Jase glanced to Dean. “You think I was wrong?”
He held his hand up flat and made a yeah-kinda wobble.
Well, damn. Maybe he’d overreacted with Heather. Maybe he should’ve given her some benefit of the doubt when it came to the extent of his grandmother’s manipulation.
“You should make up so you can get on to the fun stuff,” Dean suggested.
“I bet Heather’s great at the fun stuff.” Eli crossed his arms. “But, you know, if you’re not interested, I might be.”
There weren’t enough expletives in the world right then. “Don’t fucking think about it.”
“I suggest roses.” Eli tossed a drill in the air so it spun, then caught it.
Roses.
Yeah, he’d already done that.
“Work on that apology, too.” Brek had the nerve to flash a grin.
Jase opened his mouth to argue, but damn, he did owe her an apology. Even if it choked him.
* * *
Jase knockedon the thick wooden door of Heather’s apartment and waited.
Nothing.
His palms got sweatier with each moment that passed. Apologizing sucked.
He shifted the box of chocolate in his grip and knocked again. “Heather?”
Now, he was definitely more of a rose delivery man, but when it came to apologies, he figured he owed the girl what she wanted.
More nothing. He glanced around the little foyer with the rickety table. She’d set the roses he—well, Babushka—had given her on that table. He could leave the chocolates and write a note. If he’d brought paper. Which he hadn’t.
The door swung open and Heather glared at him. “What?”
“Heather. Hey.”
She blushed. “If you’re here to yell at me again, you should probably go.”
“Who is that?” Dean’s wife Claire peeked from behind her. “Oh. Hi, Jase. You’re interrupting girls’ night. Heather was just about to convince us all to buy tickets to her senior citizens prom.”
“You should go.” Heather started to close the door. She pulled it open quickly. “Hand over the chocolate first.”
Still pissed. Good to know.
“Oh, he brought chocolates. The plot thickens,” Claire said with a dose of drama.
Jase shoved the chocolate toward Heather, sliding the box into her palm, his fingertips grazing hers for the slightest second. God, she felt good. “Why am I constantly feeling the need to apologize to you?” he asked, totally genuine.
“Do you need a list?” She ripped open the box of chocolates and shoved one into her mouth. “Just ’cause I’m eating this doesn’t mean I’m not pissed. It’s just bad luck to waste chocolate.”
“Oh, it’s gourmet. Hand it over.” Claire snatched the box and scooted back inside the apartment.
Heather crossed her arms over a silk shirt. A silk shirt that slid over her breasts and made his dick seriously question why he’d been such a…well, adickearlier. The tree trunk that’d sprouted in his pants wasn’t helping his ability to apologize.
“I am sorry for everything I’ve done over the past few days, and everything I’ll do to piss you off in the future.” That ought to cover it. Being married for a few years had taught him a few things.
