“Hello?”
Crap. Why did I think calling him would be easier than texting him? That deep rumble of his voice. The memory of his kiss on my tongue. The thought of that smile that makes butterflies take flight in my stomach.
Get a grip, Em. It’s Phony Maloney.
“Will you stop trying to win my friends over to your side?” Impatience owns my voice as I look through the sliding glass door into Desi’s kitchen, where she is flitting around oohing and ahhing over the delivery.
“Come again?”
“The Williams Sonoma basket. The gift certificate for a cooking class. I mean, really?” I huff and put a hand on my hip.
“What? I’m not allowed to send a thank-you gift for having me over the other night? You know my momma, Em. She’s real big on manners.”
“Manners, my ass.”
“What was that about your ass?” He starts with the questions as responses bit again.
“Nothing. Never mind.”
“Were we hanging up now?” The humor in his voice sparks my temper, and I hate that he’s getting exactly what wants from me—a response.
I can’t help it.
“I forget. Were you always this annoying when we were younger?” I grit out as Desi pulls out a bottle of some kind of olive oil and holds it to her chest as if it’s the Hope Diamond. I roll my eyes as I wait for his answer.
“Not that I know of, but I do remember you being a pain in the ass.”
“I was not.”
“Hmm, you sure about that?”
I hate that his comment gives me pause. That it leaves me standing in Desi’s backyard, scouring my memories and wondering if he’s right. I can’t recall any one situation to disprove him.
“You there?” he asks, his voice full of humor and feigned impatience.
“Stop trying to distract me and stop trying to buy my friends.”
“That’s a steep accusation.”
“What else do you call it?”
“Positioning?” He chuckles.
“This conversation is over.”
“Okay.” There’s silence except for his breathing on the other line. “If it’s over, why haven’t you hung up?”
“Because you need to hang up first.” Oh my God. I’m reverting to being a teenager here. Why does he make me act this juvenile?
“Ladies first.”
If the phone was old school, I would have slammed it down, but it isn’t, so I can’t. There is absolutely no satisfaction in pushing end.
“This is absolute heaven,” Desi calls from inside the house. “Come look.”
“I’ll pass,” I say drolly as I move to the open door to watch her fawn all over what really is a gift tailor-made for my best friend. I can’t be blind to his consideration, but I know deep down he’s doing it to irk me and position himself in my life.
“Isn’t this the sweetest thing? And all for having him over the other night. They don’t make men like him anymore.”
It’s the second time I’ve heard that, but it strikes my ear differently from when she said it before. “The other night?”
Desi looks up, doe eyes blinking rapidly before looking back down to sort through the bagged pasta and gourmet sauces included. “Yeah. The barbecue.”
“But that wasn’t the other night.” I step forward and brace my hands on the counter across from her.
She waves a hand my way. “Semantics, Em. The other night, a few weeks ago, it’s all the same thing.”
No it isn’t.
And as she prattles on about this and that and truffle oil and terms that sound cook-ish but I’m not certain, the phrase “the other night” continues to replay in my head.
Have they gotten together another night to conspire about me? Desi told me she was busy last week when I asked her to go get some sushi, but she wouldn’t tell me with what. Did she and Grant meet up so she could help him plan ways to win me over?
Correction—annoy the hell out of me.
Winning me over would mean he has a chance, which he doesn’t. Okay, maybe he has a tiny one, but that’s beside the point.
Another cry of pleasure from Desi comes at the same time a thought crosses my mind that makes my stomach drop. What if they weren’t conspiring ways to win me over? What if I pushed Grant away enough that he moved on to Desi, and now they’re seeing each other? My mind stumbles over the thought.
I’d like to say good riddance. That I don’t care.
Not about how he delivered pizza to the crew at Blue Skies unannounced and for no reason. Or how a box of tampons with a blue ribbon tied around it somehow ended up on the hood of my car parked in the airport lot. Admittedly, that was so not cool, and while I’m sure every guy working that day thought it was strange, I still might have sat with it in my lap, fingers playing with the bow. I might have remained there, watching planes take off and land until sunset because I was so lost in thought and at peace that I hadn’t noticed the day slipping away. I hadn’t felt that way in the longest time.
My gut churns because as annoying as everything he’s doing is, I hate the thought of him just . . . moving on. Would Desi do that to me? Would Grant?
“Nothing’s worth it if it’s this much work.”
His words from the barbecue ring in my ears and cause a slight flutter of panic. But then I see Desi smile a mile wide and know she’d never do that to me, but that doesn’t rule out a plotting session. And still, I hate that the thought of him charming someone else—because that is what he’s doing to everyone else while he does nothing but provoke me—doesn’t sit well with me.
Then I realize that . . . his plan has worked. He’s maneuvered me. He’s making everyone around me like him so when I tell him to take a hike, they’ll all tell me I’m crazy.
Goddamnit, I’ve been handled. Positioned. Whatever he wants to call it.
Screw him. I’ll find a way to outwit him. To put the ball back in my court. To take back control of the situation. The question is, when it seems he’s always a few steps ahead of me, how do I do that?
I guess I could have started by accepting Josh’s invitation last night to meet up for a little late-night rendezvous. But I didn’t. I told him I was busy when in reality it was me, my hot plate, and Big Brother on television.
Did I seriously give up what I know from experience to be an incredible orgasm for Grant Malone? Or let’s get real, multiple orgasms? It is Josh, after all.
I sure as hell did.
This is not good. He’s already winning, and I haven’t even read the damn rules yet.
“Em, look at this.” Desi holds up some kind of kitchen contraption in glee.
Is that basket a bottomless pit of bribery?
“If you don’t snatch that man up, I will.”
Apparently, it is.
I groan.
How can I compete with this? How can I fight back when he is single-handedly persuading everyone around me to take his side?
He may think he’s in the lead, but he hasn’t seen me in action yet.
Now I just need to rewrite his damn rules and figure out a plan of attack of my own.