It was impossible not to think about her undressing just a few feet away with only that thin wooden barrier between them.
Heat flushed his body as Tom envisioned what she looked in her panties and bra. Did she wear chaste white cotton or something far sexier? Considering her personality, his money was on the former. Didn’t matter. It was hot either way.
He groaned.
“Are you all right?” she asked from the other side of the door.
Crap! He hadn’t realized he’d actually groaned out loud.
“Just banged my shin on the table,” he lied, quickly sitting back down and crossing his legs to conceal any contrary evidence. He didn’t want to scare her.
“Perv,” he muttered, but she was so darn hot, and he was in this stupid bet which seemed to stir obsessive thoughts of sex. He must have been crazy to think he should come by and check on Jude.
Idiot, he silently chided himself.
He should just get up walk out the door, but he didn’t want to. The idea of spending the evening with Jude intrigued him no end.
And he’d promised to help her find herself in exchange for the Bulls tickets and stop trying to be someone she wasn’t.
Because that was the real issue here.
Jude’s niceness sprang from her desire to please others, but in order to finally please herself, she was going to have to let go of that ‘good girl’ conditioning and learn what she truly wanted from life.
Jude strolled from the bedroom wearing black slacks, a white button-down blouse, and simple gold jewelry. A librarian outfit if ever he’d seen one. She looked understated and brainy, not wild and bold. But he loved it.
She put on a waist-length white ski jacket, and they were on their way. His shop was in Roseville, so he knew this suburb pretty well even though he lived a ways off in South Barrett.
“You hungry?” he asked.
“Starved.”
“What would you like to eat?”
“I don’t care. I can eat anything. What are you in the mood for?”
You, he thought, but he didn’t dare say it.
From Jude’s gung ho stance on changing her image, it might be really easy to charm her into his bed, but he wouldn’t do that. One, he had a bet to win, and two, even though Jude claimed to crave wildness, she really wanted someone to love and admire her for who she was, and he refused to take advantage of her vulnerability.
“Do you really want to stop caring what people think?” he asked.
“Yes!” Her enthusiastic reply let him know his task might not be as tough as he first thought.
“Then stop deferring to other people. Say what you want to eat.”
“I don’t want to control anyone else’s choices.”
“This isn’t about control. You can always compromise. This is about having a preference and stating it. To tell you the truth, guys find it frustrating when the woman won’t ever say what she likes. It’s an annoying guessing game.”
“Hmm.”
Tom cast a glance over at Jude. She looked pensive, slowly tapping her chin with an index finger.
“You’re saying that while I believe I’m being nice by letting my date choose the restaurant, I’m actually being annoying.”
“Yes. That’s it.”
“Wow. I never considered it that way. Jaxon, my ex, never seemed to mind. He just picked a place and told me where we were going.”
“Good thing Jaxon went bye-bye.” He wasn’t trying to be funny, but Jude broke out in gales of laughter so sweet he wanted to keep up her good spirits.
“I want pizza,” she said.
“Pizza it is.”
“Don’t you want to negotiate?”
“Not this time. This time you get what you want. I know the perfect place to grab a slice and it’s only five minutes from here.”
“Rocky’s?” she asked.
“You know that joint?”
“It’s my favorite pizza restaurant in the city.”
“Mine too!”
They grinned at each other, and he rounded the corner to the road that led to Rocky’s Pizza Palace.
The restaurant was pleasingly gaudy with a ceiling of colored Christmas lights that stayed there permanently and pseudo-Roman columns that divided the sections of booths and tables. At this early hour they snagged a choice booth in the rear, far away from a group of rowdy teenagers trying to impress their dates, and a big family with spirited kids.
“What do you normally get when you come here?” he asked as they sat down and a server handed them menus.
“I don’t need a menu,” Jude said to the teenaged server. To Tom, she said, “I love the Roman—Italian sausage, black olives, and artichoke hearts.”
“No kidding? Me too.” His laugh sounded a little too giddy and that gave Tom pause.
He really liked Jude, especially when she looked at him like he was the prize that she’d been coveting in a claw machine, but this level of nervousness was unexpected.
“I also like extra cheese.” She grinned as if she’d just said something naughty.
“A large Roman,” Tom said, passing his menu to the server as well. “Extra cheese.”
“Provolone, parmesan, or mozzarella?” the server asked.
Tom and Jude’s eyes met again and in unison they said, “Mozzarella.”
“I like how gooey the mozzarella melts.” Jude giggled.
“Nice and stringy.” Tom joined in her laughter. They were just grabbing a pizza together, no big deal, but damn, he was having fun. Jude’s beguiling enthusiasm did weird things to him and he didn’t know where to file that information.
Slow down, buddy. Can’t go there. Not yet. Not for over a month.
Why did he have to meet Jude while he was in the middle of that celibacy challenge with his buds?
“And to drink?” asked the server.
“Draft root beer in a frosted mug,” Tom said.
“The same.” Jude nodded.
Goose bumps broke out on Tom’s arms and he had no explanation for it. Jude had
a way of looking directly into his eyes that unraveled him in a really nice way. She didn’t use common feminine flirting body language, like wrinkling her nose, twirling her hair, running her finger from her chin down her throat, using the gestures to call attention to her pretty face.
He resolved to talk to her like a buddy—put a damper on the flames she stirred in him—but he was the one fidgeting.
“So,” Tom said because he couldn’t think of anything else to say. “Tell me about yourself.”
“You know I’m a high school librarian.”
“And you know I craft and sell artisan furniture.”
“No,” she said, sounding impressed. “I thought you sold furniture. I didn’t know you were a carpenter too.”
“That’s how I started. But I couldn’t make enough furniture on my own to keep up with the demand, so I started selling other artisans in my shop.”
“I didn’t know quality furniture was so lucrative.”
“There’s been a backlash to cheap, disposal furniture. These days, people are looking for things that last and are better for the environment.”
“Lucky you! So nice you get to do work you love.”