Vince

Admittedly, giving Jackie advice on how to get a guy to sleep with her is not my best plan. Side note: I’m going to castrate Davis the second I get him alone for ratting me out about Polly over there. Though whatever charm he’s working on her now seems effective. She’s blond—just his type.

“Okay, Butler,” I say, fully focused on Jackie now. “Let’s hear it.”

She stops scribbling on the napkin in front of her, and I bite back a smile. Since I’ve given her a few tips, she has been frantically taking notes. She’s a planner. I’ve always been more go-with-the-flow.

She reads over her notes, squinting in concentration, her lips moving as she reads. Then those golden brown eyes hit mine and she gives me a resolute nod. “I’m ready.”

Her tongue swipes pink lips, making them glisten and making me regret again the route I’ve chosen to take with her. Part of me concedes I could call it off and tell her what I really want, but I know her. She’s barely convinced she can ask a dude out, so her best guy friend throwing a date on the table would be an automatic no.

“Let’s see it,” I say, kind of excited to see what she’s come up with.

She takes Davis’s seat, sitting next to me and leaning heavily on an elbow, fist under her chin. “Hi. I’m Jackie.”

I blink several times in quick succession at the transformation from my scatterbrained best friend to a gorgeous woman giving me bedroom eyes. She’s pretending. I’d do well to remember that.

“Vince.”

She straightens in her chair and frowns. “Shouldn’t you pretend to be J.T.?”

“I’m not that good of an actor, Butler.” And I’m not pretending to be that jerk.

“Fine.” She rolls her eyes, then slides into seduction mode so swiftly I find myself impressed. She’s better at this than she’s let on. “Do you have a last name, Vince?”

“You know my last name, Butler.”

“Call me Jackie.” She gives me a slow bat of her lashes.

My smile is real, and when I lean closer, I don’t even do it on purpose. “Well, Jackie. Last names are irrelevant, don’t you think?”

Her chest lifts as she takes a breath, and I’m not shy about checking out her cleavage, exposed down the V of her shirt. Normally I wouldn’t look so obviously, but this is a game. Our game.

“That’s very assuming of you, Mr. No Last Name.” She quirks her lips in that way she has, and my smile broadens. “But let’s say”—she moves her half-full wineglass onto the cocktail napkin she wrote on—“for argument’s sake, you’re right, that last names are irrelevant.” She runs the tip of her finger along the rim of her glass like she’s doing it absentmindedly.

She’s doing it on purpose. I can tell.

Damn. She’s good.

“We should have a real date before making plans, don’t you think?” she asks, her eyes on mine.

“Yes.” Hell, yes. “Dinner, at the very least.”

“And then if dinner works out…” She lets that statement hang and my heart beats triple time as I wait for what comes next. “We can talk about dessert.”

“We can talk about dessert now.” I’m transfixed by her and the idea of exploring our new dynamic.

“Ohmygod.” Her eyes go wide. “Would he say that?”

I give myself a mental shake when I realize I was caught up in the conversation. It was one I wanted to be real, and she was thinking about Running Man.

“Probably,” I say, the spell broken. “Guys are assholes. Like I said.”

I lean back in my chair, find a TV, and stare blankly.

“But if that’s the case, I’ll have to have sex with him sooner than I planned.”

“No, you won’t, Jackie.” I hear the anger in my own voice. Because…“You don’t have to have sex with anyone. You could go to drinks, dinner, and dessert with this guy—you could end the night with tonsil hockey on your front porch or his, and you can still say no.”

She purses her lips. I hate the idea of her kissing that jackass. No matter what kind of person he is—even if he’s a volunteer firefighter who raises orphaned squirrels so they can perform at the local senior center—I hate him.

“Tell me you know that,” I say.

“I know I don’t have to. That’s not what I meant. I don’t want to chicken out. I want to get the first one over with. Like you did.”

I tip my head back and groan aloud. I can’t help it. I’m the example for her return to the dating world? Much as I don’t want to admit it, fair is fair. I salved my wounds with girls like Polly, so why can’t Jackie do it with J.T.? Jackie’s my friend and I care about her. I can’t make a double standard now.

“Besides, he’s really hot,” she says, her face going glowy.

“Spare me.”

She grins. “Thanks for the help.”

“Anytime.”

She looks over her shoulder then back to me. “Does it bother you that Davis is hitting on Polly?”

I look at Jackie like she’s grown a third eyeball. “Why would it?”

“Because you and she once shared…” She gestures instead of explaining, and I’m glad. “Do those feelings come back when you look at her?”

I know what she’s really asking, and it has nothing to do with Polly and me. I lean forward and break the act when I put my hand over hers. “You were married, Jackie. Lex vowed to be with you for the rest of his life, and then he broke those vows. I promise you, no matter what he says about how happy he is with his current wife, when he thinks about you, his heart hurts. Guilt follows him everywhere. He knows he blew it with the best girl in the world.”

Her eyes glisten with unshed tears and she gives me a damp smile. Then she turns her palm up and holds my hand. Our fingers weave together like our hands were made for each other. Sappy, but no less true.

“I know Leslie thinks about you that same way. She never deserved you.”

I nod my agreement, though I’m not sure it’s true. Jackie and I hold hands for a few more seconds before she untangles her fingers from mine and swipes her eyes. Grabbing her purse, she thanks me again before promising to see me at work tomorrow.

Then she’s gone.

I’m not sure how I feel about this. About any of it.

Jacqueline

I watch out the window, heart hammering. Wondering if I’ll be disappointed when I end up talking to J.T., or if he’ll live up to my fantasy. If we’ll have a drink or dinner. If I’ll ever kiss him…or more.

Which is why, instead of enjoying him running by wearing a pair of black shorts and a gray sweat-marked T-shirt, I watch feeling like there’s a boulder in the pit of my stomach.

He vanishes around the corner and Vince puts his ass on the desk next to mine and stares out the window with me. After a silent moment, I turn to him.

“You smell nice,” I say.

“Thanks.”

“What’s with the scruff?” He’s close, so I can see every whisker on his firm jawline. “Is this a new you?”

“I’ve grown it out before, Butler.” He swipes a palm over his cheek, and the rasping sound of his whiskers against his hand sends shivers down my spine. Ever since we pretended to contemplate going home with each other at the bar, I’ve noticed a lot of little things about Vince I normally allow to roll off me.

Like the way he smiles with his whole face when he finds something funny. Or the habit he has of doodling in the margins of his notebook during meetings, yet follows whatever’s being said. His solid, comforting presence is nothing new, and neither is his standing close to me, but today he’s especially comforting. Especially solid. I don’t like noticing all of these things. My sights are supposed to be set on my fantasy man—J.T. Who, yes, looked as gorgeous as ever today, but my heart isn’t lodged in my throat now that I’ve seen him. Maybe it’s because Vince is here, and I’m embarrassed.

That must be it.

When Vince scrubs his face again, I shudder. “Don’t do that. It’s like nails down a chalkboard.”

Totally untrue. But I have to find “normal” with Vince again before I ask out my dream guy. Gulp. Such a horrifying prospect.

“Some women like facial hair, you know.” He gestures out the window. “Unlike the hairless wonder out there.”

Defensive, I turn on him. “What are you talking about? J.T. has great hair.”

“He waxes his chest.” Vince’s dark eyebrows rise in the sincerest look of concern. “That’s not right.”

“So do swimmers. They wax everything. And cyclists! They wax!” I continue. “It helps with the wind resistance or something.” My eyes go to Vince’s buttoned-up shirt and I consider the fact that in all the time I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him without a shirt. He wears one when he jogs. “Do you have hair on your chest?”

He raises an eyebrow and a puckish and damn sexy expression crosses his face. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

I let out an exasperated sound—the one that every woman lets out when men are being…men…and push off my desk. In truth, I’m a little warm at the thought. A little too warm.

“When are you going to talk to him?” Vince asks.

I shrug, but I’m relieved we’ve shifted focus. What I’m not relieved about is Vince pushing me.

“Butler.”

“What about you?” I ask instead of answering.

“What about me?” He shrugs, still leaning on my desk, arms folded all relaxed and casual.

“Who are you going to ask out?”

“You now know getting back on the horse postdivorce isn’t my particular issue. You, on the other hand…You’ve been benched too long.”

“How do you know?” My cheeks warm and I decide to talk my way through the uncharacteristic reaction. “Maybe I had a secret affair and you don’t know about it.”

He snorts. “You tell me everything. I know you had a few dates at the beginning and I also know you were unsatisfied with all of them.”

He’s right on all counts. I’m too transparent. I should have more secrets.

“Tomorrow morning,” he says. “You said he jogs at your apartment complex on Saturdays. Ask him out then. Bump into him and say hi.”

“And then what?” Fear coats me like a lozenge. “Tell him I’m the moron who didn’t speak to him before?”

“Trust me, he knows who you are. And he doesn’t think you’re a moron.” Vince gives me a gentle smile. “He thinks you’re the hot neighbor who won’t give him the time of day, and I’d bet my chest hair”—he rubs his shirt—“that he can’t figure out why.”

“Pfft,” I say, broadcasting my disbelief. But Vince’s face is scary serious.

“Don’t explain yourself,” Vince says. “Just be yourself.” He stands and walks to my office door. Before he leaves, he points at me and ends with “Ask him out.”