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Joe looked across the room again, and his eyes narrowed as he saw Jeremy take another step toward Roxie—and then Roxie take another step back. “So, no?”
The disbelief on his father’s face was like a reprimand. He winced.
“Do you really think Roxanne Elizabeth Jameson would go out with a guy who wears a headphone thing in his ear at a party, reeks of cologne, and alternates between driving a Hummer and a Miata?”
It was Joe’s turn to choke. Instead of trying to save him, his father simply glared.
Clearing his throat, Joe slapped his chest. “Wow, Dad, tell me how you really feel about the guy. Do they even make Miatas anymore? I thought they were reserved for crusty, mid-life-crisis dudes like you.”
Laughing, his dad threw an arm around his shoulders. “Tell me, are you going to stand here all night talking to a ‘crusty, mid-life-crisis dude’ like me, or are you going to go over there and save your girl? She’s close to the wall, and if she keeps stepping away from Jeremy, she’s going to run out of room.”
Joe’s jaw dropped, and his heart tripped.Shit. While he scrambled for something to say, his dad laughed again.
“I’m not blind, Joseph, and neither is anyone else in this room. If you keep looking at her the way you are, the gossip train will have you two married with a brood of kids by next weekend.” Winking, his dad stepped away. “I’ll catch you later, son.”
* * *
Jeremy Neville was making it damn hard to be polite. All Roxie wanted to do was roll her eyes and walk away.
Good freaking god, the guy was practically standing on top of her. And he smelled terrible. Why was it that closet smokers always thought that five more squirts of cologne would make everything better?
“Just one date,” Jeremy said, trying to sound playful. “I’ll even let you pick the place. Come on, Roxanne.”
She bristled. “Don’t call me Roxanne.”
He frowned. “Why? Other people call you that.”
Seriously? Yes, it was her full legal name, but for as long as she could remember, she’d hated it. No one—not even her parents—called her Roxanne. Ever. “No, they don’t,” she said.
“Joe calls you that.”
Okay, so there was one exception.
She lifted her chin and met his gaze head-on. “And he’s the only one.”
“Why?”
She was so done with this guy.
“It doesn’t matter, Jeremy. That’s the way it is.” Scowling, she tried to step around him.
His hand circled her forearm with a firm grip, bringing her to an abrupt stop. She closed her eyes, tamping down her irritation. He’d just moved from being a slight annoyance to a creepy jerk-wad.
“Okay, okay,” he said, tone placating. Like he was appeasing a kindergartener. “You win,Roxie.I must say, though, even a little temper tantrum on you is gorgeous.”
Temper tantrum?She yanked her arm free. The guy was lucky she didn’t throat-punch him.
Jeremy leaned forward, and his slimy eyes ran up her body. “Have I mentioned how you look especially sexy tonight? Let’s dance, gorgeous.”
Correction: the guy was lucky she didn’t punch him in the crotch.
“Sorry, buddy, but the lady’s dance card is full tonight,” Joe interrupted, shoving Jeremy away from her. “And every night from here on out. So fuck off.”
Roxie’s mouth fell open as Joe took her by the hand and stalked over to the dance floor. A part of her wanted to protest his alpha male antics. But the other part was thankful for the timely rescue.
Once they reached the center of the parquet floor, Joe pulled her into his arms. Face to face, she noticed his jaw was clenched.
Worry turned in her stomach. She needed to diffuse the situation. Stat.
