It took a month and a half for the charming bastard to do the impossible, and I’m not talking about this date I’ve agreed to. No, he made me like him.
I worry the sleeve of the slouchy knit sweater peeking out from underneath my coat, my gut clenching, screaming at me that this can only end in disaster.
Thankfully I had the foresight to recommend doing something low-key and out of the public eye. First dates are nerve-racking enough; neither one of us needs the added pressure of the paparazzi.
I refuse to think about the other reason.
With every text that pings on my phone, the guilt inside me grows. Though I’ve faulted him at every turn, thinking the worst, assuming information I heard secondhand was credible, Jase has calmly answered and reassured me. He’s being nothing but honest, and me? I do nothing but lie—even if it’s only by omission. What’s even worse? He’s not the only one I’m lying to.
To Jase’s credit, he seemed excited by my suggestion and offered to cook for us at his place. Unfortunately, it led to me being subjected to Zoey and Ella acting out all the naughty things they think will be happening tonight.
I really need to find new friends.
They were also zero help in the getting ready department when I was stressing over what to wear. Since we’re staying in, I didn’t want to be too fancy or too casual, so while Meddlers One and Two pretended to hump each other on my bed, I settled on a pair of dark wash skinny jeans, low-heeled beige booties, and my favorite tan chunky knit sweater.
When Zoey finally stopped gyrating on top of Ella, she took one look at me, cursed in Portugese, and complained I was wearing a “grandma” sweater. I promptly flipped her off and proceeded to show how, when tucked into the front of my jeans and paired with a white crochet bralette, it was the picture of a sexy-comfy vibe.
The numbers on the elevator continue to climb, and with each floor ticked off on the way to the penthouse, doubts continue to creep in.
Geez, girl. You act like you’ve never been on a date before.
You can do this, Mels.
It’s just dinner.
I’m right. I can totally do this.
I’m an actress. I’m well versed in controlling my emotions, and if not actually controlling them, at least projecting what I want others to see. All I have to do is act like Jase doesn’t affect me and it’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.
Ping!
I take a deep breath as the elevator doors slide open, telling myself once again, I got this.
And I do, until I step into the hallway and see Jase. Mamma Mia!
Leaning against the doorjamb to his open apartment, legs crossed at the ankles, arms folded over his massive chest, he’s deceptively casual in his hotness.
“Hi,” I squeak. I had to be announced by the doorman when I got here, but I didn’t expect him to be waiting for me. Can’t a girl get a minute to prepare herself?
“Hey, baby.” The smirk that’s been on his face this entire time is devilish, and the way he unabashedly scans me from head to toe conveys zero shame. He can’t see much thanks to the heavy winter coat I’m wrapped in, but the way he watches me is downright carnal.
“Really?” I arch a brow. “You’re starting with the baby stuff from the jump?”
“Come on, baby.” He pushes from the wall, my gaze automatically falling to watch the way his muscles shift underneath his hunter green polo as he closes the distance between us with the same grace I’ve watched him exude on the ice. “By now you know me better than to ask that.”
Arms slide around my waist, the scent of soap and ice invading my nostrils as he bends to place the gentlest of kisses on my cheek. The move is so unexpected—I was sure he would go for a kiss on the lips right away—my breath stalls in my lungs.
Straightening, he takes one of my hands in his, threading our fingers together, and leads me into his apartment.
“Cute.” He taps the pink puff ball on my winter hat, helping me out of my coat and storing it inside a closet.
“Thanks. Keeps my ears warm.” Anyone who lives in the city knows the way the wind whips through the skyscrapers is no joke. “Plus Ella made it.”
“She did?” He links our hands again, the innocent move weighted by intimacy as he continues leading me into his place.
“Wow,” I murmur, catching sight of the floor-to-ceiling windows in the room.
“Yeah.” His free hand rises to run through his hair, the action the first to ever come off as self-conscious. “I know it’s a little much, especially since I don’t live here full-time, but I got a really good deal because a lot of the units were new.”
It’s clean. Leather couches, chrome and wood accents, a handful of muted throw pillows for good measure. There’s artwork and pictures carefully scattered throughout the space.
“You only live here during the season?” I scan the tastefully done décor; it is nothing like the bachelor pad I assumed it would be.
“Yup. I spend most of my time at a place a few of us have down the shore during the offseason.”
This is a whole different level of wealth.
“Something smells amazing,” I say to change the subject.
He doesn’t let go of my hand as I follow him into the kitchen area. The entire main space is one large open concept room, so I can see everything in a glance: kitchen, dining room, living room, and seating area by the wall of windows. I would never admit it to him—because lord knows he wouldn’t let me live it down—but I like the way he stays in constant contact with me.
“Chicken pot pie and”—he spins, his arms looping around my hips again—“four different types of potatoes.”
Why doesn’t that surprise me?
“Went a little overboard on the potatoes, did we?” I have to tilt my head back to see him. Even in my heels, he has about nine inches on me.
“How could I not? Potatoes are totally our thing.”
“Did you really just say totally?”
Held in the circle of his arms, I’m close enough to see the way the dark green of his polo brings out the green flecks in his hazel eyes.
“My life is ruled by women. Some of the Covenettes’ words rub off on me and slip into my vocab from time to time.”
“Covenettes?”
He brushes an errant curl from my face, the long fingers skimming the skin at my temple and down my face before finally tucking it in place behind my ear, his thumb staying out to caress the line of my jaw.
Sparks of electricity radiate from everywhere he touches, and even under the warm yarn of my sweater, I break out in goose bumps.
My lips part, tongue peeking out of its own accord, and his eyes flash, turning greener as they lock on my mouth.
This.
This right here is why I tried to keep my distance.
Everything about Jase Donnelly just…consumes me.
Chapter Eight
Meal done, empty plates pushed to the side, I’m still pinching myself, not at all certain any of the night has been real and not another elaborate daydream. To be fair, the ones involving Melody Brightly have tended to fall more into the NC-17 category than the PG territory the night has stayed in—so far.
Let me tell you what a feat it has been, too. Like, I deserve a medal—and I’m not talking about the one I won for the good ol’ US of A in the Olympics—for the restraint I used in not mauling her the second she stepped off the elevator earlier looking like the physical manifestation of everything I’ve ever wanted and never knew I did.