Chapter Seven Jasmine
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jasmine
I was still grinning from ear to ear when the whistle from the kettle on the stove pierced the air, letting me know I was one step closer to a hot cup of tea and, more importantly, one step closer to biting into one of the cookies Eleanor had sent home with us. My mouth watered at the thought.
I poured the tea into two mugs, steam curling in delicate swirls as I carried them to the living room.
Derek was sprawled on the couch, looking far too comfortable for someone who’d spent the evening poking fun at me.
I handed him a mug and sank into the opposite end of the couch with a long, satisfied sigh.
“Are you sure you’re okay with me sitting on your bed with my outside clothes on?” I teased, eyeing him over the rim of my mug. He laughed, shaking his head.
“I’ll allow it,” he said with mock graciousness, reaching for one of the cookies. He took a bite, his eyes widening slightly as he savored it.
“Right?” I grinned at him, feeling vindicated. He nodded in agreement before popping the rest of the cookie into his mouth.
I slipped off my heels and leaned back into the couch, wiggling my toes to restore circulation.
“Dogs are barking, huh?” Derek raised one eyebrow in amusement.
“A little, but I’m used to it,” I replied with a shrug. “These are actually my comfortable heels.”
“So those red indents are comfortable?”
“Shut up.” I laughed, giving him a playful shove. He straightened up, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and patted his thighs.
“Gimme those dawgs,” he said in a silly voice that made me giggle.
“What? No,” I protested, still laughing.
“You know you want a foot massage.” He raised an eyebrow. “That big toe looks like it has a heartbeat.”
I squealed with laughter, covering my face with one hand. “No!” I said when I finally caught my breath. “I don’t want things to get weird between us.”
“Weirder than us pretending to be married so we can compete for the same job?”
“Okay, facts,” I conceded, twisting on the couch to prop my feet in his lap. “But don’t think this changes anything between us,” I added, raising an eyebrow for emphasis.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He wrapped his large hands around my feet and began to knead the sore spots. The relief was instantaneous, making me let out an involuntary shiver. I leaned back into the couch, closing my eyes as the tension melted away.
“Hey, Jasmine.” Derek’s voice broke through the bliss.
“Yeah?” I murmured, not bothering to open my eyes.
“Do you smell corn chips?” His tone was serious, but I knew he was wearing that signature smirk. My eyes snapped open, and I bolted upright, trying to pull my feet away.
“I’m just playing with you, girl. Relax.” He laughed as he held on to my ankles. I shot him a glare before leaning back into the couch. This massage felt too good to give up over his antics.
“How does it feel?” he asked, his voice softer now. “Too much pressure? Not enough?”
“It’s perfect,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “How did you get so good at this?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“Probably not.”
“My mom.”
“Auntie Janet?” The words slipped out reflexively, and for a moment, it felt strange to call her that after all these years.
“You remember how much she loves charity events and galas and blah blah blah…”
“Mm-hmm…” I murmured, already knowing where this was going.
“Well, I used to give her foot rubs when I was little.”
“Still a mama’s boy, huh?”
“Should I stop massaging your feet?”
“No,” I said quickly, making him laugh.
He moved on to my toes, massaging until I could feel the circulation returning. It was pure heaven.
“So how cool are the Pikes?”
“So cool,” I agreed. “They might be my new favorite people. I can’t remember having that much fun in a long time.”
“Yeah,” he mused. “Me, too.”
“Your ring was a big hit in the kitchen.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Oh, yes. All the ladies were oohing and aahing over it. I felt like Meghan Markle.”
“Would that make me Prince Harry?”
“With a tan,” I quipped, making him laugh. “How did you know my ring size?”
“The ring I bought you for your sixteenth birthday.”
“What? How did you remember that?”
“I’ve got a mind like a steel trap. That’s why I get paid the big bucks.”
Not for long, I thought, but I kept the thought to myself. I didn’t want to ruin the mood or my massage.
“Hey, good job telling that story about how we got together on the fly,” he said, breaking the silence.
“Well, it was the truth.”
“All of it?”
“Yeah, that was one of the greatest nights of my life,” I admitted, giggling.
“Walking into the Waldorf Astoria in a bespoke gown with a handsome Ivy League college senior? Marcus was gagged. I’ll never forget the look on his face.
Did you have fun that night?” I asked, propping myself up on my elbows to look at him.
“I don’t think we’ve ever talked about it. ”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “I mean, it was all right. I was there for you, and I’m glad you had fun.”
“Seriously? That makes me feel bad now.”
“Nah, you’re good. I was worried about catching a case.” His face dropped to a serious expression. “So, Derek Carter, you’re a twenty-one-year-old man here to escort a seventeen-year-old girl to her high school prom. Why don’t you take a seat over there so we can talk?”
I burst out laughing, and when he slipped into his Chris Hansen impression, I was screaming.
“Oh,” I squealed. “Stop! You’re going to make me pee.”
“Not the first time you’ve peed in my bed,” he shot back, grinning.
“Derek, I was six!”
“And?” he said indignantly, making me laugh even harder.
“Well, I never got a chance to tell you, how much you taking me to my prom meant to me. I know I thanked you at the time, I was raised with manners.” I cut a glance at Derek and he smirked. “Or maybe I didn’t have the words when I was seventeen, but I’ve thought about it a lot over the years.”
“You’re welcome.”
“It means a lot more now that I know you risked ending up on cell block C to make me happy.”
“Worth the risk, Jas.” His voice softened, and my stomach flipped. He hadn’t called me Jas in years. It felt like a warm hug and a punch to the gut all at once.
“Hey, did you mean it when you said I was the one person you could count on? Or was that part of the game we were playing?”
The truth of his question hit me hard. Derek had been my best friend, the one person I could always talk to. When the rift happened between our families, he would have been the only one who understood. And then he disappeared without a goodbye.
I bolted upright, pulling my feet out of his lap. “Hey, what’s up?” he asked, looking genuinely confused.
“It’s late.” I smoothed my dress and reached for my shoes. “I should let you get some sleep.”
“Jasmine, what happened?” he asked, twisting to look at me.
“Nothing,” I lied. “Thank you for remembering my malt allergy. Good night.”
His confused expression was the last thing I saw before closing my bedroom door.
I considered what happened last night after dinner with the Pikes a near miss.
Something about being surrounded by so much love and family had made me briefly lose focus, forget why I was here, and most importantly, forget that Derek was the enemy in more ways than one.
Not only were we competing for the same job, but he was also the man who’d abandoned our friendship when things got tough.
Spending time with him on that couch, my feet in his lap, reminiscing about old times, felt more bitter than sweet.
I couldn’t let it happen again. I resolved to keep my focus laser-sharp on my presentation and not on the way Derek’s bare chest rose and fell as he lay stretched out on the pullout sofa.
That was easier said than done. I realized I’d been watching him sleep when I felt Tora’s warm, wet nose pushing into the palm of my hand.
Day one of not thinking about Derek Carter had barely begun, and I was already failing miserably.
After giving Tora breakfast, I rummaged around the cabinets until I found everything I needed to make myself a cup of coffee.
The sound of me opening and closing every cabinet in the kitchen, or perhaps the rich aroma of Colombian dark roast, must have roused my reluctant roommate.
Just as I was pouring myself a second cup, Derek stumbled into the kitchen, still shirtless, looking like a walking cologne ad.
“Is there any more coffee?” he grumbled, scratching the back of his head.
The motion caused his back to arch slightly, drawing my unwilling attention to his chiseled abs and flexed biceps.
By the time my gaze reached his face, the smug smirk waiting for me made it clear I’d been caught.
I narrowed my eyes and turned back to the coffee maker.
“No,” I lied, emptying the remainder of the pot into my mug. “But you’re welcome to make yourself some.”
“Hmph,” he muttered, shuffling past me to the cabinet holding the coffee grounds. “So, what are you getting into today?”
I thought carefully before answering. I did have plans, but I wanted to be steadfast in my promise to myself.
“Look, Derek,” I began, my tone serious.
He turned to face me, raising an eyebrow.
“Yesterday…” I trailed off, trying to find the right words.
Yesterday, what? What exactly was I trying to say?
This would be so much easier if he weren’t standing there, leaning against the counter, shirtless, holding a mug like he’d stepped off the cover of GQ. I took a deep breath and tried again.
“We did a good job yesterday convincing the Pikes that we are married.”
“I know,” he replied smoothly, while pouring newly brewed coffee into his mug. “I was there. What’s your point?”
“My point is that we should save our theatrics for when we have an audience.” For emphasis, I took a sip of my coffee—coffee I didn’t even want anymore. “There’s no need for us to pretend to like each other when there’s no one around to see it.”
“Is that why you stormed off to bed last night?” he asked with an infuriating smirk. “You thought I was pretending to like you?”
My heart was pounding. I couldn’t tell if I was nervous, angry, embarrassed, or all three. Derek’s smug tone wasn’t helping matters. Maybe it was the almost full pot of coffee I guzzled out of spite.
“I’m not sure what you were doing”—I stood from the kitchen table—“but what I am sure of is that it’s none of my business. I’m here for one thing and one thing only.” I turned to face him. “And it sure isn’t a walk down memory lane.”
“If my memory serves me correctly, I wasn’t walking down that lane by myself,” he said, pushing himself off the counter until he was mere inches away from me.
He was so close I could feel the heat radiating from his chest. I forced my eyes upward.
“This situation isn’t exactly ideal for me, either, but I’m trying to make the best of a—” He stopped abruptly, and I couldn’t help but wonder what he’d been about to say.
Was he going to call our predicament a bad situation?
“I’m trying to make the best of… this.” He waved his hand vaguely around the kitchen.
“Jasmine, if you can’t handle a friendly conversation or an act of kindness without getting your panties in a twist, maybe we should keep our distance from each other. ”
His words helped me correctly identify my emotion: anger.
“I can handle anything you throw at me, Derek Carter.” I narrowed my eyes.
“I. Don’t. Want. To. There’s a difference.
If you can’t handle a polite and mature request to respect another person’s boundaries without getting your feelings hurt, then I’m glad we’re in agreement that the best way to handle…
this”—I mimicked his gesture around the kitchen—“is to stay the hell away from each other.”
“Fine by me,” he replied, his voice low as he raised one eyebrow.
“Good.” I held his gaze for a moment before turning to leave the kitchen.
“I’m glad I won’t have to touch those feet again,” he called after me. “I had to wash my hands twice before they stopped smelling like corn chips.”
“You loved it,” I shot back over my shoulder, not even bothering to turn around before slamming the door to my bedroom.