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“What do you mean he’s seen it?” Julie shrieked. “Jake Malone has been inside your apartment?”
“Just once. He came over after that first stunt with the video camera. I thought he was going to machete me to pieces, but mostly he just wanted to rant and stomp around manlike.”
And kiss me. He wanted to kiss me.
“And we haven’t heard about the apartment drop-by because …?”
Because it was private. And somehow important. “I don’t know. I guess it just never came up.”
Julie made a noise that sounded suspiciously like bullshit. “How’d he even get your address?”
Grace paused. “You know, I never actually thought about that. If I had to guess, I’d imagine he slept with someone, or a handful of someones, who had connections to people who know things. And we’re down to four minutes, so …”
“Boot cut jeans. The dark ones that you always complain make your hips look big because you’re delusional. You look killer in them. Red heels, red belt, and your black halter top. It’s raining, so bring your red trench. The Burberry one.”
Grace raced to pull out each item that Julie mentioned, too aware of the time to doubt her friend’s advice. “How do you know all this? Maybe now that you’re old and settled instead of dating the entire city, you should join the Fashion section of Stiletto.”
“Please. Oliver would never have me. Now hurry along and get dressed. And Grace?”
“Yeah?”
“Nobody would judge you if you put out.”
With that, Julie clicked off just as the door bell rang.
“Craaaaap.” Grace would have bet money that Jake wasn’t the on-time type of guy. He struck her as the type that always assumed it would take “two seconds” to find a cab, never paying any heed to things like rush hour. And she knew firsthand that he had a not-so-delightful habit of declaring that everything will take “five minutes” when really he meant it would take some high multiple of five minutes.
But of course, he’d chosen now to be early.
So much for her grand plan of opening the door looking dead sexy with his favorite bourbon in hand. She slipped on her blue robe and went to the door.
Oh my.
Jake Malone did wonders for jeans. And the way his dark green dress shirt was rolled up just enough to show forearms. A particular weakness of hers.
His eyes skimmed up her legs, hovering on the hem, before he smiled into her eyes. “I have fond memories of that robe.”
“I’ll bet,” she said, gesturing to him to come in. “I’ll be ready in just a minute.”
“No hurry,” he said as he pulled a bottle of champagne out of the bag he’d brought with him. “Reservations are actually thirty minutes after when I originally told you.”
“On purpose?” she asked, scandalized. “You expected me to be late?”
“I was right, wasn’t I?” he asked as he began searching her cupboards for glasses for the champagne.
“But I’m never late.”
“You were never late with your buffoon ex-boyfriend because you didn’t care what you were wearing.”
“I cared!”
“You cared about looking presentable,” he clarified, finally finding the glasses. “Not about looking sexy.”
“Is that what you think I’m doing tonight? Trying to look sexy?” She accepted the glass he held out even though she was tempted to sulk.
He clinked his glass to hers before taking a sip and appraising her. “You never have to try, Grace.”
Grace felt a happy, bubbly feeling that had absolutely nothing to do with the champagne.
