Mix and match, p.5
Mix & Match, page 5
“Jasmine, love. Good to see ya here.”
“Hey.”
The first thing she noticed, aside from his handsome face, was that he’d showered and changed. The ends of the hair curling along his collared shirt were still damp. He smelled...amazing. A mix of light citrus spiced with something a little deeper and darker and all manly man wafted over her. Jasmine had to physically restrain herself from stepping in closer and running her nose down the skin showing at his open collar.
“Did ya enjoy the game?” Donovan asked.
“The question is, did you, Mr. Man of the hour?”
Under the bar lighting she saw his cheeks flush. Why was that so...appealing?
With a smile she added, “I can count on the fingers of one hand the times I’ve seen an actual, live-in-the-stadium grand slam and still have four fingers left for use. That was pretty impressive. Are you sure you haven’t played this game before?”
“Never. And ‘twas pure dumb luck that had me hittin’ the ball like such. It was roaring at me like a cannonball and all I could think was getting slammed in the face if I didn’t swing me bat as hard as I could.”
He shook his head and grinned.
It was impossible for her not to respond in kind.
“First up at bat, ever, and first grand slam.” She shook her head. “I think you can retire your bat now because it’ll never get any better than that.”
“Aye, I’m thinking the same t’ing, but the lads from the office called me a ringer and now they want me to play every game.” With a subtle eye roll he hung his head.
Jasmine laughed out loud.
Donovan glanced back up at her and smiled. “Ah there now, that’s a wonderful sound to hear.”
Pleasure bounded through her as she felt her own flush fly up her cheeks.
“Here ya go, Jazz.” Kick slid her beer order over. “Van.” He nodded. “I hear you’re something of a hero today.”
“More like the luckiest bastard ever to hold a bat between his inept hands.”
Jasmine had silently remarked on his self-deprecation before. It was interesting to hear a man who looked like him use it. Most guys she’d ever known, including her husband, would never have run from a compliment, but reveled in it.
Not Donovan Boyd.
Was he really as self-effacing deep-down as he appeared? Or was his modesty an act to ingratiate himself to others?
She really hated that she couldn’t trust him to be the man she saw in front of her.
Damn her ex to hell and the high seas for making her such a doubting Debbie when it came to the male species.
“I don’t think your hands look inept at all,” Jennifer said, materializing beside her. She edged a little closer to Donovan, giving Jasmine a none-too-subtle push out of the way. Sandwiching one of his hands between hers, she added, “In fact, I think I’d call your hands...skillful. The way you held that bat...hmmm. Makes me wonder what else those hands can do well.”
This was pure Jennifer-being-Jennifer and it took everything in Jasmine not to roll her eyes. Her friend’s flirtatious ways were annoying and over-the-top on the best of days. But this time, with her seduction sights set on Donovan, Jasmine wanted so desperately to call out her friend on her behavior.
Donovan’s eyes widened a hair and his smile dropped just a bit as he stared down at the petite blonde who’d wrapped her hands around his wrist, shackling him, then back over to Jasmine.
That urge to roll her eyes finally got the better of her. She wasn’t sure but she thought Donavan’s lips twitched when he caught the move.
“Donovan Boyd,” she ticked her head at him then her friend. “Jennifer Bowles. We work together at the hospital.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” he said, switching his gaze back to her friend.
“Oh, the pleasure’s all mine, for sure. Where’d you get that dreamy accent, handsome? You sound like one of the royals. So classy and charming. You’re not secretly a prince are you, hiding out from the palace here in Heaven?”
Donovan blinked a few times and for the briefest of moments Jasmine actually felt sorry for him. He recovered by throwing his head back and laughing so deeply his voice carried above the cacophony of the bar. Several inquiring heads turned his way.
“Well, darlin’,” he said, his gaze fixed on Jennifer again, “I’ve been called many things in my life, I have. But a prince has never been one of them. I’m no royal son of Windsor. I hail from a bit west of the castle set.”
Jenn kept her smile but cocked her head in a gesture Jasmine knew well. It meant the girl was confused about what had just been said but didn’t want to let on about her befuddlement, lest she be considered dense.
Which she was about some things, geography being one of them.
A bitch urge to let her remain confused flew through Jasmine, but she’d had been on the receiving end of one too many bitchy moves from her mother, so she came to her friend’s aid.
“Donovan’s from Ireland, Jenn.”
As if the sun had burst through a cloud-ridden, dreary day, the woman’s smile brightened by several watts. “Oh, I love Ireland.”
“Have you been?” Donovan asked.
“No, but I watched a show about it once. It’s so green and...sunny.”
Donovan gave her a look parents of every errant child possessed instinctively. “Aye, well, when it’s not rainin’, anyway.”
Before she could respond, Kick laid a plate of nachos on the counter in front of them.
“There’s a table over in the back corner,” he said, thrusting his chin toward it. His gaze drifted to Jennifer but she was focused like a heat-seeking missile on Donovan.
“Thanks, Kick,” Jasmine said. Lifting the plate and her beer, she said, “Let’s go sit, Jenn.”
“You come, too,” she ordered Donovan, who had no recourse but to follow since she still held his hand shackled with her own.
Walking in front of them, Jasmine rolled her eyes yet again.
The table was actually a booth built to seat four comfortably. Jennifer, though, sat pressed up against Donovan like they were sardines in a can.
For the next several minutes Jasmine listened to her friend interrogate – there was no other word for it – Donovan about himself while she sipped her beer and ate the gifted nachos. At one point, just when she thought she should get up and leave the two of them alone, a figure squeezed in alongside her, another next to Donovan. Suddenly, the booth was uncomfortably overcrowded, especially when she realized who’d claimed the spot beside her.
“Kenny,” she said, tipping her head to her high school nemesis, then cutting her eyes in front of her again, blatantly ignoring him. The two of them had competed for class valedictorian all four years. They were tied up until the last quarter of senior year when Jasmine blew her Spanish final because she’d had a fight with her mother, stormed out of the house and spent the night in her car. The next morning – test day – she’d been so exhausted she couldn’t think straight, much leg conjugate any verbs. Kenny had pulled ahead of her, grade-wise, and edged her out of the top spot.
He’d never let her forget it, either. Since coming back to town she’d purposefully avoided him every chance she could.
“Hey, Dos. Looking good.”
The hated nickname grated, so much so she ground her back teeth together to keep from responding, which she knew was exactly what he wanted. Kenny Croteau had never grown into anything resembling an adult, despite the fact he’d gone to college, then graduate school, and was now an engineer with Ascension Architects.
“There’s the man of the hour,” Kenny said, interrupting what Jennifer was saying and receiving a glower for taking Donovan’s attention away from her. With an already-half-drunk grin, Kenny raised his filled beer glass, the man seated next to Donovan doing the same. Jasmine recognized him as another of the firm’s employees, but couldn’t recall his name.
Rick? Rob? Something with an R.
“For a guy who claims to never have played the great American pastime before, you sure came through for the team,” Kenny said, adding, “Since I’m the captain, I’m making you the starter at next week’s game.” He then took a gulp the size of New Mexico from his beer.
That modest, self-deprecating slant to his lips showed itself again. “Ah, now, mate, don’t be doing that. I’m tellin’ ya today was a one-off, probably never to be seen again in our lifetime. Ya don’t want to make me a starter, which I’m assumin’ means I’ll be one of the first to bat—”
“At bat,” Rick/Rob/whatever said.
Donovan stopped talking, slanted the man a side-eye, said, “T’anks,” then looked back at Kenny. “Ya wouldn’t want me first up at bat, then, since I may never hit another ball tossed me way.”
Kenny, drunk-and-getting-drunker, pointed an index finger his way and said, “Never gonna happen. You got talent, mate. Untapped talent I’m gonna nurture. I can practically feel the championship trophy in my hands right now.” He sat back, man-spreading in the booth, forcing Jasmine to inch closer to Jennifer, lest she actually touch the odious man.
Donovan just shook his head, the ghost of a doubting grin now on his lips.
Jennifer went back to monopolizing his time while Jasmine dug into the nachos.
“You gonna share, Dos?” Kenny asked after a few moments watching her eat.
“Not with you, Croteau,” she said around a chip. “These are mine. You want any, go order your own.”
He shook his head. “You always were a selfish thing.” Then, he slid his fingers to the platter and scooped up a chip laden with salsa. Before Jasmine could blink or castigate him, he’d swallowed it, a shit-eating grin tripping across his face and the nastiness she remembered so well from high school swimming in his eyes.
With his one move, her appetite exited the building.
“You never knew the meaning of manners as a kid, Croteau. Some things never change.”
“Like your perpetually on-the-rag attitude,” he said back. “If you’d smile half as much as you scowl I’d bet your husband wouldn’t have dumped you.”
She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how much his remark hurt. Guys like Kenny, malicious narcissists who thought the world revolved around them, lived for knowing they made someone else feel bad. It was a stealthy way to bully and he was a master of the art.
Disgusted with his malicious manner and supercilious smirk, and coupled with Jennifer’s overly flirtatious demeanor toward Donovan, she’d had enough.
“Move,” she commanded Kenny, shoving him with her arm. “I wanna get out.”
“Stingy and bossy,” he said as he took his time sliding to the end of the booth bench. “Talk about things never changing. You’re as big a bitch now as you were in school.”
He made no attempt to temper his tone or his volume. Everyone in the immediate area heard him, including Donovan, who tossed her a quizzical stare. Jasmine knew anything she said in retaliation was simply going to make her look like the bitch Kenny described, so she ignored him as she bolted from the booth once he stood upright, swaying a bit.
She didn’t run, but she sure wanted to. Taking several breaths, she wormed her way through the throng of people to the bathroom at the back of the bar and was thrilled to find it empty.
Guys like Kenny Croteau were part of the reason she couldn’t wait to leave Heaven when she’d turned eighteen. Between her mother’s continual condescension and the small town minds of the boys she’d grown up with, she couldn’t leave fast enough once she turned legally of age. At the time she’d vowed never to return.
“Never say never,” she mumbled as she washed her hands.
The noise level had elevated to drunk-and-getting-wasted by the time she reentered the bar. The jukebox was barely audible above the sounds of the raucous laughter. It took her a bit to cross the length of the bar because she had to weave and bob around people lining it. She nodded at Kick, who waved to her, and then left. Outside she sent off a quick text to Jennifer telling her she was leaving and that she’d walk home.
She’d just stashed her phone back in her pocket when the bar door swung open, the cacophony spilling out to the street.
“Jasmine, wait up.”
Turning, she found Donovan Boyd heading her way. “You’re leaving?” he asked.
She nodded. “I’ve had enough and I have to be on duty at six tomorrow morning.”
He stopped in front of her. “You weren’t going to say goodbye?”
“I texted Jenn. She knew I was leaving.”
“Aye and that’s the only reason I know you were. I caught a glimpse of her screen.”
“Anyone ever discuss privacy laws with you?”
His smile bloomed quick and deadly. “She didn’t try to hide the note, so.” He shrugged. “Where’s your car?”
“I came with Jenn. Since I know she’ll stay until Kick announces last call, I figured I’d just walk home.”
“Aye, she looks like she’s just getting started, she is. As I was leaving she pulled Russell onto the dance floor.”
Jasmine figured rolling her eyes again was redundant, so she shook her head instead. “She doesn’t get a chance to get out much since she’s got three kids under the age of ten. When her mom volunteers to sit for her, Jenn makes the most of her freedom. And I know it sounds horrible to say it that way, but...” She shrugged. Then his words penetrated. “Wait, you’re leaving?”
“Aye. I’ve had enough, too.”
His sigh was thick with fatigue and...something else.
She pulled the corner of her lip between her teeth. Not that it was any of her business what he did or with whom, but... “I thought you and Jenn were getting along. You know? Making a connection.”
His left eyebrow lifted.
“I mean,” she crossed her arms over her chest, “you two seemed to have hit it off. And she’s just your type.”
“My type?”
“Young...ish. Looking to get married. Fertile.” She felt the heat rise up her neck when she said that last one.
His expression went from wry to someone-just-stabbed-me-in-the-eye.
“I mean...”
“While I’m sure your friend’s a wonderful lass, and she’s certainly easy on the eyes, she is most definitely not the kind of woman I’m looking to spend me life with.”
She narrowed her eyes, suddenly Jennifer’s defender when only seconds ago she’d found her behavior annoying. “Why? What’s wrong with her? She’s Catholic, widowed not divorced, and wants to be a stay-at-home mom. All the requirements on your list.”
She couldn’t tell for sure because they were standing in semi-darkness in the parking lot, but she thought he blushed.
“As I said, I’m sure she’s a wonderful mum, and there’s nothing wrong with her. I just don’t like women who are so...obvious.”
She wanted to be mad at him, but couldn’t since she’d thought the same thing a thousand times.
“I’m not looking to be someone’s next in line,” he added.
Again, she couldn’t fault him for that because it was true. Jennifer wanted a man to take care of her and her kids and wasn’t shy about anyone knowing it.
“Listen, love. Let me give you a ride home. I’ve got something I want to ask. A...favor, as it were.”
“What kind of favor?”
“Nothing to be concerned about.” He pointed to his car. “Let me get you home and I’ll explain on the way.”
A ride home was so much more preferable than walking through town on the chilly fall evening. That’s the reason, she told herself, she accepted his offer without even thinking of why she shouldn’t.
“Nice car,” she quipped a moment later as she slid into his BMW.
“It gets me where I’m going and you can’t beat German engineering.
He slid in beside her then roared the engine into life.
“So,” she said after he pulled out of the Love Shack parking lot. “What’s the favor?”
“Right to the point. I like that in a person.” He signaled, then turned onto the main street. “Kitty Bergen showed me a house yesterday that I like. I like it a great deal. But I need a woman’s perspective on it.”
“What do you mean, a woman’s perspective?”
He flicked a glance at her then back to the road ahead of them. “I want to ensure the house is family friendly since I plan on staying in it once I get married and start having kids. I think I know what’s needed, but a woman’s viewpoint would be better. Maybe help me see things that are needed or aren’t good about the house in regards to efficiency, etc.”
“What did Kitty say?”
He barked a laugh. “She’s a realtor lookin’ to make a sale. She told me it’s as perfect a house for a family as I could get around here. While I trust her judgment because she sells homes for a living, I want to make sure she isn’t more concentrated on the sale than in what I really need.”
Jasmine nodded. “Makes sense. So you want me to...what?”
“Walk through it with me. Give me your honest opinion if you think it’s a worthwhile purchase, if it’ll be good for a family. I’ve got a few of me own questions and concerns and want to know if they’re valid, you know? I’ve never owned a home before and I want to get it right.”
“You’re an architect.”
Another eye flick, this time with a furrowed brow attached. “Aye. So?”
“I’d think you, more than the average Joe, would know what goes into making a home a sound one.”
“Structurally, you’re right. But I design spaces for people who already know what they want and just need me to bring their plans to reality.”
Again, that made a great deal of sense. She glanced up and said, “Turn here. My house is at the end of the cul-de-sac.”
“The brown one?”
“Yes.”
He put the car into park in front of it, killed the engine, then got out. He shot around to her side and opened the door just as she was about to.
Not used to such courteous behavior from a guy, she mumbled, “Thanks.” When it looked as if he were going to walk her to the door she stopped and said, “You don’t have to—”
