Page 8

We spent every Thanksgiving together without fail.

Until this year.

Harold had come into her life six months ago. They’d met at a dance class, of all things. He’d asked her to be his partner for the cha-cha, and apparently, the rest was history.

I was happy for her. She deserved someone who made her smile. Harold seemed like a decent guy, even if he did send me Facebook friend requests that I kept pretending not to see.

But it still stung a little, knowing she’d chosen to spend the holiday with him instead of me.

I was fine. I could spend Thanksgiving in LA. Order takeout. Watch bad movies. Enjoy the peace and quiet of a holiday without deep cleaning my apartment so my grandmother didn’t see how messy I normally lived.

The photographer called for a break. I glanced over and watched the crew scatter like ants. They rushed to adjust lights and prepare for the next setup.

I watched Jeremy say something to the brunette model that made her laugh again.

“Hell no,” I murmured.

I waved him over. He spotted me and excused himself, leaving her with that same dazzled expression every woman wore after spending five minutes in his orbit.

He walked toward me. Damn. He made that designer suit look good. Better than good. The late afternoon sunlight caught his eyes, making the green gleam like sea glass.

“You summoned?” He stopped in front of my table, one eyebrow raised.

“Sit.” I pointed at the chair across from me. “You’re staying here until they need you again.”

“I’m not a dog, Lucy.”

“Could’ve fooled me, the way you went chasing after that blonde earlier.”

His mouth twitched, fighting a smile. “That was different. She practically begged me to follow her.”

“I’m sure a lot of women beg you to follow them. It doesn’t mean you should.”

“But did you see that bikini?”

“What bikini? I saw floss. Very little of it.”

That stupid cocky grin graced those damn plump lips. Men should not have lips like that. And I knew they were natural. If they weren’t, I’d know.

“Sit down, Jeremy. I’m not going to go chasing after you if you go wandering off again.”

He rolled his eyes but dropped into the chair anyway, sprawling across it with the casual grace of someone who’d never been uncomfortable a day in his life. His long legs stretched out under the table, nearly bumping mine.

For about thirty seconds, he was still.

Then his fingers started drumming against the table. I ignored it, turning back to my laptop. I had emails to answer.

The drumming continued. Then his foot started bouncing against the ground in a rhythm that had nothing to do with any music I could hear. I kept my eyes on the screen. I could outlast him. I knew what he was doing. He wanted to drive me crazy enough to shoo him away. And then I’d be chasing him chasing blondes.

No thank you. Not in this heat. Not in these heels.

His chair creaked as he shifted his weight. Then shifted again. He picked up my abandoned iced coffee, swirled the watered-down remains, and set it back down. His knee started bouncing.

“Oh my God.” I looked up from my laptop. “Can you not sit still for five minutes?”

“Obviously not.” He grinned at me, completely unrepentant. “I’ve been standing in the same spot for an hour while people told me to turn my head half an inch to the left. I’m going stir crazy.”

“It’s been maybe five minutes since the break started.”