She turned, grasping for a fancy bookend she’d managed to knock loose. It fell to the ground with a heavy clang, and when she bent to pick it up, there he was, devouring her with his penetrating stare.
He was staring, watching her from across the room. How had he even ended up here, in this condo?
Wishing she had something to occupy her hands, Blare made a beeline for the food, his image filling her mind as she filled her plate. He was so painfully handsome she could barely stare at him for too long. Why couldn’t he have been a jerk at the store? She moved then, closer to the windows, looking down into the bustling city traffic, wishing she were anywhere but here… away from him.
Because he scared the shit out of her.
Why was she avoiding him? Because in a crazy, bizarre twist of fate, the good-looking stranger with the gorgeous, seductive eyes is her best friend’s step-brother and completely off-limits. Cheeks flaming hot, Blare plucked a wine glass off a nearby table, and chugged it….
Collin: I have something here that belongs to Tabitha. Can you give me her cell?
Greyson: You haven’t texted me in days, and now it’s only because you want my friend’s number?! Rude.
Collin: Please? I’ll go buy that ugly-ass shower curtain you picked out.
Greyson: Fine. Deal. But I’m not giving you her cell—she won’t want you having that. You can have her email address instead.
Collin: What the hell, Grey? Why not?
Greyson: She’s still embarrassed about what happened at Target.
Collin: So?
Greyson: loud sigh You just don’t understand women at all, do you…
Collin: That’s never been up for debate.
Greyson: Do you want her info or not?
Collin: Fine. Yes.
Greyson: I know you’re pouting, you big baby.
Greyson: Ready? Here it is…
Greyson: Don’t abuse it. Tell her what you need to tell her, then leave her alone.
Collin: Me? Abuse it? It pains me that you would say that. Like I would abuse her privacy like that…
Greyson: You WOULD do that.
Collin: Yeah, I totally would, but only because I have no boundaries—but not in a weird way.
Greyson: I’m confused. What other way is there?
Collin: Oh gee, let me think—inventing a fake boyfriend and blasting it on Twitter like some “other people” I know. That’s the other way.
Greyson: Sometimes I wish I was an only child.
To:
[email protected]
From:
[email protected]
Subject: Thank You
Tabitha, thanks for coming with Cal and Greyson to my housewarming party last night. I hope you enjoyed yourself. Thank you for the bottle of wine. Just a quick note: I have a book that I think belongs to you. Actually, I know it does because you left it at Blooming Grounds and I’m just now getting around to letting you know. Let me know how best to return it to you.
CK
To:
[email protected]
From:
[email protected]
Subject: ??
Collin. I’m confused. How did you end up with it? I knew I misplaced it, but it never would have occurred to me that you had it since I was just at your house. So now I’m wondering, why didn’t you give it back to me then??? I’m sure you’ve guessed by now that it’s important. Would it be an inconvenience for you to pop it in the mail as soon as possible?
Tabitha Thompson
To:
[email protected]
From:
[email protected]
Subject: No can do.
Tabitha, to answer your question, you dropped the book at Blooming Grounds. During your tizzy. And unfortunately, mailing the book won’t work for me. Want to meet somewhere? I don’t mind getting it to you in person.
CK
To:
[email protected]
From:
[email protected]
Subject: I wouldn’t want to impose.
Collin. That’s a very generous offer, but to save you trouble, again, why not just pop it in the mail? I’ll gladly pay the shipping.
Tabitha Thompson
To:
[email protected]
From:
[email protected]
Subject: No big deal
Tabitha, I can assure you, it would be no imposition. How does 5:30 on Thursday night sound? After work? Does Finches Tap House sound good to you? It’s on the corner of Rayburn and Division. CK
To:
[email protected]
From:
[email protected]
Subject: Sounds good
Collin. Yes, I know where that is.
You’re going to force me to see you… aren’t you?
To:
[email protected]
From:
[email protected]
Subject: It’s a date.
We’re on for 5:30. Can’t wait.
CK
To:
[email protected]
From:
[email protected]
Subject: Fine.
It’s not a date.
Tabitha: Collin, it’s Tabitha Thompson. I hope it’s okay that I asked Greyson for your cell. I wanted to let you know that I’m no longer available to meet Thursday.
Collin: Not to be rude, but you are full of shit.
Tabitha: Why on earth would I lie?
Collin: I can think of a couple reasons. 1) because you’re embarrassed I witnessed your tantrum at the store, and 2) because you write dirty, dirty books…
Tabitha: They are NOT dirty books!
Collin: Not dirty? What about this part: “And when he stroked my inner thigh, my body quivered and started on fire, igniting my core.” What the hell is a core, by the way?
Tabitha: STOP! Just stop. I get the picture. Fine, they’re dirty books. Big deal. And anyway, I have a work thing on Thursday I forgot about.
Collin: “A work thing.” Has anyone told you you’re a terrible liar?
Tabitha: I honestly CANNOT meet with you on Thursday. Can you just send my book in the mail? Please.
Collin: That makes no sense. We live in the same city. Besides, how is that any fun?
Tabitha: Fun? I’m not looking for fun. I just want my book back! I’m sure you’ve noticed it contains notes. It’s valuable. The sooner you send it back the better.
Collin: Too bad. I’m not sending it in the mail. You have to meet me, or you’ll never hold it in your greedy hands again.
Tabitha: That’s blackmail!
Collin: No, it’s extortion.
Tabitha: Um no… it’s blackmail.
Collin: Semantics. Text me when you’re ready to negotiate.
Tabitha: That will NEVER happen. NEVER!!!!
Tabitha: Okay, fine. What’s it going to take?
Collin: Wow, you held out an entire twenty minutes. I expected more resistance from you, quite honestly. This must be driving you crazy, huh?
Tabitha: You have no idea.
Collin: Oh, I have an idea.
Tabitha: Could you please just mail it? Please. I’m asking nicely.
Collin: Actually, that sounds more like begging.
Tabitha: You’re bordering on obnoxious.
Collin: Calling me names isn’t going to convince me.
Tabitha: …and by ‘obnoxious’ I meant adorable?
Collin: Fine, I’ll think about it.
Tabitha: Really?!
Collin: No.
To:
[email protected]
From:
[email protected]
Subject: Clearing the air.
Collin. So, I’ve been wanting to clear the air since we last met, but have been too nervous. And embarrassed. I never did apologize for what happened when I saw you and Greyson at the store and jumped to conclusions. And for being weird at the coffee shop. And avoiding you at your housewarming party. Wow. Putting it into words really looks… terrible. Yikes! It was all very childish. I’m sorry. Tabitha
To:
[email protected]
From:
[email protected]
Subject: Possession is 9/10th of the Law
If you’re trying to get me to change my mind by apologizing, it won’t work. Nice try though. Seriously, your mild effort only mildly warms my heart. This reminds me of the time I nailed my sister in the face with a football and the force knocked her flat on the ass. I apologized, but only because my parents made me. And Greyson knew I only said sorry to get myself out of trouble. It worked on my parents, but it won’t work on me. You can sweet-talk me all you want, but this book is now in a hostage situation. I shall enjoy reading it again and again and again, while thinking of you the entire time.
CK
To:
[email protected]
From:
[email protected]
Subject: Thinking of me the entire time?
Collin, dear God, please don’t—I don’t want you thinking of me AT ALL, let alone the entire time you’re reading my book. Alright. You’ve worn me down. Since the book is valuable to me, I agree to meet you Thursday. But just so you know, it’s under EXTREME duress. Tabitha
Collin: TE Thomas, I will see you Thursday.
If a glower could kill, I would be a dead man.
We’re sitting across from each other at a booth at Finches Tap, a slightly grimy sports bar in a rougher part of town, but what Finches lacks in cleanliness it makes up for in atmosphere.
Dimly lit leather booths line the walls, loud music masks chatter from surrounding patrons, and beer is served ice cold. The wait staff is experienced and knows when to disappear.
Like now.
Left alone to our own devices in the seclusion of our giant corner booth, Tabitha and I each have our arms crossed defensively, regarding each other across the marred tabletop like the worthiest adversaries, spoiling for a showdown. Under the hazy overhead light and flickering candle in front of us, Tabitha’s glossy lips gleam as her eyes do their best to spear me into silence.
Unsuccessfully, I might add.
I refuse to let her spoil my good mood.