The Lineup Page 14

  She scoots even closer, setting her empty wineglass on the table, her body tipping toward me. “I’m tired of denying what I feel for you.” Her hand slides up my thigh, right to my hip.

  Hey-o, watch it there, lady.

  “Let’s drop the act.”

  I nervously laugh. “What act?”

  “This chase. This repartee. Let’s just give in to what we want . . . each other.”

  Her other hand falls to my chest and then glides up my neck to my jaw as she starts to climb on top of my lap. My body is saying yes, my mind is saying what the fuck is happening right now just as the oven timer goes off.

  Not even giving it a second thought, I fly off the couch, knocking her on her ass, and sprint toward the kitchen.

  Her thump on the floor seems to echo through the apartment as I strap on oven mitts and pull the perfectly cooked enchiladas out of the oven. Slightly browned on the top with bubbling cheese. My mouth waters at that sight, causing me to temporarily forget about the woman I just knocked to the floor. That’s until I see her hobbling toward me, her hand on her hip.

  Trying to make the most of it, I say, “Just got the rug. Was it plush?”

  Her eyes narrow. “No.”

  “Hmm, I knew I should have gotten that extra cushion mat.”

  She rubs her side and steps into the kitchen, right next to me, her proximity concerning.

  The anger from dropping her to the floor subsides as she says, “You know, those oven mitts look really sexy on you.”

  “These old things?” I show off the stained and food-coated mitts right before I cup my pecs and give them a good squeeze. “Honk, honk,” I add nervously, using my muscular man breasts as sound-making devices.

  Her brow lifts, but she doesn’t let my awkwardness interfere with her . . . whatever she’s doing right now. She runs her hand up my chest, playing with the divot in the middle—man cleavage—and leaves but only a few inches between us.

  “You know, we can skip dinner if you want? Go straight to dessert.”

  She’s drunk.

  Or high.

  Or both.

  Either way, I need to put an end to this.

  “You know”—I grip her by her shoulders with my oven mitts and push her a foot away—“I think you’re hungry, maybe your blood sugar is low, because you seem to be acting a little strange. Why don’t we get you some—?”

  She swats my arms away and plasters her body against mine. Fuck, her tits feel incredible against my chest and if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear her nipples are hard . . . Oh wait, maybe those are mine that are hard. Either way, with her this close, something else is getting hard, and fast.

  “I thought you wanted me. Come on, let’s date. Let’s do this.”

  “Heh.” I laugh, a little terrified. I back up, my ass hitting the oven. I place my hands behind me, trying to get as far away as possible. But she doesn’t let me get very far. No, she pins me against the oven. “What, uh, what has gotten into you?”

  “I know who hasn’t gotten into me.” She dances her fingers up my chest until they reach my face, with one bop to the nose. I’m rearing back, my hand connecting directly with the enchiladas, startling me so much I fling the dish forward. And we both watch in slow motion as the Williams Sonoma glass nine-by-thirteen dish floats through the air, smacks against the island, and falls to the ground in a mighty crash as waves of tortillas, chicken, and cheese splatter my kitchen.

  “My masterpiece.” I fall to the floor, gathering the cheese and sauce in my oven mitts, scooping it back into the broken and shattered dish.

  “Oh my God, what did you do?” Dottie asks, standing above me, hand to her heart.

  I look over my shoulder. “What did I do? What did you do?”

  “Are you saying that I was the one who ruined dinner?”

  I stand tall, enchilada sauce dripping off my oven mitts. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  “How dare you blame me for your clumsiness.” She folds her arms over her chest. “I would hate to see how you perform in bed after this fiasco.”

  Eh, what? Come again. Fiasco? Does she not realize she’s the reason all this happened? Because she apparently can’t keep her panties on long enough to enjoy a homecooked meal.

  “Excuse me, but you’re the one trying to stroke my dick before dinner is served. I was just trying to give you a chance to sober up.”

  “Sober up?”

  “Yeah.” I motion to her body. “Isn’t that why you’re acting weird? You’re high or drunk. One of the two.” I wince. “Both?”

  “I am not drunk or high.”

  “Oh.” I pat her on the shoulder. “Stressed then. I get it, when I’m stressed I do weird things too.”

  “How am I being weird?” she asks, growing angry.

  “Well, for one, you wouldn’t touch me with a ten-foot pole about ten hours ago, but now you’re ready to shove your hand down my pants. Seems odd. Also, you’re being nice to me, offering up smiles and hitting on me. You just don’t flip a switch like that. So tell me, what’s this all really about?”

  Her eyes search mine as she takes a step back, her teeth gnawing on her bottom lip. “This was a bad idea. I’m going to go.”

  “So you’re just going to leave me like this?” I call out, dinner dripping down my jeans.

  “The plants need me. Keep the wine.” Without another word, she sprints to the door and lets herself out.

  The plants need me?

  Can someone explain to me what the hell occurred tonight? Because I’m confused as fuck.

  * * *

  “Are you alone?” I whisper into the phone, even though I don’t need to.

  “Why are you whispering?” Knox asks.

  “I don’t know,” I continue to whisper. “I just need to talk to you, and I can’t have your baby mama listening in.”

  “Dude, I told you, it’s okay to use KY Jelly when jacking off.”

  “It’s not about that.” For fuck’s sake, one drunk conversation about lube and he’s never let me live it down. “Just tell me you’re alone.”

  “I’m alone. Emory’s in town with my mom right now. What’s up?”

  Sighing, I fling my body back on my bed, ready to gab. “I had the weirdest fucking night last night.”

  “Okay, what happened?”

  Tugging on the short strands of my hair, I try to explain everything from the beginning. “Long story short, I’ve been trying to get to know Dottie.”

  “Ah, good luck with that. Dottie is very particular about every aspect of her life. Not warm and fuzzy when you first meet her, that one.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it. I’m still surprised we didn’t hang out in college.”

  “She was around. We often hung with her.”

  “Yeah, that’s what she said.” Weird. “Anyway. So yesterday morning, I told her in a not so subtle way that she was having dinner with me.”

  Knox roars with laughter. “And how did she take that?”

  “Not well at the time, but I convinced her with my passionate ways.”

  “Jesus,” he mutters softly.

  “And I honestly didn’t think she was going to show up, but when she did, she was . . . different.”

  “Different how?”

  “Well, other times I’ve been around her, she’s had this constant sneer toward me.”

  “Ah, yes, I feel the same way, but continue.”

  Such a jackass.

  “There was no sneer, not even close to one. She smiled at me and then . . . she touched me.”

  “Oh my God, no. Don’t tell me that. My ears are virginal. She touched you. Wait while I fan myself.”

  I pause.

  “Your sarcasm isn’t needed right now. I’m feeling odd and I need someone to talk to about it.”

  “You know I hate this feelings shit.”

  “And you know I need it, so be a goddamn friend and let me unload.” He groans but stays silent, letting me continue. “S
he was up in my business. Telling me she wanted me. Gripping my inner thigh, almost a graze to my dick, and then in the kitchen when I was taking the enchiladas out of the oven, she started mauling my chest with her hands. I was so caught off guard that I ended up spilling the entire dinner all over the floor.”

  “Oh shit, did you cry?”

  “No, I didn’t cry.” Internally I did. “But she was acting so strange that I asked if she was high or drunk.”

  “I’m going to guess that didn’t go over well.”

  “Nope, after that she told me your plants needed her and bolted.”

  Knox chuckles and then exhales. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound like Dottie at all. She’s usually calm and collected. Maybe you’ve messed with her head a bit. She has a big deal she’s trying to close right now, so maybe that’s where all this is coming from. I don’t know, man, maybe lay off for a bit, at least until the deal is closed.”

  “See, I offered up the suggestion that maybe she was stressed, and she didn’t seem to care for that.”

  “Because Dottie is a unique one. She’s strong-willed, a killer when it comes to business, and an alpha in many ways. Emory says she doesn’t need a man to simply take care of her, but rather someone who would step up for her, someone who will put her in her place when she needs it but also lift her up when she’s on the warpath to take over the world. A strong man is what she deserves. Well, that’s what Emory says anyway. Personally, I think she’s a little scary.” I can definitely relate to the scary part.

  “Yeah, I could see that in her. I just don’t understand what took over her last night.”

  “Could be stress, could be wanting to scare you away. She does that, puts up a shield when she starts to feel something. Emory has said that many times. I think you two could be great together, but I would also be hesitant. She’s been hurt in the past by men who have taken advantage of her. She seems to have a lot going on, and if she feels like she’s losing control, she’ll lash out. Maybe that’s what happened last night.”

  I think about it and start to feel guilty. “Shit,” I groan. “I wonder if I pushed her too hard. I really hope not because I would hate to stress her out more.”

  “Who knows? The best thing I think you can do right now is lie low. Let her have some space and if she’s interested, she’ll come around. My bet is the deal is making her crazy because it’s a big one, and having a new factor enter in her life—that factor being you—it’s too much for her to handle.”

  “Yeah, okay.” I blow out a sharp breath of air. “Damn, that sucks, because her tits are really nice.”

  “Really, man?”

  I chuckle. “You know I’m kidding. It’s her nipples I was really looking forward to meeting.”

  Click.

  The phone goes dead, and I laugh out loud.

  I toss it to the side and stare at the ceiling. Give her space. I can do that. I don’t want to, but I can. Right after I apologize for my behavior.

  Chapter Thirteen

  DOTTIE

  “Can I tell you something that you promise you won’t tell anyone, and I mean anyone?”

  Lindsay looks over her glass of iced tea that’s poised at her mouth and then slowly sets it down. “Are you pregnant too?” she gasps out loud. “Oh my God, with Knox’s baby as well?”

  I roll my eyes, wishing my friend wasn’t such an idiot. “Can you not say stupid things?”

  “I’m sorry, but that would be such a twist in all of our lives. It would be kind of cool if it were true because, you know”—she puts on an Orpah-like voice when she drags out—“drama!”

  “As much fun as that sounds, no, I’m not pregnant with our best friend’s boyfriend’s baby.”

  “Ooo, what a book title.” She scrolls her hand through the air. “I’m Having My Best Friend’s Boyfriend’s Baby. Or wait, Baby Daddy: Best Friend’s Boyfriend. It could be a series. Baby Daddy: Daddy’s Best Friend. Baby Daddy: Brother’s Best Friend. Baby Daddy—”

  “I get it.” I take a calming breath and say, “This is big and I really need you to focus.”

  “Oh, crap, okay.” Lindsay sets her drink down. “What happened?”

  “And you promise this stays between us?”

  “Of course. What’s going on?”

  I play with the silverware next to my drink, a quiet breeze picking up the edge of the tablecloth of our outdoor table. We’re taking advantage of the warm fall day by sitting outside, especially since we’re both hauled up inside all day every day.

  “So you know how I’m in the midst of a big deal with the Carlton acreage?”

  “Yeah, is everything okay with that?”

  “Sort of, they basically told me yesterday they might have to go with Heller and Parks because Kate Heller is engaged to the Parks kid and they like the idea of passing the family business down to family.”

  “Uh, that’s been the whole structure with you and your dad.”

  I hold up my hand. “Don’t even get me started. But they began to say since I wasn’t even dating anyone . . .”

  Lindsay’s eyes widen. “Oh, no . . . you didn’t.”

  I bite my bottom lip, feeling ashamed. “I did.”

  “Who?”

  “Well, you know, I’ve been in correspondence with this guy lately.”

  “Oh, Dottie. Please tell me you didn’t say Jason.” There’s no understanding in Lindsay’s eyes; it’s pure judgment, and I don’t even blame her.

  “I couldn’t stop myself even if I wanted to. I was on a mission not to lose the deal.”

  Lindsay subtly shakes her head. “Did you tell him?”

  “No. How on earth could I tell him? He thinks I hate him, when I don’t. I mean, he’s really annoying at times, but he is also a good guy, too good if anything.”

  “And yet, you’re dragging him into your crazy.”

  “I know. I know.” I lean back in my chair and cross one leg over the other while pulling on my high ponytail. “That’s not even the worst part.”

  “Please tell me you didn’t say you were engaged.”

  “No, thank God.” Hinted at being madly in love, but I don’t need to relay that information to Lindsay. “Knowing that the Carltons are probably going to want to meet him at some point, I decided last night to make a move on him.” I pick up my glass of water and take a sip. “Let’s just say it went horribly wrong.”

  “How wrong?”

  “It ended with the enchiladas he’d cooked for dinner, smashed on the floor because I startled him so much with my advances.”

  Lindsay covers her mouth and laughs, while apologizing at the same time. “Sorry, but, what were you doing? Poking him with torpedo tits or something?”

  “No.” I brush my hand over my slicked-back hair. “I was, you know, not being myself. Apparently, he’s used to me being a bitch to him. So he kept asking if I was drunk or high. That morning I was mean to him, so he noticed the difference. I bolted out of the apartment after the dinner went crashing to the floor. The whole thing was a giant mess.”

  “It makes sense though. You needed to ease into it, not go full force ‘Let’s be boyfriend girlfriend.’”

  “Yeah, I totally tried to label us as a couple last night. Good God, what was I thinking?”

  “You weren’t. I think for the first time since I’ve known you, you actually weren’t thinking. But it’s understandable, because you are the type that will say yes to make a deal, even if the answer is no, and then you’ll find a way to make it a yes.”

  “That’s exactly what I did, and now I’m at a loss for what to do. The Carltons think I’m dating Jason Orson, Jason thinks I’m psycho, and my dad is relying on me to close this deal.”

  “So why don’t you just tell Jason what’s going on? He seems like an understanding guy, and he’d probably go through with pretending.”

  I shake my head. “Not only would that be humiliating, but I’m afraid he would be hurt by it since I tried to attack him last night. I’m afraid he’ll thi
nk I was only hitting on him because of what I said during the meeting.”

  “Well, that is the only reason you were hitting on him, so yeah, he’ll probably be hurt by it. He’s sensitive, it seems.”

  “Very,” I say, thinking back to last night and how scared he looked at my advances. “God, what do I do?”

  “Well, you have two options.” Lindsay casually takes a sip from her iced tea. “You can either tell the Carltons you just broke up with Jason Orson and risk the deal, or you can actually try to pursue the man on a less crazy scale.”

  “I don’t want to date him,” I say, groaning.

  “Why not? He’s so perfect.”

  “Exactly,” I say, my patience wearing thin. “He’s perfect. He’s kind and sweet, and extremely good-looking. He has a weird sense of humor and makes me smile with most of the stupid things he says.”

  Lindsay looks at me as if I’m crazy. And right then, I decide that I really am crazy, because I just described the type of man I’d want if I was wanting to date. I no longer think that what I’m feeling is simply leftover lust from college. The guy is a dork, such a goof, but there are so many qualities I actually like about him. He made me dinner last night, for fuck’s sake. Didn’t order takeout. Didn’t grab a meal from the freezer. He cooked. A whole meal. For me. Even though I was so rude to him the night before and then in the morning. Who does that? Why would he do that . . . for me? Because that’s the man Jason Orson is. He goes the extra mile for a friend . . . or in my case, a friend of a friend. And then it hits me. My very real concern.

  “I’m scared, Lindsay. I’m scared I’m going to fall hard for this guy, really hard and then what, the season starts up again, he’s surrounded by all these opportunities with women, and he goes off and finds someone with a softer personality, someone who won’t spend late hours in their office, someone who can be at his beck and call. I can’t take that. My heart can’t take that.”

  Lindsay softens and leans forward, placing her hand on mine. “Sweetie, I know you’ve had a rough go of it in the dating world, but I truly think Jason is different.”

  “I don’t know.” I shake my head.