Most Likely to Score
“You’re right. I shouldn’t let him bother me.”
I point at her, nodding firmly. “Precisely. That jackass cheating on you makes him bad at relationships and unworthy of you. You not wanting to make small talk with him and his skank makes you normal.”
She laughs lightly. “I guess his note made me feel foolish. But it also made me think about this other guy, too. This guy I really like . . .”
My ears prick. “The ice cream and pepper guy?”
“Yes. But I can’t be with him, so that’s a bit of a bummer. I suppose that’s what bothers me more, to be honest.”
My heart hurts a little. I want to reach across the desk and squeeze her hand in mine. “Would it make you feel any better if you knew he was bummed, too?”
She leans back in her chair. “We’ll be bummed together.”
Together.
That last word rings in my ears.
It’s what I want. To find a way to be together with her. I don’t have any grand plans, I haven’t concocted some brilliant scheme for the long run.
But for the short term? I have one hell of an idea.
I drum my fingers on the wood of her desk as the wheels turn in my head. Faster, picking up speed, because this wedding is a chance for something else entirely. Something that’s not about her ex and his stupid comments.
Something about us.
A plan forms as I imagine Jillian wearing a sexy dress, black heels, her hair all done up. She’d be stunning, like she is every time I see her. “Did I ever tell you about the time I was invited to Sierra’s wedding, too, and forgot to RSVP?”
She lifts a brow in curiosity. “I don’t believe I’m familiar with that tale. Go on.”
“If memory serves, an invitation arrived a month or so ago, and I did this thing I often do with mail.”
“You forgot about it?”
“Yes, but now I’m not forgetting about it. I’m thinking Sierra likes me. Sierra’s a cool chick. Sierra probably wouldn’t mind if I said I was so very sorry for the late response, but that I’d love to attend her nuptials.”
“You would?” Her voice is breathy.
My gaze locks with hers. “I would love to attend. I hear one of the other guests is someone I’ve been trying to steal a moment with here or there.”
“I’m going with Katie. She’s my plus-one.”
“Even better.” The train rattles faster down the tracks. “I’ve no doubt I can convince Harlan to go with me.” I smile wickedly, pleased with my plan. “Me with my friend. You with your friend. No one would think I was only going to see how pretty you’d look all dressed up. And maybe to sneak a dance with you.”
Sparks dance across her eyes as they glitter with the thrill of a secret date in the most unlikely of places—a place where no one would suspect us. We’d be hiding a tree in a forest, and a date like this is much safer than a late night rendezvous at her place or mine, someplace where a photographer, a fan, a paparazzo might see one of us slipping in or out.
Lowering her voice, she speaks ever-so-softly. “I want a stolen moment with you. I want a dance with you. Do you think it’s a good idea, though?”
I inch closer, placing my elbows on the edge of her desk. “I think not having a dance with you is a bad idea.”
I’d like to grab her, kiss her across the desk, haul her next to me. I’d like to slam the door and get my hands all over her.
But our hazy, flirty moment severs when someone knocks on the door. I straighten in the chair, pushing farther away from her desk.
Lily strides in, her flaming red hair and big personality lighting up the room. One of her hands is positioned behind her back. “Jones! That was an epic catch yesterday. I saw it all over the highlight reels last night and today, too.”
“Just doing my job.”
“And love the J. Love it, love it, love it. It’s the perfect mix of cocky and cute.”
“That’s me. The two Cs.”
“I heard you were here, so I have a surprise.” She whips her hand from behind her back to brandish a calendar. “It’s a sample of the calendar for our approval, and it’s stunning. The two of you did amazing work,” Lily says, pointing from Jillian to me.
Jillian hurries around to the front of the desk, and the three of us crowd together as Lily flips through the pages of me with pussycats and puppies. Jillian’s hair falls loosely over her shoulders, like a silky curtain, and I curl my fingers into fists to refrain from touching it. With her this close to me, it’s a five-star feat of resistance that I somehow don’t bend my nose closer to sneak a whiff of her shampoo.
As we flick through the pictures shot in Miami, Jillian’s breath catches, and one syllable seems to escape in a faintly sultry, “Oh.”
Lily cocks her head, her eyebrow arched in question.
A splash of pink races across Jillian’s cheeks. “Oh, these are so fantastic,” she says, her tone as cheery as can be.
Lily taps the November photo. “Yes! Fantastic! These are my favorites. You look so happy, so relaxed.”
I chime in, speaking the full truth. “I was very happy.”
Jillian’s eyes flutter closed for a brief second. “They’re all great.”
When we reach the December shot, Lily shuts the calendar. “I want to have a little party in a few weeks to celebrate. Maybe a fun little photo op at a local restaurant. What do you say, Jillian?”
Jillian nods, her tone crisp and cool. “Yes, that sounds like a great idea.”
Lily leaves and Jillian turns to me, her shoulders sagging, letting out a deep exhalation. “I felt like I was caught stealing.”
“But you weren’t,” I say under my breath.
“I know, but it felt like we were close. And I don’t know how much longer I can pull this off.”
I can’t argue with that.
24
Jillian
It’s official. I’ve worn a hole in the carpet in my office from pacing from the window to my desk. It’s a five-foot-long stretch, and the effort is all the more amazing considering it only took a day.
For the last twenty-four hours, I’ve mastered the art of pacing, along with stressing, along with worrying. I’ve also considered entering myself in a lip-synching contest because I’ve spent so much time mouthing words silently as I pace. For instance, consider these potential winners.
“Lily, I need to tell you something crazy . . .”
“Well, it’s kind of a funny story . . .”
“Guess what? That player who’s known for being a playa? I want him to play with me.”
Ugh.
I sigh so deeply, the sound of my frustration burrows underground. They are all sucktastic. None fit the bill for broaching a touchy topic with my boss.
Touchy with a capital T.
But I meant it when I told Jones I’m not sure how much longer I can pull this off. How many secret dates, stolen moments, or hallway encounters can my nerves sustain?
Or my conscience, for that matter.
That’s the bigger issue, and in the last several hours it’s been an insistent drumbeat, telling me to do something, say something.
I don’t know if Jones and I will ever amount to anything, but I admire Lily. I respect Lily, and I don’t want to keep lying to her.
It feels all kinds of wrong. Lily taught me better. She mentored me better, and whether Jones and I can ever be together isn’t the concern gnawing at my heart. What’s eating away at me is the fact that I don’t want to be a person who sneaks around.