But that didn’t solve the not-so-small problem of him not being able to get the visual of her ass out of his mind. He’d been playing around when he’d barged into her bedroom this morning, wanting to get under her skin because it was fun and it was what they did. And wanting to make nice and apologize for being an ass the other day at the restaurant.
But then she’d been standing there, all messy hair and tiny tank top with only a small red thong, and he’d felt a shot of lust so intense he’d thought he was going to pass out.
It needed to stop. Now. Especially since Trevor seemed to be hung up on the woman, and he didn’t want to cock-block his best friend. For the hundredth time in the past week, he wondered if anything had happened between them that night when Trevor had gone into her apartment.
He hadn’t asked Trevor, knowing that his friend would see right through him and not wanting to give his lead singer the wrong idea. He didn’t want Heather for himself, he just wanted . . .
Hell if he knew.
He had no idea what he wanted.
“She doesn’t know about what happened with you,” his mom said casually, handing him another dish. Good Lord, did the pile never end?
“What do you mean?”
His mom turned and gave him a steady look. “You know what I mean.”
He swallowed and glanced again in the direction of Heather. She’d shifted her attention to his grandmother, nodding and smiling politely at what was likely a lecture on her posture. Josh was lucky enough to have all four grandparents alive, but his father’s parents were from the South and could be a bit formal.
“I don’t see a reason to mention it,” he said. “I’m not that guy anymore.”
“No, you’re not that guy in the sense that you’re no longer a Wall Street hotshot. And in the sense that you’re no longer sick.”
He gave her a sharp look.
“But, Josh, honey, that past . . . it’s a part of you. If she’s really your friend, she’d want to know. How is it that it’s never come up?”
“It has,” he grumbled.
“And?”
“I shut her down,” he said quietly.
Sue looked at him sadly and sighed. “Oh, Josh.”
“Look, I’m not proud of it,” he said. “I only sulked for a couple days before I came to my senses and realized I was being an ass.”
“And you apologized.”
“Of sorts.”
His mom snorted. “Said like a man. What time is it? I wanted to Skype with your sister before it gets too late.”
He glanced at his watch. “Half past six.”
“How is she?”
“Huge,” Josh replied. “But good. Really good.”
“I’m glad things are . . . mended between you.”
“I just hate that they were ever broken in the first place,” he said quietly. Though he’d never admit it to her now, he’d been devastated when Jamie had pulled away from him back when things were really rough, and even though they were better now, up until his most recent visit, a part of him was still holding her at arm’s length so she couldn’t come quite close enough to hurt him again.
“It was hard for her. Seeing her twin, thinking she should have been the one to help and not being able to.”
“Absurd,” he muttered, setting a plate on the growing pile of clean dishes.
“I know you think so. But put yourself in her shoes. If she was the one who’d needed a bone marrow transplant, and you’d been told that you weren’t a match . . .”
Josh was silent for several moments. “I’d have been destroyed.”
“As was Jamie.”
Josh blew out a long breath. He hated that his family had had to see him be sick, but he knew it had been especially hard on his sister. Siblings were the most likely match for bone marrow, and Jamie had gotten it into her head that as a twin, she’d be a sure thing.
Alas, that was only true of identical twins.
Jamie hadn’t been a match, and she’d just . . . retreated. Not physically. She’d still been there, and held his hand, and brought him brownies, the good kind, while he was on chemo. But she’d held herself back from him, and when her husband had gotten a job offer in Nashville, she’d gone with him the second Josh was in remission.