“You’re already getting leather seats and satellite radio.” What else did a woman need?
She leaned forward, right into his space. “Help me with the senior ‘senior’ prom. I need warm bodies on the committee.”
Negative. Committees. His muscles tensed. “That’s not really my thing.”
She batted her eyelashes dramatically in his direction. “Please?”
“Don’t do committees. But I can see if Mom wants to boss people around for you?”
She let out a deep sigh. “Okay, fine, no committee for you. But if we’re going to hang out in Jase-and-Heather-Land, you need to tell me something about yourself. Something no one else knows.”
“That’s a hard one. I’m an open book.” He leaned back and opened his hands wide in illustration.
She pursed her lips, crossed her arms, and waited.
Okay, there was one thing he never shared with anyone. Even his ex-wife never knew how random images on the television would trigger flashbacks to his time in the military. Then again, they had never shared their deep, dark secrets with each other. Hence, the ending. All over. Time to go. “I think television is overrated. I don’t watch it. Movies, either. Don’t even own a television.”
Sure, he’d tried when his friends were around. Made an attempt at video games with them. But it always triggered nightmares. So, he stopped.
Heather’s mouth dropped open. “How can you even say something like that? What do you do when you’re relaxing? Trying to veg?”
What any man would do. “I listen to music.”
Nothing like a good hair band to relax the muscles.
“Just music?” she asked.
“Yup. Music. A good workout. Ten-mile run? I’m all in.”
“Ten miles?” She gave him the look like he’d just said his favorite pastime was sticking his dick in a meat grinder.
“Twenty just seems excessive, you know?” he said.
“Right, twenty would be excessive.” Heather flicked her ponytail. “I think you just haven’t watched the right TV shows. A littleJeopardy,Wheel of Fortune,Price is Right? Easy escape.”
“I don’t get why people go nutty over it. All the binge-watching? Not my thing.” He’d told his secret. It was her turn. “Your turn. Something no one else knows.”
She paused. “I don’t like getting flowers.”
It was like she was throwing down the gauntlet. Running right into the kill zone.
He didn’t even blink. He’d accept this particular challenge. Aside from defusing 155 artillery shells, making people love flowers was his skill set.
He studied her for a beat. Pink roses. She was a pink roses kind of girl. Not just any pink roses—raspberry carrousel roses, to be exact. Sissy-ass name, but a kickass flower. Rich cream on the bottom, like the color of her skin. Deep pink at the tips, like the shade of her lips. “Then you’re just not getting the right flowers,” he heard himself say aloud.
“Nah. That’s not it. It’s just not my preference for gifts. Chocolate? Yes, please. Sweets? For sure. Flowers? Eh.” She pulled a face like her beer had gone sour.
Time to engage his inner fucking Freud. “What’s the first time anyone ever gave you flowers?”
She tilted her head from ear to shoulder, ear to shoulder, then took a pull from her Budweiser before finally answering. “Twelfth grade. Guy asked me to a dance and used a dozen roses.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad. I’d think you’d have liked that.”
“Well, maybe I did when I first got them. But he ended up breaking it off and going with a junior instead.”
Ass. Jase leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Who’d you go with?”
She laughed. “No one. I didn’t go. My date dumped me and went with someone else.”
