Chapter Three
Tyler
Something smelled funny.
My nose twitched. Eyes squeezed closed, I nudged the edges of being awake. My brain thought the room should be brighter, and that smell was warm cologne and sex and . . .
And old people?
My face pinched into a frown before I blinked and opened my eyes. Sunlight peeked around heavy blackout curtains in a dated pink. My cheek rested on gray sheets that matched the soft comforter tucked around me. The sheets smelled like faded cologne.
The sheets smelled like Jase. Between my thighs, I was pleasantly achy.
“Hey.” At his rich voice, I pushed the comforter away from my face and brushed my hair back. Clad in a black t-shirt and gray sweatpants, he lounged in the doorway, one hip cocked, hands resting on the upper trim. “Pancakes or bacon and eggs?”
“Why not both?” I sat up, sheet pooling at my waist, and his lazy perusal ran over my bare torso then up to my eyes. My stomach growled. I’d had an active night, starting on the dancefloor and ending in his bed.
He grinned and smacked his palms against the doorframe. “I got you. Coffee’s ready when you are.”
With a wink, he loped back down the hall. I stretched, pushed the covers aside and headed for the bathroom. The sunshine yellow tile and I had become well-acquainted the night before because not peeing after sex meant risking an UTI and once was enough, thank you.
After I flushed and washed my hands, I smoothed my hair then stole some of his toothpaste and finger-brushed to freshen up.
In the bedroom, I pulled on my panties and slipped into his discarded shirt, the plaid cotton soft despite a hint of starch.
I wasn’t sure what time it was, but one thing was for sure – it was too early for real clothes.
Plus, I liked how his shirt held a deeper, nuanced scent of him.
Standing at the stove, he glanced around when I sauntered into the kitchen. His eyes glinted with a flair of mingled humor and lust. “You’re kidding me.”
I shrugged.
He ran a long look over me before that slow grin quirked at his mouth. “Looks good on you.”
His reaction was gratifying because Colt had not been impressed when I donned his shirt.
Jase had been impressed with me all night long.
Crossing to the coffee maker, I pulled a mug from the wooden mug tree.
Running my thumb over the raised ring of green flowers around the white cup, I studied him from beneath my lashes.
Those forearms flexed as he whisked eggs, and for a split second, I considered wrapping myself around him and making him forget breakfast.
Oh, right. We’d used all three condoms.
And I was starving.
I filled the mug with rich brew and inhaled before sipping. He moved with such efficiency, a little frown of concentration tugging his brows together. I liked looking at him.
Folding one foot over the other, I leaned on the counter, mug cradled in both hands, warm against my palms. Someone liked yellow – the walls here were a bright blend between sunshine and mustard, with honey oak cabinets and white Formica countertops.
And red . . . well, burgundy, really, accents of it in the canisters and a chunky candle holder.
Some fake ivy sprouted from a copper bowl atop the cabinets.
How many magnets were on that fridge, anyway?
I eased that way, cataloguing them. Vegas, the Grand Canyon, the White House . . .
“She left me those when they moved, too.” A hint of ironic affection colored his voice. “Called it downsizing.”
Smiling, I lifted the mug for a sip. I liked more than his looks. He was kinda quiet, kinda real. Folding myself into one of the chairs at the oval oak table, I watched his shoulders move as he divided eggs between a pair of plates.
She wasn’t how he wanted to live his life.
I ran a fingertip around the mug rim. “Why’d you break up with her?”
He shot a glance over his shoulder. “As an adult, she turned out to be someone other than who I thought she would be when we got together as kids. She showed me that.”
That told me everything and nothing, yet I got the ambiguity – I didn’t want anyone prying into my personal life, either. Wonder who she’d made him think she was? And how had he missed who she was?
I’d pegged her my first day at Chandler-Haynes. Insecure, a poser, scared . . . and all that came out as arrogance and meanness.
One day, I’d shown her I could be meaner. Not proud of it, but she’d left me alone after that.
Not everyone did . . . if you let yourself be mean, there was always somebody bigger and meaner than you.
Dishes clattered, and a stove dial clicked. Jase slid a plate in front of me and settled in the chair next to mine. A ring of green flowers on the plate framed fluffy eggs, fluffier pancakes, and crisp bacon. My mouth watered.
He nudged a small bottle of real maple syrup in my direction. Something heavy and breathless tightened in my chest in a moment like a movie or a commercial. The easy life everyone wanted.
His sharp blue gaze lingered on my face. “What do you like to do?”
Swallowing a smartass you, I didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Dancing, obviously. I work out at home. And I’m taking a painting class at FRAC.”
“Yeah?” He forked up a bite of eggs.
“Um-hmm. Usually watercolors, but I’m learning oils.” And slowly working on a pet portrait of Sally for Mama Nancy for Christmas, under Christy’s patient tutelage. “You?”
“Fishing. I go to the gym and play golf.” One corner of his mouth quirked. “Hang out with my buddies.”
“You have more than the asshole who sabotages his life?”
His chuckle rang as rich as the syrup-soaked pancake. “Yeah. His cousin, too. We do Saturday night dinner.”
“Sounds fun.” I half-shrugged. His gaze followed the movement of his shirt as it half-fell off my shoulder. “Maggie and I do Sunday afternoon movies and popcorn.”
His lips twisted into a rueful expression. “Hard for me to sit through a whole movie.”
Somehow, I could see that. I couldn’t resist a smile. I liked this, liked him. Yeah, there could definitely be a next time.
He shifted on the chair, angling his body toward me. “Can I take you out one night this week?”
“Sure.” The agreement hung between us before I thought it through, but really, did I need to?
“How about tonight?” With a grin, he sectioned off a bite of pancake. His blue eyes twinkled with good humor. “Maybe lunch at my parents, too.”
I bit into a crispy strip of bacon and chewed, pretending to consider. He’d sprinkled something – brown sugar, maybe? – atop the bacon, so the savory blended with a caramelized sweetness. I held the strip aloft in punctuation. “I think it might be too soon for that.”
He winked. “I’d love to spend all day with you.”
“I’m sure you would.”
His brows folded, mouth set in slightly wounded pout. “It’s not just about that.”
“We met last night.” I leaned back in the chair. “It is all about that.”
“That’s why we should hang out today. Do something fun and get to know one another better.” He saluted me with his coffee mug. “Start a beautiful love story.”
I pinned him with my best don’t-bullshit-me look. “You just got out of a beautiful love story.”
“Wonder now if any of it was beautiful.” His face twisted.
A pause hovered, his gaze on his half-eaten pancake.
“Hindsight is starting to tell me nope. And I see I was out of it emotionally a while back. Figured that’s how long relationships went, although I should have looked at my parents and grandparents.
And I cared about her, even if I didn’t love love her, and I didn’t want to hurt her. ”
My scoff hurt my nose.
One corner of his mouth kicked upward in a rueful grin. “Yeah, I know. I was a dumbass. I learn from my mistakes, though.”
“I don’t want a complicated relationship.” Even I heard the hard note in my voice. “I’m not wired for it.”
His small snicker exploded between us. “You dated Colt Calvert. He’s complicated like a hydraulic system.”
“I know that now.” I crossed my arms. “He looked easy then.”
“If he looked easy, you needed your eyes checked.” He cut off another bite of pancake. “Known them all my life. The only easy Calvert boy is Chuck.”
He eyed me a moment.
Measuring me.
I refused to squirm under that regard. Something about that slow assessment rang too damn familiar, tickling at some far off memory, and I didn’t like it.
“So if you don’t do complicated, we have to be intentional so we’re not in a situationship.”
“Intentional.” The ideas wasn’t scary at all, although I’d learned from Mama Nancy that intentional structure created stability – and ease. “Define intentional.”
“I’m a longterm kind of guy.” He shrugged, a slow roll of his wide shoulders. “You don’t date someone you wouldn’t marry.”
I snorted.
He ignored me. “We’re definitely compatible in the bedroom. I like your personality. So now we spend time together and get to know each other. We check in, make sure it’s working for both of us. Something bothers one of us? We talk about it.”
I studied him now, weighing, assessing. I could be on board with that. I’d learned not to bottle things up until I exploded, and I’d read about effective communication, too.
“You like my personality?” Wait, where had that come from? Could I come off any needier?
“Yeah. You’re funny and sharp, and you take charge. You’re real.” He tapped the end of my nose with one finger. “Who wouldn’t like that?”
I could name some people. My former boyfriend would top the list.
“I’m not him.” His voice took on a flinty note. “And I’m not near as complicated.”
I already knew that. Sitting here, wearing his shirt, his scent lingering on my body, I could breathe.
And he seemed to know what he was doing, what he wanted, despite his appalling life choice before me.
“Okay.” I gave a lazy stretch, reached for my cup, and smiled. “So what are we doing today?”
A slow grin curved his mouth, and oh, that bottom lip. I needed him to get tested and cleared, fast, so I could have that mouth on me. “Wanna go fishing?”
“What?” Scowling, I shook my head and took a fortifying sip. “No.”
“We won’t catch anything because it’s too late in the day and too warm, so the lake won’t be crowded.”
“I don’t fish, Jase.” I suppressed a shudder. Colt loved it, and how often had he shown up after a day at the river, reeking of fish attractant?
“Fair enough.” He lounged in his chair, the same boneless posture I’d seen the night before. I really loved how he moved, with a smooth economy of motion that was somehow the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. He winked at me over his cup. “Wanna go out on the lake?”
Tucking one foot underneath me, I studied him. “You own a boat?”
“I do. Little fish and ski I bought with my year-end bonus last December.”
“Won’t it be cold?” The weather had been mild all week, but still. It was November, almost December.
He shrugged. “Wear a sweatshirt. Bring a jacket.”
I eyed him a moment, considering, envisioning a lazy day with him. I’d been boating plenty of times – Marilyn’s family owned a home at Lake Seminole – but never as part of a date. And I guess this counted as a date.
With another sip of coffee, I rolled a shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. “Okay. I’ll need to go home and change.”
A wide grin lit his face, and my breath caught. Happiness made him even more handsome, if that were possible. I found myself wanting to put that look on his face as often as I could.
And that wasn’t terrifying at all.