The Harder You Fall. Gena Showalter
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laugh.”
“Maybe. Probably.”
Had to respect his honesty. “Mostly I wanted to be that crazy cat lady.”
He choked on a breath. “An old woman who wears rollers and a robe, and has a hundred cats prowling through her house?”
“Exactly. I wanted a cat but Dad was allergic. Once a month Mom drove me to the shelter where I got to pet a roomful of strays. The employees used to joke about that crazy cat lady who came in every few weeks to adopt a new one. I was so jealous of her.”
“That is...” He frowned. “Ridiculously adorable.”
He sounded surprised. “What about you? What did you want to be?”
“Sorry, but we’re not done with you. When you realized crazy cat lady wouldn’t pay the bills, what’d you want to do?”
“Become a high school teacher.”
“Subject?”
“English.”
He wiggled his brows. “How do you come on to a high school English teacher?”
Her brow furrowed. “Uh...how?”
“Over? Under? To? Around? Outside?”
She snickered. “You preposition her.” Silly man.
Sexy man.
“Now I have to know your childhood dream,” she said. “Tell me!”
“I had big plans, was going to be the youngest, hottest cop on the force.”
A puzzle piece clicked into place. “Had fantasies about taking down bad guys, did you?” Made sense, considering some of the hellholes he must have lived in.
“Something like that.”
“Now you create video games that allow you to defeat every kind of bad guy imaginable, so in a way, you’ve achieved your dream.”
“That’s true.” A sizzling pause. “You’ve played my games?”
Caught! “Once or twice,” she admitted. For years she’d fought—and lost—an addiction to “Donkey Kong.” Barrels! The lady! Her dad taught her how to play, their special time together, and, well, winning became an obsession.
As soon as she’d learned of West’s accomplishments, she’d maybe kinda sorta rushed out to buy his greatest hits. “Alice in Zombieland.” “Lords of the Underworld.” “Angels of the Dark.” “Everlife.” Used, of course, because she couldn’t afford new.
“Evil is always afoot,” she added, “but the good guys always save the day.”
His frown returned, deepened. “Let’s listen to the radio.” He jacked up the volume.
Didn’t like her observations? “Giving you the silent treatment won’t be a problem,” she called over the music.
“Really? Because you’re still talking.”
“Oh, that wasn’t talking. This is.” For the rest of the drive, she chatted about nothing. Loudly. The weather, her love of donuts, the price of thongs—so little material should cost less!—and finally, her last gynecological exam.
They reached the diner just as she got to the part about the cold speculum. He parked in back and sighed with relief when she quieted.
Rather than waiting for him to open her door—would he? wouldn’t he?—she jumped out.
“Do you have to move like that?” West called as he emerged.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re in heat.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t like, don’t watch.”
“Impossible,” he might or might not have muttered.
What the heck!
The other couples were already inside, seated at a rickety table in back, next to a Christmas tree. Ugh. Christmas. Her least favorite holiday was only three and a half weeks away. She and Brook Lynn would have to celebrate—again—without their parents.
Hate the holidays!
Despite the holly-jolly decorations, Jessie Kay fell in love with the diner at first glance. The red vinyl booths and black-and-white-tiled floor charmed her. Though the mint-green walls were cracked and crumbling, and there were water stains on the ceiling, the flaws only added character. Life had happened here. And really, how could you complain about anything when the smell of hamburgers, bacon and chili dogs saturated the air?
Only two chairs were free at the table, and of course, they were right next to each other.
West pulled one out for her, his gentlemanly ways shocking her all over again.
“Thank you,” she muttered as she sat.
“You’re welcome,” he muttered back, sliding in beside her.
Things had always been strained between them, but now she knew the sweetness of his concern as she’d fought a panic attack, knew the feel of his hand pressed against hers, the kindness he showed to even a woman he didn’t exactly like, and the strain reached a whole new level. I want!
Danger! Headed to a hot zone.
“So...you guys been waiting long?” she asked, hoping for a distraction.
No one paid her a bit of attention. With Harlow marrying Beck—this freaking weekend—and Brook Lynn marrying Jase—in less than five freaking months—the girls were caught up in a conversation about the weddings while the guys reminisced fondly about Ball Busters they’d injured.
Dude. I think you broke his femur. Congrats!
The waitress arrived and, to Jessie Kay’s irritation, placed her hand on West’s shoulder, as if it had every right to be there. “Y’all know what you want to drink?”
Overfriendly much?
The group snapped to attention, Jase kicking things off. When it was West’s turn, the waitress stripped him with her predatory eyes and said, “Don’t worry, sweetie. I remember what you like. I’ll take real good care of you, promise.”
With a wink and a grin, she sashayed off, and dang it, even Jessie Kay had to admit her milkshake would bring all the boys to the yard. Short and slender, she had the kind of curves most women spent years in a gym—or thousands on surgery—trying to achieve. Her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail and swished from side to side, acting like a summoning finger, demanding anything with a penis follow fast.
“Looks like you have a groupie.” The venom in Jessie Kay’s voice baffled her.
I’m not jealous. I can’t be jealous.
West meant nothing to her.
She tried for sweet. “How nice that must be for you.” And how nice for Ponytail. The fact that she hadn’t made the horrendous gaffe of sleeping with both West’s friends, well, she might actually have a chance to score him.
“A groupie?” He shook his head, the picture of masculine confidence. “How cute.”
“You should have seen the one who showed up at the office a few days ago.” Beck draped his arm over Harlow’s chair, something Jessie Kay’s dad used to do whenever he was seated next to her mom. Daddy could never go more than a few minutes without touching Momma.
When we’re not together, Anna Grace, I think of you. And when I think of you, I smile.
“She and West shook hands,” Beck continued, “and I swear they made a baby.”
“Twins.” West rubbed two fingers against the dark stubble on his jaw. “Maybe triplets.”
“You are such a romantic.”