Just the Tip of the Iceberg: Mile High Matched Books 1-3

by Christina Hovland

  “How long you think before they have kids?” Eli casually asked Babushka.

  Babushka scooted toward Eli. “Vedding vill be a vhile. Jason must apologize for yelling before they go on.”

  Heather’s cheeks blotched a pinker pink. If Jase wasn’t pissed as all hell at her right then, he’d probably find it cute. As it was…fine, it was still cute.

  “You think I’m going to do anything with this…this…jerk?” Heather asked. Now her cheeks blazed red.

  “Jerk?” Jase shoved his hands on his hips. “That’s the best you can come up with?”

  “If the name fits.” She climbed up on her chair and adjusted her sleeves. “Now. Where’s my damn steak?”

  Jase took out all of his pent-up Heather frustration on the patch of drywall he drilled into the studs. He’d bought the entire building that housed his flower shop and his apartment. Unfortunately, between all the remodel expenses and ordering Heather’s new van, his savings were dwindling. He’d had to take over part of the construction himself, wrangling Brek, Dean, and Eli into helping so they’d stay on schedule and get everyone moved in on time.

  The fact Jase was remodeling the entirety of the building housing his flower shop was practically Brek’s fault. His wife’s, anyway. She’d convinced Jase to invest in real estate, buy up the building, and convert it into a wedding mecca. Eli’s catering kitchen would move in next to the flower shop, a bridal salon would go in on the corner, and Brek’s sister’s event planning office would be tucked in between. So far, all the brilliant plan had done was give him a backache from hanging drywall and a drained bank account from covering all the unexpected expenses.

  “And that’s the story of how we had kick-ass steaks in a strip club with Jase’s grandmother and his sort-of ex-girlfriend,” Eli said.

  He could take his backstabbing grin and shove it.

  Brek, who he would currently refer to as his ex-best friend because he found the whole situation hilarious, leaned against the finished wall Jase had just screwed in place.

  “I still don’t understand exactly why you told your family you and Heather broke up,” Brek said.

  “I think I can explain it,” Eli paused, studying the drill in his hand. “Since he’s been so pouty after his wife left, his family has been on his ass to meet someone. But he decided instead of just telling them he didn’t want to date, he would fib and tell Babushka that Heather broke his heart—which she didn’t. Babushka took out Heather’s van in retribution. Then Jase convinced Heather to actually tell his family they broke up—when they hadn’t—and now Babushka’s working for Heather.” He inhaled a long breath. “Then they went to the strip club.”

  That about summed it up.

  “And he agreed to buy Heather a new van, which now means we all have to hang fucking drywall,” Eli continued.

  Yes, that summed it up. Jase had really screwed himself.

  “You forgot to add that Babushka’s not allowed to play with Heather anymore.” Jase drilled the current screw about two seconds too long until it made a grinding sound. “Are you assholes gonna stand around or are you here to work?”

  “You know what your problem is?” Brek kicked off from the wall and held up a new sheet of drywall.

  “Bet you’re gonna tell me.” Jase wiped the line of sweat that’d dripped in his eyes.

  Eli tagged the extra drill. “I bet I know what it is.”

  The sheetrock slipped, and the turning screw burned against the pad of Jase’s thumb. “Shit.”

  “You have a case of the Heathers,” Brek said.

  Jase’s stomach turned over on itself. He did not have a case of the anyones.

  “That’s what I was going to say, too.” Their buddy Dean piped in.

  Eli went to work on the other side of the panel. “You should’ve seen them. He was ten seconds away from tearing off her clothes so he could practice his caveman routine right there.”

  He was not. Although, the thought of Heather without clothes didn’t piss him off as much as it should. Fine, it didn’t piss him off at all. It turned him all kinds of on.

  “Why’d you two fake break up, anyway?” Eli asked.

  The question was innocent, but it ticked Jase right the hell off. His breaths came uneven. The setup was fake, but the whole thing felt like a real breakup. “Sometimes shit doesn’t work out.”

  And sometimes the chick shuts you down before you have the opportunity to explore each other.

  Brek released his grip on the now attached drywall and took a swig from a plastic water bottle. “She didn’t really have a choice with Babushka.”

  Still, she’d indulged his grandmother in an afternoon that nearly made him stroke out.

  “You can’t really blame her for taking Babushka for steaks.” The last screw in place, Eli stepped back from the wall. “I mean, have you met your grandmother? If she wants steaks at Pistol Polly’s, she’ll find a way to make that happen.”

  “It won’t happen again. I forbid it. She’s coming back to work at the flower shop. She’s not allowed to work for Heather anymore.” And that would be the end of that.

  Brek chuckled. “You let us know how that ultimatum works out.”

  “I’m serious.” Jase kept his eyes fixed on the thin layer of dust on the concrete floor, unwilling to glance up.

  “Again, have you met your grandmother? Remember that time she convinced us to take the Lucas twins to homecoming?” Eli said.

  That’d been one of the worst nights of their lives. It’d involved the Golden Corral salad bar and pudding. Jase shivered and refused to think about it.

  Eli had that look on his face, the one he always got right before he said something that would make things worse. “You should probably apologize to Heather for being such a jerk at lunch.”

  The pulse in his throat throbbed. “I wasn’t a jerk.”

  “Eh.” Eli shrugged. “You kinda were.”

  Jase glanced to Dean. “You think I was wrong?”

  He held his hand up flat and made a yeah-kinda wobble.

  Well, damn. Maybe he’d overreacted with Heather. Maybe he should’ve given her some benefit of the doubt when it came to the extent of his grandmother’s manipulation.

  “You should make up so you can get on to the fun stuff,” Dean suggested.

  “I bet Heather’s great at the fun stuff.” Eli crossed his arms. “But, you know, if you’re not interested, I might be.”

  There weren’t enough expletives in the world right then. “Don’t fucking think about it.”

  “I suggest roses.” Eli tossed a drill in the air so it spun, then caught it.

  Roses.

  Yeah, he’d already done that.

  “Work on that apology, too.” Brek had the nerve to flash a grin.

  Jase opened his mouth to argue, but damn, he did owe her an apology. Even if it choked him.

  Jase knocked on the thick wooden door of Heather’s apartment and waited.

  Nothing.

  His palms got sweatier with each moment that passed. Apologizing sucked.

  He shifted the box of chocolate in his grip and knocked again. “Heather?”

  Now, he was definitely more of a rose delivery man, but when it came to apologies, he figured he owed the girl what she wanted.

  More nothing. He glanced around the little foyer with the rickety table. She’d set the roses he—well, Babushka—had given her on that table. He could leave the chocolates and write a note. If he’d brought paper. Which he hadn’t.

  The door swung open and Heather glared at him. “What?”

  “Heather. Hey.”

  She blushed. “If you’re here to yell at me again, you should probably go.”

  “Who is that?” Dean’s wife Claire peeked from behind her. “Oh. Hi, Jase. You’re interrupting girls’ night. Heather was just about to convince us all to buy tickets to her senior citizens prom.”

  “You should go.” Heather started to close the door. She pulled it open quickly. “Han
d over the chocolate first.”

  Still pissed. Good to know.

  “Oh, he brought chocolates. The plot thickens,” Claire said with a dose of drama.

  Jase shoved the chocolate toward Heather, sliding the box into her palm, his fingertips grazing hers for the slightest second. God, she felt good. “Why am I constantly feeling the need to apologize to you?” he asked, totally genuine.

  “Do you need a list?” She ripped open the box of chocolates and shoved one into her mouth. “Just ’cause I’m eating this doesn’t mean I’m not pissed. It’s just bad luck to waste chocolate.”

  “Oh, it’s gourmet. Hand it over.” Claire snatched the box and scooted back inside the apartment.

  Heather crossed her arms over a silk shirt. A silk shirt that slid over her breasts and made his dick seriously question why he’d been such a…well, a dick earlier. The tree trunk that’d sprouted in his pants wasn’t helping his ability to apologize.

  “I am sorry for everything I’ve done over the past few days, and everything I’ll do to piss you off in the future.” That ought to cover it. Being married for a few years had taught him a few things.

  “So, this is an all-encompassing apology?” Heather confirmed.

  “Yes.”

  “You need more chocolate.” The door slammed in his face.

  He let out a long breath and knocked again.

  She opened the door and raised an eyebrow in that way women always did when he fucked up.

  The expression effectively killed the trouser timber pressing against his zipper.

  “Babushka has her own way of doing things, that’s for sure,” he said.

  She did the eyebrow thing again.

  “Look, she doesn’t always remember things. The last few years have been harder on her than she’ll admit. I worry about her.”

  “Or maybe it’s hard for you to admit that she’s stronger than the rest of us.” Heather’s hand rested on the edge of the door, clearly ready to slam it in his face when the time was right.

  He stepped forward and got a whiff of her—a mix of lavender and Heather. No woman had ever smelled so good. Never made him want to nuzzle her neck and stay there all night. Never made him lose his mind like he was doing now.

  “Is that all?” Heather asked.

  He shook away the lingering effects of being around her. “What?”

  “You said that already. Apology accepted. You’re absolved.” She did a little hand wave that was adorable. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, too. I should’ve tried harder to keep Babushka out of there. I should’ve kept driving when I saw where we were going.”

  “She would’ve convinced you to turn around.” Now that his mind was clear, he was sure of it.

  “You’re probably right,” Heather conceded.

  “You gonna invite me in for chocolate?” He jerked his chin toward her apartment. “I can do girls’ night with the best of them.”

  She let out a heavy sigh. “Do I have a choice?”

  “There’s always a choice.”

  “Are you going to buy a ticket to prom?”

  Now it was his turn to heavy sigh. “Absolutely.”

  She paused, thinking a little too hard. “Claire, Velma, Jase wants to come in,” she hollered behind her.

  “Does he have more chocolate?” Velma called back.

  Heather gave him a questioning look.

  “Nope, but I have a Visa and the desire for a Beau Jo’s pizza delivery,” he replied.

  “No more chocolate. No more funsies,” Claire shouted. “And we can’t talk about him when he’s here. So, move along, Mr. Florist.”

  “I guess not.” Heather’s forehead crinkled.

  “Listen, I’d really like to help you out with the prom thing. I know you’ve been wanting help, and I’ve been thinking. I have some ideas.” His sneakers squeaked against the polished floor when he stepped toward her.

  She gave him a look that was not a vote of confidence. Vulnerability passed over her expression. Fleeting, but it was there.

  “Why?” she finally asked.

  “Why what?”

  “Why do you want to help me? You made it clear today you don’t even like me.”

  Oh, he liked her. That was the problem. “You’re doing a good thing. I can appreciate that.”

  Also, he’d get to spend more time with her. And for some damn reason, that’s exactly what he wanted.

  They stood there studying each other. He wanted to wrap her up and hold her tight.

  Also, he’d like to discuss getting in her pants. But he’d save that for later. “What’re you doing tomorrow night? I’ll bring you dinner and we’ll talk strategy.”

  “Just strategy?” she asked.

  “Totally professional.” Mostly. “We’ll call it an official committee meeting.” Except, this time he’d be damn sure someone showed up. Namely, him.

  “Then dinner would be great.” She stepped back into her apartment.

  “Tomorrow,” he confirmed.

  “Tomorrow.” She nodded to her apartment. “I should get back. Thanks for the chocolate.” She didn’t smile, but it was close.

  In any case, he caught it. “Here? Or my shop? Tomorrow.”

  “Here.” Now she did smile.

  She wanted home field advantage. He could work with that.

  “Seven?” he asked.

  “Seven.” She nodded and made a move to go inside but stopped and caught his gaze. “No steaks.”

  With that, the door clicked closed.

  9

  Chapter Nine

  Senior “Senior” Prom Countdown: 31 Days

  She shouldn’t have told Jase to meet her at her apartment.

  This was a bad idea.

  “Not a date. Not a date.” Heather repeated the mantra over and over while she paced her living room. She’d put on lip gloss for this not-a-date. And, fine, she’d even picked out a pair of underwear that matched her bra. That wasn’t for him. Maybe she just didn’t like mismatched lingerie?

  “You look amazing,” Candy said. “Stop fussing with your hair.”

  Heather hadn’t even realized she was running her fingers through it. That’s why she usually wore a ponytail—it was just easier.

  She dropped her hand. “This is just a committee meeting.”

  That’s what she’d told herself the entire time she was dressing, blow-drying, curling, and lipsticking.

  “Uh-huh.” Candy gave her a look that said she didn’t buy it.

  “What does that mean?”

  Candy sighed. “It means you’re wearing your sexy jeans, and your hair is down, and that tells me this is not just a committee meeting.”

  Candy wasn’t wrong. Heather had picked out designer jeans that did amazing things for her legs, a loose tank top that exposed a peekaboo red bra strap, and her hair was down. None of that meant this was anything more than a totally platonic night of prom planning.

  “I’ve got to go meet up with Mom.” Candy grabbed her purse and headed for the door. “We are hitting JoAnn Fabric so I can help make her a dress for that thing she’s got with Dad’s office. Unless you want me to stay? I can join the decorating committee.” She sang the last part.

  “You already told me no, twice.” Heather flicked on the television and let Pat Sajak talk about the spinning wheel to distract her from Jase, jeans, and hair.

  “That was before Jase joined the fun.” Candy rifled through her purse, grabbing her keys. “I’m out. I expect a call later detailing how this goes.”

  The knock at the door signaled the start of a totally platonic evening of brainstorming.

  That’s all this evening’s…event…was.

  She switched off the television she’d just turned on and swung open the door. Jase grinned his patented I’m-here-now-you-can-get-naked smile. At least that’s what she called it in her head. Likely, it was his everyday charisma. In any case—

  “Can I come in?” Oversized picnic basket in hand, he nodded toward
her living room.

  “Yes,” she said, only slightly awkward. She stepped back and let him through.

  “Hey, Jase.” Candy pulled her cross-body bag across her chest. “I was just on my way out. Have fun.” Candy blew a kiss at Heather and headed out, the door clicking softly behind her.

  Jase turned and studied Heather for longer than an instant. He gave her a solid once-over that she felt right down to the marrow in her bones. She shivered, and her nipples pebbled. Only the air conditioning. Nothing more. “I can honestly say, that has never happened to me with a member of my family.”

  “What’s never happened?” Heather asked.

  He glanced to where Candy had closed the door. “They’ve never willingly left. Usually they have to be shoehorned out the door.”

  That was not her family. They were there when she needed them, sure, but they also had a solid grasp on personal space. “Yeah? No. My family isn’t clingy.”

  “You mean your grandmother doesn’t try to set you up with random nurses from her eye doctor’s office? Your parents don’t insist you check in every few days, and your brothers and sister don’t make it a point to quiz your potential dates about dietary fiber and overall dental hygiene?” he asked, his tone totally serious.

  He had to be exaggerating.

  “Come on, your siblings haven’t done that.” She held out her hand for the basket.

  “I’d call them so they can confirm it for you, but then they’d know where I am. Then they’d know how often you brush, floss, and eat salads. It’s better for everyone if they can’t find me.” He passed the basket over to her still extended hand. “No comments on the basket. Not my idea.”

  Cumin and chili powder drifted from the blue cloth covering the top. Her taste buds did a happy dance at the scent. “What’d you bring?”

  “Tacos,” he said, deadpan.

  Tacos. Like their imaginary first date. Her heart gave an extra beat at the memory.

  “You didn’t think I’d forget?” Oh, the way his voice went husky. It did funny things to her stomach, making her question her resolve that this was not a date.