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“Claire,” Jake answers because hello must not be the cool thing to say anymore when answering the phone.
“Jake,” I deadpan.
“I’m in the middle of a meeting, so anytime you’re ready.”
“Oh shit. Sorry. I can call you back.”
A door clicks in the background. “I stepped out. Is everything okay?”
“I’m just calling to let you know I’ll be late this evening.”
There’s silence for a moment before he responds. “Why?”
“I have a date.”
His breathing picks up, and I purse my lips to stop myself from laughing.
“I’m kidding,” I say before he has an aneurysm. “I’m going shopping with Amy. I don’t have a dress for the auction next week.”
Because I’ve been too distracted by you.
I’m half expecting him to argue with me about it, so I’m shocked when his only reply is, “Just keep in contact.”
As if I’m going to be kidnapped.
“Some of the guys are coming over for poker night, but I’m going to cancel.”
“Don’t cancel. Don’t change your plans just because of me. It’s your house.” And I already feel guilty enough.
Silence.
“Jake, please.”
“If you’re sure?”
“I am. Guys need playtime too.”
“Claire, I need to go.”
Charming.
“See you later.”
“Don’t forget to check in,” he reminds me.
“Yes, Sir.”
He groans.
***
Smiling like an idiot, I push the kitchen door open with my ass—my hands too weighed down with bags to use my motor skills. The rustle of my bags makes my appearance more of an announcement as I spin around and see Jake and the boys playing poker at the table on the far side of the kitchen.
“Hey, Claire,” Pete and Sam holler, hardly looking up from their cards.
Offering an apologetic smile, I hold out a heavy hand and gesture for them to continue.
“I’m only getting a bottle of water. I’ll be out of your hair, and it will be a woman-free zone once again.”
