So Not Meant To Be #: Chapter 11 - Read So Not Meant To Be : Chapter 11 Online - All Page

: Chapter 11

Meant to Be Podcast

Arlo and Greer

Kelsey: Welcome, listener, to the Meant to Be Podcast, where we talk to madly-in-love couples about the way they met. Arlo and Greer, thank you so much for joining me today. Please, tell us how you met.

Greer: Do you want to tell the story, or do you want me to?

Arlo: I don’t think you want me to tell the story.

Greer: Probably not. You’ll most likely include details that I don’t want everyone to know.

Arlo: Details like . . . the kitchen Island?

Greer: Okay, okay, keep your mouth shut, mister.

Arlo: Why don’t you tell her about the stink smell . . . or the chipmunk voice . . . or the blue pee?

Greer: I assure you, Kelsey, all three of those items aren’t related in any way to the kitchen island or anything sexual, for that matter. He’s referring to the pranks I pulled on him.

Kelsey: Pranks? Oh, please, tell me more.

Greer: It all started when I was hired to teach English at the school Arlo was teaching at. He didn’t want to hire me because he thought my way of teaching was too progressive for his stuffy, old-school mentality.

Arlo: She used CliffsNotes and movies to portray the written word.

Greer: Oh my God, do we need to get into this now?

Kelsey: So, I can see you guys hit it off really well at first.

Greer: Not even close. He was a hot prick in a cardigan. We hated each other. That’s where the blue pee comes in. Sort of pranked him a bit to get back at him.

Arlo: I seriously thought something was wrong with me. Blue pee isn’t something a guy should ever see in the urinal.

Greer: But then, he made this gesture—he dressed up like Jay Gatsby on my ‘Dress like a literary character’ day and . . . well, it was the first step in the direction of falling for each other.

Arlo: It was hard not to try to impress her or to keep away from her, for that matter. And when she went out on a date with someone else, I knew I was being a complete fool and, if I didn’t snatch her up right then and there, I’d regret it forever.

Greer: I’m glad he did, because I’ve never been more madly in love.

MOM: How is San Francisco, honey? I haven’t been in years. I’m quite jealous.

I read my mom’s text message and smile as I lie on my stomach on my bed and text her back.

Kelsey: It’s beautiful. I haven’t been able to explore yet, but soon. Just walking around, though, smelling the ocean, feeling the breeze. Makes me want to move up here.

Mom: Oh no, you don’t. No daughter of mine is moving away from me.

Kelsey: Funny you say that after you were begging Lottie to move out.

Mom: Move out, yes. Move away, no.

Kelsey: Ahh, I see.

Mom: And how is living with JP?

Kelsey: Can you not fish for information? I promise you, nothing is happening between us. Which reminds me, I left my food in the microwave. I need to get it.

Mom: But he’s so handsome.

Kelsey: Bye, Mother.

I set my phone down on my bed and head toward the kitchen, but pause. I look at myself in the mirror and scan my outfit. Joggers and a white tank top with no bra. Semi revealing, but not revealing enough, plus JP isn’t home. He went out somewhere. Nothing to worry about.

I’m not going to change clothes to retrieve my food from the microwave.

I head out of my room and down the hall to the kitchen, debating if I should start a new show, such a commitment, or find a movie that appeals to me, also a commitment. If I choose a show, that means I have something to watch for—

“Errrrrrrrm.”

I pause.

What was that?

I don’t move.

I hold my breath, waiting to hear the noise again.

The way the building is mapped out, you wouldn’t hear the penthouse on the other side, and I know I’m alone because JP said he was going out. So, does that mean . . . is someone in here?

My heart pounds wildly in my chest as I creep forward, listening, waiting . . .

“Urggghhh.”

There it is again.

This time, the sound sends a chill down my spine, and the hairs on the back of my neck rise.

That isn’t a normal building creaking sound. That’s a sound that comes from a human. Or a suffering animal.

Or a suffering human.

Something is suffering.

Creeping forward, I try to stay as quiet as I can so I can locate the sound.

“Uhhhhhhhrrrrrr.”

My head snaps to the right, down the hallway toward JP’s room.

Since the only light on in the main living space is in the kitchen, I can see that there’s no light showing through the crack under JP’s door.

So he’s definitely not home.

Which means . . . there’s either a murderer in there, a suffering animal, or a ghost.

I shuffle to the kitchen, keeping my eyes on his door the entire time as I haphazardly reach for a wooden spoon from the utensils crock on the counter. Spoon in hand, I creep toward his hallway, only to stop when I hear the noise again.

“Frrrrrrrreeerm.”

Oh God.

OH GOD!

I can practically taste my heartbeat as I move closer. My pulse zaps against my neck, stiffening my shoulders. Why am I doing this alone? I should wait for JP to get home.

“Uhhhhhh.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and nervously run in place, my feet lightly padding on the floor.

Turn around, you idiot, this is how people in scary movies die. They investigate the sound. But just like every other moron in a scary movie, I don’t run to my room and call for help. I don’t even grab a freaking knife.

Nope, manned with a wooden spoon—the worst it can do is toss a salad—I slide closer and closer to his room until I hear it . . . a constant pumping sound. Like . . . oh God, like someone is getting stabbed.

“Fuuuuuu.”

Stabbed!

They’re getting stabbed in his room right now. Wait . . . what if JP is getting stabbed and I’m just standing here, outside of his door with a wooden spoon, doing nothing? What if he came home without me knowing and was attacked?

My nipples grow hard in fear.

I nearly choke on my saliva.

And before I can stop myself, I pull down on the doorknob, then kick the door open and accompany it with a warrior scream that nearly deafens me.

“EEEEEEE AHHHHHHHHH!” I yell, wielding my spoon at the air.

“What the fuck!” JP’s voice calls out.

My eyes land on the bed, where he pops up, completely and utterly naked . . . and holding a pillow in front of his crotch.

What is . . .

Oh no.

Oh God.

OH, DEAR HEAVEN.

That wasn’t a suffering animal.

Or a suffering human.

Or a ghost.

Or a stabbing.

That was . . .

Oh, sweet lord, that was JP jacking off.

The spoon falls from my hand as I quickly cover my eyes and spin away.

“Oh, wow . . . sorry. You’re, uh, you’re home, having private time.” Eyes still covered, I head in the direction of the door, but run right into the wall, banging my nose and forehead on the hard surface. “Oh, fuck,” I say as I feel around with my other hand, trying to find the doorway.

I turn, spin.

Lose track of where I’m going.

And before I know it, my hand is caressing a very stiff body.

“Ahh,” I yell again, dropping the hand covering my eyes only to find my other hand passing over JP’s nipples. “Oh shit, sorry. That’s your, uh, that’s your man chest. Your nipple. I was just rubbing your nipple. Not on purpose. Not because I wanted to.”

“Kelsey, what the fuck are you doing in here?”

“Great question.” I offer him a thumbs up. “And I have an equally great explanation. You see, I went to grab my dinner when I heard this noise. I thought it was a ghost or a murderer, or even a suffering animal, like a squirrel caught in a wall or something like that. You never know in these old buildings. Anyway, I thought I’d check it out, and then when I got closer, I thought you were being stabbed. It really sounded like a stabbing, not that I listen to stabbing noises, but, you know, the movies prepare you for such sounds, so I came in here, attempting to scare away the stabber.”

He stares at me, his face falling flat. “With a wooden spoon?”

“I didn’t say I was being smart about it. I was just trying to be a hero without a plan. I see now that maybe that wasn’t the best idea.”

“You should’ve fucking knocked. Jesus.” He winces, and because I can’t help myself, I glance down at his pillow and then back up at him.

“Did you get to finish?”

“Does it look like I got to finish?”

“Well, I don’t know. Maybe you were in the middle of coming when I came in.” I reach out and touch the tip of his nipple—still not sure why. “Your nipple is hard.”

He takes a step forward, closing the space between us, and pokes my nipple, dead center.

“Ow,” I complain, covering my nipple.

“Your nipple is hard. Does that mean you’re coming as we speak?”

“Don’t poke my nipple like that. It hurts.”

“It didn’t hurt.”

“Yes, it did.”

“No, it didn’t.”

“YES, it did!” I say as I reach out and poke his nipple the same way he poked mine. He doesn’t even flinch. So, I do it again. And again. And—

He pokes my other nipple.

A gasp pops out of me as I cover that boob, too.

The actual audacity of this man.

“I can’t believe you poked both of my nipples.”

“You poked mine,” he says, standing there in a face-off, testing me.

“This isn’t a tit for tit type of thing.”

“Is this something you do often to know the rules about it? Barge in when someone’s jacking off and then start poking their nipples?” He pokes my hand.

I grow angrier and poke him back.

He pokes me in the chest.

I poke him in the abdomen.

He swats my shin with his foot.

I cry out in shock and then swat at him with my foot, followed by a poke.

He fakes me to the right and then pokes me on the left.

“Urgggh.” I release both my breasts and go in for a double poke, but he’s just swift enough to poke me in the nipple one more time before stepping away. Before I know what I’m doing, I run at him at full force and tackle him to the ground, his pillow falling to the side, me falling on top of his stomach, straddling him.

And like the casual ass that he is, he puts his hands behind his head and stares up at me.

“If this is what you wanted, babe, you should’ve just asked.”

My teeth grind together and I say, “I was trying to save you.”

“Likely story.”

“I was,” I say, more irritated. “I said I owe you, and that’s what I meant. I was throwing my body at your attacker.”

“You were throwing your body at me.”

I growl and then poke him again.

He pokes me back, this time, lifting my breast while he does it.

“Stop that!” I yell.

“You stop it.”

“I did stop.”

“No, you started it again.”

“Because you’re irritating me.”

“Because you interrupted my man time.”

“Your man time?” I pause, letting his words sink in, and for some reason—maybe the way he said it, the words he chose—they hit me in a way I wasn’t expecting. I start to giggle.

Then giggle some more.

Then snort.

Then chuckle.

A laugh . . .

“What’s so fucking funny?”

“You said man time.”

“So? What do you call it?”

“Not man time.” I laugh some more, the obnoxious, nervous, but also can’t control it laughter.

That causes him to laugh.

Smile lines crease his eyes. Joy overtakes his expression. And then, we’re laughing together, to the point that I roll off his stomach and fall to the ground. I catch him pulling the pillow back over his crotch so I don’t see anything as his chest moves up and down with laughter.

After what seems like forever, I turn toward him and say, “I’m sorry I interrupted your man time. Next time, can you attempt to not sound like a suffering animal?”

He passes his hands over his eyes. “I’m never going to be able to come again without worrying what I sound like. Thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome.” I sit up and say, “I think we needed this.”

“You walking in on me jacking off?” he asks with humor.

“No, not that per se, just a moment of levity to break up the tension.”

“Trust me, babe, the tension is still there since you didn’t let me come. Probably worse than ever.”

I wince. “Well, then, let me let you get back to your . . . man time.” We both stand, him still covering himself. “Try not to be so loud this time.”

“Yeah, trust me, I’ll be putting a goddamn sock in my mouth from now on.”

“Whatever gets you off.”

We both smirk and then I leave before I burst into another fit of laughter.

“HOW WAS the rest of your night?” I ask when JP walks into the kitchen the next morning, freshly showered and dressed in a suit and tie, an outfit I see him in regularly. For some reason, his choice of clothing feels different today. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the ꜰindNʘvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Maybe because of what happened last night. Walking in on him during his “man time.” It was kind of sexy, knowing that he was doing that while I was in the penthouse. That he didn’t care that I was nearby. I thought about it all last night. Did he want me to hear him? Was he taunting me? That would be true to his personality, to do something like that.

“The rest of my night?” JP asks, briefly looking over his shoulder as he gets his coffee. “Explosive.”

I swallow hard.

Explosive, as in . . .

“Well, that’s good to know.”

He turns and leans against the counter as he brings the mug to his lips. “Is it good to know?”

“Sure, everyone deserves . . . relief. I interrupted the process, so I’m glad you got to finish.”

“Seems like an odd thing to say to someone.”

“Yeah, I was just thinking that.” I push my plate to the side and sit back in my chair at the dining room table. “I honestly wasn’t sure what I was going to say to you this morning. That was the best I could come up with.”

“It was weak.”

“I know. Maybe this is why I’m still single, because I have weak repartee.”

“Nah, that’s not it.”

“Oh? Do you have a theory about why I’m still single?”

He slowly nods while lowering his mug. “Trying too hard.”

“How am I trying too hard?”

“Because you’re always looking for the next date. Why not sit back and wait for something to happen? You never know, the person you’re meant to be with might be right in front of your face.”

I roll my eyes. “I’ve tried the waiting game. Nothing has happened. Maybe I should start walking around neighborhoods like Lottie did.”

“Could help.” He smiles and then takes a seat at the table. “Maybe if you stop looking, it’ll find you.” Then he shrugs and says, “Plus, you’re hot. It’s not like you don’t arouse interest.”

“I have none, JP. Edwin was the best I could do.”

“Edwin was a tool.” He rotates his mug on the table. “There has to be something you’re more interested in than finding love.”

“Well, I do have this podcast, but it’s focused around love.”

He chuckles. “What’s it called?”

“Meant to Be. I interview couples on how they met and found love.” Sheepishly, I shrug. “I guess I just love love. I enjoy origin stories, meet-cutes, and the different ways people find each other. It’s fascinating to me. I also like taking aquatic classes.”

“Aquatic classes?” he asks. “Tell me more about that. Like, aerobics in the water?”

I nod. “Yeah. I’m easily the youngest in the class, but that doesn’t bother me. I just like working out in the water and the music they play is old-school love songs. So, it works for me.”

“Do you wear a one-piece?”

“Of course.”

He shakes his head. “Such a shame.”

“I’m not about to work out with a bunch of old ladies in a two-piece. I have a respectable one-piece.”

“Color?”

“Red.”

“Nice.” He takes another sip of his coffee. “What’s your plan for today?”

“I was going to finalize my ideas for the renovations. Maybe go for a walk. I have meetings lined up for tomorrow, but nothing today. What about you?”

He checks the expensive, matte-black watch wrapped around his thick wrist and says, “I have a meeting in about thirty minutes that I have to run to. Want to meet me for lunch?”

“Oh, uh, sure,” I answer, caught off guard. Meet him for lunch? As in . . . just the two of us? That doesn’t seem like him. Then again, I think last night might have broken the ice for him. For us.

He was brooding on the plane to San Francisco.

But I apologized for the gala.

He defended me to Regis.

And we broke the tension.

Maybe this is the next step.

He taps the table with his knuckle and rises from the chair. “I’ll text you the time and place. See you later, Kelsey.”

“Bye,” I say with an awkward wave, watching him walk away.

Huh . . .

Maybe this trip won’t be as bad as I first thought.

“PICKLE-FLAVORED CHIPS? I don’t know about that,” I say as I stare at the bag of chips JP insisted on sharing.

He reaches for the bag, pops it open, and tilts it toward me. “Try one. I promise you’ll like it.”

“And what if I don’t?”

“Then you need new tastebuds.”

“You aren’t always right, you know,” I say while taking a chip.

“Most of the time, I am. And I’m right about these chips.” He takes one as well, and together, we place them in our mouths. The heavenly, seasoned chip introduces my tongue to a world of flavors. Like tasty fireworks blasting off in my mouth.

And damn it . . . he’s right. They’re good.

They’re really good.

Some of the most flavorful chips I’ve ever had.

“What do you think?” he asks.

Not wanting to hand him the satisfaction of me liking them, I just shrug and say, “Eh, they’re okay.”

The corner of his lip twitches as he whispers, “Liar.” Then he pulls the bag closer to him and adds, “If they’re just okay, I guess I’ll eat them myself.”

Should’ve seen that coming.

I groan and hold out my hand. “Fine . . . they’re really freaking good and I want more, please.”

That causes him to laugh. He hands me the bag and I take a nice fistful of chips for my plate. “See, always right,” he says.

“And humble, too.” I pop a few more chips in my mouth. “So, what was today’s meeting about?”

He sighs and says, “Just a meeting with Edison. We went around and looked at some other buildings Huxley wanted me to check out.”

“Anything good?”

“Not really. Not worth our time.”

“How can you tell if it’s worth your time or not?”

He brushes his hand with a napkin, cleaning the heavy pickle seasoning from his fingers. “Location is always the first thing. The purpose of the building—will it be worth the time and energy we put into it to make money? And then, of course, renovations. There was also no character to these buildings. They were just kind of there. We’ve made plenty of money on generic buildings, you’ve seen them around LA, and we have a few in New York City now, too. They’ve done the job, but now we’re more interested in unique buildings.”

“Passion projects?”

“Sort of,” he answers. “Huxley really wants to expand, hence why he partnered with you. Sometimes I think nothing will be good enough, that he’ll constantly keep pressing to be the best, but I’m not sure what the best is.”

“Meanwhile, your workload is filling up.”

“Exactly.” He glances out the window of the sandwich shop and says, “I’m surprised you met up with me for lunch. I thought you hated me too much to do such a thing.”

“I don’t hate you. Hell, I thought you hated me. I was surprised that you asked me to lunch. Wasn’t sure if it was a ploy to do something else.”

“Like what?” He chuckles.

“I don’t know, plant some sort of chip in my bedroom so you knew what I was doing at all times.”

“Jesus.” He laughs. “What kind of psychopath do you think I am?”

“Apparently, a creepy one. I don’t know. It’s just nice that you’re talking to me.”

“I’ve always talked to you, Kelsey, I just vary the tone.”

“No, you were doing the silent treatment there for a bit.”

“Because you pissed me off,” he counters. “I was being a nice guy that night and you treated me like I was an insensitive asshole.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I think I was just thrown off by that entire evening, and I wasn’t in the best frame of mind. Can I ask, what were your intentions for that night? You asked me to dance, why?”

“Because.” He pops another chip in his mouth and chews. “I wanted to make sure that you had some fun. Getting run over by an old man wasn’t the plan. But at least that brought you a little joy.”

“And then Edwin and Genesis took off. Reminds me of When Harry Met Sally—you know, when they go on a double date and their dates go off with each other. That was us.”

“You lucked out, then. I was much better company than Edwin. Better to look at, too.”

“Ah, there’s that humility.”

“I’m humble. I’m just showing you that I know my worth. Nothing wrong with that.”

“I suppose not.” I finish my last chip and ask, “So when we got back to your place, what was your intention?”

“To kick you to your car and send you on your way. I had a date with some chocolate-covered cherries that night and the hell if I was sharing with you.”

“Stop, no, you did not.”

He holds his heart. “Swear by it. I went back to my house, sat in my empty living room because I didn’t have any furniture at that point, and ate five chocolate-covered cherries while I scrolled through Twitter.”

“I’m having a hard time believing you. You don’t seem like the kind of guy who kicks back with a box of chocolate-covered cherries.”

“Well, I am,” he says. “They’re my kryptonite. I’ll do anything for them and I have a pantry stocked with boxes. Queen Anne’s, to be precise, because I know that was your next question.”

“You’re serious?”

“Yes. Don’t believe me? Text Huxley.”

“I’m not going to bother him with that.”

“Fine, I will.” He pulls his phone from his pocket and starts typing away. He presses send, and then, with an air of arrogance, he takes a sip of his drink. His phone soon buzzes on the table. He doesn’t look at the answer. He simply unlocks the screen and turns it toward me.

JP: Sitting here with Kelsey. She doesn’t believe I’m obsessed with chocolate-covered cherries. Set her straight.

Huxley: He has at least thirty boxes in his pantry. It’s an obsession.

I glance at JP, who smirks now. “Told you.”

“Wow . . . that’s something I never would’ve guessed about you.”

“Sometimes you have to get to know someone first, Kelsey, before you start trying to put them in a lane in your mind. There’s a lot you don’t know about me. Stick around. I’m sure you’ll find out more.”

“Yes, I probably will. Just like I found out you don’t mind masturbating while other people are home.”

With a grin, he winks. “Precisely.”

“WHAT ARE YOU UP TO TONIGHT?” Lottie asks over the phone as I finish my nighttime skincare regimen.

If you were wondering, I wash my face, pat it dry, apply my nighttime wrinkle-free serum, followed by moisturizer, and then lock it in with a touch of rose oil. I follow up the whole process by applying lotion to the rest of my body.

“Nothing special. Spent dinner on my own again, second night in a row. JP had a meeting with someone, so I just ordered some cauliflower mac and cheese and called it a night. I’m planning to read a book in the living room because the skyline at night is so beautiful. I want to soak it in as much as I can.”

“Sounds . . . riveting. Here’s an idea—when he gets home, why don’t you try to walk in on his man time again?”

Yeah, I told her about the other night. I had to. She’s my sister. But I didn’t tell her about the lunch, because I didn’t want her getting all weird about it. It was a simple lunch, nothing too crazy, nothing to talk about.

“I’m never going near that room again.”

“Come on, after that nipple poking, you can’t tell me you’re not interested in seeing what it’s like to be kissed by JP. Now is the time. You guys are alone, together, might as well test it out.”

“Have you hit yourself on the head? That isn’t what we’re here for and there’s no way I’m going there.”

“Are you saying you don’t want him? Because I don’t believe that. The Cane brothers are another breed, and it’s clear there’s chemistry between you and JP. Find out how hot it could be between you guys.”

“JP doesn’t want me in that way. There was nothing sexual about the nipple poking. If there was the slightest bit of sexiness to that, he would’ve attempted something when I was sitting on his chest. And, also, sure, I think he’s hot, but I don’t want to go there with him. I’m not looking for a one-night stand. I’m looking for love.”

“If he’s anything like Huxley, you won’t want it to be one night.”

“He’ll want one night. You know he doesn’t do relationships and I don’t even know why we’re talking about this, as nothing is happening between us. That whole ordeal in his room was an accident. I have no intention of furthering any sort of physical touching.”

“Okay, but tell me this—how did it feel poking his nipple?”

Oddly good.

And after the initial shock of him poking me wore off, I kind of liked it.

The playfulness.

It was a different side of him, and I appreciated it. But I need to put a stop to Lottie’s incessant need to get me to think of JP in another way.

“It was simple. It’s not like some magical spark erupted between us. It was brief and awkward and we didn’t talk about it after. I’m telling you, nothing is going on, so just drop it.”

“Ugh,” she groans. “Why are you ruining my dreams?”

“Your dreams? What on earth do you mean?”

“Brother-brother, sister-sister couples.”

“I feel like you didn’t say that in the right order.”

“You know what I mean,” she huffs. “It would be so cool if, as sisters, we dated brothers.”

“You’re not just dating Huxley, you’re marrying him. Which, by the way, how was the floral meeting?”

“Boring,” she says. “Huxley insists on the best for our wedding and I keep telling him it’s not necessary. He told me today he wants to fly in some Italian designer to make my dress. I told him he was nuts and that I could just go to some boutique here in LA. You should’ve seen the disgusted look on his face. As if the thought of having to shop for my own dress is so far beneath him. The thing is, Kelse, I just want to be married, I don’t care about all the fanfare.”

“But it matters to Huxley, right?”

“Yes,” she drawls. “Which means I should just go along with it. You know, he was never this flashy when we first started our whole relationship farce.”

“Uh, I beg to differ. Do you not remember the designer clothes and expensive lingerie he forced you to wear? People didn’t even see your lingerie, and yet, Huxley insisted you wear what he chose, and nothing cost less than one hundred dollars apiece.”

“Ah, I guess you’re right. Which reminds me, how are you liking those nighttime rompers?”

“Oh my God, Lottie. I love them so much. They’re so comfortable. I brought them with me to sleep in.”

“Wait . . . that’s what you took to sleep in while you’re there?”

“Yeah, why?”

She laughs. “Okay, sure, Kelsey, nothing is going to happen between you and JP.”

“I brought a robe to go over it. Listen, I’m not going to sacrifice my comfort because it may be considered indecent. I don’t plan on walking around in them. I’ll always have a robe on.”

“If you say so. But let me tell you this, you have that date with Derek in a couple of days. If you’re in any way involved with JP, please don’t hurt Derek’s feelings. Ellie would kill me.”

“You know I wouldn’t do that. I’m actually excited about the date. I brought a few dress options for that night. You can help me pick one.”

“Okay, good. Oh, hey, Huxley’s giving me bedroom eyes, so I should probably go.”

“Shocking—you two are going to have sex, what else is new?”

“You sound jealous.”

No, just horny.

“Have fun, sis. Good night.” I hang up the phone and then go to my room to pick up my book, a romcom about three siblings who go back to their hometown to throw an anniversary party for their parents, but then all hell breaks loose when their personalities clash and their love lives are tested. I’ve heard nothing but great things about it.

I head back to the living room. I switch on the light, illuminating the space . . . and the man standing there in nothing but a pair of sweats, a glass of water in his hand.

“Jesus HELL ON EARTH!” I scream as I stumble backwards. “JP,” I huff out. “What the hell are you doing, standing in the dark like that?”

The lightest of smirks pulls at his lips. “Just grabbing some water.” His eyes scan me, taking in my robe and bare legs. “What are you doing?”

“I was going to read out here and enjoy the skyline. God, when did you get home?” I attempt to calm my racing heart as I make my way to the couch.

“About ten minutes ago. Didn’t feel like saying hi to you.”

“Well, aren’t you kind? You were just going to wait around in the dark to scare me?”

“How was I supposed to know you were going to read in here? Seems kind of weird to me if you plan on reading a book while enjoying the skyline because you can’t do both at the same time.”

“Yes, I can,” I say with a tilt of my chin. “Every so often I can look up from my book and enjoy the scenery, and then go back to reading.”

“The book can’t be that good if you’re looking up from it.”

I take a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Is there a reason you’re sticking around and not retreating back to your space?”

“Question for you.”

“Oh, please delight me with your inquiry,” I say, folding one leg over the other.

His eyes stray to my legs for only a moment before he shifts on his feet. “Friday night, I’ve been invited to the mayor’s house for a ball. Wasn’t sure if you wanted to tag along.”

He’s asking me out again.

Well, not asking me out, like on a date, but asking to spend more time with me, and I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t thrill me that he wants that.

But . . . hell. I’m busy Friday night.

“Friday night?” I ask and wince. “That’s when I have that date with Derek. I don’t want to stand him up.”

JP’s face tightens as he asks, “Date, huh? Still going out with that guy?”

“Well, seeing as though I’m currently in the dating ring, I would say yes. But if this is a work thing, I can see if Derek can reschedule.”

“It’s not. Go on your date. Find love. I’m sure he’ll be the man of your dreams.” From the clipped tone, the way he’s ducking away from the conversation, it’s clear he’s flip-flopped from the “warming up” JP back to his grumpy persona.

“You don’t have to be a dick about it, JP.”

“Didn’t think I was being a dick.”

I grip my book tighter. “Your sarcasm is unmistakable.”

“I’m sorry you see it that way.”

“I don’t see it that way, JP, that’s how you’re acting.”

“What do you want me to do? Throw a party for you because you finally have a date?”

“Hey,” I say, feeling insulted. “Don’t throw that in my face.”

“Throw what in your face?” He pushes his hand through his hair and I can see how his muscles contract with his annoyance. Well, guess what, I’m annoyed, too.

“The fact that I don’t get many dates. Using the word finally in your sentence was a low blow.”

“Jesus Christ, are you going to pick apart every sentence I say to you?”

“No, but if you’re going to be rude to me, then I’m going to point it out.”

“I’m not being rude. Christ, stop being so sensitive.”

“Me, sensitive?” I ask, pointing at my chest. “How am I being sensitive? You’re the one whose mood swings like goddamn Tarzan on a vine. For Christ’s sake, I can’t keep up with you. Just moments ago, we were cool, and now you’re being mean. Is this because I can’t go with you to the ball? Newsflash, JP, people need some notice.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he says and turns toward his bedroom.

“Why are you like this?”

“Like what?”

“We were having a nice time. We had a great lunch, we were communicating well, and now you’re dismissing me.”

“How do you want me to act? Do you want me to gush over your date?”

I want him to be normal.

I want him to not push me away.

I want him to . . . to . . . God, I’m so irritated that I can’t think straight.

I just want to make him understand. When I don’t answer, he starts to walk away again, but nope, that’s not a choice I’ll give him.

We will be talking about this.

And we’ll be talking about this now.

I toss my book on the coffee table in front of me and walk up to him. I grab his hand, pull him to the couch, and force him to sit down.

“What the hell are you doing?”

No answers. He doesn’t deserve them. I push him back against the cushion of the couch, straddle his lap, and take a seat.

“Uh, Kelsey . . .”

“I’m not getting up until you change your attitude.” There, deal with that!

“Is this another attempt to trap me again?”

“Yes. And don’t get any funny ideas. I’m not trying to do anything . . . sexual, but knowing you, this position is satisfactory to you, therefore, this is where I’ll sit, on your lap, until you can talk to me without a sarcastic tone in your voice.”

“Might take a bit,” he says, sipping water from his glass.

I steal the glass from him and set it on the end table. I push him back on the couch with my other hand.

“Man, I didn’t know you were a dominatrix. That’s a hidden gem.”

“Shut up,” I say. “God, you’re so annoying.”

“And yet, you choose to be in my company.”

“I choose peace and that means getting you to stop being a dick. So . . . tell me something about you.”

“What?” he asks, a question on his brow.

“Tell me something, anything. We’re getting to know each other right now. Call it a company get-to-know-you. Oh, hey, okay . . . how about two truths and a lie. You know, that ice breaker game.”

“Does it look like I’m the type of guy who plays that sort of game?”

“Humor me . . . please,” I beg.

His eyes scan me and I can see him waffling between saying something snarky and giving in to my pleading. If he says no, I’m just going to continue begging him. I want to make things at least okay between us, for the sake of our working relationship.

I wait a few more breaths and then finally . . .

He heaves out a heavy, “Fine,” and then scratches the side of his jaw. “Two truths and a lie . . . okay. How about this? I once went scuba diving with whales. I think I have the greatest job in the world. And winter is my favorite season.”

“Well, that’s easy. Scuba diving with whales seems like a rich-person activity, so that’s true. You clearly love your job, so . . . winter isn’t your favorite season, which makes sense since you’re a born-and-raised California boy.”

“Errrrr, wrong,” he says, making a buzzing sound.

“Really? You never went scuba diving with whales?”

“No, I swam with whales. In Mo’orea, an island of French Polynesia to be exact. It’s a sanctuary for humpback whales. One of the best vacations of my life.”

I growl out in frustration. “JP, if you’re not going to take this seriously—”

“Who says I’m not taking it seriously?”

I attempt to get off his lap, but his hands clamp down on my thighs, holding me in place.

“I told two truths and a lie.”

In utter disbelief, I say, “So, you’re telling me you hate your job?”

“Yes. I am,” he answers matter-of-factly.

“Wait . . . are you being serious? You hate it?”

“Yes. I hate my job.”

“But . . . you make it seem like you enjoy it. I’m confused. You have your own company with your brothers, you get to work with them day in and day out, you have your own schedule, and you get to stay in places like this.” I gesture around the room. “What can you possibly hate about all of that?”

He shakes his head and says, “Yeah, didn’t think you’d understand.” He goes to move me, but this time, I’m the one who stays put.

“Hold on.” I press my fingers to his chest. “You’re being honest, you hate it?”

“How many times do I have to say it?”

“I’m sorry,” I reply. “I’m just confused. You’ve been very convincing that you enjoy what you do. Why do you hate it?”

“Let me ask you this—what do you like about your job?”

“Well, besides the obvious of having my own business and the complexities of experiencing the growth and downfalls, I love it because I feel like I’m helping make this world a better place to live. There are studies that go into detail about the therapeutic process of organizing spaces and how it can act as a calming technique for people who have to live and work in that space. And on top of that, I’m spreading the word about sustainability, which alone makes this job all worth it.”

“You feel like you’re making a difference.”

I nod.

“That’s where I fall flat. I don’t think I’m doing anything in this damn life of mine that’s worth something. Sure, I have money, more money than any of us or any lineage to follow could spend in a lifetime, and it just keeps coming in, multiplying. There’s no stopping it because there’s no stopping my brothers. They want to take over the world and I’m only really along for the ride.”

“But you’re not money-greedy humans. You donate a lot of money to organizations throughout LA. You’re leaders in real estate when it comes to best business practices—minus Huxley’s ‘fake fiancée’ thing with Lottie—but you’re honest men, trustworthy. You’re not hurting anyone.”

“Yeah, but we’re not helping anyone. We’re only helping ourselves.”

“That’s not true,” I say. “Lottie specifically asked Huxley why he kept working when they first started seeing each other. He said he had all the money he could possibly need, but he continued because if he didn’t work, if he didn’t expand, then the people who relied on him couldn’t afford a life for their families. He keeps working so his employees can keep working.”

“And Huxley can say that, because it’s true, but my job doesn’t warrant the accolades Huxley and Breaker receive. I’m just the public relations face. Hell, some days, I have nothing to do. The only reason why you work with me is because I’m the one who could handle the additional workload, which is barely anything since you pretty much do everything on your own. I get a paycheck, but for nothing.”

“Some people would be pleased with that, you know, especially your paycheck.”

“Yes, but when you have to live up to your brothers’ reputation, it’s brutal.”

I subconsciously rub his chest and say, “I can understand that.” I attempt to get off his lap again, since he’s talking—finally—but once again, he keeps me where I’m at. Okay, not ready to let go just yet, that’s fine. “Then, can I ask you, what is it that you want to do?”

He shrugs. “Still trying to figure that out.”

“Would you leave the company?”

He shakes his head. “No, my brothers depend on me. They’re very private people and trust practically no one. If I left, they’d have to take on my job responsibilities. They wouldn’t hire someone outside of the family for that.”

“That doesn’t make sense, though. You’re not happy.”

He shrugs. “Maybe that’s my life. Unhappy.”

“That’s not fair to you.”

“Well, Kelsey, sometimes life isn’t fair.”

There’s the pessimist.

“You don’t have to put yourself in purgatory in order to help your brothers. I’m sure if you spoke to them, they’d want to know that you’re not happy.”

“You’d think,” he mutters and then blows out a heavy breath. Now he attempts to move me, but like this push-and-pull game we’ve been playing, I’m the one to stay put this time.

“I still need to do two truths and a lie.”

“Right.” He settles back into the couch and waits. I can see that his mood has shifted again—actually, I’m not sure it was ever not sour. But instead of being a grump, he talked to me. Looks like I have so much more work to do. “What are your two truths and a lie?”

In a cheery tone, I say, “Since you asked.”

He rolls his eyes again.

“Let’s see. I like to collect magnets. I’ve always said I’d collect a magnet from every new place I visit, but I haven’t been many places, so it’s a sad collection. I have a plant in my apartment that I’ve had since college. His name is Boris and we have a mutual understanding that I’ll always water him and he’ll never die on me. And I plan the color of my underwear for each day of the working week. Weekends are a free-for-all. And before you ask, Monday is red. Tuesday is pink. Wednesday is black. Thursday is green, because I once heard green is for Thursdays, because that’s when you make the money, when you should work the hardest. And Friday is white.”

He’s silent. Blinks.

And then scratches the side of his jaw. “All three were in-depth. Frankly, it’s disturbing how easily you rattled those off. Makes me believe you’re some secret operative.”

I wiggle my eyebrows. “Better watch your back.”

He gives my answers some thought. “The first one seems like something you’d do, but you only have like . . . five magnets.”

“Four, to be exact. But it’s a collection nonetheless.”

“And a plant named Boris feels on-brand for you, but so does the underwear, but my guess is you messed up the days of the week so instead of Friday being white, it’s actually black, because that’s a typical date night.”

My jaw falls open as I stare down at him. “How the hell did you guess that?”

“You might be able to think quick on your feet, but I can smell bullshit from a mile away. You’re a romantic on a dating journey and I’m assuming, given your innocence, wearing black on Friday, date night, is daring for you. Just makes sense.”

I fold my arms over my chest now and ask, “Okay, so what’s the order of the rest of my underwear?”

He pauses for a moment and then holds his fingers up. “Monday is white, to start the week off on a fresh note. Tuesday is pink because you seem to be the type of girl who would have a lot of pink underwear so it fits in on a Tuesday. Wednesday is red for hump day. Thursday . . . well, that’s the wild card. I kind of believe the whole green money-making thing, so I’m going to say that’s right. And then black on Friday. The weekends are probably when you wear fun underwear. Like some pink thong with a heart.” When I don’t say anything, he says, “I’m right, aren’t I?”

I slip off his lap, and he actually lets me this time. “Unfortunately, you are.”

He chuckles, and even though it annoys me that, apparently, I’m so predictable, I’m glad that he’s found something humorous.

“But I do want you to know that I’m not that innocent.”

“Sure.” He gets up from the couch and smooths down his shorts before picking up his glass of water.

“I’m not.” I stand as well. “I’ve done plenty of non-innocent things in my lifetime.”

He turns. “Like what?”

Yeah, Kelsey . . . like what?

How come nothing is coming to mind? I do plenty of things that wouldn’t be considered innocent.

“Face it, you’re as innocent as they come.”

He starts to walk away, so I shout, “Vibrator.”

The corner of his lip quirks up when he faces me again.

I straighten my robe, clenching it tighter. “I have a vibrator. There, that’s not innocent.”

“What kind of vibrator?”

“You know . . . the kind that vibrates,” I say, hating myself. “It’s pink.”

“Of course it’s pink.” He chuckles. “Not innocent, Kelsey. Just about every woman has a vibrator. And from my guess, you probably use it every Wednesday to go along with your red underwear.”

God . . . why is he right again?

He reaches the kitchen and refills his water. “Face it, you’re as innocent as they come. If your day-of-the-week underwear doesn’t say it, then your inability to tell me—in detail—the kind of vibrator you have is.”

“It’s pink.” I throw my arms up. “What else do you want from me?”

He grips the kitchen counter and his eyes connect with mine, his dark brows shadowing his light-green eyes. “Pulse rate, settings, girth, length, and attachments. I want to know if you were too scared to even look at vibrators with a clit stimulator, so you just went with a common stick.”

My lips rub together.

“That’s what you got, wasn’t it?”

“What does it matter the kind of . . . er, pulse rate it has? I masturbate, so, therefore, I’m not innocent.”

He drags his hand over his face and then moves toward his bedroom. “Okay, Kelsey.”

“Hey,” I call out, but he doesn’t stop. I’ve been known as innocent my entire life and I’ve really attempted to break through that label—as I don’t like it—but I can’t have him thinking that. So, I untie my robe and drop it to the ground. “Would you call this outfit innocent?” I ask.

“A robe is innocent,” he says, not turning around.

“I’m not wearing a robe.”

He pauses and then slowly turns. I’m wearing my black lace romper. It’s a tank top with a deep V neckline, cinched at the waist, and then the attached shorts have high slits that blow open from the lightest of breezes. It’s the most comfortable piece of clothing I have, and yet, also the sexiest.

There’s a deliberate once-over, his eyes traveling from my toes, up to my legs, my waist, and then they pause at my chest, where I know my cleavage is giving him quite the show. When his eyes meet mine, he wets his lips, his expression resembling that of a big-bad-wolf type than a simple acquaintance.

“Why the hell are you wearing that?” he finally asks.

“This is what I wear at night. It’s just one of the many pieces of lingerie I have in my dresser.”

“Well, I suggest you go change,” he says, before turning around again.

“Excuse me?” I ask, walking after him. “What do you mean, I should go change?”

“It’s indecent, Kelsey.”

Indecent?

This is indecent?

Coming from the man who’s walking around the apartment without a shirt and in only a pair of shorts. I’ve been kind to keep my eyes north, but we all know JP doesn’t wear underwear with those shorts and, yes, I can see . . . things. So, if this is indecent, what the hell is he?

“Is there some sort of acceptance of a double standard in this penthouse that I’m unaware of?” I ask. “Because I’m pretty sure I’m more covered up than you.”

He keeps walking, ignoring me.

So, I pick up my pace, and when I’ve closed the distance between us, I pull on his shoulder so he’s forced to face me. But he spins so fast, I’m caught off guard, and he pins me against the hallway wall, one hand on my hip, the other still holding his water glass. He props it against the wall.

Like scalding lasers, his eyes fixate on me.

“Wh-what are you doing?” I ask, a hitch in my breath.

“You’re tempting me, Kelsey, and I don’t take too kindly to it.”

“How am I tempting you? I’m just . . . I’m showing you I’m not the innocent peasant girl you think I am.”

He lowers his body to set his water on the ground and when he comes back up, his chest is so close that I can feel the heat coming off him. It wraps around me in an unexpected grip. The hallway fades to dark, the sparkling skyline a distant memory as he lowers his face so we’re eye to eye.

The hand pinning me against the wall has slipped past one of the flaps of my romper so his palm is directly on my flesh, his thumb at the very end of the juncture of my thigh. The small, barely-there touch causes the air to seize in my lungs.

“You could’ve chosen any pajamas to bring with you, and you bring this.” The backs of his fingers run along the neckline, to just above my cleavage. “So, unless you plan on bedding someone while you’re here that I don’t know about, you brought this specifically knowing you’d be spending nights in the same penthouse as me.”

“This has nothing to do with you and everything to do with comfort.”

His hand slides farther under the slit on the side, his fingers now curling around my waist, imprinting themselves on my skin.

“So, you’re telling me, if you were sharing a penthouse with Huxley instead, you’d have worn this?”

“No,” I say before I can catch myself. Shit.

The truth of the matter is . . . I wouldn’t have worn this around Huxley. When I’ve stayed the night at their house, I wear something respectful because I’m not about to prance around in this romper near my soon-to-be brother-in-law. That would be . . . weird.

But did I really wear this because of JP?

No. I wore this because it’s comfortable.

“I mean . . . I wouldn’t wear this around him because—”

“Because he’s not single.” JP’s other hand caresses up my side, and I nearly slide down the wall from the touch. God, it’s been so long.

So long since a male has touched me. Having JP, this incredibly sexy man, come near me has me losing all sorts of intelligent thoughts.

“You wore this to tempt me, admit it.” He leans his head forward so we’re cheek to cheek and moves his hand to my shoulder to one of the lace straps. He toys with it, his fingers delicately smoothing over the intricate lace. “It’s why you keep coming after me to talk, because you want this, Kelsey.”

“I don’t,” I say, my voice coming out all breathy.

He tugs on the strap, moving it toward the end of my shoulder. “You’re a fucking liar,” he whispers into my ear, right before he tips the strap over my shoulder so it falls down, the fabric around my breasts barely hanging on.

I should move away.

Tell him to stop.

But . . . I don’t.

Because I know, deep in my soul, that even though JP isn’t the man for me, because he’s not a relationship kind of guy, I can’t help my attraction to him. I can’t help but fall under his spell.

And I can’t help but want more.