Cinderella Screwed Me Over (14 page)

So I did.

Then Devin and Anne got married and I saw Gil again. He looked great, asked me to dance, and as we spun around the floor, I felt seventeen all over again. Things with us were always so comfortable. Easy.

Then the whole thing with Ralph and me happened. Everyone loves the story about me slapping him and telling him off; my favorite part of the night happened a couple of minutes after that.

I’d just shoved the money in Ralph’s hand and watched him get into the elevator when I heard someone say, “You have really bad taste in guys.”

I whipped around, ready to let whoever it was have it. Gil was smiling at me. “Yeah, I do,” I said. “I can think of only one exception.”

Gil pointed to himself, a hopeful look on his face.

I shook my head. “No. It was…” I grinned and gave him a playful shove. “Yes, you. Honestly, you’re about the only guy I’ve dated who hasn’t been a total jackhole. Although, for the record, that guy wasn’t my choice. He was a setup. A very bad setup.”

Drew walked up to me and threw his hand in the air. “That. Was. Awesome!”

I gave him his high five. That’s when I noticed all the people looking at me. “Wow, everyone’s still staring. It’s like they’ve never seen a guy get slapped at a wedding before.”

“Oh, there’s the guy with the camcorder,” Drew said, pointing to the videographer. “I’m going to go see if he got it.” He took off across the floor.

I leaned closer to Gil and whispered, “Does Anne look really mad?”

Gil glanced over my shoulder. “I think Devin’s talking her down.”

“Great. She was already annoyed with me, and now all everyone’s going to remember about this night is how I slapped my date.”

“Let’s give them something else to talk about, then.” Gil cupped my chin and brought his mouth down on mine. I wrapped my arms around his waist, parted my lips, and kissed him back. Kissing Gil was just like I remembered it. Amazing.

Gil sighed and placed his forehead against mine. “I wanted to do that since I first got here. I was pretty sad you showed up with a date.”

I gazed into his big brown eyes. “I guess getting rid of him was a good move, then.”

And even though I knew it couldn’t work out—we still lived in different cities—I spent the next few days glued to Gil’s side. Over that time, I wanted to bring up the long-distance thing and ask him if he thought we could figure out a way to still make us work. But I didn’t want to ruin it. Maybe I knew deep down that a relationship like that would be too difficult, and I also knew I’d be crushed if he said he didn’t care enough to try. So I’d held back what I wanted, and simply told him good-bye when it was time for him to go back to California.

About a year later, I got his wedding invitation in the mail. He’d met a beautiful girl and fallen in love.

Part of me had always thought that Gil and I would get back together. Like we were one of those couples who kept being brought together until we got the timing right, just like in those damn romance movies.

I went to his wedding with Drew, Devin, and Anne. If I were a character in one of the movies I used to love watching, I would’ve stood up and announced my feelings for Gil. He would’ve left his modelesque bride at the altar, taken me in his arms, and kissed me. Fade out. Roll credits.

Instead, I sat there in the chapel and watched the only good boyfriend I’d ever had—my first love—marry someone else.

So thanks a lot, Julia Roberts, for making me think love always worked out, even if you made money working on street corners or ran from guys who loved you. And you, too, Molly Ringwald—maybe you had to be a redhead to land the guy you loved. Except Sandra Bullock always got her man, too. In romance movies, everything always works out, because people who are destined to be together always find a way somehow.

And the brainwashing continues…

Time Wasted:
I refuse to call my relationship with Gil a waste. We dated nine months in high school, a couple weeks over Christmas break, and three days after Devin’s wedding. I did, however, waste a few years thinking that we’d eventually get back together.

Lessons Learned:

There are a few guys who aren’t complete jerks. But it doesn’t even matter. Because Fate can be such a bitch.

Chapter Twelve

The narrator of my audiobook started right where I’d left off: female FBI agent closing in on the serial killer who preyed on young females living alone.

I stepped onto the treadmill and turned it on. Before long my heart was racing—not only because of the exercise, but also because I was scared for the protagonist. The killer was hiding under the bed, waiting for her to go to sleep.

Don’t go to sleep.

The FBI agent had gotten a tip, but I wasn’t sure she was going to make it in time.

The killer was sliding out, ready to make his move. Planning on killing another girl.

“Hey,” Jake said, stepping in front of the treadmill.

Stumbling over my feet, I gripped the rail to keep from going down, then barely managed to get my footing back. I stopped the treadmill and paused my book. My breaths sawed in and out of my mouth.

“I just thought I’d say hi. I didn’t realize it would scare you.”

“It does when you do it at the same time the killer is making his move.”

Confusion flashed across Jake’s features.

I pointed at my earphones. “I’m listening to a book. It’s at an intense part.” Glancing at the digital readout, I saw I’d run two miles.

Enough for today.

I patted my face with my towel and climbed off the treadmill. “How was the weekend rush at Blue?”

“Busy. I kept hoping for someone to come in and make it more enjoyable, but she never showed. Mindy informed me I was being snubbed.”

I leaned against the wall and took a swig of my water bottle. “Snubbed by this person who never showed?”

Jake stuck his hand on the wall next to my head and locked eyes with me. “According to her, if you liked me at all, you would’ve come in, and I should just take a hint.”

“I dropped some rather big hints before, and in my experience, you’re not very good at taking them.” I smiled, so he’d know I was teasing him. With him leaning over me, my hyperawareness kicked in. I noticed the pulse beating at the base of his neck, a pale scar on the bottom of his chin, and how everything about him screamed strong and confident. My skin hummed from his closeness and I was tempted to reach out and run my hand down his chest.

I think he noticed my appraisal because a triumphant grin hit his lips. “I guess that’s why I’m going to ask what you’re doing later. I’ve got today off, and I think we should go out.”

Regardless of how much I was enjoying being this close to him again, it was time to be honest. With him and myself. I did like being around him, and I
had
said I wanted a decent, longish-term relationship. He lived in my building, but I supposed I could deal with bumping into him as long as we didn’t get too serious.

“I don’t know what you’re expecting the outcome of this to be, but I want to keep this—whatever we’ve got going—light. I don’t want to explore my past or yours, or get into all the big relationship drama.”

Jake didn’t skip a beat. “I’ll pick you up at six.”

…

At six on the dot, there was a knock on my door. I opened it and invited Jake in. “Just let me water my plants real quick, before I forget.” I filled a cup and walked across the room to my window.

“You got another one?” Jake asked as I poured water into the dark soil of my new plant.

“I won it at a bridal shower yesterday, since I knew the bride best.”

Jake came up behind me and put his arms around me. “And you didn’t think you should give it to someone who doesn’t kill plants?”

I elbowed him in the gut. “Hey, be nice. It tipped over and lost some dirt on the ride home, but I’m sure it’ll perk up soon.” I pointed at the larger plant that had been with me since I bought the place. “And look how good my one green blade is still doing.”

“I think you should just put them both out of their misery.” Jake kissed my neck, sending pleasant chills through my entire body.

I set my cup on the window ledge and twisted to face him, placing my hands on his arms. “Aren’t you supposed to be impressing me, not making fun of my lack of gardening skills?”

Jake grinned. “Let’s go, then, before you change your mind.” He grabbed my hand and walked me out of the building and into the parking garage. He led me to a Chevy Camaro Z28. Classic, most likely late sixties, painted black with white racing stripes on the hood—hanging with mostly guys in high school, I’d learned a lot about cars.

Drew and Devin would die to ride in one of these. Hell, I wanted to ride in it, too. But I couldn’t help thinking of Allen and his Dodge Viper, and how I had a rule about guys who were obsessed with their cars.

“Nice car,” I said, kind of wishing it wasn’t, but failing to be unimpressed.

“Thanks. I like her.” He opened the passenger door.

If I follow my rules, this is definitely strike three.
Then again, he didn’t exactly sound
obsessed
, and the classic variety gave him a couple of bonus points, at least.
So maybe, like, half a strike.

After a moment’s hesitation, I slid inside. The steering wheel was skinny, the windows were the roll-down kind, and there were gages on the middle console, along with a silver-knobbed shifter.

Jake got inside, filling the car with the scent of his familiar musky cologne. “I was thinking we might drive a bit. There’s a place in Boulder that’s—”

“I’d rather not go to Boulder,” I blurted out, a bad sense of déjà vu hitting me.

“In case you have to bail early? Like with that counselor guy?”

“Exactly,” I said, working at sounding casual about it. “Who knows when you’re going to say something that sends me running?”

“Okay. I know a place that’s closer to home.”

I was overreacting, but I couldn’t help it. Because of Allen, even the mention of Boulder for dinner struck a raw nerve. Especially combined with the fast car thing. I realized that I hadn’t seen Jake’s place yet and started to panic.

What’s he hiding?

I reached for my seat belt. My stomach was churning, so I took a deep breath to try to calm down and think about things rationally. Jake and I lived in the same building; he’d introduced me to his friend Tina; he kept insisting I go to Blue. Oh, and Virginia Hammond wanted to set us up. All things that suggested he wasn’t married.

Okay, minor freak-out over.

The engine roared to life, then quieted down to a purr. “Did you get a chance to listen to more of your book?” Jake asked, maneuvering out of the parking garage. “It seemed to have you on edge earlier.”

“Even if I was listening to music, I still would’ve jumped when you snuck up on me. Whenever I get on the treadmill, I check out of the real world.” I glanced at him. “But the book was definitely a nail-biter. The end was so intense I couldn’t put it down—or whatever you say when you don’t actually have the book in your hands.”

“So you like to read? Or listen, anyway?”

“I’ve found it helps me stay on the treadmill longer. But I always like to have a paperback on hand, too. I need to swing by the bookstore for another one, actually.”

“We can stop there after we eat, then.” Jake reached over and took my hand, lacing his fingers with mine. There was something about the smallest gestures with him that made me feel like a teenager again. I told myself to just enjoy it.

Still, at the back of my mind, I heard that nagging voice saying,
Good things never last.

…

“I told you the food was amazing,” Jake said. “The good thing about knowing one of the best chefs in town is you know all the great places to eat.”

I took a sip of my water. “How’d you get into the restaurant business anyway?”

“Long story.”

I stabbed a tortellini with my fork. “And you’re thinking of bolting soon? I haven’t even told you about my creepy porcelain doll collection yet.”

He shot me a quick smile. “I thought you wanted to keep things light? Talk only about superficial things.” He raised his eyebrows. “Weren’t those the terms?”

“Yes, but your refusal to tell the story makes me think it’s a good one, and now I’m really interested.”

“Well, it was between being a professional clown or starting a restaurant.” Jake sighed, a tragic look on his face. “Unfortunately, I flunked out of clown school, and my parents disowned me. They kicked me out of the tiny car holding twelve other clowns and sent me on my way.”

I shook my head, fighting a smile. “I can’t believe you flunked out, when you’re obviously so good at it.”

Jake grinned. “I am a natural.”

“Don’t think you’re getting out of telling me the real story, you clown-school dropout.”

Jake pushed his plate aside and propped his forearms on the table. “My dad built the Knight Marketing & Advertising Group in New York from the ground up. He was big on learning how to work, so he told me I’d have to qualify to get a job in his company. I went to NYU and got my degree in Marketing, with a minor in Economics. As soon as I graduated, I started working for my dad, made some good money sitting behind a desk all day, and hated every minute of it.

“One day I ran into Brent—he and I had roomed together in New York while he was going to culinary school. He was back in town for a week visiting family. Anyway, we got to talking, and he told me that he’d moved to Denver and was trying to open his own restaurant. When I asked how it was going, he said he was having a hard time getting a place, but he wasn’t going to give up.”

The waitress came by with a pitcher of water, refilled our drinks, and asked if we needed anything else.

“Where was I?” Jake asked when she walked away.

I placed my napkin over my plate. “Brent was trying to open a place here.”

“As he talked, my mind automatically started thinking about the business side of things. I made a few suggestions and told him what I could to help him out. Then he made a joke about how we could open the place together. The joke was on him, because I flew to Denver to check it out, and the rest is history.”