by Debbie Mason
“No, what wasn’t helpful was you using them as an excuse not to ask Sawyer out. The man was interested. All you had to do—”
“Sure he was interested, until he found out it was me. And FYI, I’m sworn to uphold the law. I can’t just let two women—”
Suze held her hand to her ear. “Do you hear that? I think it’s a chicken. Bawk, bawk, bawk.”
“Really, you think I’m a chicken? How about the time I took—”
“On the job, you are not a chicken. But when it comes to Sawyer, you bawk big time, girlfriend.”
Jill ignored her and walked back to her desk. Suze was right. Jill had never been so happy for an interruption in her life.
“Brandi’s not a chicken. She goes after what she wants. And word around town is she wants Sawyer. Sounds like she’s getting help from Christmas’s resident matchmaker, too,” Suze said.
Jill picked up the mugs and headed for the small kitchen. Suze followed her, leaning against the door frame with her arms crossed while Jill rinsed the mugs. “Where’s your competitive spirit gone? I thought that would send you running to the bar. There’s still an hour before closing, you know. Seems like a waste of a fabulous dress and makeover.”
“You’re not going to let up on this, are you?” Jill said as she put the mugs in the dishwasher.
“Nope, not until you’ve given it your best shot. Come on, how much energy have you wasted thinking about asking him out, wondering what would happen if you did?”
Too much. “Fine, I’ll do it. Happy now?” Jill asked, ignoring the nervous jitter in her stomach. A jitter that increased tenfold when she walked into the bar fifteen minutes later. The reason for the tenfold increase gave Jill an up-and-down look as she filled a drink order for one of the servers.
“Hey, Brandi,” Jill said, glancing around the bar as she took a seat. “Sawyer around?”
Brandi stared at her open-mouthed, then blinked a couple times. “Jill?”
“Yep, it’s me.”
“Wow. You look…good. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a dress before.”
“Thanks. I was in earlier. I didn’t see you here.” She raised herself up on the stool, once again looking for Sawyer.
“You must have come in when I snuck upstairs to clean Sawyer’s apartment and put through a couple loads of wash. Don’t tell him I said so, but he’s a bit of a slob. Gorgeous, but messy. He needs a wife.”
Obviously Brandi was auditioning for the job. Which may have ticked Jill off just a bit because she asked, “So, where is the slob?”
Brandi’s red-glossed lips flattened before she said, “He’s on an important call. Is there something I can do for you?”
“No, I’ll just wait until he’s finished.” Her back started to itch, and she wriggled her shoulders.
Brandi’s brow furrowed and her pert nose wrinkled. “What are you doing?”
“Dancing.” She added a few shoulders rolls to make it believable. No way she was telling Brandi she had hives.
“How come I’m not surprised,” Brandi said under her breath, as if Jill was proving to be the idiot she’d always thought she was. Then she asked, “You want your regular soda, or are you going to go wild and have a Shirley Temple, better yet, a Virgin Caesar?”
Jill raised an eyebrow. “Do you have a problem with me not drinking alcohol?”
“Well, you are in a bar. Most people who come in here actually drink,” she said in a voice laced with sarcasm.
Jill knew she shouldn’t let Brandi goad her into having a drink, but she was really starting to get on her nerves. “I’ll have…” She looked down the bar and pointed to a man four stools over sucking on a lime. She liked limes. “…whatever he’s having.” When you’ve seen as many drunks as Jill had, including her own mother, you tended to avoid alcohol. Well, at least she did. But it didn’t mean that she’d never had a drink before. Despite what some people believed.
“Tequila shot coming up,” Brandi said with a smirk.
The smirk worried Jill a little, but no way would she back down now. Brandi placed a shot glass of clear liquid in front of her, along with a small bowl of limes and a salt shaker. Jill stared at them. Now what was she supposed to do? She glanced at the man four stools over. He got up and moved beside her. “Looks like you could use some help.”
He was very helpful. So helpful that Jill had shot back three rounds of tequila in no time at all. She was sucking on a lime when Sawyer appeared in front of her.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Lips puckered, she held up the lime. “What does it look like I’m doing?” She blinked. Sawyer was no longer there. Her bar stool spun around, and he hauled her off of it. “There you are. I wondered where you went.”
“Jesus,” he muttered, “you’re drunk.”
“I’m not drunk. Now Blonde One and Blonde Two, they were drunk. I’m just…a little warm.” She wobbled on her heels. “Maybe a little numb, too.”
“Come on, let’s get some coffee and food into you, and you can tell me what this is all about.” He wrapped his arm around her waist and walked her around the bar.
She leaned back and called over her shoulder, “Bye, John. Nice meeting you. Thanks for your help.”
“My pleasure, sweetheart. Anytime.”
“He’s a really nice guy.”
“I’m sure he is. Brandi, take care of close for me. I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”
Jill glanced at the blonde standing behind the bar with her arms crossed over her ample chest. Brandi narrowed her eyes at Jill. “She made me do it,” Jill said.
Sawyer looked down at her and raised an eyebrow. “Do what?”
“Drink. She was making fun of me.” She mimicked Brandi’s voice. “Go wild and have a Shirley Temple, better yet, a Virgin Caesar. As if I’m a virgin. I’m twenty-nine.” Jill widened her eyes, raising a hand to her mouth. Why she was blabbing stuff like this to Sawyer? It was like the alcohol had stolen her filter.
“Uh, you know what? I think, for right now, you should keep quiet until we get some food and coffee into you. Sound like a plan?” he asked as he led her up the narrow wooden staircase.
“Yep, good plan. Very good plan. Best plan ever.”
Sawyer laughed. “I’ll say this for you, Shortstop. You’re a cute drunk.”
“You think—”
He placed a finger on her lips, and she fought back an uncontrollable urge to kiss it, maybe lick it. “No talking, remember?” he said.
She nodded, and totally intended to keep that promise, but then he opened the door to his apartment. “So, this is where all the magic happens,” she said, looking around the space. Unlike half the single women in town, she’d never been invited up to his apartment.
“Magic?” he choked out, then gave his head a slight shake. “Forget I asked,” he said, and steered her toward the kitchen.
With its exposed log walls, the open-plan apartment had a rustic charm, a warm, homey feel. An overstuffed brown leather sectional sat on a cream shag area rug facing a big-screen television above the fireplace. Just beyond the living room, there was a butcher block table with seating for six by a large window. The kitchen was on the small side, but well-equipped, as though someone actually liked to cook.
She leaned to her left to get a look down the hall leading to what appeared to be two bedrooms and pointed. “You’re right, that would be where the good stuff happens.”
“Maybe I should take you home.”
“It’s okay. I’ll walk. But I’m just going to sit for a minute,” she said, pulling out a stool at the breakfast nook. She took a seat and toed off the killer heels. “I don’t know how anyone wears these things,” she said, bringing her foot to rest on her thigh. She massaged the instep, releasing a relieved moan as she did.
“Uh, Jill honey, you might want to…” he gestured at her leg. “You have a dress on.”
She looked down. The hem had ridden up to reveal her lacy red thong. “Oh, right,” she said,
adjusting the hem. “At least they match.”
“Coffee. I’m going to get you coffee and make you an omelet. Don’t move,” he said as he walked to the stainless-steel refrigerator. She got a look at the neatly stacked contents of his fridge when he pulled out a container of eggs and a pint of cream.
“I don’t know what Brandi’s talking about. She said you’re a slob, but you look pretty tidy to me. Unless she spent most of her shift up here.” She spun on the stool to look around the apartment again…and fell off. “Whoa. That’s a slippery little sucker.” She laughed from where she’d landed on the hardwood floor.
Sawyer lifted her to her feet, her laughter fading as she looked into his eyes. Until that moment, she thought they were brown. Nice dark eyes, but nothing extraordinary. With his face inches from hers, she saw how wrong she’d been. There was nothing ordinary about his eyes. They were hazel with flecks of yellow. Framed by dark lashes tipped with gold. He smelled amazing, too—a woodsy citrus scent.
His brow furrowed. “Did you hurt yourself?”
“No, I’m…I’m okay.” She was better than okay. She was in his arms, and they were alone. It was the opportunity she’d been waiting for. Her heart beat a little faster at the thought of asking him out. But nothing like earlier. Only with her palms pressed to his muscular chest, she was having a difficult time thinking of anything other than how good it felt to be here with him. She let herself lean into him while she worked to get the words out of her mouth. They seemed to be stuck in her throat. Or maybe it was the feel of his hard body pressed against hers messing with her head. Either that or the tequila.
* * *
Sawyer looked down at Jill. He never should have brought her here. Not after how he felt seeing her shooting back tequila at the bar. He’d held her in his arms before, but not like this. Never like this. Chest to chest, thigh to thigh, she was a perfect fit. Soft. Warm. Her light floral scent enveloped him, and he wanted to groan his frustration. Instead it came out as a sigh, as though mourning for what he couldn’t have. Because no matter how much he wished it wasn’t true, he wanted her. But he wouldn’t, couldn’t, make that mistake again. He’d nearly lost Jack’s friendship once. He wouldn’t risk losing it again.
He let go of her and went to take a step back. “Jill…”
Her hands fisted in his shirt, and she tipped her head back, capturing him in her sea-blue eyes. She lifted up on her toes and kissed him. Giving him a taste of what he couldn’t have. A forbidden fruit so sweet and tart he wanted to lose himself in the kiss. In her. In Jill. He jerked back. “No. We can’t…I can’t do this.”
She blinked, her hands falling to her sides. “Why not?”
He stepped away, scrubbing a hand over his mouth to erase the taste of her, the feel of her lips on his. “You don’t want me, Jill. I’m not the guy for you.”
“Yes, you are. I love you.”
He heard Bill’s voice in his head telling him the same thing. And Mrs. Sharp. How had he not seen what they had? He had to fix this. “No, you don’t,” he said, his voice coming out forceful and harsh. “You’re not thinking straight. You’ve had too much to drink. That’s all it is. You’ll find someone who’ll love you the way you deserve to be loved.”
She wrapped her arms around her waist and shook her head. “I don’t want anyone else. I never have,” she said, her voice low and soft.
“Believe me, you don’t want me, Shortstop. I’m too old for you. I’m not good enough for you. Ask your brother.”
She raised her gaze to his. “This is about Jack, isn’t it?”
He didn’t want to hurt her, but he couldn’t let this go any further. “No, it’s about me. I’m not attracted to you, Jill. Not like that.” She shrank into herself, and his chest tightened and ached. He hated doing this to her, but he didn’t have a choice. He put his hands on her shoulders. “The last thing I want to do is hurt you. You’re like a—”
“Don’t. Don’t say it,” she said, her voice breaking. “I…I have to go.” She turned and bent down to pick up her shoes.
He couldn’t let her leave. Not like this. “Jill, come on. Let’s talk—”
“No,” she said, the word garbled. She ran to the door and flung it open.
He wanted to hit something. He’d handled that all wrong. It didn’t matter that he’d been shocked by his reaction to that kiss. Or that thoughts of how Jack would react sent him into a panic. Neither was an excuse for hurting her.
Brandi walked into his apartment. “Why is Jill crying?”
He closed his eyes. He’d made her cry. A girl who rarely did. Over the years he’d seen her hurt—a baseball to the head, a bad fall off her bike, a broken leg when she fell out of a tree, a drunk breaking a chair over her back when she attempted to arrest him—and not one of those times had she cried. He swore under his breath.
“She kissed you, didn’t she?” Brandi said, reaching up to rub her thumb over his bottom lip. “And you rejected her.”
He stepped back. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“It’s not your fault she’s in love with you, Sawyer. I’m sure you did your best to let her down easy.”
Was he the only one who didn’t know? He raked his hand through his hair, looking around his apartment. “I didn’t. I screwed up. I screwed up bad. I have to go talk to her. Figure out a way to make this right,” he said and headed for the door.
Brandi stopped him. “Give her some time. It’ll only make it harder for her. Trust me, I’ve known Jill almost as long as you. She’ll be okay.” Brandi gave his arm a comforting squeeze. “In the end, you did her a favor. Now that she knows there’s no hope for a future with you, she can move on.”
Chapter Eight
Sawyer climbed the outer stairs to Jill’s second-floor apartment. He glanced at her small wooden deck as he passed by, smiling at the sight of two hanging baskets swinging in the warm breeze. The purple flowers were dead. He didn’t know why she bothered. The woman had a black thumb and was rarely home. It’s why he was here early on a Sunday morning.
Because no matter what Brandi said, he had to make this right. Jill was important to him. They’d had their ups and downs over the years, but what family didn’t? Jill wasn’t always easy. She could be a hardass and a pain in his. It had gotten bad when Jack was MIA. Real bad. Not much got past Jill, and Sawyer was pretty sure she knew he was in love with Grace back then. She hadn’t made life easy on either of them. He understood why.
As the months passed without any word of Jack and his crew, Sawyer and Grace had lost faith that he’d ever come home. But not Jill. She’d never given up on the brother she adored. She was the most loyal person Sawyer had ever met. But that was all in the past, and they’d gotten back to normal.
Sure she still busted his balls on occasion, but she no longer looked like she wanted to cut them off. Well, she hadn’t. Since Friday night, he wasn’t so sure that had changed. But he wasn’t about to let a passing attraction—either his or Jill’s—ruin their friendship.
He reached the breezeway. There were two apartment doors on either side with a view of the pine-covered hills at the end of the open hall. He knocked on her door. Watching a hawk gliding over the treetops kept him entertained for a couple minutes while he waited. He heard her moving around inside; the faint strains of Luke Bryan’s “Do I” playing in the background. He tried again, knocking louder and longer this time. He got the feeling she was watching him from behind the peephole in the door.
“I know you’re there,” he said, holding up the carry-out bag. “I have blueberry scones. They’re still warm. Open up.” Since they were her favorite, he was counting on them to do the trick. Donuts and cupcakes would work on most women, but not Jill. Maybe because she’d spent her teenage years working after school and on weekends at the bakery. She wasn’t a fan of sugary sweet…or chocolate.
The door opened. His self-congratulatory smile faded as she came into view. Short denim shorts rode low on her hips revealing a strip of
tanned, taut skin and the bellybutton ring she’d gotten at fifteen. A finger flip to her controlling grandmother, and to him and Jack, as they’d forbidden her from getting one. His eyes moved to the navy tank top that revealed she was braless and… He quickly brought his gaze to her face. She wasn’t wearing any makeup or extensions. Though her hair looked different—softer, sexier—there was no reason for him to be feeling this sudden zing of attraction and heat. She looked like herself. Except she didn’t, not anymore.
Once again he reminded himself she was off limits. Maybe that was the problem. Everyone wanted what they couldn’t have. He knew all too well what that was like. He’d grown up with a mom who couldn’t afford to give him what the other kids had. And as an adult, he’d wanted a woman and a child who belonged to another man. He gave himself a mental kick in the ass. He was here to make things right, not worse.
Jill crossed her arms self-consciously over her chest, a touch of pink coloring her cheeks. “I wasn’t expecting company. It’s early.” She sounded grumpy, more like herself than she had the other night.
The attitude helped. He’d rather deal with this woman than the lady in red. He smiled and held up the bag. “Hockey camp starts in an hour. I wanted to talk to you. Can I come in?”
She sighed and opened the door, stepping aside to let him in. “Fine. But there’s nothing to talk about.” The color on her cheeks deepened, and she made a face. “Other than for me to apologize, I guess. I, ah, had too much to drink. I can’t even remember what I said to you. So if it was…I don’t know, inappropriate? I’m sorry.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes as she reached for the bag and turned away. “Do you want a cup of coffee?”
“Yeah, sure. Thanks.” If that’s how she wanted to play it, that was fine with him. Well, he thought it was until the next words out of his mouth. “So you don’t remember kissing me?” What the hell? He’d gotten a free pass. She’d been willing to act like nothing happened, so why couldn’t he?
She was heading into the small kitchen when he’d asked the question. Which might explain why he did. The sight of her ass in the short shorts and her incredibly long legs were messing with his head. He forgot that this was Jill and not his lady in red.