Love the One You're With (17 page)

“No! It was just lunch. And then … we just did this random brewery tour, and then grabbed wings at a pub. There was no sex, no kissing—not
then
, anyway, and—”

They all exchanged a glance, and Grace threw up her hands. “Stop doing that. Enough with the looks. Bring me into the loop here.”

“Well, it's just that I don't know what's more baffling,” Riley said. “The fact that you kissed him and didn't tell us about it, or the fact that you ate
wings
. Your mother would probably faint.”

Grace waved all of this away. “So am I agreeing to dinner or not?”

“Do you
want
to have dinner with him?”

Yes. And I want to have the after-dinner with him
.

“No,” she said. “It feels too much like I'm violating my six-month rule.”

“But your six-month rule is complete garbage,” Emma said, patting her hand.

“It's not! Plenty of women have dedicated single time after coming out of a long breakup.”

“Sure, meaning they don't actively go out and try to snag the first guy they can. They
allow
themselves to be single; they don't force it when a good one comes along.”

“I'm not forcing it,” Grace grumbled. “Jake doesn't even want me beyond this story.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he's Jake Malone. You guys are the ones that told me the stories about him! He's like a modern-day Lothario.”

“But you like him,” Julie taunted.

“Yes! But this isn't the third grade, this is real life, and …”

“And you don't want to get hurt again,” Emma said softly.

Grace let out a long breath. “And I don't want to get hurt again.”

“But maybe Jake's not like Greg. Maybe—”

“I'll stop you right there,” Grace said. “Greg was practically the poster child for husband material. And if
he
cheated, then Jake Malone, poster child for raunchy bachelor, sure as hell isn't going to be the steady, loyal type.”

“You don't know that,” Julie said.

“And even if he isn't your dream guy,” Emma added, “it's just dinner. What if you went and just treated it like a practice round for when you do want to start dating again?”

“Does practice round include sex?” Riley asked. “Because this one needs it.” She jerked a thumb at Grace. “Also, where the hell is our server?”

Two minutes later, Riley had flagged down one of the flustered servers and they were ordering one of their usual assortment of small plates, while Grace's mind drifted.

No
, 2.0 said succinctly.
Just no
.

But it's just one night
.

Still no
.

What's the worst that can happen?
Grace pleaded.

Crossing her arms, 2.0 glared.
Crabs. Mayhem. A UTI. A broken heart
.

Orrrr, the one night could help get him out of my system
, Grace argued back.
You know, sleep with him so I can move on
.

After thinking it over, 2.0 inquired,
So this is like an itch you need to scratch? One night of hanky-panky to take the edge off so that you can get him out of your system?

Grace pounced on it.
Yes. Precisely
.

Fine
, 2.0 huffed.
Use a condom
.

“Grace?” Julie asked. “You want to add anything to the order?”

She shut the menu, her mind made up on more than just food. “The cheese plate,” she told the waitress. “Definitely the cheese plate.”

Then she retrieved her cell phone from Riley's clutches and typed in one fateful word in response to Jake's message.

Yes
.

Grace had known she was out of practice with dating.

She
hadn't
known that getting back on the damned wagon would be such a complete disaster.

Clad only in matching green bra and panties, she stood in front of her closet. And stared. And stared some more.

Without taking her eyes off the mess of clothes that were all wrong, she retrieved her phone from the nightstand and called Julie.

“Hey, Grace,” her friend chirped.

“I have nothing to wear.”

There was a beat of silence followed by rustling … of sheets, or maybe clothes? … followed by a whispered, “Stop!” and then a giggle.

Grace rolled her eyes. “Did I interrupt something?”

“Of course not,” Julie said. Another giggle was followed by a squeal.

“When Mitchell's done copping a feel, can we please deal with my crisis?”

“Sure, sure,” Julie said, her voice turning all business. “Listen, you've called the right woman. I've written about eight articles on exactly this problem. Now, I know this is going to be hard to believe, but what you think you're experiencing is not real.”

“Excuse me?”

“It's the
first-date-and-I-have-absolutely-nothing-to-wear
panic you're experiencing. It's perfectly common, but also 100 percent in your head. Now repeat after me: ‘There is the perfect thing to wear in this closet.' ”

“If I'd known you were going to be in weird-shrink mode, I would have called Riley or Emma.”

“I knew it! You do like Emma.”

“Can we discuss this later? Like maybe after we've figured out what I'm wearing?”

“How much time do we have?”

Grace checked the clock and tried to stifle the surge of panic. “Um … about eight
minutes.”

“Until you have to leave? Or is Jake coming over there?”

“He's coming here. Something about that's how boys from the dairy farms do it.”

A beat of silence on the other end. “I'm trying to figure out if there's a sexual reference in there, but mostly it just seems weird. But either way, that's a big step for a first date. These days, showing a man your home is a bigger step than showing him your boobs.”

“According to whom, Riley? And besides, he's already seen my home,” Grace said as she held up a blue dress and promptly discarded it. Too corporate. White sundress? Too bridal. Last year's skinny jeans? Too tight.

“What do you mean he's seen it?” Julie shrieked. “Jake Malone has been inside your apartment?”

“Just once. He came over after that first stunt with the video camera. I thought he was going to machete me to pieces, but mostly he just wanted to rant and stomp around manlike.”

And kiss me. He wanted to kiss me
.

“And we haven't heard about the apartment drop-by because …?”

Because it was private. And somehow important. “I don't know. I guess it just never came up.”

Julie made a noise that sounded suspiciously like
bullshit
. “How'd he even get your address?”

Grace paused. “You know, I never actually thought about that. If I had to guess, I'd imagine he slept with someone, or a handful of someones, who had connections to people who know things. And we're down to four minutes, so …”

“Boot cut jeans. The dark ones that you always complain make your hips look big because you're delusional. You look killer in them. Red heels, red belt, and your black halter top. It's raining, so bring your red trench. The Burberry one.”

Grace raced to pull out each item that Julie mentioned, too aware of the time to doubt her friend's advice. “How do you know all this? Maybe now that you're old and settled instead of dating the entire city, you should join the Fashion section of
Stiletto
.”

“Please. Oliver would never have me. Now hurry along and get dressed. And Grace?”

“Yeah?”

“Nobody would judge you if you put out.”

With that, Julie clicked off just as the door bell rang.

“Craaaaap.”
Grace would have bet money that Jake wasn't the on-time type of guy. He struck her as the type that always assumed it would take “two seconds” to find a cab, never paying any heed to things like rush hour. And she knew firsthand that he had a not-so-delightful habit of declaring that everything will take “five minutes” when really he meant it would take some high multiple of five minutes.

But of course, he'd chosen
now
to be early.

So much for her grand plan of opening the door looking dead sexy with his favorite bourbon in hand. She slipped on her blue robe and went to the door.

Oh my.

Jake Malone did wonders for jeans. And the way his dark green dress shirt was rolled up just enough to show forearms. A particular weakness of hers.

His eyes skimmed up her legs, hovering on the hem, before he smiled into her eyes. “I have fond memories of that robe.”

“I'll bet,” she said, gesturing to him to come in. “I'll be ready in just a minute.”

“No hurry,” he said as he pulled a bottle of champagne out of the bag he'd brought with him. “Reservations are actually thirty minutes after when I originally told you.”

“On purpose?” she asked, scandalized. “You expected me to be late?”

“I was right, wasn't I?” he asked as he began searching her cupboards for glasses for the champagne.

“But I'm never late.”

“You were never late with your buffoon ex-boyfriend because you didn't care what you were wearing.”

“I cared!”

“You cared about looking
presentable
,” he clarified, finally finding the glasses. “Not about looking sexy.”

“Is that what you think I'm doing tonight? Trying to look sexy?” She accepted the glass he held out even though she was tempted to sulk.

He clinked his glass to hers before taking a sip and appraising her. “You never have to try, Grace.”

Grace felt a happy, bubbly feeling that had absolutely nothing to do with the champagne.

“Damn you're an expert at this.”

“Lots of practice,” he said with a little wink. “Now go. Scamper into whatever hot outfit your friend told you to wear at the eleventh hour.”

Grace couldn't help but laugh as she followed instructions and headed into the bedroom. “If you put any of this male genius up on that damned website, I'll deny all of it!” she called.

“No website business tonight, Grace. This is just us. And don't start with that no-men nonsense either, or I'll take this champagne a couple streets over to that hussy I was with the morning we met.”

Grace found herself smiling as she wiggled into her jeans.

Damn it. She was really starting to like this guy.

* * *

Grace knew that she and Greg had held hands during the course of their relationship. She just couldn't remember the specific moments.

She didn't remember it feeling this right. Or this natural.

Or this wonderful.

They'd finished dinner, and Jake had suggested they take a walk, which Grace had pointed out as his first misstep of the evening. If he knew women even half as well as he thought he did, he'd understand that women in high heels didn't
do
walks. They
could
walk. From point A to point B. Sometimes. But ambling with no destination? Not so much.

“What if I give you a destination?” he asked.

“Now, now, is that just a clever way of suggesting sex?”

He grinned. “Do you want it to be?”

Yes
. “I don't believe you've uttered the magic words.”

“Please?”

“Cheese plate.”

Jake tilted his head back and laughed, and it was then that he'd reached out and gently linked his fingers with hers.

She tried to be cool about it. Tried not to let herself look down at the way their hands joined, her smaller fingers twined with his larger ones. Tried not to think about how warm he
was, or how good he felt.

“Seriously, where is our destination?” she asked once she realized that she was indeed being led in a specific direction.

“Tell me you've heard of La Maison du Chocolat.”

Grace groaned. “Only the most expensive, most sinful, most amazing chocolate in the city. In the world. Aren't they from France?”

“Indeed. The damned French are always doing it right. The fries. The cheese. The chocolate … the kissing.”

He tugged at her hand, pulling her to a stop under the awning of a boutique long closed for the night. Then he kissed her. Right there for anyone and everyone to see.

One hand continued to hold her hand as the other found her cheek, his lips gently moving over hers. It was the first time in a long time she'd been kissed in public. Greg hadn't been one for PDAs, and Grace hadn't thought she was either.

But here with Jake, kissing on a quiet side street in downtown Manhattan felt right.

Sweet.

She was just a little bit breathless when he pulled back, and he took one last nip of a kiss before he stood upright and resumed walking as though it had never happened.

“You're good at that,” Grace said.

He glanced down at her. “Kissing?”

“That. And making me want you to do
more
than kiss me.”

Grace hadn't meant to say it, and for the life of her she didn't know what had spurred her to be so uncharacteristically bold. But she didn't take it back. Because she did want him. All of him.

His eyes darkened and his fingers tightened. “That kind of talk isn't going to get you chocolate, Ms. Brighton.”

“No?” she asked. “What's it going to get me?”

This time when he kissed her, it wasn't gentle and it wasn't slow. The kiss was savage and hot, and involved more than a little tongue and even a whistle from a passerby.

“Any other stupid questions?” he asked when they broke apart, both breathing hard. Grace mutely shook her head.

“Okay then.”

Inside the chocolate shop, it was as though the kiss had never happened. Jake let her roam around, ogling everything in sight, and although she protested that she really didn't
need
anything, Grace hardly kicked up a fuss when they left the store with a small assortment of macaroons and a box of chocolates that had been flown in from Paris just days before.