He made up the lost minutes on the road. He’d taken defensive driving classes a few years ago as research for a video game, and the skills he’d learned had come in handy ever since.
As he parked in Monica’s driveway, his phone beeped. He glanced at the screen, his gut tightening when he saw Jessie Kay’s name.
Which pair do you prefer?
Two photos accompanied the text. The first, a glittery heel with silk flowers sewn over the ankle strap. The second, a plain white flat.
He wrote back: Why does my preference matter?
Because your best friend is getting married & the woman he loves wants every detail to be perfect. You know him better than anyone else so... :-) :-) :-)
Your shoes are part of those perfect details?
Oh, those are Harlow’s shoes. She can’t decide between fashion & comfort, even though no one but Beck will see her feet—& he won’t see them till he strips her down & gives her the business. I should know, right!
His grip flexed on the phone. She loved reminding him of her past, didn’t she?
Then her next text came in and he forgot why he was irritated with her.
THESE are mine. :-) :-)
The accompanying photo revealed black hooker heels with a fat red bow perched on the ankle. A present ready to be unwrapped. With his teeth. After he stripped her and tossed her on the bed.
Sex fantasy about Jessie Kay? Now? Really? He punched the wheel, the horn releasing a short but thunderous blast.
A few seconds later, Monica strode out the door, and he felt like a total douche for not greeting her properly. Despite the frigid temperature, she wore a little black dress with spaghetti straps and a hem that ended a few inches below her pantyline. No hat, coat or gloves to keep her warm, proving she placed fashion before comfort. She didn’t race to the car but held up her index finger to demand he wait.
Having already budgeted for the standard fifteen-minute time suck all women required despite knowing when he would arrive, he gave her a curt nod. He could have followed her inside the house, a beautiful Craftsman-style bungalow with three stories and a wraparound porch, but he popped a caramel candy in his mouth and stayed put. Even though he’d expected the wait, the lack of respect always annoyed him.
He and Monica would be discussing it—and his expectations—tonight. If she proved amenable to his two-month time limit, the countdown on their relationship would begin. He would gift her with a wristwatch, and expect her to use it. They would go to bed, and by morning, he would forget he’d ever desired Jessie Kay.
His friends might approve of her, of them, but the risks were still too great, the rewards not great enough.
He sent her another text: Tell Harlow to go w/ out a bra & Beck won’t ever even glance at her feet.
Like a puss, he waited for a response. One that never came. He wanted to call her, and would have given in to temptation if Monica hadn’t bounded outside at long last. He checked his watch. Seventeen minutes. His sense of annoyance only intensified as he entered the cold to open her door for her.
Though her teeth were chattering, she paused to kiss his cheek before sliding inside. “Will I do?” she asked after he settled behind the wheel.
“You are flawless.” And she was. Nothing out of place, her makeup red-carpet worthy. Her dress every man’s wet dream.
So why am I not reacting to her?
“Oh, I wish.” She smoothed a hand along the hem of the dress. “I’d hoped to wow you, but my hair wouldn’t cooperate, and no matter how many hours I worked out, I couldn’t lose the extra pound I packed on.”
False modesty? Or straight-up female crazy?
Jessie Kay would have said something like, I know! You don’t deserve me. And he would have smiled, charmed. Always freaking charmed. But he didn’t pick his girlfriends for companionship, so he remained silent.
Monica’s gaze swept over him, and he thought he glimpsed a hint of the intensity some of her former employees had mentioned. “Look at you. Sex on a stick and absolutely delicious.”
“Thank you.”
She frowned at him. Waiting for him to protest?
“Seriously.” Her voice lowered, a whisper that drifted through the vehicle. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep my hands to myself.”
How would Jessie Kay react if Monica petted him during the ceremony? With jealousy? Or indifference?
Jealousy, pretty please. He wanted to see jealousy on her so badly he shook, even though he had no right to the desire. No right to keep thinking about her. They weren’t together. In fact, he’d done everything in his power to push her away. He’d snapped at her, baited her. Insulted her time and time again.
I suck.
He’d been a total ass to her, and right then, right at that moment, it absolutely shamed him. His momma hadn’t raised him better, but only an idiot wouldn’t learn on his own.
Observe. Understand. Act.
Observe: He owed her an apology.
Understand: So he craved her. So what? So he wouldn’t let himself have her. So the hell what? That wasn’t her problem; it was his. He had no right to treat her like an archnemesis.
Act: He would offer that apology, and he’d do it with a smile. Afterward, there would be no more picking fights with her. No more snide remarks about anything. He would keep his distance, and he would be polite. He would wrap himself in Monica, literally and figuratively.
For the first time since moving to Strawberry Valley, his life would go back to normal.
WEST HAD BROUGHT a date.
The realization hit Jessie Kay like a bolt of lightning in a freak storm. Great! Wonderful! While she’d opted not to bring Daniel, and thus make West the only single person present—and embarrassingly alone—he’d chosen his next two-month “relationship” and hung Jessie Kay out to dry.
And she knew the girl was a two-monther. West didn’t date outside the parameters of his crazy.
Jessie Kay stood in a hidden doorway in back of the sanctuary, one usually only used by church personnel. Harlow had asked for—cough, banshee-screeched, cough—a status report, so Jessie Kay had abandoned her precious curling iron in order to sneak a peek at the guys.
Scowling, she pulled her phone from the pocket of her dress with every intention of texting Daniel. Oops. She’d missed a text.
Sunny: Party 2nite?????
She made a mental note to respond to Sunny later and drafted her note to Daniel.
I’m at the church. How fast can you get here? I need a friend/date for Harlow’s wedding
A response didn’t come right away. Maybe he was still in bed. He’d gone on a hot date last night and the girl had stayed the night with him. She knew because he’d texted Jessie Kay to ask how early he could give “the snore queen” the boot.
Sooo glad I never hooked up with him.
Finally, a vibration.
Any other time I’d race to your rescue, even though weddings are snooze-fests. Today I’m in the city on a job
He’d started some kind of high-risk security firm with a few of his Army buddies.
Her: Fine. You suck. I clearly