Vince

I don’t leave right away. It isn’t totally by choice. By the time I sit down to tie my shoes, Predator restarts. It feels wrong to leave before my favorite part, where Arnie says “If it bleeds, we can kill it.”

So I linger. Get hungry again and raid Butler’s fridge. By then it’s after eleven, and I admit to myself I’m waiting around like a jealous boyfriend. I decide to leave and salvage what’s left of my self-respect.

As luck would have it, the sky splits open the second I set foot outside Jackie’s apartment. I hoof it to my Volvo across the parking lot, slide inside, and shake water from my hair like a dog. I dig my keys from my pocket and start my car, flipping on the wipers, and that’s when I see J.T. and Jackie running for her front door. They must’ve pulled in shortly after I left.

They’re dripping from the rain and lingering under her porch light. She smiles.

The rain-soaked windshield blots out my view. Aggravated, I hit the lever. When the rain is swiped away this time, I watch as she inches up on her toes and presses her lips to his.

“Shit,” I mutter to the interior of my car. I can’t watch any more of this. The next time the wipers clean the windshield, J.T. hugs her lower back and pulls her close. I figure she’ll invite him in. Then he’ll be sitting on my spot on her sofa and I’ll officially be the biggest idiot alive. I should have confessed how I felt rather than drive her into the arms of another dude.

“Get it together, Carson,” I mumble, pulling out of the lot and not looking back. I’m being dramatic, which is unlike me, but it’s been a frustrating couple of days.

I turn the corner so I can’t glance in the rearview and watch her invite him in.

I hope she doesn’t invite him in.

My sour mood from Friday hasn’t improved come Monday morning, mainly because I invited Jackie over to my place last night, and she shot me down. She texted me, saying, Rain check! I’ll make it up to you.

Which made me think of the rain and the kiss I’d need eye bleach to forget.

My guess is she threw me over for Jaundice, and yeah, that’s what I’m calling him in my head. Sue me. It’s sexist and immature and unfair to behave like I am, so by the time I’ve had a third cup of coffee and go to the break room for a fourth, I forcibly pull my head out of my ass.

Jackie’s wearing red today and the short dress shows off her legs. Her smile is bright and fresh and she looks happy. So damn happy. My heart crushes like an aluminum can but I send her a casual smile anyway.

“Hey, Butler.” I grab the coffeepot and glance at the clock. “Holy shit, it’s almost lunchtime?”

“Yeah, you may want to hold off on the caffeine drip until after you eat.” She rinses her mug and dries it with a paper towel.

“Why are you not in your office with your nose pressed to the glass?” It’s 11:44, so Jaundice should be running by any second.

“Oh. I feel weird about it now.”

“Why?” I snap.

Her slender brows meet over a pert nose. “Because I’m dating him. I don’t have to ogle him from my office. I can ogle him from anywhere. Freely. While touching him.”

“Sorry I asked.” I leave the break room, aware of her calling my name as she chases after me.

“Vince. Vince.”

In my office she doesn’t bother stopping at the threshold. Mine is bigger than hers—but it always has been, because Wilson moved me in here shortly after I started. When my VP title was secured, I simply stayed in the larger office and Jackie moved into the only one available. What I don’t have is an outside window. Or an inside window. She has both, so it’s fair, in a way.

“What is your problem?” she asks after shutting my door to give us some privacy. I saw a few heads turn, but they quickly went back to their work. We didn’t make that big of a commotion on our way in here.

Now, though, that I’m looking at those red lips and that red dress and remembering the way Jaundice had his hands on her Friday night—

“You bailed on me on Sunday,” I grumble.

“I know. My sister came into town at the last minute.”

Sure. Whatever. I tilt my head to one side in disbelief.

“I promised to make it up to you and I will. What’s your schedule like this week?”

“What’s yours like?” Do you have another date or three with Jaundice the Hut?

“How about I treat you to lunch today?” she offers. Sweetly.

I shake my head. “Can’t. I have a meeting with Wilson in a few.”

“Oh. Tomorrow night?”

“Busy,” I lie. I have nothing planned, but I could. She doesn’t know that. “Taco Tuesday with Davis.”

“Taco Tuesday?” Her face scrunches. She knows I have a special brand of disdain for themed gatherings.

“It’s my new thing.”

“Okay. What about drinks at McGreevy’s?”

“I’ll get back to you.” I reach for my door and open it, and the sad look on her face almost makes me apologize. Almost. If she hadn’t bailed on me last night, I might feel more magnanimous. As things stand, she’s going to have to accept my nonanswer.

Tuesday night I’m scrolling through my phone regretting that I don’t have more friends. When Leslie and I were married we did lots of couple things. That meant we went out with her girlfriends and their husbands. Out of her eight closest friends (our former bridesmaids), Martin was the husband I liked. Unfortunately, his wife is a ballbuster, so I lost him in the divorce. The other seven husbands completed the set of tools and I was glad to be rid of them, even if it did leave me with a deficit of guy friends.

Davis is busy tonight. He had a date. He didn’t say it was Polly, but he didn’t say it wasn’t her. It’s her. I can sense these things.

When a knock on my door interrupts my deep thoughts, I turn my head and scowl at it, hoping it’s not Riley come to renew her Mrs. Robinson advances. Another knock, this one delicate, and my heart lodges in my throat.

I know that knock.

I pull open the door and there stands Jackie in a mouthwatering red dress, holding a bucket of KFC.

“Apology chicken,” she announces, then holds up another bag. “And mashed potatoes, coleslaw, and green beans. Tonight we feast!”

I step aside and she carries the food to my gargantuan kitchen like she has a dozen times in the past. She turns around and clasps her hands together, pegging me with a look of complete and utter chagrin. Before she opens her mouth, I give her the apology I suspect is coming.

“I’m sorry, Jackie.” I slip my hands into my front pockets and walk toward her.

“No. It was rude of me to bail on you. Bethany wouldn’t have minded you joining us. We went to Chic Winehouse to sample wine and eat cake. It wasn’t a very manly atmosphere.”

So she was telling the truth about her sister being in town.

“I thought you were out with Jaundice,” I admit.

“I was not out with Jack,” she corrects, her lips twisting at my joke. Just when I start to feel better, she adds, “I saw him Friday and Saturday night. I don’t want him to think I’m crazy about him.”

“Are you?” I blurt, scowling at my best friend. I hope not. I haven’t made a single move to let her know I’m in the running. Regret covers me like mud on a nearly defeated Arnold Schwarzenegger at the end of Predator.

Her mouth opens and closes. Then I see it. The flicker of doubt in her eyes when she bites down on her bottom lip. “He’s…sweet.”

Sweet. I nearly cheer. That’s what women say about guys they like but don’t like like. I take another step in her direction and she backs up, her hip bumping my countertop.

“Did you invite him in Friday night?” I have to know.

“What?” She’s frowning up at me. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no.”

She’s offended enough that I believe her.

“Where did you go Saturday?” I ask.

“His house.”

“His house?” The volume of my voice raises and I pull myself together with both hands. “Did he cook for you or something?”

“Why does that matter?” Her eyes flit away from mine.

I can picture his clean and fancy minimalist apartment. He probably roasted a pheasant he went out and shot himself. Then he poured a glass of hundred-dollar wine and then they spent the evening admiring his first-edition book collection and making out on the settee.

“Vince, are you all right?”

I’m hovering over her, blood boiling, steam pouring out of my head like a kettle. No, I’m not all right.

I lean a hairbreadth closer. “Did you screw him?”

“I beg your pardon!” Her eyebrows slam together in anger, but I press her further.

“Did you?”

“What if I did? You were the one who wanted me to get back out there. You said I deserve nice things. The best.”

I did say that.

“You do. And it’s not J.T.”

“Well…then who is it?” Her voice is small, and for the briefest moment her warm brown eyes flicker to my mouth.

“Answer my question first.” I put a palm on the counter, caging her in on one side. She doesn’t move away from me, which is a good sign.

“He cooked cedar-plank salmon and French green beans. He has a wine cellar, so we opened a bottle of Château Sedacca.”

Worse than I thought. That stuff is get-laid wine. I swallow a groan.

“He baked a homemade chocolate lava cake,” she says with a small smile. “And then we went into his living room and sat on the couch and kissed. A lot.” Her gaze softens when it hits mine. “But to answer your question again, no. It didn’t go any further than that.”

“Why not?” My muscles coil as if that’ll help me absorb the blow if she delivers worse news. Like maybe she’s planning on doing him on the next date.

“You owe me an answer.” Her chin comes up. She’s digging in and I’m not surprised. Butler’s no pushover. “Who’s the one for me, Vince?”

The word “me” clogs my throat, so I don’t say it. Instead, I thread her brown wavy hair through my fingers and lay my lips on hers for a long, slow, polite kiss.

It doesn’t stay polite.

She tilts her head, and I tilt mine. My fingers flinch, cradling the back of her head as I guide her petal-soft lips. Her tongue strokes mine and I close any remaining gap between us, pressing my hardening body against her giving one.

I’m not letting her go. Not yet.

Her hands hit my shirt and grab fistfuls of fabric, but instead of shoving me back, she pulls me closer. I let her. We stand there long minutes, enjoying the feverish pace of the kiss and the shared appreciation of each other’s mouths.

It’s new, and damn exciting.

She tugs away first. I loosen my hold but finish the kiss. I’m still cradling her head, only now I’m looking at her blown-out, lust-filled pupils. A surge of pride rushes through me. I put that heat in her eyes. Me.

Watching her come out of a lusty haze is far from my favorite transformation. In the span of a single second, her expression goes from dazed to serious.

“I…um…I should go.”

“Don’t go.” My voice is gravelly, my vocal cords choked with the same want shadowed in her eyes. I just kissed my best friend. And hell, I don’t know if she wanted me to.

“I’m…see you later.” It’s all she says before walking out my front door and leaving behind a family-sized meal for me and me alone.

Alone. Again.

What did I do?