Page 73 of About that Fling
“Maybe so,” Jenna said, closing her eyes.
But it wasn’t Shawn’s face she saw in her mind. And when she thought of regrets, that relationship was the furthest thing from her mind.
Adam glanced at his watch as the elevator doors opened onto the tenth floor of his hotel. It was after eight, so he really should think about getting dinner. He’d left Jenna’s place in such a hurry that he’d barely heard Aunt Gertie chasing him down the driveway, urging him to come back so she could fix him a Tupperware container of pot roast and mashed potatoes.
“I’m fine,” he’d insisted, smiling down at the old woman. “I’ll just grab something in the hospital cafeteria. I need to go back there anyway.”
“But I promised you a home-cooked meal,” she’d insisted.
“And I promised you free legal advice. If we both break our promise, we cancel each other out, right?”
He’d been trying for a lighthearted tone, but Gertie had just looked at him with sadness. “I’m sorry, Adam.”
He wasn’t sure exactly what she felt sorry for, but he shook his head anyway. “Don’t worry about it.”
He probably should have gone right back to the grocery store after that, but he couldn’t resist the siren call of work. He’d returned to the hospital and spent several hours sifting through documentation. Though the talk of a nursing strike had quieted down, the tension still bubbled hot beneath the surface. One of the union reps had started passing out protest stickers for staff to wear on their name badges, and the landfill had turned up more illegal waste. Intentional, someone suggested, though Jenna had worked magic to keep it out of the press.
She’s damn good at her job. Damn good at covering things up so everyone can go about their business like nothing’s wrong.
Adam sighed as he stepped into the hotel hallway and started toward his room. He couldn’t fault her for it. He’d known from the start who she was. Well, maybe not from the very start. But even now, knowing everything, he wanted her still.
He also wanted that damn pot roast. Hell, he could still smell it. He probably should have taken Aunt Gertie up on her offer. Maybe that takeout place down the street would have pot roast, or maybe he could grab a TV dinner with some half-decent mashed potatoes, or maybe?—
Maybe Jenna would be sitting in front of his door with a giant bag of leftovers?
He blinked twice, making sure he wasn’t imagining things. She must’ve heard his footsteps, because she turned and hit him with the full force of those bright blue eyes.
He watched as she stood up in slow motion, unfolding herself from a tangle of limbs and disheveled hair. She held up a white canvas bag, the cartoon dog on the front of it looking cheerfully out of place in the dim hallway. Her face broke into wobbly smile that made Adam feel like someone slugged him in the gut.
He stood frozen, still far enough away that he could run if he wanted to. Still far enough she had to raise her voice to call out to him.
“I don’t want to say I’m sorry, because I feel like I’m forming a bad habit here,” she called. “Of showing up at your doorstep all weepy and remorseful and trying to apologize for the way I’ve acted around you in front of other people.”
Somehow, Adam found a way to make his legs work. He took a few steps toward her, then several more until he was standing close enough to feel the warmth of her body.
“It’s okay,” he said, breathing in the scent of Jenna and the pot roast, not sure which he craved more.
“It’s not okay.” She shook her head, letting the bag drop to her side. “I’ve been thinking.”
He glanced at the bag. “Would you think better at a table with that food on plates in front of us?”
She laughed. “Hungry, are you?”
“I didn’t realize how ravenous I was until you showed up.”
Her laughter faded to a sad little smile, and she looked at him oddly for a moment. “Funny how that works.”
“Are we talking about something besides pot roast?”
“Come on,” she said, gesturing to his door. “We can talk about pot roast and regrets and everything else once we get inside.”
“Deal.” Adam moved past her and slid his key card into the slot, his arm brushing the side of her breast as he twisted the knob and pushed open the door. He felt her close behind him as he moved into the room, but he didn’t turn around. Part of him feared he’d scare her away. Part of him feared he’d give in to temptation and say to hell with it all, throwing her back onto the bed and making love to her again the way he’d been dying to for weeks.
He headed for the kitchenette and pulled open a cupboard. He kept his back to her as he gathered plates and silverware. “Did you bring that apple pie?”
“Two slices. Want me to put it in the toaster oven to warm up while we eat?”
“Yes, please.”
