Love Me: The Complete Series (43 page)

Jackson flipped to the second to last page of the stack and pointed to a section. “Right there.”

She read the section slowly. He was right. How strange. “But there’s obviously a relationship if you’re already paying them as a vendor.”

Jackson tapped her head in a gesture that was starting to both piss her off and make her want to yank him into a kiss again—for punishment, of course. “Ding ding ding, jackpot. The only question now is … why? Any thoughts on that, counselor?”

Amanda concentrated for a second. “No idea, unless someone in your office has a connection. I need to get going so this will need to wait. If you want me to look it over, leave it here.”

“I could just wait here and you know, tidy up the bathroom.”

No way in hell was he staying in her house. “Why on earth would you want to do that?”

“Because I like the décor in there but you seemed to have left a few things lying around. I could clean the bedroom too if you’re planning on using it tonight.”

She raised a brow. “Very funny. Wouldn’t that be a little difficult if you’re already in it?”

Jackson plucked one of her curls. “Depends on who you want to use it with.”

“Oh brother. There you go again. Look, I told you I’d review your contract. Now get your smooth-talking ass out of here. You’re wasting your breath on me, kiddo. Remember, I’ve seen you in action and I’m not stupid.”

Maybe a little weak-kneed at the moment, but definitely not stupid. Jackson stood and worked his way toward her door. The entire room and entry seemed to shrink with him inside. His height swamped the door which almost appeared as if it were undersized. “Hey, what’s your cell number in case I need to reach you?”

She handed him a business card. “The one at the bottom but don’t wear it out.”

Jackson stepped outside and turned to look her up and down. “If Carter baked brownies too, he’s probably hoping to get laid. One of his high school girlfriends loved chocolate and that worked for her. Needless to say, he got pretty good at making brownies, not that adding water and an egg to a mix is all that tough.”

Amanda gripped the handle and leaned against the door. Her T-shirt slipped to bare the skin on her shoulder and it pleased her that Jackson soaked in the view. “Well, I always have liked a good—brownie.”

His mouth opened as if to say more but she slammed the door before any words came. Let him chew on that for a while. She grabbed her keys and headed to the garage.

Thirty minutes later, she knocked on Carter’s door.

Carter kissed Amanda at the door. It was nothing new since they’d kissed more than a few times since they started dating. She liked the kisses too. Why did it disappoint her that she didn’t feel more? What was her issue?

She didn’t
crave
them. That was the problem.

“It’s almost ready. Want a glass of wine?” Amanda followed Carter into his apartment dining room where he’d set a beautiful table. Or at least as beautiful as a guy can set. There wasn’t a tablecloth or fancy dishes but everything matched. A couple of candles flickered in the middle of the table while tendrils of smoke rose from their soft light. He’d muted the lighting a little too. Nice and very romantic.

Amanda suddenly felt a huge lump forming in her throat. She looked around in confusion. “I’m sorry … what did you say?”

Carter smiled. “You must have had a rough day. I asked if you wanted a glass of wine.”

She followed him to the kitchen counter where he held up a bottle of chardonnay. “Oh, sure. That sounds nice.”

While he worked the corkscrew, she inhaled the warm buttery chocolate scent of—brownies.
Gulp.
The lump in her throat plummeted to her stomach. Was she ready for this? Did she even want it?

She wasn’t sure.

Carter’s cell broke the awkwardness and he set the bottle and cork down to answer. There were a lot of monotone yeses and noes, then he made an excuse and hung up. “Sorry about that. Jackson wanted to check up on me.”

Yeah, right. “How’s his dad?” She had completely forgotten to ask when she saw him earlier which made it easy to show concern.

“Struggling but better than the alternative.” Carter’s voice was distant and Amanda felt a crushing guilt for asking since the alternative was to be in Carter’s shoes—without a father.

“Oh, I guess that’s good.”

“He can’t speak very well but the doctor thinks it will come back in time … at least enough to understand him. He has the use of one hand and leg but the other is useless. They’re forcing him through a lot of rehab exercises which, despite not talking, he’s able to protest in a way that only he could manage. Jackson goes in for dinner every other night and helps him eat. His mother alternates.”

Amanda tried to picture Jackson spooning soup into his Dad’s mouth. The thought was too strange to conjure up and she questioned whether he really helped or just sat while the nurse did the work. “How sad.” She sighed.

Carter poured two glasses of wine and handed one to Amanda. “So, you want to start with dessert?” He motioned to a stack of brownies.
Hmmm. Clever.
“The lasagna has about ten more minutes.”

She turned and carried her glass to the living area and stood to stare out the window at the traffic below. Carter’s apartment, while very modern, was definitely a man-cave. Stark, mismatched furniture with very little adornment on the walls. No plants, no knickknacks, a few piles of sports paraphernalia placed with little thought. She found that oddly comforting.

“I like your place. It’s nice.”

“It’s dull. I don’t spend much time here. My job requires a lot of travel and I keep thinking I will get a few pictures to put on the walls or something but I never have time.”

She smiled and sipped the wine. It warmed on the way down. “I can relate to that. I still have unpacked boxes lining the wall of my spare bedroom. They’ve been there for two years. It’s funny, because I’m anal about the details of my work but when I get home, all bets are off.”

“I take it you’re not a neat freak.”

She shook her head and sipped again. “I’m clean but not OCD. You?” Amanda glanced around, noticing the neatness of his kitchen. She already knew the answer.

“I’m probably a little OCD but it comes in waves.”

In waves, yes, that would be an appropriate description for her level of effort as well. They were more alike than she thought—and she’d thought them very similar to start. “So tell me about your travel.”

Amanda moved to the couch, slipped off her sandals, and settled into the cushions. She sipped and listened until a ding on the oven signaled lasagna time. Carter refilled her wine glass and they met at the table. The more she drank, the more comfortable she was with him. He was a genuinely nice guy.

Then he started talking about Jackson. She wasn’t sure how the conversation veered that way but wished it hadn’t. “Jackson and I grew up together mostly. His parents moved to our neighborhood when we were both ten. We were friends by default and I can’t tell you how glad I was to have a guy move into our world. As the little brother, I’d played enough girly-shit to last a lifetime. He saved me in a lot of ways.”

How could she change the subject? The last thing she wanted was to hear martyr-making crap about the guy she wanted to detest. “No kidding.”

“The guy has a non-confrontational way of getting people to make changes without being pushy. When my sister died, he was always around. I hated it at first and we competed in
everything
but it probably kept me from dwelling on the negative. We both changed after that. We became meaner. More competitive.”

“Well, he’s probably got that pegged.”

Carter was relaxed. He lifted his wine glass and stared at the remaining claret-colored liquid. “Why do you say that?”

“Nothing. I don’t know … wine talking, I guess.” Amanda’s plate was empty. So was Carter’s.

“Time for my famous brownies.”

She giggled. Yep, the wine was definitely sinking in. “What are those brownies famous for, Carter?”

He wiggled his brows. “I’ll never tell.”

Double-gulp. No need, she already knew and she wasn’t ready for what it all suggested. Not with Carter. Still, it would be rude to skip something he’d taken the time to cook. For her.

The warmth of wine and fatigue was comforting. Talking with Carter was like visiting with her brother. Or a long-lost friend. Like Jackson.

Amanda watched him return and clarity sank into her stomach, making the lump more solid. No, it wasn’t like talking with Jackson. Not even close.

And
that
was the problem.

“Carter, I’ll need to leave after the brownies. I have a case I need to review tonight for a client who’s waiting on a response. I promised him something tomorrow.” Should she mention it was for Jackson? Probably not.

• • •

Amanda pulled into her drive two hours later, thankful she’d remembered to switch on the light over the door. It wasn’t until she trudged up to the step that she noticed a silhouette leaning against the wall.

She stifled a scream when the lump moved.

“Hi. I thought I’d wait up.”

Jackson was sleeping on her doorstep?

“Wait up or
check
up? Has your curiosity got the best of you, Jax?”

“Curiosity about what?”

Amanda reached down and slipped her sandals off, then strung them between her fingers and tried to push her key into the locked door. She missed. Despite the light above, the wine fog made it a little more difficult. She tried again, unsuccessfully trying to think up an appropriate answer.

“You wanted to see if Carter’s brownies were successful, I guess? I don’t know. You tell me. You’re the one lurking around on my porch.”

Jackson lifted his arms above his head and stretched. “I wasn’t lurking. I just hoped you’d be back and we could talk about my contract thing more.”

With her back turned, she growled as the key once again missed the target.

Jackson yanked the key from her fingers and opened the door, then shoved it to allow entry. Amanda stared at her darkened and quiet home. She couldn’t bring herself to step inside.

Instead she whirled around and clunked her forehead hard against his chin. The crunch of bone on bone sent them both backward. Jackson recovered first and wrapped his big hands around her arms to steady her. “You okay?” he asked.

Was she? She shook her head; the acrid sting of water puddling in her eyes made it impossible to focus. Especially with him front and center equally blurring her vision. She sighed and let her head drop. “What’s wrong with me, Jax?”

“Wrong with you? What makes you think anything’s wrong? What’d he do? Did Carter make an ass out of himself? He didn’t …”

Amanda shook her head slowly. “No, it’s not him. He was great, better than great. He was—amazing.”

Jackson’s eyes softened, though there was a stiffness to his frame that seemed restrained. “Amazing. Should I ask ‘how amazing’ or am I destined to regret the words?”

She lifted her eyes and let the liquid spill. Too much wine had made it impossible to hide her emotions and at the moment, she didn’t care. She’d regret it tomorrow but now was all that mattered. “Really, really amazing. That’s the problem.”

“Normally that isn’t a problem. It’s an asset.” Jackson sucked in a breath and stepped backward two steps.

Amanda almost lost her balance as he removed his hands from her arms. She caught herself and hiccuped. “He’s just not
you.”

Oh shit. Why’d she do that? It was stupid. Too much wine, all that good food, and those damn brownies. Carter’s magic brownies definitely worked with the women—unfortunately the target wasn’t him. She was an idiot.

Amanda looked up, expecting to see anger. Or maybe even laughter. Instead she saw a depth of smokiness in Jackson’s eyes. Something that had never been there before. It appeared like
longing.
“Hell, Mandy, he’s
better than me.
Way better.”

Amanda blinked. Did he seriously believe that? Anger grew within her chest. Not because of the realization that the man she actually
wanted
was standing in front of her, though that was a definite frustration. The heat bubbled up her spine and she adjusted her shoulders despite the wine-soaked softness of her prior emotions. “Who the hell made you think that?”

After all these years apart, Jackson could look at the situation with an open mind. So he thought. He wasn’t a young college kid seeking to get laid. He was a man who had been around the block enough to know there was a helluva lot to Amanda Gillespie beyond her fancy clothes and sharp mind. Her immaculate dress was all a front to hide what was underneath. In the depth of her heart, Amanda was a person very few knew. She was soft, kind, and right now, with tears in her eyes—so fricking vulnerable that he couldn’t breathe.

Here she was at—he checked his watch—two in the morning and she was telling
him
how he measured. Against his best friend. She was trying to pump up his self-perception. God knows why.

“Does it really matter?”

Amanda shrugged. “Not really, I guess. It’s just that … as your friend … it really pisses me off when you measure yourself so poorly against the rest of the world. What makes you think Carter’s a better man? Sure, he’s nice, but so what? So are you.”

As his friend.
Yes, they’d been that for years. It was time for a change. “About that friend thing, Amanda—we really can’t be friends. I don’t believe men and women can
ever
be friends.”

Her mouth dropped open and her eyes glistened wet again. “No? I thought that’s what you wanted when you—”

He shook his head and moved into her, half expecting she’d back away. She didn’t. She dropped her head to his chest in a weary, tired-of-the-world way, which made the warmth in his chest surge to the surface of his skin. He palmed her cheeks and lifted her face until her eyes met his. “I don’t want to be friends with you, Amanda, because if I’m honest with myself ... I never did. I always wanted more, I was just too stupid to recognize the fact. It crushed me when you ran out on me two years ago.”