She needed to deflect this conversation. No way could she tell him about her previous Dean-plan. “This is about tonight. I wasn’t your date. What about her? How would she feel about what happened just now?”
“You’re serious?” He glanced up to the stars. “She’s fuckin’ serious.”
“I am serious,” she confirmed.
“Chelsea left. I was a shitty date because I couldn’t get my mind off you.”
“Oh.” She bit her bottom lip. Everything was so messed up. All because she’d actually considered his proposition. “Let’s go back to the way things were before,” she heard herself say. The words sounded hollow and vacant.
The lines at the edges of his lips turned down, then smoothed. “That’s what you want? Because that’s what you say, but thirty seconds ago, your lips told a whole different story.”
She sucked in a breath but didn’t respond. The air between them hung like an itchy wool blanket.
“That’s what I thought.” He moved away to pick up the helmet and tuck it in one of the saddlebags. “Go on ahead.”
She didn’t linger. Step four officially involved hustling to the entrance of their building without further contact. The security door was nearly within reach when the engine on his bike rumbled. She entered her code, and a pull she couldn’t quite decipher stopped her. She turned, but Brek was already gone.
Step five was apparently disappointment. In herself.
She went through her nighttime routine and crawled into bed, tossing and turning, waiting for him to return.
He didn’t.
Chapter Eight
Brek was over the bullshit of the night before. After spending the night at Jase’s, Brek rolled the tension from his shoulders and studied the license plates on the ceiling over Jase’s couch. Jase had collected a motley assortment from all fifty states, and then some—enough to cover all the plaster. The result was impressive, and a decent distraction from Velma. Brek had needed space to think.
Jase’s family owned a slew of flower companies throughout Denver, Fort Collins, and Colorado Springs. Jase managed the Cherry Creek store.
The whole florist thing was verynotJase. But when he had returned from Afghanistan, he was done with defusing roadside bombs and tossing grenades. Swore he needed simplicity.
“Roses don’t blow up,” he had said. “They’re simple.”
After last night, Brek needed a little simplicity. Chelsea had found out he was back in town and called yesterday. He’d met her to purge Velma from his head. The last thing he had expected was to find the woman he was trying to forget serving up attitude three tables over. Chelsea was pissed about the whole night. Rightly so, because, hell, he hadn’t even kissed her.
He’d saved that for Velma. She was a siren wrapped up as a good girl. But only girls with a streak of bad could ever use a tongue the way she did. Which was why he had needed to get out of there, away from temptation and the taste of her. The story of his life: distance was a good thing. Freedom meant not being tied to anyone. He itched again for the independence that came on the road, traveling between gigs.
Funny thing, if he ever decided to stay in one place, he’d always figured he’d buy a bar just like Hank’s. Great bands. Good booze. A solid location where he could settle down.
It was a good thing he didn’t have any desire to stay in one place.
“Don’t you have clients to meet?” Jase emerged from his bedroom, yawning and scratching at his tee.
Brek groaned. “Yeah.”
More brides. They were killing him. How Aspen did this day in and day out, he would never understand. He rolled off the couch and reached for his boots. Velma was supposed to help him out today, but after last night, who knew? Pre-kiss, she had not only created a color-coded spreadsheet of all that still needed to be done for each of his brides, but she had also organized a calendar of individual items to be confirmed and had cross-referenced each of them to the wedding date, venue, and theme. Then she’d printed everything and tucked the pages in bound, laminated covers.
He loved it. Even if he did give her hell about it.
His only regret was not begging for her help earlier.
“How’s the life of Denver’s finest wedding planner?” Jase asked.
“Bride Number Two propositioned me at her cake tasting last week.” Brek tied the long black laces on his boots. “Between the coconut cream and the chocolate decadence, she not-so-tactfully suggested we exchange bodily fluids. Her words, not mine.”
He hadn’t realized a person could choke on coconut cream.
“And since you have a hot roommate and decided to adopt a code of ethics, you didn’t jump at the chance?” Jase ran the tap to fill the coffee carafe with water. Apparently, he didn’t read articles like Velma did.
