the bouquet until it’s done.” Ethan kicked off from the bumper. “I’m sorry, man. I was in a hurry and I totally screwed this up.”

  “Did they actually put out the cockie bouquet?” Heather asked. Maybe they’d just put it in the kitchen or something. Surely, someone would’ve noticed.

  Ethan nodded. “I looked in the chapel. It’s right next to the casket.”

  At first glance, it was just a bouquet of cookies, but if anyone looked closer? Heather shivered. The funeral-going crowd was probably not her target audience.