But he wasn’t in love with her. He’d never let that happen. Their friendship was too important to mess up with romance. Love had almost killed his father. And Evan wasn’t doing too well, either.
Nope. Better to keep things casual. Uncomplicated.
Which didn’t explain why he’d offered to help Ming get pregnant and why he’d suggested they do it the natural way. And Jason had no easy answer.
Six
By Sunday afternoon Ming still hadn’t heard from Jason, and his lack of response to her phone calls and texts struck her as odd. She’d apologized a dozen times. Why was he avoiding her? After brunch with Lily, she drove to Jason’s house in the hope of cornering him and getting answers. Relief swept her as she spied him by the ’Cuda he’d won off Max a few months ago. She parked her car at the bottom of the driveway and stared at him for a long moment.
Bare except for a pair of cargo shorts that rode low on his hips, he was preoccupied with eliminating every bit of dust from the car’s yellow paint. His bronzed skin glistened with a fine mist of water from the hole in the nearby garden hose. The muscles across his back rippled as he plunged the sponge into the bucket of soapy water near his bare feet.
Ming imagined gliding her hands over those male contours, digging her nails into his flesh as he devoured her. The fantasy inspired a series of hot flashes. She slid from behind the wheel and headed toward him.
“I think you missed a spot,” she called, stopping a couple feet away from the back bumper. Hearing the odd note in her own voice brought about by her earlier musing, she winced. When he frowned at her, she pointed to a nonexistent smudge on the car’s trunk.
Since waking at six that morning, she’d been debating what tack to take with Jason. Did she scold him for not calling her back? Did she pretend that she wasn’t hurt and worried that he’d ignored her apologies? Or did she just leave her emotional baggage at the door and talk to him straight like a friend?
Jason dropped the sponge on the car’s roof and set his hands on his hips. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t.”
She eyed the car. “I’m pretty sure you did.” When he didn’t respond, she stepped closer to the car and pointed. “Right here.”
“If you think you can do better…” He lobbed the dripping sponge onto the trunk. It landed with a splat, showering her with soapy water. “Go ahead.”
Unsure why he got to act unfriendly when she’d been the one to apologize only to be ignored, she picked up the sponge and debated what to do with it. She could toss it back and hope it hit him full in the face, or she could take the high road and see if they could talk through what had happened in California.
Gathering a calming breath, she swept the sponge over the trunk and down toward the taillights. “I’ve left you a few messages,” she said, focusing on the task at hand.
“I know. Sorry I haven’t called you back.”
“Is there a reason why you didn’t?”
“I’ve been busy.”
Cleaning an already pristine car was a pointless endeavor. So was using indirect methods to get Jason to talk about something uncomfortable. “When you didn’t call me back, I started wondering if you were mad at me.”
“Why would I be mad?”
Ming circled the car and dunked the sponge into the bucket. Jason had retreated to the opposite side of the ’Cuda and was spraying the car with water. Fine mist filled the air, landing on Ming’s skin, lightly coating her white blouse and short black skirt. She hadn’t come dressed to wash a car. And if she didn’t retreat, she risked ruining her new black sandals.
“Because of what happened in Mendocino.”
“You mean because you freaked out?” At last he met her gaze. Irritation glittered in his bright blue eyes.
“I didn’t freak…exactly.”
“You agreed we’d spend three days together and when you got there, you lasted barely an hour before picking a fight with me and running out. How is that not freaking?”
Ming scrubbed at the side mirror, paying careful attention to the task. “Well, I wouldn’t have done that if you hadn’t gone all Don Juan on me.”
“Don Juan?” He sounded incredulous.
“Master of seduction.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“The roses on the bed. The vanilla candles. I’m surprised you didn’t draw me a bubble bath.” In the silence that followed her accusation, she glanced up. The expression on his face told her that had also been on his agenda. “Good grief.”
“Forgive me for trying to create a romantic mood.”