MisTaken (Miss Match #1.5) (3 page)

Lacy shrugged. But the chords she played next were minor ones, somber in tone.

Not having any words of comfort herself, Jay swirled the wine in her jar as she contemplated Andy’s question. Did the guy she wanted really exist or was he a fairy tale? She didn’t want the controlling alpha male hero that all the women seemed to be into nowadays. There wasn’t a submissive bone in her body, though a part of her wondered if she might like it in the bedroom.

Now that for sure was a fantasy—there’s no way she could marry her feminist ideals to any type of domination, even if it was just sexually. Was it even possible to find a guy who could admire her strength but still hold her when she needed to be held? A guy who would fight for her equality yet embrace her differences? A guy who would let her be a partner as well as a lover? Perhaps the real question was, could she ever let a man do those things for her? She was stubborn and independent, both traits that made it difficult to ever let someone in. It wasn’t like she didn’t want a man in her life—she did. Very much so. Just after all the failed relationships she’d gone through, it was difficult not to wonder if the problem wasn’t her.

Was she too hard on men?

In the midst of Jaylene’s self-examination she became aware of Andy staring at her with narrowed eyes.

As if the woman could read Jay’s mind, she said, “Maybe you should go out with him again, Jay. I think you could see past his weirdness if you spent some more time with the guy.”

Well, maybe she was too hard on men. But not
that
man. And if she had any hope of finding out if her type of guy existed, she couldn’t waste time with men who were definitely not her type. Men such as Blake Donovan.

With renewed rage, Jaylene snatched the box of crackers from Andy’s hand. “You couldn’t pay me enough. And I can assure you he doesn’t want to date me again either. He accused me of having a men’s haircut. Are you listening, Andy? He referred to me as masculine. It was in the same conversation where he congratulated me on my profession. The guy is a complete and utter jerk. Good luck matching him with anyone.” She didn’t add that he wasn’t the first person who had referred to her as masculine. It wasn’t relevant information.

“Now, I’m taking your other bottle of wine, and these crackers, and going home to lick my wounds.” She ruffled her pixie cut. “Also, I’ll be out of town for a week next month. You’ll be cat-sitting. Pookie’s diabetic, so you’ll have to do her insulin. Call me sometime, Lace.”

Pleased with the look of chagrin on Andy’s face, Jaylene swept out of the apartment to the sound of Lacy’s laughter.

With the door shut behind her, Jay paused before going down the stairs. The irritation she’d had about her bad date dissolved as she realized it wasn’t really Blake Donovan she was mad at. Or even Andy.

She was mad at herself.

Because she was a strong independent woman. She didn’t need a man. She didn’t need anyone. So why did she feel so lonely?

CHAPTER 2

Noah was bringing the last few stragglers in from his car when the cute girl passed him again. That shaggy haircut and tight dress were downright inspirational. He dropped his eyes. He also dropped a book from the stack in his left arm.

“I got it. I’ll follow you in.” Her voice was deeper than he’d imagined it would be. Not that he’d planned on talking to her. If he had his way, he wouldn’t talk to anybody. Easier said than done, though. Tossing a glance back over his shoulder, he confirmed his earlier suspicion that this girl was going to be trouble. At least he’d sent his brothers home.

“You can just put that … somewhere.” He gestured around as they walked through his open door. This was the worst part about having people over, knowing they were seeing all your stuff and wondering what sort of conclusions they were drawing about you.

Everything he owned was different shades of gray. What did that say about him? That he was cold and depressed? He had been going for cool and modern, but maybe it didn’t translate. She set the book and her stuff down on a silver end table (scuffed) and wandered over to the steel bookshelf (ancient) to look at his literature collection (impeccable). She skirted a few unpacked boxes (beige) on the way.

“Didn’t you just move in today?” she asked. “And you already set up your bookshelf?”

“I, uh. Like things in a particular way.” He scratched the back of his neck and wondered if he should be offering her something.

“I see that. Alphabetical order. You have great taste in books.…” She held out a hand.

“Noah.” His large hand engulfed her tiny one, but her grip was surprisingly strong.

“Jaylene Kim. Jay to my friends. And neighbors.”

“Well. We are neighbors. Can I get you anything, Jay? I don’t have much in the house, but there’s some … caramels, I think.” Caramels. Smooth. She laughed, though, and it was musical and he thought maybe he’d say stuff like that more often if he could hear it again.

“Thanks, but I have an early day tomorrow. Work and all.” Was it his imagination, or did she actually look regretful? Sometimes it was hard to tell when someone was blowing you off.

“Of course. What sort of work do you do?” He’d remain polite either way. And then stare at her ass in that dress while she was leaving.

“I’m a teacher. My days start early. What do
you
do, Noah?”

“I’d tell you, but I’d have to kill you. What grade do you teach?” He’d learned a long time ago how to deflect questions about his chosen career. Asking more questions of the other party was usually the best method. People in general loved to answer questions about themselves.

It was a bonus when he was genuinely interested in the answer.

“I’m high school English.” She absentmindedly ran a hand through her hair. “Hence my uncontrollable urge to check out everyone else’s bookshelves.”

English.
She literally couldn’t be more perfect. For one, an English teacher would never abuse the word “literally.”

“Did they pass muster, then?” Of course they did. Noah Harrison knew books. He’d been an English major himself, after all, though he had zero desire to teach, or go into academia. He just liked to read. Reading didn’t require any social interaction. He reserved that for his professional life.

Which reminded him—there was a beautiful woman inside his brand-new apartment. And here he was pretending to be social, when he had work to do. He should walk her to the door; he should thank her for carrying the book and escort her out. But he found himself fixated on her red lips, and anticipating her approval.
Hoping
for her approval.

“You’re a Plath fan. Not many men are. I’m impressed.” She ran her tongue over those crimson lips, not lasciviously, but unconsciously, as if she were considering him. It was sexy as hell either way.

“She was a brilliant writer. So raw, and honest. Not many women do
that,
” he said.

Her eyes narrowed. “I could name a ton! Virginia Woolf—”

‘“Really I don’t like human nature unless all candied over with art.’ I’ve always loved that line. Okay, I’ll give you Woolf. She laid it out pretty well. But Plath still has her beat on sheer morbidity, which I maintain you don’t see much of in female writers.” Was she—she was kicking off her heels. And sitting on his overstuffed sofa (gray).

“Oh, please. Emily Dickinson practically invented the morbid female poet. Plath just made it hip. Where are those caramels?”

Noah ambled toward the kitchen to scrounge some snacks. He’d wanted her to stay and chat, despite himself, but now he was second-guessing himself. Women like that, intelligent, gorgeous women, didn’t just follow him into the Land of Stormclouds. And if they did, by accident, he escorted them out. And for God’s sake, if they wanted to stay, he didn’t offer them refreshments.

But here he was, hand out, offering not just the afore-mentioned caramels, but a can of Coke as well.

“So now you’re candying
me
over.” She popped a caramel into her sexy red mouth. Was she flirting? Because he could think of a
lot
of comebacks for that one, but they all seemed a bit too forward. He settled for just grinning at her. Let her take that as she would.

“So, Jaylene. Jay. What do you do for fun?”

“I like music. I try to go out on Saturdays when I can, see some local bands. How about you? Are you from around here?” She popped the tab of her soda and gazed at him expectantly over the top as she sipped.

“Oh, you know. I’m from around here generally. As for fun, I wouldn’t say I do much. There are a few shows I follow. I like to read, as you can tell, but I have to admit I’m pretty slow. If a story is skimmable, chances are I’ll regret wasting my time on it. So I pick books I have to kind of savor a few sentences at a time—are you laughing at me?” Her hand was over her mouth and it was kind of adorable. Even though he didn’t really enjoy being laughed at.

“Oh, gosh, no, it’s just that you’re so
serious
and I asked you about
fun.
” Her eyes were still gleaming though she composed the rest of her face. Noah gave her a flat look.

“Serious things can be fun.” She stared back. He held the glance, lost in the depths of her eyes as long as he deemed appropriate.

“Okay, fine. I don’t have a lot of fun. I don’t go out much,” he admitted.

“We should change that.” She winked. Definitely flirting now. Sweet. He opened his mouth to hit her with a bit of the old Noah charm just as she jumped up. “Ugh, I can’t believe it’s so late.”

Puzzled, he glanced at the clock. Ten thirty was late? Ten thirty was like his lunchtime. Which reminded him that the caramels were basically the only thing he had in the house to eat.

“You don’t live in the building, do you?” He thought he’d met all the neighbors now, all but the old woman who was apparently both on vacation and an alcoholic, according to the Dawsons. Who had accosted him at about minute three of living there. “Can I drive you home? I need to go grab a couple of things anyway.” He felt around his jeans to double-check on his wallet and keys.

“Oh, no. Thanks. I’m just the next building over. You can walk me if you want. I’m taking these caramels, by the way.” So he was
definitely
going grocery shopping, then. He opened the door for her, ostensibly to be a gentleman, but he would be lying if he said it wasn’t half to get a better look at her ass in that tight dress.

Jay hadn’t been kidding. Walking her home took exactly forty-five seconds, and that was at a very slow pace. Even though in some ways he was desperate to be alone and sort this out, he was also not sure he was ready for this—whatever it was—to be over.

“Would you like me to walk you up?”

She smiled up at him, dimming the streetlight with her sparkle.

“I can handle it. I’m just there.” She indicated with her hand.

Great. So now every time he walked by the first-floor apartment on the left, he’d be side-eying the window hoping for a glimpse of her even as he hoped she wouldn’t see him looking. Life just got infinitely more complicated, and he’d only been here for a few hours.

“All right, then. Well. Have a good night, Jay. I’m glad I met you.” Should he hug her? This was the crap he never knew if he was getting right. It was easier in books, where everyone knew just what to do and when. But before he had a chance to start overthinking it, she’d moved in and wrapped her arms around him.

Her scent was candy-sweet, sugar on honey. Forget whether it was too soon to hug, all he wanted to do now was grab her by the arms and kiss her hard. To see if it was even possible that she tasted as delicious as she smelled.

She was pulling away, thank God, before he’d acted on the urge.

“I’m glad I met you, too, Noah, I’ll be seeing you.” Since she didn’t look back as she climbed the steps and let herself in the front door (green), he didn’t have to pretend he wasn’t staring at her ass again.

Groceries. Think about groceries.

Five minutes later he was in the corner gas station stocking up on chips in a can, soda, and Bit-O-Honey candies.

He didn’t even like the things. Well, he didn’t
know
he didn’t like the things, he’d just always thrown them out of his childhood trick-or-treat bags because they looked stupid. But honey reminded him of Jaylene, and he wanted to savor that, savor her, the way he’d told her he liked his literature.

Liking his women like his literature. Wow. That was ridiculous. Or
maybe
—it was brilliant.

He stalked back down the chip aisle and grabbed a couple of strips of beef jerky. Protein was important to a man’s diet. So was sex. So was intellectual stimulation.

He dumped his groceries on the counter with an exasperated sigh. Obviously it had been quite a while since he’d been with a woman. And this one was stuck in his head like a bad pop song. That would be fine, if he didn’t have his work to think about.

His job was not the kind of thing one did half-assed. Your head had to be in it, one hundred percent. And right now his traitorous head wouldn’t give him a break from the memory of her climbing those steps in that dress. Slowly. Climbing.

What he could do to her on that staircase.

The clerk had to repeat his total twice before he snapped out of it.

*   *   *

When Noah rolled out of bed, groggy and slightly nauseous from his sugar intake the night before, he was completely irritated with himself. Not for waking up at noon; that was normal. Irritated for looking at the clock and wondering what Jay was doing right then, if it was lunch in the staff room, or grading at her desk.

This had to stop. Right after he took care of the other matter at … hand, so to speak.

Ten minutes later, he was dressed and ready to go for a hard run. Sometimes turning the headphones up loud, matching the beat with your rhythm, and getting utterly lost was the only way to find your inner peace. And he had some good hip-hop cued up and ready to go.

Outside his new building he squinted in the bright Boston midday. Rolling his head and shaking out a little, he considered which way to go. First run from his new apartment, it was a momentous occasion in its own small way. Might as well give in—he turned toward Jay’s building and set off.