Friends to Lovers (Aisle Bound)

by Barth, Christi

  “No sex in the bathroom?” Daphne knew Mira had already broken that one. Claimed it to be her right as store manager. Something about testing the soundproofing of the walls.

  Sure enough, Mira’s cheeks pinked up. Hmm. Maybe she and Sam had broken that rule again...and recently. “When you finish your drink, you have to move on to somebody else. Otherwise it strays away from a Match-n-Mingle and becomes a Match-n-Clump.”

  “I’m here as a favor, remember? To support you, and to make sure, as an objective observer, that the evening flows. If I want to clump on someone, you can’t stop me.”

  “As long as you clump with Adam Miller, I can deal.”

  Daphne hoped it wasn’t a friend of a friend of a friend. Or worse, Sam’s second cousin twice removed. Or any sort of ostensibly related-to-their-group man who’d be impossible to shake. Probably with a receding hairline. Back hair. Unusually small...feet. “I’ll bite. Who’s Adam Miller?”

  “Think about it. You know the name. I’ve heard you screech it at the television on Sundays more than once.”

  It couldn’t be. Fate wasn’t usually so evenhanded. “Adam Miller, the offensive coordinator for the Chicago Bears? The man with the tragic, career-ending crushed kneecap in his very first Super Bowl?”

  “The man you drool over whenever the TV cameras pan to the sidelines?” Mira teased.

  “Come on, Mira, be totally objective for a minute. Forget you’re living with your own personal sex god who rewards you by painting himself with chocolate in unmentionable places.”

  “Hard to forget, even for a second.” A dreamy smile widened her red lips. “Sam’s a talented man, in and out of the bedroom. I mean, in and out of the kitchen.”

  While she adored Sam, and admitted he was easy on the eyes, Daphne didn’t like thinking about anything he and Mira did behind closed doors. It might affect her pure and unadulterated love for his pastries. Worse yet, make her wonder if he’d worn clothes while baking them. “Adam looks like all those brawny men in electric razor and shaving cream ads.”

  “Mmm. When you put it that way, now I wish I could see him shirtless and dripping.”

  Daphne did, too. But she was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. “You’re telling me that karma ripped Gib away from me, yet has kindly replaced him in less than forty-eight hours? With a man whose biceps are bigger than my thigh?”

  “Don’t thank karma.” Mira tapped the screen of her iPad. “All the credit goes to my new matchmaker, Tabitha Bell.”

  And there was the other shoe. “No way. I just lasted a whopping twenty-seven minutes on a first date—and that was with the man of my dreams. The last thing I need is a setup.”

  “It is exactly what you need. You’re not mourning a lengthy relationship. Your big date fizzled in less time than it takes to get a manicure. Get right back on the horse. Ride ’em, cowgirl.”

  “I’m not against dating. I’m against being set up. It never works. So I’d be stuck on another date that wouldn’t last any longer than your average salon service. I’m all in favor of a good date. What I can’t handle is another debacle.”

  “Which is why I asked Tabitha to look through all the surveys of tonight’s guests and choose the one man most suited for you. As a confidence booster.” She turned the iPad to show Daphne a head shot of Adam in the corner of a spreadsheet. White teeth gleamed in a tan face. Strong cheekbones bracketed warm brown eyes. Not...blue. Not the color of a mountain lake, enticing you to slip into their depths and never come up for air. Not Gib.

  But that had to be a good thing. Adam was the anti-Gib. As American as, well, football and apple pie. Big as a grizzly with the wide shoulders and thick muscles from his football days in contrast to Gib’s lean, toned body, sleekly muscled like a jaguar. The body with such strength she’d yearned to have him unleash upon her. The body she’d surreptitiously drooled over when he’d come in from a run with Mira and Ben. The way he’d strip off his sopping-wet shirt and display a set of abs hard enough to polish diamonds.

  With another glance at Adam’s picture, Daphne said, “A purely selfless gesture, is it? This putting me on display for a total stranger?”

  Mira looked down at her boots. “All right, it’s a test. It’s a test of how the event works, and a test of Tabitha’s abilities as a matchmaker. I can’t get this kind of information from a customer. You have to help me. Just like the aphrodisiac dinner.”

  Look how that turned out. “Tabitha’s never met me.”

  “I might have filled out a survey in your name.” Mira shut the cover quickly, and rushed ahead. “But it worked. You love sports, you’re a lifelong Bears fan and you’ve crushed on this guy forever.”

  “I’m not good enough to be Adam Miller’s date. He’s gorgeous and works with people whose starting salaries are higher than the profit on all our businesses combined. What would we talk about?”

  “Um, that you love sports, and you’re a lifelong Bears fan?” Mira pushed her out the office door and up the stairs. “Oh, and Tabitha can’t be here tonight. So I’ll be nearby, watching and taking notes on her behalf.”

  Daphne halted in the doorway to the big, open room. Exposed brick gave it a casual vibe, along with the café tables and chairs in deep red. It was full of people already mingling and laughing. Probably because they were at least a drink ahead of her. “You’re just going to stare at me all night? Like I’m a zoo animal?”

  “More or less.” Mira gave a not-so-subtle shove on her ass. Daphne stumbled across the threshold. A large, warm hand caught her elbow and steadied her.

  “Daphne, right? I’ve been waiting for you.” A blond giant of a man smiled down at her. The same smile she’d watched crease his face when the Bears won in overtime a few months ago.

  She swallowed. Hard. Felt an idiotically big grin stretch across her face. “Hi.”

  “I’ve got a beer started at that table.” He pointed with his chin. “Would you like one, or do you want some wine?”

  “Beer’s great.”

  Adam managed to snag another beer from a passing waiter while keeping hold of her arm to lead her to the table. Once she sat on the high stool, he slid his hand down to lightly rest on top of her wrist.

  “I don’t know if Tabitha sent you my info in time. I’m sort of a last-minute addition to the party tonight. My sister talked me into coming. Well, bribed me into coming. She promised to make me pot roast next weekend. Bread pudding for dessert.”

  “Just for going on a date? Your sister pimped you out?” Crap. First she couldn’t string more than two words together. Then to rebound by insulting his sister? What was going on? Aside from the Gibson Moore disaster, Daphne was adept enough at dating. Flirty, fun, casual, not afraid to eat in front of a guy. No way would she let Gib undermine her mojo. Luckily, Adam laughed.

  “I moped around for a while after we didn’t make the playoffs. Jenny got ticked off. Claimed I ruined her New Year’s Eve party with my pouting.”

  Daphne had sulked a bit herself after the debacle of his last game. “You deserve to be pissed off. The Bears were robbed. That final turnover against the Packers could’ve clinched you a spot in the playoffs. I think the ref was off his meds that day or something.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “You watched the game?”

  “I watch every game. Go Bears.” They clinked bottles. Daphne relaxed a bit. Adam was easy to talk to, and talking football made it even easier.

  “That’s a relief. A lot of pretty girls like you don’t like it when I talk football. I mean, we don’t have to just talk about football. But it’s my job, you know? Other guys talk spreadsheets and sales calls over a steak dinner. I talk about passing drives and wind sprints and spotting.”

  “Trust me, I get it. A lot of guys aren’t wild about me complaining about the price of Dutch tulips going up, or that a shipment of hydrange
as is blue instead of pink.”

  His eyes crinkled adorably as he frowned. “Aw, you weren’t supposed to tell me about flowers. I wanted to surprise you. I memorized your bio. All the fun facts about Daphne. That you’re a florist, and that your favorite color is blue and you like horror movies.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m impressed.” Just like that, he’d pitched her back into the land of two-word responses. The handsome football hero called her pretty and memorized her stats. Kind of took her breath away.

  “Good. ’Cause as soon as I saw your picture, I knew I wanted to meet you.” His hand closed around hers in a firm squeeze. And God help her, a dimple appeared in his cheek. “You’re even prettier in person.”

  “Thanks.” Idiot. Say something else. Anything. Well, anything except that her favorite color actually used to be yellow. Until the day she met Gibson Moore, and saw the perfect, paint-palate cerulean-blue of his eyes. “I’m a big fan of yours. I’ve followed you since your last season with Notre Dame. Never thought I’d get a chance to meet you.”

  “Heck, I’m nothing special. The guys out on the field, they’re the ones who put their heart and soul on the line every week. I just do what I can to help them.”

  Handsome. Sweet. Modest. Close to his sister. Daphne’s eyes slid down to the way his biceps strained against the cotton button-down shirt. Not just handsome. Drool-worthy handsome. Unless this guy secretly snacked on puppies, he was darn near perfect. Definitely the perfect rebound guy. The perfect hold me and lick me and make me come so many times I’ll forget all about Gib guy. If there was such a thing.

  “That’s how I feel about my brides. My job’s to support her. I don’t need a whole room of bridesmaids to ooh and aah over their bouquets. I want to know that I helped the bride feel her most beautiful when she walks down that aisle. That I helped her have the perfect day she’s always dreamed of.”

  He sipped his beer, nodded. “But it’s fun, right? I mean, I’m guessing you must like flowers. And your job is to play with them all day, so you have a good time? I love football. I get to think about it all day. So when I’m on a date, I can’t help going on about it.”

  “Sounds good to me.” She leaned across the table to whisper. And to brush her cheek against his, just to feel the scratch of five o’clock shadow rasp against her skin. “I have four brothers. I might even know more about football than you.”

  Adam let loose a big, booming laugh. He squeezed her hand again. “I can’t wait to try you out. Damn it, I know that stupid bell’s about to ring and make us switch people.”

  “Sorry. If I’d known you were waiting for me, I would’ve gotten here sooner.” There. Flirting mojo absolutely reestablished.

  “Good to know. So here goes. Let me take you to dinner. I promise to show you a good time. Smith & Wollensky? On the river? I’ll even tell you my one and only flower story. It’s about prom and a goat and a corsage emergency.”

  Why the hell not? Aside from the whole not-over-the-crush-of-her-life thing. Going out with Adam would probably be a really smart step toward not losing the best friend status quo with Gib. She’d do Adam, Gib would continue to do the entire female population of Chicago, and nothing would change. Nothing. Would. Change. It made her a little heartsick. But Gib clearly would not change. So Daphne would have to. With somebody. So why not with hot, hard-bodied Adam?

  “I can’t wait to hear it,” she said.

  Adam pulled a card out of his shirt pocket. “I don’t want you to feel pressured. So take my card. Talk to the rest of the guys here tonight—” he dimpled again, “who won’t be half as fun as me—then sleep on it. If you still want to go out, call me tomorrow.”

  A hand Daphne knew as well as her own grabbed the card in midair. “Daphne won’t be ringing you up tomorrow.” Those blue eyes she’d never stop wanting burned with an icy flame. Gib looked like he’d come straight from work. Or was on his way out to romance and bed a woman. Shiny matte green tie, darker green shirt beneath a black suit. Daphne would give anything, anything to grab that tie and use it to reel him in for a kiss.

  “Gibson, you don’t get a vote in this.” Her brain hiccupped, trying to process he and Adam Miller sharing the same space. “What are you even doing here?”

  “Sam called me.” He ground out the words from between clenched teeth. “Mira and I will have words later as to why she didn’t tell me herself.”

  “Tell you what?”

  “About her betrayal. About the way she auctioned you off in this dating circus.”

  Adam shook his head. “Dude, I didn’t pay for Daphne. This isn’t that kind of place. You owe her an apology for even thinking that.”

  Gib looked Adam up and down. She’d seen him give a week-old bagel a less dismissive look. Then something changed. An abrupt dial-back of the dangerous vibe rattling off of Gib like a wind shear.

  “Look, I get it. Daphne’s amazing. Lovely. Of course you’re keen to go out with her. I bet every guy in this room’s pissed at you, wishing they’d gotten to her first. Except for the singular fact that you didn’t.” That dangerous edge crept back into his voice. “I did. I staked my claim. Did a piss-poor job of it, but did it nonetheless.”

  Had he lost his mind? Daphne couldn’t help but thrill to his words. Still, she couldn’t let him get away with them, either. “I’m not an unnamed mountain in the Himalayas. You can’t claim me.”

  “Give me a chance to try.” With a nudge of his legs to her knees, her chair swung around to face him. The move also pulled her hand away from Adam’s. “I’m sorry. I’m sorrier than I can say. I’m a fool. I behaved like an utter ass.”

  “No argument here.” Daphne hoped Mira really was nearby, taking notes. She wouldn’t mind a word-for-word playback of this entire conversation once the shock wore off.

  “I crapped all over our window of opportunity. And again, I’m sorry. I know you’re mad. You should be. I’m furious at myself. All I ask is that you give me one more chance.”

  He had the appropriate hangdog expression of penitence. And was throwing himself on the altar of public humiliation for her. Daphne had to admit it bore all the signs of a genuine apology. But he couldn’t snap his fingers and expect her to fall into line. Their friendship had survived one disastrous date. She couldn’t guarantee it would survive a second.

  “Why should I?”

  Gib waggled Adam’s card in the air. “You’ve got nothing to lose. All I ask is that you go out with me once. Tomorrow night. If you don’t have a good time, a great time, I’ll give you this card. You can ring Adam up and set up a date with him for next weekend.” He edged closer. Daphne had to tilt her head up to look at him. A long, slow stroke down her arm ended with the familiar feel of his hand around hers. “But please, give me one more night. One night, just for you. The date you deserved from the start. One last shot to get you to change your mind.”

  The jazz piano piped through the sound system stopped abruptly, replaced by a tinkling bell. It was the signal to switch partners. A tall man with a shaved head and glasses elbowed between Adam and Gib.

  “Time’s up, guys. Move on,” he said in a pleasant but firm voice.

  Adam pushed back his chair. “Well, Daphne?”

  Why did Adam have to be so perfect in every way—except that he simply wasn’t Gib? The choice came down to the basic fact that she’d marinate in regret for the rest of her life if she didn’t give Gib one more chance.

  “Adam, it was fun talking with you. I promise I’ll call you in two days and explain. One way or another.” She hugged him, which was kind of like hugging a scantily upholstered building. Solid, immovable and big. Tempting, too. Daphne moved on to the new guy.

  “Sorry, but I’m finished for the evening. These two wore me out.” She winked at Adam. To her delight, he winked back. Tabitha the matchmaker really knew her stuff. “I’ll make sure
you get an extra drink or something.” Then she turned to Gib. “Seven o’clock tomorrow. Don’t fuck it up.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Life is the flower for which love is the honey

  ~ Victor Hugo

  “Do I need to grovel some more?” Gib asked. His boots crunched against the fresh layer of snow on the sidewalk. “Because I’m willing. Seriously. You name the way you want it. Haiku. Shouted from the rooftop. Hell, I’ll do a mea culpa with a bullhorn from the top of the Navy Pier Ferris wheel.”

  “I’m good for now. I’ll let you know if the situation changes.” It finally felt like Daphne had the upper hand. She liked it. Kind of wanted to keep making him work for it. Now that she knew he had it in him to grovel so thoroughly.

  “Good. Because I’d like a fresh start. As if we’ve never done this before.”

  “Do you mean as if we’d never met? Pretend to be Daisy and Graham again?” Because that had worked very well. Anything that got her back in Gib’s lap in under ten minutes was worth doing again.

  “I’m all for role-playing in the bedroom.” Gib stopped, looked down at her with a wicked smile. “Off the top of my head, I can picture you as a feisty pirate wench. One who needs to be subdued by an officer in the King’s Navy.”

  Yes. She could see it, too. Michigan Avenue and the cars spraying slush disappeared. There was only Gib in knee-high black boots, a sword strapped to his hip. Pushing her back against the mast. Maybe tying her to it with a handy rope. Tightly. Daphne realized she was squeezing his hand like a tourniquet. And that she’d completely forgotten to take a breath.

  “But I don’t think we’re quite there yet.” Swinging their linked hands, he began to walk again. “I’d like to put my idiotic behavior of the other night behind us. You’ve every right to be mad at me. Which is why I’ll continue to apologize as many times as you need to hear. My second attempt at a first date, however, won’t be much fun at all if you’re pissy.”