Playing by the Baby Rules. Michelle Celmer
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a very wide and very solid male chest.
“Whoa!” Jake caught her arm. “What’s the rush.”
The door swung shut, bumping her on the behind and knocking her even farther into him. She braced her hands against his chest to steady herself, instantly aware of the play of muscles beneath the sweat-moistened cotton shirt, the heat radiating from his skin. The sudden images racing through her mind, like exactly what she and Jake would have to do to make a baby, sent a funny little shiver down her spine. She never thought about stuff like that—least of all with Jake. It was all Lucy’s fault for suggesting that she and Jake should—
No, they definitely shouldn’t.
“What am I perfect for?” he asked.
He’d heard that? “Um…”
Jake stood, fingers still clasped firmly around her arm. His hands were large and strong but exceedingly gentle, his fingers long and graceful. It took a full five seconds to register the heat seeping through her blouse where he grasped her, and the hum of sensation traveling up her arm. She had to force herself not to jerk away.
“Earth to Marisa. You okay?”
She realized they were just standing there on the sidewalk, interrupting the heavy flow of afternoon foot traffic. Aware, too, that more than her arm had begun to tingle now, she gently extracted herself from his grasp. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”
“What am I perfect for?” he asked again as they started down Main Street on foot toward the park.
“It was nothing.” Sweat began to soak the underside of her bra. It had to be about a million degrees out, which still didn’t account for the heat creeping up into her face. There was no doubt in Marisa’s mind, Lucy had done this on purpose. If she had just kept her mouth shut—
“After seventeen years, don’t you think I can tell when you’re lying.” Jake poked her playfully. “Come on, tell me.”
She shook her head. “You don’t want to know.”
“Sure I do.”
“Trust me, you don’t.”
“Marisa, are you blushing?”
Jeez, couldn’t he just drop it? “We should hurry, before someone gets our favorite spot.” She walked faster, until she was almost jogging. Considering he was nearly a foot taller, he didn’t have any trouble keeping up, and she was in danger of collapsing from heat-stroke.
“I’m not going to stop asking, so you might as well spill it.”
“I can’t.”
He batted obscenely long lashes at her—lashes any woman would kill for. “Please?”
“Nope.”
“Pretty please? With sugar on top?” He was grinning down at her, his expression complete mischief. She had no doubt that he would relentlessly nag and harass her until she gave in.
He nudged her again. “C’mon, tell me. What am I perfect for?”
“Sex, Jake,” she blurted out. “She thinks you’re perfect for sex.”
Two
Sex?
Jake walked beside Marisa to the park in stunned silence. Lucy thought he would be perfect for sex? That was…whoa. He wasn’t quite sure how he was supposed to respond. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but Marisa knew he didn’t do relationships. Unless a relationship wasn’t what Lucy had in mind.
“I warned you,” Marisa said, her cheeks two hot pink smudges against a smooth olive complexion. “But you just had to know.”
She’d warned him, and as usual, she was right. Once again he had let curiosity get the best of him. One of these days he would learn not to stick his nose into other people’s business. How many times as a child had his curious nature gotten him several sound whacks from the old man’s belt, or a crack across the jaw from the back of his hand?
They reached the park and automatically walked to the oak tree next to the fountain. Beneath a canopy of gnarled branches and dense green leaves, he spread the blanket on the grass and set the cooler down. He tugged his shirt over his head, rolled it into a makeshift pillow, and sprawled out on his back.
Marisa kicked off her sandals and sat down next to him, tossing her long, chestnut hair over her shoulder and tucking her knees under her chin. “Well, aren’t you going to say something?”
Lucy—sex. Right. He propped himself up on his elbows. “Um, I don’t know what to say.”
A deep crease set in the middle of Marisa’s brow—her disappointed face. Damn. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but, Lucy?
“Lucy is nice, and I know you two are good friends, but…” He shrugged. “She’s not really my type.”
“Lucy?” The crease in her brow deepened, and for a second she looked as confused as he was feeling, then she started to laugh. Her laugh was full and rich and musical—like a symphony. He loved making her laugh, seeing her happy. Though, it would have been nice to know why she was laughing.
“Feel like letting me in on the joke?”
“You think I want you to go out with Lucy?”
Now he was totally confused. “Don’t you?”
She laughed harder, her eyes overflowing with tears. “Don’t worry, Jake. Lucy doesn’t want to go out with you. She was speaking hypothetically.”
“Oh. Well, I’m flattered, I guess.” What he really wanted to know, but would never ask, was what did Marisa think? And why had they been talking about him in the first place? Would Marisa ever consider him…?
No. He dismissed the idea before it could evolve into something stronger, like hope. He’d learned not to hope for things that were never meant to be. Especially not that.
Everyone had a destiny, and for him, a family just wasn’t in the cards. He would hurt them, then he would have to spend the rest of his life regretting it. Maybe if things were different.
But things weren’t different. They never would be, and every now and then he had to remind himself of that.
Rolling onto his stomach, he opened the cooler and unpacked the sandwiches, potato chips and diet sodas he’d picked up at the deli on Fourth Street. “Chicken salad or tuna?”
“You know, you shouldn’t run around half-naked,” Marisa said, taking the chicken salad. “It’s embarrassing. You’re giving every female in the park a hot flash.”
He looked around, noticed several pairs of female eyes glued in his direction, then turned back to Marisa, who was picking onions off her sandwich and tossing them onto the grass. Not every female.
He reached over and tugged on the sleeve of her blouse, wondering how she didn’t melt in the blistering heat covered from head to toe in yards of fabric. For reasons he’d never understood, she hid her voluptuous curves behind loose draping clothes. “I’ll put some clothes on if you take some off.”
She gave him an eye roll. “You’re very funny.”
“I’m serious, Marisa. You have a nice figure. Why do you always keep it covered?”
“Trust me, if you looked like this, you’d keep it covered too.”
“You know, lots of men like voluptuous women.”
Do you like voluptuous women? The question balanced on the tip of her tongue, but she bit it back. One, because she knew he preferred his women tall, blond and waify—the antithesis to her own short, dark and curvy—and two, because it didn’t matter one way or the other. He was her best friend, her buddy. He didn’t find her attractive in that way.
“Maybe