Chapter 9
“Down to the Oreo, you say?” I ask, trying to project calm and cool when inside I’m dying over JP’s sweet gesture.
And even sweeter words.
“Down to the Oreo,” JP repeats, moving around to face me across the island. “If you had to pick one of these, which would it be?”
“How can I pick one?” I say, acting aghast at the question. I study the Oreo varieties in front of me before selecting one with chocolate cookies and birthday cake filling. “For research purposes, I like all of them, but tonight I feel like birthday cake.”
I peel back the tab to reveal the tray of cookies, but instead of eating one, I slide the package toward JP.
“I need to see how you eat an Oreo,” I say. “For research purposes. This is my version of important information I need to know.”
I wait to see how he responds to my test. I know I'm goofy. Strange. A lot of guys don't get me, and I'm curious to see if JP does.
I wait for the usual furrowed brow and question of why.
JP lifts an Oreo out and locks his eyes on me.
"There's only one way to eat an Oreo."
He twists the wafers apart. JP slowly eats the filling, pausing to lick the bottom of his lower lip to get the last of the filling before eating the chocolate part.
Oh, my, that’s hot.
JP finishes and turns to me.
"That," he says with certainty, "is how you eat an Oreo."
I can't breathe.
Because I'm pretty sure I just met my future husband.
I don’t say anything as JP pours himself a glass of milk to chase the cookie down with.
Did I just think husband?
Because he didn’t blink at the Oreo test? Because he eats it the exact same way that I do?
Shit, shit, shit.
Yes. That phrase again.
I’m losing my mind.
“Your turn,” JP says, sliding the package back toward me and interrupting the lunatic thoughts short-circuiting my brain.
I gladly take an Oreo as a distraction. I twist it apart, eat the filling, and then pop the chocolate wafers into my mouth.
JP grins at me. “We’re Oreo compatible.”
We’re compatible in a lot of ways, JP, I think as I look at him.
I shove the thought aside.
We’re hanging out.
That is all.
“We are,” I say.
“What can I pour you?” JP asks. “As you can see, I have craft milk on tap tonight.”
I giggle. “We’re such dorks. I’ll take a glass of coconut milk. That’s my preferred milk, by the way.”
“Good to know,” he says, opening the coconut milk and pouring me a glass. “One coconut milk.”
“Thank you. Where’s your tip jar?” I tease.
JP flashes me a smile, and my heart flutters as I return it.
I open the peanut butter Oreo package and retrieve one. “Don’t let me have any more than this. I’ll be monitoring my diet carefully tomorrow as it is.”
“I’ll join you in one more, but I want the classic,” JP says, lifting the top off that package.
We each indulge in a second Oreo, and after I finish mine, I sigh happily.
“I love these cookies so much,” I say. “They bring back happy memories for me. My grandma used to let us have these as a treat when we went to her place in Houston. I thought it was paradise. Mom was super restrictive on what we could eat, and sugar was forbidden.”
“Never?” JP asks, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “Not even on special occasions?”
“Nope. I remember my birthday cakes as a kid,” I say, cringing at the memory. “Ugh. Mom tried to make these healthy, alternative, all-natural cakes. They were horrible. Kids at school always teased me about the awful cake at my parties. Obviously, being the tallest girl in the class wasn’t enough to be teased about. I had to be the giraffe with the crappy birthday cakes, too!”
“I’m sorry you went through that,” JP says simply.
“Why? Every kid goes through shit at school,” I say. “It’s part of life.”
JP studies me thoughtfully before responding.
“You genuinely are Real.Life.Reese, aren’t you?” he asks, referring to the title of my website and blog.
“What makes you say that?” I ask.
“You’re so honest,” he says quietly. “About the way you live and your life experiences. Most people design their online image. The perfect outfit, the perfect food shot, and the perfect filter. It’s unreality. But you don’t. You talk about eating cookies. You shoot yourself without makeup on. You’re telling me about being teased for being tall. You don’t pretend to be something you’re not.”
“I don’t think you do, either,” I say. “You were very real when we talked last night at dinner.”
“You got the real me last night, as you always will,” he says. “I don’t play games. I don’t pretend to not care when I do. I’m not a project for a girl to fix. I’m not a challenge, and I refuse to pretend to be one. I’m losing hope that women still want a good guy, but I’m not going to be an asshole to test that theory.”
My heart holds still. JP is once again laying his past hurts in front of me, pain caused by what he perceives as not being something he can’t be. He thinks he’s somehow not exciting because he’s nice and is the sweet guy who will always finish last with women.
Which is bullshit.
“Not all girls want a challenge.”
JP blinks.
I don’t.
“What do you want, Reese?” he asks softly.
My heart hammers against my ribs. I swallow hard. The instinct to joke, to make him laugh, to somehow push him a step back from getting closer should appear like it always does when a man asks me relationship questions.
My heart pounds harder with the realization that pushing JP away is the last thing I want.
“I want real,” I say, the words coming out before I think of stopping them.
I wait for him to flinch, for him to shove me back, perhaps, as I push the boundary of hanging out a bit. Because if we were merely hanging out, why would we talk about what we want in a relationship? It wouldn’t matter.
We’re talking about it because that’s what I want, I realize with a shock. I want to push this boundary.
Whoa. What’s happening here? What is JP doing to me? I’ve never had this thought before. I should be thrilled that we are not going to do anything more than spend time together, right?
But as I stare into the eyes of this beautiful Swiss hockey player, one who bought me all the Oreos he could find because it would make me happy, well, I realize he’s the one making my thoughts shift.
JP is making me question my stance.
I watch JP as he takes in my response, about wanting a real man, just like the one standing before me.
And he doesn’t flinch.
“I’ve been told real is boring,” he challenges.
“You’ve been incorrectly informed.”
JP slowly moves around to my side of the kitchen countertop, and to my surprise, he extends his hand to me.
“I want to show you the view,” he says.
I can’t breathe. I put my hand in his, and his warm skin wraps around mine causing excitement to flood through me. I glance down at our fingers, perfectly locked together, and my knees nearly buckle as a result.
This is right.
JP leads me to the back door, opening it up to the terrace that winds around the full side of his condo on the corner. The hot Texas air blasts us as soon as we step out. JP leads me over to the railing, twenty-seven stories in the air, with the city of Dallas spread out before us.
I take in the skyline, and JP releases my hand and stands next to me. As soon as he lets it go, I miss his warmth and the masculine roughness of his skin.
I miss him.
“I’ve had a lot of great views in my life,” JP says, gazing out at the lights ahead of us. “Mountains. Oceans. But nothing comes close to this.”
I glance over at him.
He’s staring straight at me.
Oh!
JP moves behind me, and to my surprise, he wraps his arms around my waist, drawing me to him. I feel nothing but heat from his body. His powerful, tanned muscular arms are now locked protectively around me, holding me close.
I can’t breathe. An excitement I’ve never known courses through every inch of me.
All from his touch.
“Is this okay?” JP asks.
I turn in his arms and gaze up at him. JP is staring back at me with nothing but concern in his eyes, that I might not want this.
When I have never wanted anything more.
“Yes,” I manage to say.
“This is all I want tonight: to enjoy this view of Dallas and talk to you.”
“That’s perfect,” I say.
JP continues to stare down at me, and for a moment, I wonder if he will kiss me.
Oh, I want him to kiss me.
But I know he won’t. Not after what he just said. I turn back around and look out at Dallas in amazement, wondering how on earth I ended up here. In the arms of a hockey player from Switzerland, of all places.
JP came halfway around the world and ended up here.
With me.
And at this moment, I can’t imagine him being anywhere else but here.