Two hours to do . . . everything.
Heather hurriedly pulled on her boots and debated texting everyone to beg for another hour, but that was so not the impression she was going for. She wanted the other Belles to see that this was the official start of the new Heather: savvy, sophisticated, and totally capable of being promoted to full-on planner. Moving into this apartment had been step one, but actually having people over to said apartment, complete with a very chic meal of food and beverage, was the next—and essential—step two. And Heather was not going to screw it up.
Heather was locking up when Josh’s door opened, and his annoying now-familiar face appeared, along with . . . holy hell, a lot of skin.
It had been a little over a week since their semifight and her kiss with Trevor, and though she’d seen him plenty of times, none of their interactions had been anything resembling civil. There were still plenty of the quips and banter that had been a hallmark of their relationship since the beginning, but gone was the easy teasing, and in its place, an odd tension that had her feeling regretful, although she wasn’t at all sure why.
She lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the expanse of taut, muscled flesh on display. “Can you please put that away?”
“Put what away? The crucials are covered.”
“Barely,” she muttered, trying to rid her brain of the image of Josh Tanner wearing nothing but black boxers. “Seriously, Josh. You can’t just go opening the door naked.”
“Noted,” he said, bending down to pick up his newspaper.
“And that’s another thing,” she said, still shielding her eyes. “A real newspaper? Really? You’ve heard of the Internet, right?”
“I’m an old soul, 4C. Nothing like a little newsprint on the fingers while sipping that first cup of coffee.”
His mention of coffee reminded her that she hadn’t had any yet, and she withheld a whimper. Barely.
“I’m walking away now,” she grumbled, too tired and stressed to engage.
“Hey, wait,” he said, his voice sharpening slightly as he came into the hallway and blocked her path. “Something’s wrong.”
Yesterday, she would have either ignored him or lied, but since she was about thirty seconds away from a breakdown, she found herself babbling out the whole mess: the craziness that was yesterday’s running around, last night’s exhaustion, this morning’s alarm mishap, as well as a frantic accounting of everything that needed to happen within the next two hours.
“And it’s all your fault,” she finished, pointing a finger at him.
He grinned, looking a little like the old Josh. “Of course it is.”
“You and your band have been practicing way more this week, at all hours.”
“What’s wrong? Pissed that Trevor didn’t come stick his tongue in your mouth and feel you up?” he said sarcastically, crossing his arms over his naked chest and clearly still not caring that he was close to nude in the hallway.
No, I’m pissed that you didn’t feel me up.
“Whatever,” she muttered, starting to push past him. “I’m wasting time.”
Josh’s arm shot out, his hand resting low on her hip and stopping her from walking by. “Hold up.”
His fingers lingered just for a second, and she sucked in a little breath, not realizing how much she missed being touched until her brain registered how good he felt. And smelled. And . . .
“You’re not naked because there’s a woman in there, are you?” she blurted out.
His eyebrows lifted. “Jealous?”
“Disgusted,” she shot back.
“Well then, you’re in luck, because I’m going through a bit of a dry spell lately.”
“Lately, meaning . . . a week?”
“Yeah, well, some of us don’t think it’s reasonable to go an entire year without sex, 4C.”
“It hasn’t been an entire year,” she muttered.
Close though. Very close.
Heather stepped back from his closeness, only not fast enough, because his hand reached out and pulled her phone out of her purse.
“What are you doing?” She tried to snatch it back, and he lifted it higher.
“Well, considering your outrage at my newspaper, I assumed—correctly so, I might add—that you keep everything on your phone. Including your shopping list.”