Home to You (19 page)

The rusty gate clanged behind us as she ran across the parking lot to her car. “I’ll call you in the morning about the barbecue,” she said, then blew me a kiss and ducked into her convertible.
 

I shook my head as I hoisted my gear bag over my shoulder. Our lives couldn’t have been more different. I was heading back to a house that wasn’t my own, in a car that was ten years old, still dressed in my shorts and a tank top I’d thrown on after my shower. While she was off to a fancy dinner with what I imagined to be a sophisticated man. A different one than her black-tie dinner just the night before.
 

Maybe I should have asked her to set me up? Maybe it would help me forget...
 

Seated behind the wheel of my hatchback, I checked my phone to see there were no messages. I thought about calling Jake, to offer to pick something up for dinner, but quickly changed my mind. A group of men walked into the parking lot, and I decided I’d better be on my way. I turned the key in the ignition, but it only clicked, and my heart leapt to my throat.
Shit!

I tried again, my hands starting to shake—but again, nothing.
Shit. Shit. Shitty Shit!
 

One hand flew to my brow, while the other reached down to pop the hood. I stepped out of the car, spent an eternity trying to find the stupid latch thing, then finally lifted the hood and realized I had no clue what I was looking for. I glanced up, hoping one of the men would take pity on the poor girl with the broken car, but the neighborhood really wasn’t good, the sun was going down fast, and the group of men didn’t exactly look inviting.

I blew out a breath and climbed back into the front seat. I was going to have to call Jake. My pride hurt, but the need for self-preservation was stronger.
 

I grumbled under my breath, pulled out my phone, and debated whether to call or text.

Text.  
I’d be able to imagine away the roll of his eyes much easier.
 

ME: Are you busy?
 

His reply came a few seconds later.
 

JAKE:
 
No. You OK?  

I let out a sigh. Why did he always assume something’s wrong?
Maybe because the last time you called something was.

I took a deep breath before typing again.

ME: My car won’t start.

JAKE: Where are you? I’ll be right there.
 

Twenty minutes later, Jake pulled into the space beside me. I stepped out of my car, both grateful and embarrassed at the same time. But when he climbed out of his seat, my heart sank. He was dressed in gray slacks and a blue button-up shirt—he looked amazing—and one thing was certain, he
had
been
in the middle of something.

Then the passenger door opened, and an immaculately dressed
Grace
climbed out of the other side.  

Perfect!
Not only did I pull him away from something, I pulled him away from the something he was doing with Grace. I wanted to kick myself for feeling a little happy about that.
 

“You okay?” Jake asked, as he grabbed a set of jumper cables from the metal box in the bed of his truck.
 

I nodded.
Why did he have to be so sweet?
But I already knew the answer. He cared about me. Just in the most horrible way I could think of. Like he would a little sister.

“I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important,” I said to Grace. She was wearing a gray trapeze dress and navy heels—from the way she looked, I very much did.
 

“It’s fine,” she replied, but her tone did nothing to convince me.
 

“I must have left a light on.” I chewed on my nails. Not only was it embarrassing to need Jake’s help, but my appearance did me no favors tonight. I was filthy from lying on the ground during Em’s photo shoot, and she was dressed like a supermodel.

 
 Jake clamped the cables to his battery, then walked over to stand in front of my car. His brows furrowed. “Your cables are loose.”
 

“What?” I walked to the front of my car and stood beside him.
 

He turned to unhook the cables from his truck, then tossed them in the back. “They’re loose.”

“What? How?”

“Probably because you don’t take care of your car,” he lectured. “Where
is
Em anyway? You shouldn’t be out here alone.”
 

“She had a date.” I fidgeted with the ends of my hair.

“Great.” He shut his hood. “I don’t know why she stays in this dump. It’s not like she doesn’t have the money.”  

I’d thought the very same thing not long ago, but now I was defensive. “Would you stop. It’s not her fault.”
 

Grace cleared her throat. “Can you just hook up the battery so we can go? We’re already late.” She was leaning against the truck, and annoyed would be an understatement.

“I’m so sorry. If I’d known you guys were going somewhere—”

“It’s fine,” Jake replied sharply, but then his voice softened. “I’m glad you called.”
 

In a few minutes he had the battery hooked up, then nodded for me to try the ignition. I climbed in the driver’s seat, and it immediately turned over.
 

He closed the hood, then walked over to my window. “We’ll follow you home.”
 

His voice was soft and sweet, and a lump formed in the back of my throat. I shook my head—I’d already made him late, I wouldn’t make them any later.

“I’ve already screwed up your evening.” I glanced over at Grace. “I’m so sorry. You guys go have fun. I’ll see you tomorrow at the barbecue.”  

She raised her brows and looked over to Jake.

 
Shit! She didn’t know.
“Sorry,” I mouthed to Jake—wishing I had a rock to hide under—then turned on my headlights and backed out of the space.   

Way to put your foot in your mouth, Katie. Real smooth.
 

I DECIDED TO STOP AT the grocery store on the way home. It had been a while since I’d seen Jake with Grace, and even though I didn’t have any right, it hurt seeing him with another woman.
 

I knew I shouldn’t have been upset; I’d been a fool to think something had changed. He was happy and proud of me yesterday, and I was just stupid for reading into his playfulness.
 

I placed my basket on the counter and began scanning my items at self-checkout. Albacore sashimi, a pint of caramel gelato, and a bag of barbecue potato chips. Sure, not the best combo, but it was
my
damned pity party, and I’d eat what I wanted to.
 

Then my eyes locked on the copy of
Dirty Dancing
shoved on the shelf by the gum. I grabbed it, scanned it, and threw it in my bag. If I couldn’t have a happy ending of my own, I wanted to watch Baby come out of the corner.
 

It was quarter to nine when I pulled into the driveway. The house was completely dark, which only reminded me that Jake was with
her
. Beautiful, petite, blond-haired, blue-eyed Grace. Everything I’d never be.   

I quickly changed into boxers and a cami, threw my hair into a messy bun, and set myself up with a picnic in the living room. Fresh toes always made me feel better, so I grabbed a large bowl of soapy water and my box of manicure supplies before starting the movie.

It was just after ten when I heard the gate open out front, and my stomach sank. I pulled my feet from the water, dried my toes with a nearby towel, and pretended to watch the screen as Patrick Swayze held on to Jennifer Gray’s hip in the merengue.
 

His boots hit the deck, and my body stilled with anticipation as I waited for him to open the door.
 

A second later he entered, then his eyes ran from my bowl of water to my sushi picnic, and he shook his head. “I won’t ask.” His eyes dropped to the mail in his hand.

He was more beautiful than any man I’d seen in my life—though maybe I thought that because he was here with me, and not out with Grace. “You’re home early.” I ran my tongue over my suddenly very dry lips.
 

He shrugged. “I have to be at work early tomorrow.” Then he looked up again, and the corner of his mouth lifted. “Okay, what’s with the bowl?”
 

I laughed and glanced down at the soapy water. “I was soaking my feet.”  

He raised his brows, nodded his head, and gave me a look.
 

“Oh stop. I’m giving myself a pedicure. They’re good for the soul.”  

“I’ll take your word on that.” He set the mail on the coffee table and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt.
 

I moistened my bottom lip again and my eyes locked on his beautiful throat. Here I was, a grown woman, drooling over a man because I could suddenly see his collarbone. “Have you really never had a pedicure before?” I grabbed a nail file out of the box.

“Nope.”

“Do you want one?” The minute the words crossed my lips, I wanted them back.
What kind of sickly twisted person was I?
 

“Are you offering?”

I bit my lip.
No
. “Sure.”
Crap! What the hell was I doing?
 

He laughed. “Let me take a shower first.”

Holy shit
! First, I couldn’t believe I offered, and second, I couldn’t believe he actually said yes.

As soon as he turned the corner, my head fell to my hands. But then I realized he’d be back in a minute, and I hopped to my feet, causing some of the water to slosh from the bowl.
Crap, crap, crap!

Maybe if I told him I’d changed my mind? Said I’m too tired? But I was a horrible liar, and he’d see right through me.  

I picked the bowl off the floor, carried it to the kitchen, cleaned up my picnic.

When I finally sat down, I set a new bowl of soapy water on the ground, crossed my legs high in my lap, and began to file my nails. The shower stopped running, and I took a few calming breaths.
Ridiculous. I was completely and utterly ridiculous.
 

Jake walked back in the room a minute later wearing those damned sexy PJ pants. A towel hung around his neck, and he scrubbed the back of his head with one end.
“Okay, what do I do?”  

I wanted to tell him to go back to his room and lock the damned door, but I was still out of breath, and all I could do was stare at his broad chest and the moisture that lingered on his skin from his shower.
 

“Katie?”

I moved over on the couch, annoyed with myself. “Put your feet in water.”  

He eyed me sideways, like I’d just told him to strip, and discarded the towel to one of the chairs. “Why? I just took a shower.”  

“Just do it,”
I ordered—though even to my own ears it sounded silly.
 

He grabbed a chair, put his feet in the soapy bowl, and I fetched my pumice stone from the box. Removing one of his feet from the water, I placed it in my lap, and began to scrub.  

“Shit!” he called out, nearly jumping off the couch. “That fucking tickles!”  

I laughed, feeling some of the tension fade, and yanked his foot back in place. “Don’t be such a baby.”
 

When I switched to the next foot, he was more prepared, but every time he twitched I had to bite my lip to contain my amusement. I moved quickly to his toes, pretending the whole time he was someone else, then finally finished with a dab of green tea lotion and a sigh of relief. “All done,” I declared. I’d made it all the way through without doing anything stupid.
 

But when I glanced up and found him watching me I wasn’t so sure.
 

“Thank you,” he said, his tone strange and unreadable.  

I cleared my throat. “You’re welcome.” Not knowing what else to do, I pulled my foot in my lap and pulled a bottle of pink polish out of the box.
 

He leaned forward and took the polish from my hand. “Let me.”
 

I closed my eyes and laughed nervously. “No, I—”  

But it was too late; he already had the bottle opened and the brush positioned over my toes. “Don’t look so scared, it can’t be much harder than painting a house, right?”
 

I wasn’t scared, and this was
nothing
like painting a house.  

He took my foot in one hand, and a glob of paint dripped from the tip of the brush before he even made it to my nail. Paint ran over my skin, and he muttered under his breath.

He glanced up at me, looking humbled, and I hid my smile as I handed him a wad of cotton balls.
 

“Let me just start over,” he said, then hunched over and got serious.
 

When he pulled the brush out for the second time, he wiped one side first and looked up with a proud grin.
 

I nodded my approval, then sat perfectly still as the man I was in love with painted my toenails pink. At first I was enthralled. He was the guy’s guy, the baseball jock, the construction worker.