Only she course-corrected at the last minute, moving toward Trevor instead, her hand hooking behind the lead singer’s head and tugging his face down to hers for a thorough kiss.
A kiss that was—fine.
She tried to lose herself in it, she really did. Trevor was sexy and fun, and hadn’t been the least bit shy in his flirting all night. But as he recovered from his surprise and wound an arm around her waist, deepening the kiss, Heather realized she felt little more than an awareness that it had been way too long since she’d been thoroughly kissed, and that this wasn’t the right guy to break her streak with.
Still she made it look good for Josh’s sake, arching her body into Trevor’s, making a hungry little moan in the back of her throat before slowly stepping away.
She kept her eyes locked on Trevor’s mouth as though it was the yummiest thing on the planet, even as all of her being was vitally aware of Josh Tanner and the barely contained anger coming off him in waves.
A trickle of guilt snuck in as she realized she was using Trevor, but his quick, friendly wink told her he didn’t mind in the slightest. And the amused tilt of his mouth said he knew exactly what she was up to, even if Josh didn’t.
“We should do that again sometime,” he said in a low, bedroom voice.
Josh made a growling noise as Heather smiled at Trevor. “I’d like that.”
She slowly took a step backward, shifting her attention to Josh as though just now remembering that he was there. “See you around, 4A.”
He didn’t respond, just glared, first at her, then at Trevor.
It was her victory, and they both knew it.
But as she went back to her apartment alone, and with the taste of the wrong guy on her lips, it didn’t feel like a win so much as the start of a very dangerous game.
Chapter Nine
ONE THING HEATHER HAD learned pretty quickly since moving to Manhattan was that Sundays in New York City meant one thing:
Brunch.
And while Heather was certainly no stranger to mimosas and fluffy omelets, today she was kicking it up a notch.
Today she was hosting brunch.
Saturdays were the Belles’ bread and butter, but Sundays were increasingly popular for wedding-related events, so it was rare that all three of them plus Jessie had a free Sunday. Heather had decided to make the most of it by inviting them all over for a housewarming brunch at her place.
She’d even included Logan Harris in the invitation, the Belles’ quietly dead-sexy accountant, as well as Brooke’s new boyfriend, Seth. She’d invited Jessie’s guy as well, but he was out of town.
It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Heather had pictured a perfectly set table, orange juice in a crystal pitcher alongside champagne nestled in the polka-dot ice bucket she’d gotten on clearance at Kate Spade, a freshly baked quiche, and a mint and vanilla fruit salad, all of which would be ready to go in time for Heather to wash and dry her hair and put on that green dress that she’d like to think made her eyes all kinds of sparkly and bright.
And then . . .
She’d slept through her alarm.
Make that alarms. All three of them.
She was an utter and absolute hot mess.
Yesterday had been crazy, running all over the city to check out alternates to the Plaza for the Robinson wedding, and by the time she’d dragged her weary body home at nine o’clock last night without a single viable option, the last thing she’d wanted to do was head to the store or set the table.
Instead she’d put together her shopping list last night, and then set her alarm for five. And then five fifteen. And five thirty, just to be safe, so she could be out the door by six to pick up the stuff for the quiche and the fresh bread and the fruit, plus everything she’d need for a new coffee cake recipe she’d found on Pinterest.
Her brain had the whole thing planned down to the minute.
Her body, however, had other ideas.
Namely, sleep.
One too many sleep-deprived nights had decided now would be a good time to catch up with her, and a groggy Heather had managed to turn off all three alarms.
So instead of getting out the door at six, it was nine, and she was unshowered, didn’t have a single ingredient, hadn’t set the table, and everyone would be here at eleven.