Page 37 of You Wish
Another rap.
She peeked out the door and her jaw fell to her knees. She knew it was Jake, but she wasn’t prepared for Jake in a black Henley that bunched at his biceps, dark jeans, and a ball cap pulled backward.
He stood in the hallway, hands on hips, staring at her with amusement. “You said that twenty minutes ago. The Georgia I knew didn’t need more than ten minutes to get all gussied up. You aren’t thinking of welching on our bet, are you?”
“Never!” she lied. She’d spent the last twenty minutes thinking up reasonable excuses. She’d settled on the bubonic plague, Venus was in retrograde, and a stray dog ate her boots.
Now that she was faced with the man, her excuses didn’t seem so believable.
“Good, then let’s go.”
She lifted her hands out to her sides and spun. “I’m still in leggings and a sweatshirt.”
“Even better. Where we’re going is cold.”
That surprised her. The Jake she’d read about in the tabloids dated models and went to places that served caviar and champagne with little floating raspberries. Which she’d always found funny since he was a burger and beer kind of guy. Or at least he had been. He’d also hated the press. Said it was a distraction from what mattered—his racing.
Right. He avoided distractions. Which was exactly what he’d called her a decade ago. A distraction. One that could derail his career. Something she needed to remember while they were sharing a meal and inside jokes.
Jake had this sweet and charismatic way about him that pulled people in the way gravity pulls at stars. He was generous—with his time and emotions. Did she mention charming? There was this expression of his, a small smile and serious eyes, that made her feel seen and validated with just one glance. And when his attention was directed solely at her, she felt like she was the most important thing in his world.
Sadly, it was all a ruse. The only thing he cherished was his career. Which was why he was one of the top racers in the world.
“What is this dinner really about?” she asked.
“Like I said, now that we’re working together, it only makes sense to clear the air and get to know each other for the people we are now.”
“Is that really so important? I’ve worked with people who I didn’t have a relationship with before and it’s never been a problem.”
“Not ones who’ve seen your O face.”
“Is that what this is really about?” She crossed her arms over her chest like armor. “If so, we might as well call it a night.”
“That was meant to be funny. Break the awkwardness.”
“Well, it did the opposite.”
“I can see that now.” He stepped closer. “I have spent a decade needing closure and the universe has given us the perfect opportunity, if only for a week. When we bump into each other because of Jane and Henry, wouldn’t it be nice to not avoid each other? Or walk around with this big question mark lingering over us?”
When he put it that way, how could she say no? Jane meant a lot to her. Maybe they should figure things out now, before their issues started to affect their mutual friend group.
“That’s a good idea.”
“Are you admitting that I am right?”
“I’d never admit that, because it would prove I was wrong.”
He smiled at her. “Oh, I know. Now, let’s get a move on. We have to leave before your carriage turns into a pumpkin.”
Jake didn’t carethat she was taking her sweet-ass time as they walked toward his truck. It gave him the time he needed to appreciate the way her hips swung. The snug fit of her leggings that cupped her backside to perfection. Then there were those boots again. The pink ones with the fur around the top that made her look like a snow bunny.
He loved snow bunnies. Especially ones who weren’t afraid to go toe to toe with him. Few people in his world did. Besides his family and friends, he was surrounded by yes people, and it was refreshing to have someone who told him how it was.
“Your carriage awaits,” he said, opening the truck’s passenger door. Its rusty squeak matched the miles this car had taken him. Not to mention the memories.
He held out his hand to help her in the car.
She ignored it and he couldn’t help but laugh as she struggled to get into her seat. His truck was a 1964 Ford pickup. Cherry red, engine upgraded, interior original. It had one of those bench seats which were engineered for a man to put his hand on his lady’s thigh. Only she wasn’t his lady. Something he reminded himself as he climbed into the driver’s seat and caught a whiff of vanilla.
