The Sweetest Fling (A Stupid Cupid Book) (12 page)

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“You do?”

“You think that’s why she’s still the one that got away. You think I’m so shallow that if I had screwed her, I’d never feel so strongly about her after so long.”

It hadn’t occurred to him. But, it could be true. No. If he’d slept with her, he’d only feel worse. Like she did.

“Why didn’t you fight for her?” he said, wondering the same about himself. Why did he let it lie after that letter?

Tyler didn’t look at him for a moment and when he did, Jace froze. “I did. I tried everything I could think of. Flowers, chocolates, I even wrote her a song, and had my buddy serenade her with me.”

He couldn’t stop the guffaw, callous though it was. “Sorry,” he said, covering his mouth. “I just never knew you were such a romantic.”

He didn’t
want
to know. Tyler’s tactics weren’t all that surprising, though. Not when he’d always been the one to remember their mom’s favorite song or perfume, the one who would leave her little notes in her purse or at her desk.

Tyler was thoughtful and considerate.

“I finally gave up.” He shrugged, but looked contemplative. “Sometimes I wondered if there was someone else, but, who? She only went out with friends, never any guys who I saw and believe me, I watched. More than I’d ever admit.”

Jace ached at his brother’s pain and decided to drop the matter and
never
bring it up again. Claire’s voice replayed in his mind for another thousandth time. She’d wanted to see him. He took a swallow of his beer and winced at its warmth.

Oh, well. He didn’t really need any more. Bels’s heart lay broken on her living room floor, and Jace was back to the beginning, getting over the one woman who was beyond compare. If time healed all wounds, just how long would this fresh cut take to scar over? He didn’t even care if he ever loved again.

He’d be glad to stop loving now.

* * *

“Maybe you should call again,” Beverly said, nearly a week since the last time they’d sat across from each other in the little café, contemplating Claire’s romantic pickle.

Claire shook her head. “I’ve called three times in as many days. I left two detailed messages, one close to begging. I want a chance with him, but not if it means sacrificing my dignity.”

Thank God for good friends, because this was an emergency meeting. Beverly had left behind an hour of work at the WRC, and was extending her tenuous babysitting allotment all for Claire’s love life.

“Maybe your dignity could use it,” Beverly said and drank from her cup. Her words were clear above the lull in the evening traffic.

Claire’s brows arched. The tone hadn’t been cold, but the words hurt. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I mean that if you really feel the way you say you do about this guy, maybe you really should be going all out. You know, Hollywood style. Shakespeare style.” She paused, smiling tenderly. “If this is your only chance, and you have less than two weeks to make it happen, well, I’d start thinking bigger if I were you.”

Claire worried at her lower lip. Her latte sat untouched. The sugary liquid lacked its usual comfort. A stiff drink sounded better. But that would only get her sad and sappy, and she had to be home soon. Oliver would get suspicious if she came in late after leaving early, smelling like alcohol.

Every night Oliver held her closer, talked more sweetly, and pressed her for reassuring kisses and participation in his dream building. He sensed her distance, knowing on some level that their marriage was not a sure thing. She could see it in everything he did.

“Maybe he’ll call me,” Claire said, looking at Beverly for agreement. But she only got pitying eyes and a small shake of the head.

Beverly reached across the table. “If he was going to call, he would have by now. What we need is something better, bigger than a phone call or a date that looks like it will never happen. We need to sweep this guy off his feet—well,
you
need to.”

Claire knew Beverly was right. But, this was not going to be easy. Did guys get swept away? Actually, Jace just might. He had a poet’s heart. “Okay. How?”

“Well,” Beverly said as she pulled out the same notebook as last time from her purse. “Let’s start with everything you know about him—likes, dislikes, and go from there.”

Half an hour later, her list was pathetic. Uh, Jace liked to dance. That he preferred beer more than hard alcohol. She knew he loved his family, and that they were as close as they come. She knew what he smelled like in the dark. Like clean sheets in the outdoors.

Beverly’s expression spoke for her. It said,
This is it? This is all you know about the man of your dreams, the man you’re ready to throw away four years of a relationship and a coming marriage over?

Yes.

How could she describe who she was when she was with him? How did words encompass the feeling of coming home, of finding yourself, of that perfect fit?

She didn’t know how to define it all. Did that mean it wasn’t true? She had to find out if she was right about Jace. If she didn’t find out, she would always wonder. And that would haunt her.

“I need to find out where he works, and where he lives.” Claire’s chest tightened. “I need someone on the inside. No,
really
inside this time.” But she couldn’t go to the one person who really could help, because Tyler wouldn’t. Jace had made it clear that Tyler was far from over her. She didn’t know the oldest brother well enough, and she and Ashley had no more than two stuttering conversations. No, she only had two options left. Helen Fletcher, or Millie.

She needed more than a phone call to either of them, too. She needed investment. “Am I the world’s cruelest bitch for plotting behind Oliver’s back like this?”

The clatter of dishes echoed from the front of the café.

Beverly looked at the list, and then back to Claire. She wasn’t judging, just listening. “Do I think you need to be honest with him? Yes. Do I think you need to first be honest with yourself? Yup.” Beverly leaned in. “Look, Claire, however this works out, it’s your life. Not mine. I’m just here for the free parking.”

Claire received exactly what she needed—someone who believed in her. Beverly’s cell phone rang from her purse, and Claire knew her time was up. Beverly’s babysitter was the only person she’d answer for. But, Claire did feel better. Determined. Refocused. She needed to sweep Jace off his feet; that was all. And she couldn’t very well have Beverly there holding her hand, walking her through lines and stage directions like a bad female version of
Cyrano de Bergerac
.

Beverly hung up. “I have to go. Jason is getting feisty, and Tiffany has a test tomorrow, so she has to go home. More like an episode of
Vampire Diaries
is on, but, you know how it goes.” Beverly paused in gathering her stuff. She grinned a little. “Or, you will one day.”

Claire shrugged. “Assuming I survive how all this turns out.”

“Oh, come on now. Give people a little more credit. No one’s going to hate you if you change your mind. I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

“I don’t know. Oliver may have some more wedding shopping or something planned. Last Saturday I got out of things with him, but I don’t see how I can this weekend.” The days were dropping like flies. The realization made her chest ache.

Beverly patted her shoulder on her way past their favorite table and left her, with no more than a sympathetic nod. Claire wanted to begrudge her friend. Inwardly, she stamped stomped a foot, decrying outright abandonment. How was Beverly supposed to be the mastermind of a plan she had no real investment in, though?

This had to be up to Claire. She sighed, turning to her latte on the table. She propped her chin on her hand and stared out the window, wishing for inspiration.

Little came.

She could go to Helen and dupe her with some story to try to glean enough information to get to Jace, but she had a feeling the matriarch would not be fooled easily. On the other hand, there was Millie. They’d been pretty good friends ’til the wedding. But Millie was friendly with Ashley now. And though the very pregnant woman had been gracious enough over lunch, Claire had no idea what Millie knew or told Ashley. The alternative—giving up—scared her enough that she’d try anything.

However she got to Jace, whoever ended up helping, she’d just have to be certain that no one found about that night. Ever.

~~

Chapter Fourteen

Friday nights in Brews Brothers didn’t get crazy busy until at least eleven o’clock, giving Jace two more hours to wipe the bar, check on drinks, and let half of his mind pay attention to his job. With the other half, he indulged in a new game called “if things were different.”

If things were different, if he were a different person, he might have called Claire back yesterday. Her last message had been extra hard to resist. Her voice brought on too much all at once. Pain from the past, and a new ache—to touch her. His libido liked that idea enough that every other thought involved guessing her naked dimensions. What color were her nipples? Jace had Claire’s number, even if he hadn’t scribbled it down from his mom’s caller ID. Claire left it five times.

“Two shots of Cuervo,” Trina said, scribbling on a napkin while she waited.

Jace pulled out two shot glasses and filled them to the rim. If things were different, he’d be undressing Claire on his living room floor. Soaping her bare skin in a hot shower. Running his tongue up the inside of each thigh.

Blood rushed to his groin. Jace shook off the images. Drinks didn’t pour as easily under the influence of hard wood.

The conversation at Tyler’s helped zilch. If anything, it inspired the dumb game.
If things were different ...
If Tyler had slept with Claire—no, he hated that idea. Something about Tyler and Claire never having had sex made Jace’s feelings seem less like betrayal. More like fate.

Fate. Jace snorted, shaking his head at the glasses.

“What?” Trina asked.

“Huh? Oh. Nothing.”

Trina quirked an eyebrow, leaving with her laden tray. Jace wiped small circles at the bar’s only empty corner. No more games. They weren’t helping. A body filled up the space in front of him and ordered a house Pale ale on tap and a glass of merlot. The skinny blonde giving him an eyeful of cleavage. Nice cleavage. Not even fake.

His libido almost reacted.

But not quite.

Jace smiled his best crooked smile, the one that got him tips. Good tippers made his low paying position teaching third graders all doable. He watched the amber liquid rise, tilting the glass to cut the foam. He ordered his mind to get in gear for the rush.

Shifting his weight, a strange sensation ran between his shoulder blades. Almost a tingle. He glanced at the ceiling, looking for movement in the vents. But in the dark, he hardly saw a thing. The tingle traveled down his back, over his stomach, and settled in his groin.

It was reminiscent of something he couldn’t quite place.
Call her
, an inner voice said.
Call her tonight. Meet her tonight. Before she’s married and your second chance is over.

He couldn’t do that to Tyler.

If not for his brother’s heart, though, he might risk chasing the dream once more. Wait a minute. Who said Claire wanted anything but closure? She was days away from walking down the aisle. Jace was older now, and should be wiser. He topped off the merlot an inch above where the owner liked and fixed a flirty smile on his face. Beer and wine in hand, he turned.

The air thinned. Wine and beer sloshed down his hands, stinging a paper cut.

Claire.

Claire Byron, flesh and blood, sat next to a handsome man, whose hand was intertwined in hers, tugging it for attention. But Claire’s eyes were on Jace.

Oh God. Could this be real? Or had he just wished her here? Or was he cursed with facing his past? Was that her fiancé? Jace kept walking, masking the emotion rioting in his chest.

His pulse jammed in his neck, his hands jerked, but he walked. He walked over, set the glasses down, managed to relay the cost, and even take the man’s credit card for the tab. But he didn’t look at Claire. He couldn’t.

If he did, he’d say something telling. He’d ask her what sick joke she was playing. He turned, praying Claire wouldn’t keep him there to meet her fiancé—who else could the man be?

Jennifer, the other bartender, ducked under the bar stop. She reeked of cigarette smoke, and looked ready to take on the night. Thank God for short breaks.

“Looks like it’s starting early, eh?” Jennifer commented, tossing a towel over her shoulder.

“Yeah. I’d better catch ten while I can.”

“Sure thing.” Jennifer grabbed his ass, and then made a beeline for two chicks at the end to take their orders.

Like a jerk, he worried that Claire had seen Jennifer’s intimate gesture. Jennifer was a friend. She knew he was not interested and never would be, and she had accepted defeat with grace long ago. The flirtation, aka sexual harassment, upped tips. Because it fed the customers’ jealousy. The women fought for Jace’s attention, and the men fought for Jennifer’s

But, the situation with Claire. . . well, it was just different. It shouldn’t be, but it was. A better time for a break would never come. Trina seemed to be handling the back just fine. Jennifer had the bar. Jace ducked under the bar stop and headed straight back to the disguised door to the back office—the only clean, quiet room in the place.

It took everything in him not to look back at Claire.

He shut the door on the only place where he could sit, think, and gather his wits.

The blaring music muted to a low hum. He sank into the deep leather sofa, there for the lunatics, according to the owner, and laid his face in his hands.