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

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Just the Tip of the Iceberg: Mile High Matched Books 1-3 Page 36

by Christina Hovland


  Heather’s eyes went wide, a confused expression aimed his way. She cleared her throat. Twice. “I’m—I’m sorry. I’m confused. You said you weren’t feeling well?”

  “I am fine. My family, not so much.” Babushka waved to the sitting room. “I vill stay vith you until I am dead. It should not be long.”

  And…they were at the death declarations portion of the evening.

  Heather cleared her throat again. Then she glanced between the two of them.

  “She can’t stay with you,” Jase said. Enough was enough. “Babushka, stop being unreasonable and break up with your boyfriend.”

  “You finally agreed to go out with Morty?” Heather grinned wide. “That’s fantastic.”

  “You know about this?” A heavy weight settled in Jase’s gut, every alarm bell in his head ringing that this wasn’t going to end well.

  “Well, yeah. He owns…you know what? Never mind.” Heather crossed her arms, stretching the T-shirt tight across her breasts.

  He couldn’t allow himself to be distracted by a nice rack.

  “Did she also tell you she gave him five hundred thousand dollars?” Jase asked.

  “Um. No.” At least she had the decency to look concerned. She turned to Babushka. “Why would you do that?”

  “Business investment. My business, no one else’s.” Babushka harrumphed and patted the suitcase she’d wheeled behind her.

  “Did you at least look over his books first? Make sure he’s legit?” Heather asked in total seriousness. Which was ridiculous because nothing Babushka could say would make this situation okay.

  “Of course I did. I am not idiot.”

  “And you have a payment plan or something in writing?” Heather continued her line of questioning.

  “Attorney draws up all papers.”

  “Then what’s the problem?” Heather asked Jase.

  “What’s the problem?” he repeated. She couldn’t be serious.

  Heather stared at him, clearly not getting the problem.

  “The problem is she’s dating a man and dishing out a fortune to him.”

  “It sounds like the dating and the loan are totally separate. Is that right, Babushka?” Heather asked, dipping her toe straight into the idiocy of his family. She had no idea the undertow was about to drag her down.

  “Yes. Of course. Sex has nothing to do vith money,” Babushka confirmed.

  Jase’s body did that weird tensing thing again and his eye twitched.

  His father chose that moment to check on things out in the hallway. “For the love of all things holy. Mamochka.” His voice raised two ticks higher. “I forbid you to see this man again.”

  “You cannot tell me vat to do. You are son. I am mother.” Babushka pressed her index finger at her chest.

  “I said I forbid this nonsense.” There it was, the red cheeks, his father’s forbidding everything—they were at the final countdown for Mount Vesuvius to blow his top and take out the town of Pompeii.

  “Forbid all you vant. I live life my vay.” Babushka crossed her arms in defiance.

  “This is my house. You live here? You break up with him.” His father’s tone rose steadily with the red in his face.

  Jase could relate to how he was feeling at the moment.

  “Zen I vill not live here.” Babushka grabbed Heather’s arm and tried to usher her toward the door. “That is settled. Ve vill go now.”

  “You may not go.” His father’s voice practically rattled the china.

  Heather stood still, her face an expressionless wasteland. Welcome to the family. Pull up a chair and grab a tumbler of vodka.

  “I vill go.” Babushka raised her chin and tugged at Heather’s arm. “Be a dear and get my bag.”

  Heather didn’t move.

  “I forbid it.” His father kept the slightest tether on his anger. He’d raised his voice only slightly.

  Jase was ready to sign on for another tour in the desert of Afghanistan just to get a vacation from this bullshit.

  Babushka firmed her Russian backbone and stood tall. “You keep saying this thing. ‘I forbid. I forbid.’ It means nothing. You go forbid vat you vant and I vill do vat I vant. Everyone vill be happy.”

  His father cursed wildly under his breath in Russian before he turned and marched down the hallway.

  “I vill vait in car,” Babushka announced and yanked open the door, the wheels on her suitcase squeaking behind her.

  “This. This right here is why you don’t get involved in family shit.” Jase turned to Heather.

  “Are you mad because she has a boyfriend or because she made a business deal without asking first?” Heather asked.

  “You don’t get this. Of course you don’t.” He ran a hand over his hair. This was not how the evening was meant to go.

  “What does that mean, ‘of course I don’t’?” She mimicked him, poorly.

  “C’mon, Heather, it’s not like you’re in a place to discuss relationship dynamics.” He scraped a hand over his face.

  Her expression went slack, and her eyes flared.

  “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant,” he amended quickly. He meant she didn’t understand his family’s relationship dynamics. Fuck, he didn’t understand his family. “Your family is all normal. My family is…well…” He tilted his head toward the room housing said family.

  “No, I know what you meant.” The column of her throat pulsed as she swallowed hard. “I should go. She shouldn’t wait out there by herself.”

  “Heather, I didn’t mean it like that. Really.” He tried to extract his foot from his mouth.

  Heather bit her lip. “Okay, but I should still…go.”

  “Right. Yeah.” He nodded.

  She hurried out the door, leaving him alone in the foyer.

  His mother stood alone in the doorway to the family room and just shook her head.

  Jase rubbed the headache that brewed beneath his skull. This is why you don’t get involved in family shit. He repeated it to himself over and over.

  11

  Chapter Eleven

  Senior “Senior” Prom Countdown: 20 Days

  Originally, Heather was on the fence about letting Babushka stick around at her apartment. Turned out, Babushka was a pretty freaking awesome roommate.

  Case in point? The laundry Babushka had washed, folded, and put away for Heather. Yes, she had rearranged all of Heather’s drawers in the process, but it’d been a week and Heather hadn’t had to touch the washing machine. It would take Heather a bit to grow accustomed to having her lingerie moved to the bottom drawer of her dresser, but she’d get used to it.

  Not that she took advantage of the old woman. Babushka just always got to the laundry first. And the dishes. And the woman cooked like a dream. Heather slogged up the stairs after work every afternoon and Babushka had dinner ready for her.

  Heather had told her repeatedly she didn’t have to do it. But who was she to ruin the woman’s happiness? If making Heather piroshki and potato pancakes was her thing, Heather could be totally on board.

  And she’d shared her recipes with Candy and the other bakers. Which meant, Heather was selling the hell out of some cookies.

  To top it all off, Babushka also taken over personally hawking prom tickets to anyone over the age of fifty-five who came within a five-foot radius of the cookie shop.

  A knock at the door and Heather stood from the table. “I’ve got it.”

  “No. No. You sit.” Babushka shuffled past Heather to the front door. “You have vork. I vill answer.”

  Heather had spent the morning getting donations for her prom project. She went back to her notepad of patrons, marking who had agreed to donate what.

  Babushka pulled open Heather’s front door. Jase stood on the other side.

  “Enough is enough, I’ve come to bring you home,” he declared to his grandmother.

  Oh. Hell no.

  Heather moved to head off the swiping of the babushka. “Jase. Hello. Come in. Have some
golubzi.”

  He sucked in air. “Shit. She’s turned you.”

  “Mouth.” Babushka patted his cheek. “Cuss in Russian, like a good boy.”

  “Gav-no,” he replied, stepping into the apartment.

  Babushka’s smile would’ve been infectious if Jase weren’t there to steal her back.

  “What happened in here?” He glanced around the rearranged apartment.

  “Your grandmother feng shui’d me.” And Heather liked it.

  “Babushka, we wanted to give you time to calm down, but it’s time to come home.”

  “No.” Babushka had set to work in the kitchen, making up a plate of the golubzi Heather assumed was for Jase. “I am happy here.”

  “Come home and be passive-aggressive with us like a true Dvornakov.”

  “She’s happy here,” Heather confirmed. She crossed her arms across her chest for good measure.

  “She can’t like sleeping on a sofa more than her bed at home.”

  “It’s memory foam. She’s perfectly comfortable.” And it folded away during the day as a bonus. Everyone was happy.

  Happy. Happy. Happy.

  Except Jase, who was clearly unhappy with the continued setup.

  “Heather, come on. Give me my grandmother back.”

  “She can go back whenever she wants.” Which, Heather hoped, wouldn’t be soon.

  Jase squeezed his eyes shut. “Heather…”

  She kept hers wide open. “Jase…”

  “C’mon, help me out?” he asked.

  “Your father, he is ready to apologize?” Babushka scooted a cabbage roll onto Jase’s plate and shuffled to the table.

  Jase followed her to the table. “Of course he’s not. He’s Papa. He doesn’t apologize.”

  “And I don’t move home,” Babushka confirmed. “Now, come eat.”

  Jase glowered at Heather. “I’m only eating it because I haven’t had lunch.”

  He didn’t have to justify himself to Heather. Babushka was an amazing cook.

  “Now, I vill go for a valk so you two can be alone.” Babushka made a hasty, and rather loud, exit, the door snapping in place behind her.

  Heather pulled a chair out beside Jase. A reasonable distance, given what had happened the last time they were alone in her dining nook. “Be glad she hasn’t moved in with her boyfriend.”

  He stilled mid-chew. Swallowed. “Is that even under discussion?”

  “She’s mentioned it. I’ve convinced her that she should stay here.” Heather fiddled with the edge of the plastic tablecloth Babushka had added to the table. “She’s actually a really great roommate.”

  “She rearrange your cabinets yet?” Jase asked with a glance to Heather’s small kitchen.

  “Cabinets, furniture, closets. They’ve all been Babushka’d.”

  “You’ll have a plastic cover on your sofa pretty soon.” He ran a tongue over his teeth.

  “Then we’ll be able to wipe it off easily, won’t we?”

  “Fuck, she’s really burrowed in good.” He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin, tossing it on top of his now empty plate. “You coming to Brek’s Bar tonight? Being around normal people might do you good. The cover band he’s got coming in is supposed to be amazing.”

  “I was planning on it. Your grandmother has plans this weekend, so it’ll be lonely around here.”

  “What kind of plans?” Jase asked, ominous.

  Heather shifted in her seat. “She’s going up to Blackhawk with Morty.”

  Jase stared at her. His mouth dropped open. “For fuck’s sakes.”

  “She’s a grown woman.” Heather smoothed her palms over the tablecloth.

  “And she’s going gambling with the boyfriend who has already squeezed half a mil from her?” Jase confirmed.

  Well, when he put it like that…

  “You wanna go to Blackhawk and chaperone?” Heather asked. “We can go together.”

  He ran a hand over his face. “Fuck.”

  Yeah. That.

  “What time are we leaving?” he asked.

  12

  Chapter Twelve

  The thing about Blackhawk was it wasn’t too far outside of Denver. Only an hour from town. Yet, it seemed like a million miles away with all the casinos built up against the side of the mountain, catering to the cottontops. It was a far cry from their urban neighborhood in Cherry Creek.

  Babushka and Morty had insisted on driving alone in Morty’s Cadillac. Jase had reluctantly agreed, following behind them with Heather in Babushka’s Buick. Heather’s large overnight bag wouldn’t exactly fit on his Ducati, and her new van was still weeks away from being ready.

  Now they were in the casino, and Heather trailed an incredibly grouchy Jase as he weaved through the blackjack tables. The lights on the machines flashed and the buzz of the blackjack tournament lingered.

  Still, the vein in Jase’s neck pulsed. And he was doing the deep-breathing thing she’d learned didn’t take him to his happy place.

  He glanced around the casino floor once more, the little lines between his eyebrows more prominent than usual.

  They’d misplaced Babushka and Morty by the slot machines when Heather had insisted on grabbing a burger from the little café by the craps tables. Misplacing his grandmother was her fault, but darn it all, she’d been starving.

  “They just wanted some space, that’s all.” Heather ran her hand over his arm. Her phone dinged. She glanced to it.

  At theater. Long movie. Enjoy your time with Jason.

  Heather held the message up to Jase. “Your grandmother went to the movies.”

  “Thank fuck.” He let out a long breath.

  “Jase.” Heather gripped the sides of his shoulders. “You need to relax, or this weekend will cause you to pop an aneurism.” She had an idea. “C’mon. We’re hitting the penny slots. My treat.”

  “You’re taking me gambling?” He didn’t look convinced that it was a good idea, but he didn’t fight her on it.

  She headed toward the cashier to fill out a gambling card. “Uh-huh. But we’re doing the minimum bid. Let’s make my five dollars last the whole night.”

  “It’s like five thirty,” he replied, following her.

  She tugged a rugged-looking five-dollar-bill from her pocket. “Right, so let’s make this Abraham Lincoln last until at least seven.”

  “Then what?” he asked, a sly smile starting to spread across his lips.

  “Then I guess we’ll see where the evening takes us next.” She winked at him.

  Dammit. She shouldn’t do that.

  He followed her to the cashier window, made the transaction, and headed for the penny slots.

  “Okay. I have a system.” She rubbed her hands together.

  “Do tell.”

  “We walk around until I find a machine I’m feeling, then we take turns pulling the lever.”

  He jerked his chin toward one of the side rooms. “We should’ve headed to the poker room.”

  “Maybe.” She trailed her fingertips along the top of a slot machine. “But we’re here now. Next round is on you in the poker room.”

  He grinned then. Full smile. “Deal.”

  Heather moved through the rows of slots, finally settling on one with a watercolor drawing of a buffalo on the top. “This is the one.”

  “Let’s do it.” Jase stood behind her while she settled into the chair. “Ladies first.”

  “Why thank you.” Heather plopped onto the velvet chair while Jase flashed their five-dollar gambling card on the sensor.

  She clicked minimum bid and pulled the handle.

  Some people preferred to push the button, but she liked losing her money the old-school way.

  Three cherries and a gold bar lined up. “Ha. I won.”

  “Four cents. Nice job.” Jase dropped his hand to her shoulder, right near the curve of her neck.

  The warmth of his fingers sparked the tiny nerve endings where his palm rested. She liked it. A lot.

 
His thumb started to rub a small line, back and forth, back and forth, over the sensitized skin.

  She pulled the handle.

  “I won again.” Ten whole cents this time. She made a “whoop” sound and threw her hands in the air.

  Jase dropped his hand from her shoulder at her movement.

  Darn, she should’ve rethought that one—she’d liked the warmth of his hand there. If he could make her nerve endings fire with just a neck rub, imagine what he could do with her whole body.

  She pulled the handle again.

  A gold bar, a buffalo, a cherry, and a black bonus bar.

  Blah. Nothing.

  She went again.

  More of the same nothing.

  “You want a turn?” She angled so she could see Jase where he stood behind her.

  “I’m good. You’re doing great.”

  “I was, until you dropped your hand,” she said under her breath.

  “What?”

  “Put it back, it’s my good luck charm.” She gave a pointed glance to where his hand rested at his side.

  He raised his eyebrows and placed his hand back on her shoulder in as pointed a gesture as her glance.

  There, much better.

  Heather pulled the lever.

  Nothing.

  “Maybe I’m not doing it right,” Jase suggested, this time putting both hands on her shoulders and kneading the muscles in a brilliant effort to win her some pennies.

  That should work for sure. She pulled the handle. One buffalo. Two buffalos. Three buffalos.

  She sat taller. Jase’s hands stilled their massage.

  Four buffalos.

  She let out a huge “whoop,” and the light on top of the row started flashing. The machine made the sound of a billion pennies crashing through the chute, and the number counter of her winnings whirred along. And along. And along.

  It kept going.

  And going.

  “Oh my God, I hit the jackpot.” She jumped from her seat and tossed herself at Jase.

  He stepped back on one foot, catching her in his embrace.

  The machine rolled to a stop. “How much did I win?” she asked, breathless.

  He checked the meter. “Forty dollars.”

 

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