His mouth went flat. “Derek. Or as I prefer to call him—‘Derelict.”
She shook her head, a smile itching to break through, but she fought it off. This was too serious of a point to temper with a smile. “So, if she makes a move and you give in? You risk your credibility as a friend and a man she can trust. Understand?”
He grunted his response, obviously not happy with her assessment. “Yeah, well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
She jerked his chin to face her, forefinger and thumb pinching hard while her brows arched in command. “No, we will cross that bridge right now, Dr. Love, or we can nix these ‘lessons.’”
The edge of his mouth flickered with a near smile despite his narrow gaze. “You’re a bigger bully than old Mrs. Cranston in the third grade, O’Bryen, you know that? And she was the meanest teacher I ever had.”
“Yeah?” Shannon grabbed the lobe of his ear. “Well, ol’ Mrs. C.’s gonna look like a field trip when I’m done with you, Dr. Love, so buck up or back out.” She gave his ear a hard tweak. “I want you to promise me right now, buster, that you will keep your mitts off of Jasmine whether she comes on to you or not.”
“Ouch!” He slapped her hand away, broiling her with a mock glare. “I think I prefer the stilettos.”
“It can be arranged, bucko, if you even think about crossing me, so I want your word now—hands off the ex, got it?”
“Hands?” He splayed a palm to his heart, a devious smile sprouting on his lips. “Consider it done.”
She nabbed his chin again, holding it tight. “Hands, lips, nose, body, and every other trick you have in the little black book of yours, Doc, capiche? No moves whatsoever.” She let him go, shoulders squaring with a firm fold of arms. “Unless, of course,” she said with a measured smile, “that’s too difficult for you?”
He swallowed the dare like a carp on dog food. “Bring-it,” he bit out.
“Good.” She swiveled forward to watch the game, the progress they’d made making her hungry. “Then you can thank me with another hot dog and DP. And don’t skimp on the relish this time.”
He rose with a chuckle, swiping up the trash on his way. “Sure thing, Mrs. O.,” he said, staring down with a slack of his hip. “Anything else?”
“Yeah.” She peered up with a tilt of her head, shading her eyes with her hand. “One final tip. If you ever play mini-golf with Jazz …” She battled a grin that just itched to break free, already plotting chapter sixteen in her mind. “For the love of all that’s humble and sweet, Doc,” she said with a wry twist of her lips, “for once in your do-or-die life—let the poor woman win.”
Chapter Seventeen
Crash!
Sam jolted at his desk when his closed door banged hard against the wall in an office where he’d thought everyone had gone home.
“So help me, Cunningham, I will take you out right now if you’re hitting on my sister.” Jack stormed in with fire in his eyes, slamming the door behind him with another bang that jangled Sam’s nerves. He strode forward and yanked one of the chairs in front of Sam’s desk out of the way with a clatter while Sam shot to his feet, hand raised to quell Jack’s temper.
“Calm down, Jack, Shannon and I are only friends, I swear.”
“Don’t give me that garbage,” Jack hissed, palms flat on the front of Sam’s desk as he leaned in, the tic in his temple keeping time with the rapid thud of Sam’s heart. “That’s classic ‘Cunningham 101: Friends with Benefits,’ you slime ball, and I ought to tear you limb from limb for even glancing at my sister.”
“Hey, man, it’s your fault in the first place,” Sam said, standing his ground with his own searing glare. “You’re the one who had her drive me home from the fundraiser, O’Bryen, so can I help it if Shannon’s an amazing listener? One who parses a problem down to size with some of the most honest, real advice anyone has ever given me?”
The tic slowed as Jack’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Like take a flying leap off a tall building?”
Uh, yeah. Or from the front seat of a car ... Sam’s eyes softened as he absently rubbed the center of his chest, the memory of Shannon’s stilettos tugging a sheepish smile to his lips. “As a matter of fact, Jack, yes—among a few other choice barbs, so trust me, I got the point.
Permanently tattooed on my chest.
Jack rose to his full height, a twitter in his cheek confirming that his anger still simmered dangerously close to the surface. “I want the truth, Ham—did you hit on Shannon?”
The fire in Jack’s eyes was apparently catching because Sam felt it whoosh up the back of his neck. Nope, more like the other way around …
Smile fading, Sam sucked in a deep draw of air, figuring he owed Jack the truth. He cuffed the back of his neck, slowly taking his seat. “I won’t lie to you, Jack—I did kiss Shannon out of appreciation for taking me home, making me breakfast, and talking some sense into me, but I swear, it was nothing more than an innocent kiss.” The heat from his neck crawled up into his face at how close he’d come to way more if Shannon had been willing.
Jack slanted in again, hands knuckle-white on Sam’s desk. “Then why does your face look like the backside of a baboon?” he said in a slow, deadly voice, rife with warning.
Avoiding Jack’s burning gaze, Sam swallowed a knot of nerves, his Adam’s apple chugging so many times, he thought it was broke. “Because it was a” —gulp—“really nice kiss,” Sam said with a croak, “that made me want more, but I assure you Shannon nipped that in the bud right away when she pummeled my chest with her stilettos and kicked me out of her car.” He swallowed hard. “Literally. Right on my baboon butt.”
Jack blinked, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth as he quietly straightened. “No kidding?”
Sam grunted, a sheepish grin sliding across his face. “Yeah, man, with divots that would make a nine iron proud. So trust me, Jack—I ain’t going down that road ever again.”
“Trust you?” Jack said with a flash of teeth, apparently satisfied enough to drop into Sam’s chair with hands braced to the back of his neck. “Not in a million years, Ham, but I will admit it’s awfully good to hear that Shan can take care of herself.”
“And then some, I assure you.” Sam reached into his mini-fridge under his desk to grab two Red Bulls and sat down, closing his computer before tossing one at Jack, who caught it handily. “So, when I say Shannon and I are only friends, man, I mean it. And to be honest?” He popped the tab. “Shannon’s too important of a friend now to risk screwing that up, especially since she’s a genius when it comes to coaching me on how to get Jazz back.” Smiling, he raised a toast. “You wouldn’t believe the strides I’m making with Jazz, and all because of your brilliant sister.”
Jack toasted him back and took a healthy swig, throat glugging as he watched Sam over the rim of the can. “Man, that hits the spot—thanks.” He rested his arms on the chair, bracing the can while he relaxed his head on the back. “So I don’t need to break your legs?”
Sam chuckled. “Please don’t—I need them if I’m going to win Jazz back.”
“To crawl on your knees?” Jack said with a lazy grin.
“Surprisingly, no.” Sam took a drink of his Red Bull, a feeling of peace settling despite the caffeine he was pumping into his body. He smiled. “Your sister is teaching me a whole new tact,” he said with a leisurely scratch of curls at the nape of his neck, his smile easing into a grin, “and unlike my methods before, begging is not part of the routine.”
“Good to hear, Ham. Women like a man in control, especially a woman like Jazz.”
Sam issued a grunt. “Yeah, well I’ve always been the one in control in relationships until Jazz dumped me.”
“And the two-timing co-ed,” Jack reminded him gently, almost making Sam sorry he’d opened up about the woman he’d fallen hard for in college, the one he’d hoped to marry. His smile disappeared into a thin line as he recalled how over the moon he’d been when he put his ring on Amber’s finger,
pledging his love forever. Only forever turned out to be till every Friday night rolled around when she went clubbing with her friends, screwing Sam over with a revolving door of other men.
Including a married professor.
A heavy blast of air blustered from Sam’s lips. “Don’t remind me.”
“So, what’s Shannon’s plan?” Jack studied him with frank interest, his faith in his sister obvious by the affection in his tone.
Sam sank back into his chair, resting his head on the back like Jack while giving him a faint smile. “I swear your sister should be a counselor, Jack. Not only has she taught me how to be a friend to Jasmine” —he paused to give Jack a knowing look with a crook of a smile— “and only a friend, but she’s helping me to build my self-respect in ways I never dreamed I could. She’s pretty much whittled away the player in me to not only reveal a guy women can trust, but a guy I can trust too.” His smile bottomed out. “Of course being your sister, she also gets her licks in with not-too-subtle references to God that annoy me to no end.”
Jack’s chuckle bounced off the office walls. “That’s my girl. I’ll tell you what, Sam, she’s definitely something special.”
“Yes, she is,” Sam said quietly, thinking how much fuller, deeper, and more peaceful his life was since he met Shannon. He glanced up to lock gazes with Jack, the sobriety in his tone a promise he intended to keep. “She’s rapidly becoming my best friend, Jack, and you have my word—I will never hurt her.”
“I believe you, Sam.” Jack’s chest inflated with a deep swell of air before he expelled it in one long, arduous sigh. “At least not intentionally, but I gotta tell you, bro, I’m more than a little concerned about that killer charm of yours. I’ve seen too many women fall under your spell, Dr. Love, and I just want to make sure Shan doesn’t become another victim.”
Victim. Sam winced, pretty sure he deserved that. He tossed out a grin, hoping to counter Jack’s underlying message with humor. “Are you kidding? When it comes to Shannon, I’m the victim here, and don’t make me take my shirt off to prove it. Besides,” he said with a hoist of his Red Bull, “it took weeks before she’d even give me the time of day, and she still won’t go anywhere without a lot of people around. Trust me—I literally had to bribe her in the first place, to even break through her defenses.”
“Yeah, ‘break through her defenses.’ That’s what I’m worried about, Ham, because I learned first-hand in residency that nobody breaches a girl’s defenses quite like you.” Jack rose, stretching his arms back with the Red Bull in his hand and a wry smile on his lips. “So I hope you don’t mind, old buddy, but I plan to put the third degree to my little sister just to make sure she’s not falling for your charm.”
“She’s not,” Sam said too quickly, suddenly remembering the passion in Shannon’s kiss when she melted in his arms. A kiss that had enough return heat to convince Sam she wanted more as much as he did. “But it doesn’t matter, Jack—I would never risk hurting Shannon or my friendship with her.”
“I’m afraid it does matter, Sam, because if I sense she has even the slightest bit of attraction to you, I’m going to ask you to back off and leave her alone. Which shouldn’t be too much of a problem for you if you get back with Jazz. Because take it from personal experience—that woman isn’t going to want Shannon around, friend or no.” Jack paused. “Agreed?”
Sam’s throat constricted, the thought of Shannon out of his life not settling all that well. “Agreed,” he said quietly, hoping it didn’t come to that.
“Good. Then thanks for the Red Bull, man. I was dragging before I came in here, but this fired me right back up.”
“I doubt it was the Red Bull,” Sam said with a jag of a smile. “You were seeing red way before that.”
Jack grinned. “Yeah, I was, but I feel a whole lot better now.” He took a drink and sat on the edge of Sam’s desk, assessing Sam with compassion in his eyes. “So … you and Jazz—things are looking up?”
“Yep, and all because of your amazing sister, coaching me every step of the way.”
“Cool.” Jack nodded, a tender smile shadowing his lips for a woman Sam supposed was as great a sister as she was a friend. He stood. “Well, I gotta go before Shan’s ‘amazing’ sister-in-law disowns me.”
Sam laughed, slanting back with a casual fold of arms. “Yeah, right. The woman’s so out of orbit for you, she’s over the moon.”
Jack ambled to the door, lobbing a grin over his shoulder. “Yeah, I know. Just like Jazz will be once you lock her down.”
“Thanks, man.” Sam opened his computer, Jack’s reassurance leaving a warm feeling in his chest. “Appreciate it.”
“See you tomorrow,” Jack called, turning halfway with a sudden notch between his brows. “Oh … almost forgot.” He strolled around to Sam’s side of the desk with his Red Bull to apparently throw it away. But before Sam could take it, Jack dribbled the dregs over Sam’s head.
“Are you crazy?” Sam vaulted to his feet with a growl, snatching the can from Jack’s hand while he grilled him with a glare. “What the devil was that for?” he shouted, amber liquid dribbling off his nose onto one of his favorite ties.
Hands in his pockets, Jack strolled to the door with a satisfied chuckle, glancing back while he fisted the knob. “That, old buddy,” he said with a smile a whole lot dryer than Sam’s tie, “is for kissing my sister.”
Chapter Eighteen
Oh, goody. The shoe’s on the other foot. Tess glared at the privet hedge that separated Ben’s yard from hers, flipping a page in her magazine so hard, it tore in half. Her lips took a twist. And it’s pinching my feet along with my mood.
Which is exactly why she was barefoot at the moment, sitting on her patio in the dark with only a pale shaft of light from her open kitchen door.
For. The. Last. Stinkin’. Hour!
She lifted her feet to study the freshly painted Peach Passion on her toenails, nicely complemented by skimpy white short-shorts she’d borrowed from Cat and a snug crop top the exact shade of her toes. The same crop top she’d worn the night Ben had told her he wanted to be way more than neighbors last summer, when he couldn’t keep his eyes—or hands—off of her. Normally she avoided snug or skimpy anything, especially where Ben was concerned, but after two weeks of barely seeing him at all, she figured this was war. She’d even ditched the usual messy ponytail for the loose shoulder-length style he seemed to love because she obviously needed to remind him of just what he was missing by not coming around.
Glancing at her watch, she noted the late hour of eleven o’clock and huffed out a noisy sigh, her patience as thin as the flimsy page of her Better Homes & Garden. “Where the heck are you, Carmichael?” she muttered, more than a little peeved she hadn’t seen him all week and only once the week before for pizza on her patio the night the kids were gone. Even though the concept of “some distance” had been all her idea.
“What? I can’t see you till I meet your conditions?” he’d rasped after he’d walked her home following her ultimatum on the dock, the question laced with shock.
“Of course you can, Ben.” She attempted to soothe him with a gentle skim of his bristled jaw, her tone soft. “Once or twice a week for an occasional chat on your patio or dinner on mine when the kids are gone, but no official dating until you clear the air with Cam and no sneaking around like before.” She pretended to shudder. “I don’t like sneaking around—makes me feel like we’re doing something wrong. Besides, I think we need some distance.” She’d stood on tiptoe then to brush a tender kiss to his lips, feeling strong and confident and oh, so very in control.
Her mouth jabbed into a scowl. Unlike now.
Slapping the magazine on the table, she jumped up and started to pace, clearly more frustrated with her mandate at the moment than Dr. Doom, apparently. Just what did he think he was doing anyway? Yes, it had been her idea for limited time together, but for pity’s sake, she hadn’t expected him to comply, and certainly not so completely! She paused mi
d-pace with an awful thought, her heart slowing to a painful thud that nearly drowned out the rising hum and click of cicadas. What if he’d decided her demands were too high? What if he realized the occasional chat or dinner was more than enough? What if he came to the conclusion that she was too demanding to marry? Tess swallowed the lump of panic in her throat.
What if he decided to see someone else?
Pulse sprinting, she gnawed on her lip till most of her Peach Kiss lipstick was gone, the scent of her new lemon swirl body lotion—Ben’s favorite—as potent as her fear. Men didn’t like ultimatums, she knew, and especially a man like Ben, a virtual hermit set in his ways for the last eight years. Until she’d invaded his space. She grated her lower lip with her teeth, wondering when she’d turned into such an insecure, jealous stalker.
Uh, when he invaded my heart?
“Ben, where the heck are you?” she hissed, slapping a palm on her patio table, grateful her nine-year-old son Davey was spending the night at his best friend’s house while the twins worked a campout at Camp Hope with Jack and Lacey. Tears blurred in her eyes before she could stop them, and dropping back in her chair, she stared at the hedge with an ache in her heart. I miss you ...
Screeeeeeeech.
Tess froze, the sound of Ben’s slider sending her pulse into overdrive as his backyard light flooded the sky over the hedge like the dawn of a new day. Beau squealed and darted into Ben’s backyard before the slider squeaked closed again, and Tess tugged her top in place, ready to pay the elusive Dr. Doom a late-night visit. Palms damp and mouth dry, she snatched up the plate of monster cookies she’d made, promising herself she wouldn’t lose her temper. Nope, all she wanted to do was give him a smile as sweet as his favorite cookies and jog his memory as to what was on the other side of that stupid hedge. Head high, she marched right around that idiotic Wall of Jericho he’d put in eight years ago and entered his side gate. Her mouth took a swerve. The same gate that had once sported a padlock worthy of Fort Knox before Jack finally took it off after he and Lacey moved in.
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