For Better or Worse (8 page)

“You're in a better mood tonight,” he said, his eyes skimming over her crazy curls and relaxed expression. “Why?”

“Believe it or not, I'm not a shrew.”

“Huh.”

Heather shoved his shoulder with a little scowl. “I'm not!”

“Does that mean you're going to start making banana bread like Mrs. Calvin?”

“Yes, definitely. And coffee cake and sugar cookies and whatever other goodies you might like. All while wearing a frilly, feminine apron.”

“Dare I hope there's nothing under the apron?” he asked, leaning in slightly.

“Right again!” she said, in mock delight. “I just love to bake naked.”

Josh's pulse leapt, but Trevor interrupted before the sudden X-rated picture in his mind could turn into a full-fledged fantasy.

“Dude, we doing this or what?”

Josh looked at Heather.

“One song,” she said, holding up a finger. “I may
as well hear what the music sounds like on this side of the wall.”

She slipped back into the practice room, sitting in the stuffed armchair in the corner. Josh followed her in, reaching for his guitar and slipping the strap over his head before catching her eye and giving her a wink.

Heather rolled her eyes, and Josh couldn't hide the grin as he ripped his first chord.

Once again, it was this snotty, mouthy woman who'd managed to shake him out of his funk.

It was becoming increasingly clear that his intriguing new neighbor might be
exactly
what he needed to make him feel alive.

Chapter Eight

I
T HAD BEEN A
long time since Heather had let herself enjoy a weekend night.

Hell, it had been
years
since she'd stayed up too late, had one too many drinks, which, considering she was only twenty-seven, was a little sad. But that was the nature of the wedding business. Her slowest days were Mondays and Tuesdays, when the rest of her social group was recovering from their weekend festivities, and her busiest workdays were on weekends, when everyone else was cutting loose.

Most of the time she didn't mind, even if the lack of overlap with other people's schedules left her feeling a little lonely. She wanted to be a wedding planner more than anything, and if that meant a limited social life, so be it.

But that didn't take away the joy she felt at sitting curled up on a cute guy's couch, with another cute guy's arm slung casually around her shoulder. And if she was maybe a tiny bit disappointed that the arm
around her didn't belong to Josh, then she blamed it on her third—fourth?—beer.

“So, 4C, you never told us why you're living on the edge on a Friday night,” Josh said, tilting his beer toward his lips as he studied her. His gaze flicked just briefly to where Trevor's hand had come to rest on her shoulder, but he looked away almost as quickly.

Trevor glanced at his watch. “Living on the edge? It's not even midnight.”

“Way past the wedding planner's bedtime,” Josh explained.

“Not tonight it's not,” Heather said, scooching down on the couch and resting her bare feet on Josh's coffee table. When had she ditched her shoes? And why was she so dang comfortable here?

Josh's eyes narrowed. “Thought Saturdays were your big days.”

“Usually they are. But I have tomorrow off.”

Off.

It was a strange concept, not having to work tomorrow. But her work on the Robinson wedding meant that she didn't have as much time to help out with Alexis's and Brooke's weddings, which meant she was off the hook for tomorrow. She'd offered to help, but they'd both refused. And normally she'd have insisted, wanting to make herself as indispensable as possible, but the truth was, Heather had wanted the day off.

She needed a day to think, although about what she wasn't entirely sure. And maybe that was the whole point of taking a day off. To think about what you needed to think about.

Oh boy.

Heather glanced down at her half-drunk beer and set it on the table. Probably had had enough of those.

“What's it like being a wedding planner?” Trevor asked, his hand shifting slightly as he toyed with a piece of her hair. This time, Heather was positive Josh's eyes tracked the motion, although his expression betrayed nothing. Certainly not jealousy.

“Assistant wedding planner,” she corrected, out of habit. “For now.”

Her eyes locked with Josh's even as she sat hip-to-hip with Trevor. “What do you mean, for now?” Josh asked.

“I'm up for a promotion,” she said, leaning forward and reaching for her beer again, although more to have something to do with her hands than because she wanted to drink it.

“Hey, that's great!” Trevor said, tugging at a curl again.

Again, Josh's eyes tracked the motion. Narrowing this time, before they came back to hers.

“How do you feel about that?” Josh asked.

She let out a surprised laugh. “How do I feel about a promotion? How do most people feel about a promotion?”

“I didn't ask about most people,” Josh said, taking a sip of beer. “I asked about you.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You're being weird tonight. What's up?”

“Yeah,” Trevor echoed. “You are being a little weird, man.”

“All I'm saying is that there's more to life than work,” he muttered.

“Right, like this,” Heather said, gesturing around his apartment in irritation to where the three of them sat like bumps on a log with too much beer, and while his other two bandmates had been glued to a shoot-'em-up video game for the past hour. “This is a
much
better use of one's life.”

“Hey, at least we're not pissed off and cranky all the time,” he shot back.

“If I'm pissed off and cranky, it's because I have a man-child living next door to me, whose life consists of pumping iron, screwing random girls, and having his mom make him pancakes,” she snapped, pushing off the couch and stomping toward the kitchen to dump the rest of her beer and be on her way.

“No way, sweetheart, you don't get to backpedal,” Josh said, following her into the kitchen. “You knocked on
my
door, remember? I'd already told the band we needed to keep it down; you're the one who proudly waved around your day off like it's some sort of national holiday.”

“Hey, take it easy, guys,” Trevor said, following them into the kitchen and moving between them.

She ignored Trevor, hurling her beer bottle into the recycling bin, even though she really wanted to throw it at Josh's head. “Well, excuse
me
if we all can't have every day be an endless string of working out and fucking.”

“Maybe if
you
did a little fucking, you wouldn't be so bitchy all the time,” Josh said, his face tight and angry.

Heather's mouth dropped open in outrage, but she closed it as she realized there was far better retaliation than a saucy comeback.

“You know what, 4A? I think you're exactly right.” She gave him a slow, sultry smile, saw his expression flicker in confusion as she stepped toward him.

Only she course-corrected at the last minute, moving toward Trevor instead, her hand hooking behind the lead singer's head and tugging his face down to hers for a thorough kiss.

A kiss that was—fine.

She tried to lose herself in it, she really did. Trevor was sexy and fun, and hadn't been the least bit shy in his flirting all night. But as he recovered from his surprise and wound an arm around her waist, deepening the kiss, Heather realized she felt little more than an awareness that it had been way too long since she'd been thoroughly kissed, and that this wasn't the right guy to break her streak with.

Still she made it look good for Josh's sake, arching her body into Trevor's, making a hungry little moan in the back of her throat before slowly stepping away.

She kept her eyes locked on Trevor's mouth as though it was the yummiest thing on the planet, even as all of her being was vitally aware of Josh Tanner and the barely contained anger coming off him in waves.

A trickle of guilt snuck in as she realized she was using Trevor, but his quick, friendly wink told her he didn't mind in the slightest. And the amused tilt of his mouth said he knew exactly what she was up to, even if Josh didn't.

“We should do that again sometime,” he said in a low, bedroom voice.

Josh made a growling noise as Heather smiled at Trevor. “I'd like that.”

She slowly took a step backward, shifting her attention to Josh as though just now remembering that he was there. “See you around, 4A.”

He didn't respond, just glared, first at her, then at Trevor.

It was her victory, and they both knew it.

But as she went back to her apartment alone, and with the taste of the wrong guy on her lips, it didn't feel like a win so much as the start of a very dangerous game.

Chapter Nine

O
NE THING
H
EATHER HAD
learned pretty quickly since moving to Manhattan was that Sundays in New York City meant one thing:

Brunch.

And while Heather was certainly no stranger to mimosas and fluffy omelets, today she was kicking it up a notch.

Today she was
hosting
brunch.

Saturdays were the Belles' bread and butter, but Sundays were increasingly popular for wedding-related events, so it was rare that all three of them plus Jessie had a free Sunday. Heather had decided to make the most of it by inviting them all over for a housewarming brunch at her place.

She'd even included Logan Harris in the invitation, the Belles' quietly dead-sexy accountant, as well as Brooke's new boyfriend, Seth. She'd invited Jessie's guy as well, but he was out of town.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Heather had pictured a perfectly set table, orange juice in a
crystal pitcher alongside champagne nestled in the polka-dot ice bucket she'd gotten on clearance at Kate Spade, a freshly baked quiche, and a mint and vanilla fruit salad, all of which would be ready to go in time for Heather to wash and dry her hair and put on that green dress that she'd like to think made her eyes all kinds of sparkly and bright.

And then . . .

She'd slept through her alarm.

Make that alarms. All three of them.

She was an utter and absolute hot mess.

Yesterday had been crazy, running all over the city to check out alternates to the Plaza for the Robinson wedding, and by the time she'd dragged her weary body home at nine o'clock last night without a single viable option, the last thing she'd wanted to do was head to the store or set the table.

Instead she'd put together her shopping list last night, and then set her alarm for five. And then five fifteen. And five thirty, just to be safe, so she could be out the door by six to pick up the stuff for the quiche and the fresh bread and the fruit, plus everything she'd need for a new coffee cake recipe she'd found on Pinterest.

Her brain had the whole thing planned down to the minute.

Her body, however, had other ideas.

Namely,
sleep
.

One too many sleep-deprived nights had decided now would be a good time to catch up with her, and a groggy Heather had managed to turn off all three alarms.

So instead of getting out the door at six, it was nine, and she was unshowered, didn't have a single ingredient, hadn't set the table, and everyone would be here at eleven.

Two hours to do . . . everything.

Heather hurriedly pulled on her boots and debated texting everyone to beg for another hour, but that was so
not
the impression she was going for. She wanted the other Belles to see that this was the official start of the new Heather: savvy, sophisticated, and totally capable of being promoted to full-on planner. Moving into this apartment had been step one, but actually having people over to said apartment, complete with a very chic meal of food and beverage, was the next—and essential—step two. And Heather was not going to screw it up.

Heather was locking up when Josh's door opened, and his annoying now-familiar face appeared, along with . . . holy hell, a lot of skin.

It had been a little over a week since their semifight and her kiss with Trevor, and though she'd seen him plenty of times, none of their interactions had been anything resembling civil. There were still plenty of the quips and banter that had been a hallmark of their relationship since the beginning, but gone was the easy teasing, and in its place, an odd tension that had her feeling regretful, although she wasn't at all sure why.

She lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the expanse of taut, muscled flesh on display. “Can you please put that away?”

“Put what away? The crucials are covered.”

“Barely,” she muttered, trying to rid her brain of the image of Josh Tanner wearing nothing but black boxers. “Seriously, Josh. You can't just go opening the door naked.”

“Noted,” he said, bending down to pick up his newspaper.

“And that's another thing,” she said, still shielding her eyes. “A real newspaper? Really? You've heard of the Internet, right?”

“I'm an old soul, 4C. Nothing like a little newsprint on the fingers while sipping that first cup of coffee.”

His mention of coffee reminded her that she hadn't had any yet, and she withheld a whimper. Barely.

“I'm walking away now,” she grumbled, too tired and stressed to engage.

“Hey, wait,” he said, his voice sharpening slightly as he came into the hallway and blocked her path. “Something's wrong.”

Yesterday, she would have either ignored him or lied, but since she was about thirty seconds away from a breakdown, she found herself babbling out the whole mess: the craziness that was yesterday's running around, last night's exhaustion, this morning's alarm mishap, as well as a frantic accounting of everything that needed to happen within the next two hours.

“And it's all your fault,” she finished, pointing a finger at him.

He grinned, looking a little like the old Josh. “Of
course
it is.”

“You and your band have been practicing way more this week, at all hours.”

“What's wrong? Pissed that Trevor didn't come stick his tongue in your mouth and feel you up?” he said sarcastically, crossing his arms over his naked chest and clearly still not caring that he was close to nude in the hallway.

No, I'm pissed that
you
didn't feel me up.

“Whatever,” she muttered, starting to push past him. “I'm wasting time.”

Josh's arm shot out, his hand resting low on her hip and stopping her from walking by. “Hold up.”

His fingers lingered just for a second, and she sucked in a little breath, not realizing how much she missed being touched until her brain registered how good he felt. And smelled. And . . .

“You're not naked because there's a woman in there, are you?” she blurted out.

His eyebrows lifted. “Jealous?”

“Disgusted,” she shot back.

“Well then, you're in luck, because I'm going through a bit of a dry spell lately.”

“Lately, meaning . . . a week?”

“Yeah, well, some of us don't think it's reasonable to go an entire year without sex, 4C.”

“It hasn't been an entire year,” she muttered.

Close though. Very close.

Heather stepped back from his closeness, only not fast enough, because his hand reached out and pulled her phone out of her purse.

“What are you doing?” She tried to snatch it back, and he lifted it higher.

“Well, considering your outrage at my newspaper, I assumed—correctly so, I might add—that you keep everything on your phone. Including your shopping list.”

“So? What are you doing? What are you typing?”

“My phone number,” he said.

“I don't want your phone number. If I need to yell at you, I'll come next door.”

“There,” he said, ignoring her comment and handing her phone back.

“There what?” she asked. “Did you just sign me up for some sex site?”

“A sex site? You mean porn, 4C? And how exactly do you think that works?”

“Well, what did you do?”

“I forwarded your grocery list.”

“To whom?”

“To me,” he said, heading back into his apartment and leaving the door open.

“Creepy, even for you,” she called after him.

Josh sighed and turned around, walking back toward her until they were toe-to-toe and she had to tilt her head back to look at him.

“You are so dense, 4C.”

She frowned.

“I'm going to the store for you,” he said.

Her mouth dropped open, and he put his hand over it before she could respond. “Don't say no. I'm a nice guy. Let me prove it. Please.”

He slowly lowered his hand, and Heather swallowed. “I never said you weren't a nice guy.”

He grinned. “Sure you did. Multiple times.”

“I can't let you go to the store for me,” she said firmly.

Josh put both hands on her shoulders and pivoted her around so that she was facing her own door, and then marched her toward it.

“Here's the plan. You get your cute butt in there, take a shower, make yourself pretty, and then go about fussing around your table with your pink place mats or whatever.”

Her head whipped around. “How did you know I have pink place mats?”

He merely smiled. “I'll go the store. Get all of your crap. Then you'll cook. No quiche though. You're doing scrambled eggs, maybe an omelet.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You know that I have pink place mats and that I was going to be making quiche?”

“Women love quiche,” he said. “I've never understood that.”

“Well, I'm a woman, and most of the people coming over are women, so . . .”

“Most?”

“Three girls and two guys.”

He studied her. “Guys? Huh.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to explain who Logan and Seth were—but for some reason, she kept it to herself. Maybe she wanted to let him wonder. Just a little.

“You don't have to go to the store for me,” she said. “Truly.”

“I know,” he said, moving to his own door. “But you're going to take me up on it.”

“I am?” she asked, even though she was pretty sure he was right. Hell, she was already digging her keys back out of her purse.

“You are.”

“What do you get out of this?” she asked suspiciously as he was about to close the door.

His head poked back out and he lifted his eyebrows meaningfully.

“No,” she said, pointing her keys at him. “I am not sleeping with you in gratitude for going to buy eggs.”

His grin only grew wider. “I'll be back in thirty. Feel free to still be in a towel when I knock on the door.”

“Never gonna happen!” she called.

But then she was grinning, too, because she and Josh were
back
.