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Except that he’d exceeded expectations of kindness, humor and generally being interesting. Jason had all of the things that mattered and, ultimately, none of the things that didn’t.
She was a grown woman. She knew that she shouldn’t have shoved him out the door. They were friends. They should have talked.
And she knew that relationships took communication and honesty. All relationships, whether friends or lovers or something in between, had rules. She should have turned to him and said, “So what now? Because I just realized that I love you and that terrifies me.”
Instead, she’d chickened out.
She realized the tight grip her hands had on each other and let her feet fall to the floor. Then she stood, buttoned her shirt, shoved her hose in her purse and walked to her office door. She was going to go home, take a long shower, and repair the cracks in her shell before he came over with breakfast and the news that the sex was good, but he had a date later that week with a woman who seemed to have spark potential.
Okay. Jason wouldn’t do that. He wasn’t a jerk and he wasn’t cruel. But he’d been as upfront about what he wanted as she’d been about what she wanted. She’d keep that reality at the front of her mind all night. It would be fine. She would be fine.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
FOR THE SECOND time in a couple weeks, Jason stood before Marsie’s front door wondering what would happen next. Only this time, not only was the sun just cresting over the trees, but he wasn’t excited; he was nervous.
Last night, all he’d wanted to do was nuzzle against her and enjoy the afterglow. But she’d hopped away from him and kicked him out of her office. He was left wondering what the hell had happened. His feet had carried his body away, but his heart had been left back in the office and currently resided in Marsie’s house, with Marsie.
If only he knew how well she was taking care of the damn thing. He leaned on her doorbell, needing this morning to be over with and yet not wanting it to start. Because after they finished their breakfast, they would either be exploring dating or mourning their friendship. There was no going back.
The door opened and his heart stopped. His body buzzed with anticipation. There was the spark he’d thought was elusive and worried didn’t exist at all. It was real; he’d just been looking for it in the wrong place and with the wrong women. And he’d forgotten that the best fires burned slow and hot.
“You look great,” he said as he took a hopeful step across the threshold, his hand gripping the bag so hard the paper crinkled.
She glanced down, then immediately backed up and said, “This?” Disbelief was clear in her voice. “This is just leggings and a shirt.”
“But it’s leggings and a shirt on you, and you look amazing in them.” He got that there wasn’t supposed to be anything special about the outfit. She was wearing gray leggings and a white cotton shirt, with an open collar and strings like it should have a hood, but didn’t. She wasn’t wearing socks, and her pedicure wasn’t perfect.
What made the outfit special, at least to him, was that she didn’t let people see her when she looked less than perfect. Every detail of Marsie’s outfits was always carefully considered. He wasn’t so much of an idiot-guy that he didn’t notice how much care she took. The fact that he was seeing what she looked like when she was casual—when she was relaxed—made him feel like he was seeing a side of her that most people never got to see.
Like they were one step closer to an intimacy beyond sex. And that was amazing.
Clearly, she didn’t quite believe him, though, because she said, “Huh,” and turned to walk into her house, leaving him to shut the door and follow.
Which wasn’t so bad. The view of her ass was spectacular enough for him to forget his worries, at least until they got to the small, round table in her kitchen and he was confronted by the delicate mugs for coffee, flowered plates to set their breakfasts on and a steaming coffee urn.
Formal didn’t bode well.
He set the white paper bag of Rise biscuits and doughnuts on the table in the middle of the expensive-looking, fancy china. God, the clash between the nice plates and the cheap bag made his trepidation worse. If she was going to come up with reasons why they couldn’t be together, all she had to do was take a picture of the table. “I’m the flowered dishes,” she could say. “And you’re the paper bag.”
