Jocelyn

I don’t know where Landon Boxer learned to woo a woman, but he does a fine job of it. In fact, over the next few weeks, he wooed me as if it were his one and only job.

First came a picnic lunch at the park, Charli running about like a madwoman, the day filled with sweet strawberries and laughter and freshly cut grass.

The second date was nothing more than a quick afternoon walk to grab coffee across the street from my office. Boxer came fresh from practice, and I snuck out between meetings. It was the best cappuccino I’d ever had, though I wondered if the company didn’t have something to do with it. That was just the first week.

The second week consisted of more of the same, plus an additional night out watching Boxer play. The LA Lightning looked to be going far this year, and with playoffs approaching quickly, there was a noticeable lift in both optimism and tension in the air.

While their record spoke for itself, mistakes could be made and the team could choke. Boxer’s schedule would most certainly be crazed until one of two things happened: his team was eliminated from the playoffs, or they won the Cup.

Weeks three and four grew in intensity, each date more special, more tantalizing than the last. True to form, we never progressed more than a steamy make out session, but by now, we were both feeling the tension looming over our heads. Everywhere we went, it followed. All at once, it was both promising and hellish, but we stuck to our plan.

Week five was torture. I wasn’t able to see him at all due to travel on his side. Week six brought slushies all around and a trip to the movie theater for a Disney flick.

Week seven was another travel week for Boxer, which led us to the edge of week eight, our final week before New York.

Specifically, Friday. We leave a week from tomorrow.

“Seven days!?” Lindsay calls the second I step foot into the office the morning before the weekend begins. She’s made one of those countdown chains like children make in school before Christmas. She tears a ring off every time I step into the room and tosses it into the air. Then she picks it up off the floor just as quickly because she’s too nice to leave it for the janitor. “Diana called again. She wanted to know if you had an update on Boxer yet.”

“Freaking Diana,” I tell her. “I am never available for an interview. Can you tell her to shove off? You know, in nicer terms. Like you always do.”

“I’ve told her you hate interviews.”

“Well, tell her again. I never do interviews.”

“You got it, boss. Anyway, how are you feeling about my chain?” She waves it back and forth. “Pretty exciting, huh?”

I wave her off, but it’s half-hearted. I don’t mind that she’s almost as invested in this countdown as I am—it’s fun. We’re like giddy kids, rushing into the office every day to put our heads together and whisper, gossip, theorize about boys. Her relationship with Mark Greggs is taking off, and my relationship with Boxer is—if nothing else—keeping me on my toes.

We’ve been taking things slow as promised, with only scorching kisses to tide us over these last two months. Though he and I haven’t explicitly talked about New York, it’s fairly clear what we’re both expecting to happen there.

And I can’t wait.

“So...” she says with a dramatic flourish. “What’s on the agenda for this week? Chocolate dipped strawberries? Sharing a romantic ice cream cone? A little stroll through the park?”

I spin and move into my office—excitement might be rampant in the air, but there’s still work to be done. “It’s a surprise. He hasn’t told me where he’s taking me!”

“Surely you have a guess!?”

“Did you cancel my meeting this morning?” I call through our open doors. “My calendar is open.”

“I didn’t cancel it, Andrea cancelled it. Luke’s assistant. She said they’ll reschedule later, but I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

I tap my pen against the desk. I had a day booked solid with meetings, and I had been looking forward to the full schedule. A day driven by work left me no time to think about my status with Boxer, and that’s exactly what I need. After all, we left off our last date with him saying he’d call me, and I have yet to hear from him.

Not that I’m counting, but it’s been exactly four days and twelve hours since that promise was made, and I haven’t heard a peep.

“He’s been busy,” Lindsay says, leaning against the door. “Relax—I can see you stressing. Should I order some breakfast?”

“No, I’m not hungry,” I tell her. “Unless you want something. Otherwise, I’ll just pop down and grab a cappuccino—”

“No—” she says too quickly. “Let me. I have to stretch my legs.”

“Stretch your legs?” I watch her hustle out of the room like her seat is on fire. It’s eight thirty in the morning on a Friday. Nobody needs to stretch their legs before nine a.m. on a Friday morning.

I settle into my office, set my purse in its place, and boot up my computer. I’m logging on when someone calls a hello from the front door.

“Come in,” I call out, letting my eyes glance over the calendar on my screen. I blink and do a double take. It looks like my meetings have all been cancelled. For a moment, I panic. All of my meetings cancelled? It must be a mistake. Maybe Lindsay moved some things around thinking I’d be stressed. That’s got to be the explanation.

I’m pulling out my phone to text her when heavy footsteps pass through the lobby, then continue toward my office. I recognize those footsteps.

Slowly, heart sailing a hundred miles an hour, I look up from my desk and stare over my computer screen. “Boxer?”

He grins. “I have something for you.”

I’m too shocked at finding him standing here to respond. He looks great in his jeans and a black t-shirt that shows off a set of beautiful arms I’ve been dreaming of for weeks—longing to have them wrapped around me, holding me late into the night and into the next morning.

True to his word, he’s never pushed things past a kiss. Much to my dismay.

“Do you want to see what it is?” A smile sparkles beneath his blue eyes, his expression warm and excited. “It’s homemade.”

“I haven’t heard from you...”

“I’m sorry,” he says, face falling. “I should’ve called first, but I wanted this to be a surprise. I didn’t trust myself to talk to you on the phone because I’m terrible at secrets.”

“A surprise?” I feel like an incredibly stupid parrot just repeating phrases of his sentences. “For me?”

“Yes, for you!” He laughs. “I’m glad we caught you off guard. This took a lot of planning and coordination”

“We?”

“Are you going to take this or not?”

“Oh, of course.” I reach for the envelope in his hand. The outside is papered with stickers, and I have a strong suspicion that Charli had a hand in its decorating. “It’s beautiful.”

“Team effort,” he says.

I laugh at the unicorn prancing across the flap and do my best not to rip the paper as I tear it open. Holding my breath, I slide out a handmade thank-you card. It’s signed by both Charli and Boxer and lists seventeen different reasons they were grateful for my help at her birthday party. The cake. The Target run. The party favors. The tickets.

The whole thing is so sweet, and I can’t help but feel strangely touched by it, even as I wonder why this is relevant two months after the fact. I clear my throat and murmur a thank you back. “You didn’t have to hand deliver this.”

“I did,” he says. “Flip it over and read the back.”

I shoot him a skeptical glance and do as he says. There, on the back, is a whole new set of firework stickers. Underneath all of the explosions is a handwritten invitation from Charli:

Dear Jocelyn,

Please come with us to 6 Flags. I’m bringing a friend, and dad needs a ride buddy. We have your ticket already. You’re his best friend besides me.

From,

Charli

If I found it difficult to hide my surprise before, it’s nearly impossible now. It’s all I can manage to squeak out a question. “Six Flags, huh? When?”

He leans forward, the scent of him spiraling toward me, bringing me back to earlier nights of shared whispers, close embraces, and moonlight kisses outside of one of our homes as we prolonged an evening of wonder together.

“It’s a get out of jail free card,” he says, pointing to the date at the bottom. “Please excuse Miss Jones from work.”

In Charli’s handwriting. “She gave me a hall pass for 6 Flags?”

“I hope you don’t mind, but I coordinated with your assistant so you could play hooky today.”

“Lindsay’s in on this?!” Suddenly, her disappearance makes sense. “Oh, that little sneak.”

“I begged her to let me do it,” he says. “I asked her weeks ago.”

“Weeks ago?!” The door cranks open in the lobby, hesitant footsteps tiptoeing across the carpet. “Lindsay?! Get in here!”

She walks in, three cappuccinos in a carrier tray. “Sorry, boss,” she says. “You get the day off.”

“I don’t take days off.”

“It’s true,” Lindsay tells Boxer as she hands him a coffee. “Not once since I’ve been hired. She barely leaves the office early for doctor appointments, and she always works from home after to make it up. She’s nuts, I tell ya—nuts!”

“You’re nuts, thinking you could keep this a secret from me!” I tell her, eyebrows raised. “I can’t believe it.”

She pauses, inches forward and drops the cappuccino on my desk. “I did keep it a secret. You’re surprised, right? Mission accomplished.”

“I thought we were friends,” I tell her. “Best friends tell each other everything.”

“Except surprise parties,” she says. “I’ve cleared all your meetings from the calendar—they were moved weeks ago. Nothing was last minute. I just didn’t tell you about it because I knew you’d get suspicious.”

“Well, yes. What about the meeting with Marc?”

“Monday at nine a.m.”

“Mr. Waters?”

“Tuesday afternoon at three, he’ll swing by the office.”

I raise my eyebrows at her. “You took care of everything for me?”

“He did most of the work,” Lindsay says, pointing an elbow at Boxer. “I just played Tetris with your calendar.”

“It sounds like you have no excuse not to come with us,” Boxer says. “Like Charli said, I need a ride buddy.”

“Jocelyn gets sick on the Tilt a Whirl,” Lindsay says with a shudder. “Tried to take her once awhile back. My advice: Don’t.”

Boxer extends a hand for mine. I place my fingers in his and allow him to pull me to my feet. The next thing I know, I’ve said goodbye to Lindsay, set up my auto responder to show Out of Office for the first time in ages, and ditched my job for a day at the amusement park.

Who would’ve thought? Almost thirty years old, and I’m finally becoming a rebel.