I brush by him on my way out the door. “Chapter Three: Men Are Smarter Than You Think. Small clues and markers in the way I act will tip him off.”
Jack follows me out to my car. “Okay. So—the camera will be on the entire time. I’ll be watching.”
I slam my door and roll down the window. “That seems creepy.”
He leans to rests his forearms on the edge of the open window. “I’m coming over later—whether or not I get to eat dessert.”
“Don’t you have a job?” I push my windblown curls out of my face.
He catches an errant corkscrew and wraps it around his finger, studying it as though it might be the next great find of the twenty-first century. He unwinds it and pats it back in place. “We’re taping the show this afternoon. I’ll be finished before you get home.”
I shift into drive and the car rolls forward. “I might come down with a headache.”
He waves and calls, “I’ll bring aspirin.”
With his strong jaw, athletic build, and those light green eyes, Jackson Tremaine was made for sin.
Sinful thoughts. Sinful desires. Sinful actions.
Good thing Jack’s not my type. Good thing he’s an asshole who would never work long-term for me, or probably anyone. Good thing I can control myself. Otherwise, I’d be in deep shit.
Decode the Man in Your Life
Chapter 4: Men Need Love Too
Correction: Men Need Sex—JUST Sex
FIVE
The agreed-upon guy stands and wipes his palms on his jeans as I enter the cozy Italian restaurant.
“Dave?” I extend my hand.
“You must be Ronnie.” His warm fingers envelope mine in a firm handshake.
The hostess seats us. On the sly, I check my phone for the time. Seven thirty-eight. Wonder if Jackson’s finished taping yet?
No. Doesn’t matter. He has no place at this table, in my head or otherwise. Oh, Lord. Why’d I have to go and think of Jackson at a table. His hands doing naughty things to my naughty parts. I swallow hard.
I can’t help but dart glances at Dave.
He seems really nice.
I’m such a horrible person. How can I even consider doing this? Is my career really this important? Well—who knows? Maybe I’ll fall in love with him too. This could be like any other blind date. Right?
Even still, my appetite flees the scene of the crime I’m about to commit.
Okay. Be in the present. “So, Dave, what do you do for a living?”
He looks over the top of his menu. “Oh, my partner and I own the Green Thumb Nursery. We’re located just outside of Hollywood Hills.”
“Oh, I think I know that place. Your partner?”
He clears his throat. “I mean, I’m co-owner. You know, we own equal parts of the business. I do the books, and he’s more of the hands in the dirt kind of guy. I help out with the plants when he needs it though.”
“Cool.” I nod. “Plants are nice.”
I sound like a freaking moron. Plants are nice. And so is dirt. And money…money is always nice. God, he’s never going to fall for a stupid cow like me. My career will end up as worthless as the thin film of manure left on the bottom of the Green Thumb’s wheelbarrow.
“And what do you do?” he asks.
“I’m a relationship therapist. But I write too.”
Dave’s eyebrows lift. “Oh? What do you write? I love to read. Anything I’ve heard of?”
Aw, jeez I can’t tell him about my book. He might go look it up and find that stupid clip of Jackson’s show.
I cough to cover my pause. “Oh, you know. I dabble. Hobbyist, really. Just doodling a few things for the future.”
“Ah, I see. Well, you never know where that might lead someday.” He lays his menu on the edge of the table.
Crap. I have no idea what I want to eat yet. Too busy thinking of ridiculous things to say.
What’s that sound?
Oh, that’s the sound of my career crashing and burning in the hills of California.
Kaboom.
No worries, that’s just my pride exploding in a fiery blossom of ash and smoke.
I pull Sweet Sue into the driveway behind Shayna’s fun, little sports car, Vixen. Guess it’s easy to tell who drives a sexy car. Oh well. Until my book really pays off, Sweet Sue will have to do, repair costs or no.
As I open the door, headlights zoom past the house. The speeding car slams on the breaks and backs up.
Jackson.
He parks along the curb and hops out. His car beeps as he saunters toward me. More like prowls. Stalks?
I get out of the car and shut my door, careful not to push too hard, lest it stick and I end up climbing through from the other side next time.
I hold up my hand to try to stop him. “You really should call first.”