Practice Makes Perfect(44)

And now she was blushing.

Seeing she wasn’t backing away from him, J.D. raised an eyebrow. Payton saw the corners of his mouth tilt up in a smile, and if she didn’t know better, she’d swear that he was daring her to make a move. Wanted her to make a move, even. And she wouldn’t have to do much—if she tilted her head a mere inch, they’d be kissing.

Hmm.

She wondered if J.D. had polo ponies on his condoms.

“You have to go,” Payton blurted out emphatically.

J.D. cocked his head but didn’t move, so to hurry him along Payton put her hand on his chest, pushing him to the door—wow, he had a really firm chest for someone so fancy—

“Now—you have to go now,” she said as she opened up the front door and literally shoved him out into the hallway.

J.D. protested. “Hey! Wait a second, there’s something else—”

Payton tried to shut the door, but J.D. blocked it with his arm.

“Jesus, woman, will you just let me speak?!”

“No. You’ve said what you came here to say. Apology accepted, no more sabotage, et cetera, et cetera. And by the way, I can’t believe you actually just called me ‘woman.’ That’s almost as bad as ‘cupcake.’ ”

“I bet there are a lot of women who think it’s endearing to be called ‘cupcake.’ ”

“If there are, they sure don’t live in this apartment.”

J.D. looked ready to tear his hair out. “You know what? Forget it. I changed my mind, I don’t have anything else to say. And seriously, woman—I think you might actually be crazy. Or maybe that’s just the effect you have on me!” He finished his speech in a shout, then turned and stormed off down the stairs.

Payton half shut, half slammed the door behind him—good, she didn’t want to hear anything else he had to say anyway and now at least he was out of her apartment, and by the way, he really needed to come up with some snap-pier comebacks and—

An impatient knock at her door. Then again, louder.

What, did he just think of a better line? Payton threw open the door and—

J.D. immediately held up his hand.

“Don’t. Say. Anything.”

Payton opened her mouth.

J.D. pointed and shook his head with a firm stare. “No.”

Payton rolled her eyes. But she didn’t speak.

“What I wanted to tell you,” he began deliberately, “was that you were wrong.”

Now there was a friggin’ surprise. Payton glared.

J.D. continued, more calm now, his voice steadier. “I mean, about what you told Tyler.”

His eyes met hers and held them.

“I would’ve done it for you in a heartbeat.”

Payton felt it.

The ice around her heart, she felt part of it crack off and melt right then. And for the first time in eight years she had no idea what to say to J. D. Jameson.

He gave her a slight nod. “I just wanted to set the record straight on that.”

With that, J.D. turned and left, for real this time, and Payton slowly shut the door behind him. She resisted the urge to look out the front window and watch as he left her apartment building. Instead, she busied herself by picking up the empty glass he had left behind. She washed the glass in the kitchen sink and put it away, eager to get rid of the remnants of his visit.

She knew that something had changed that evening and, frankly, she wanted to ignore that fact—or at least try to—and get things back to the way they were. A truce was one thing, but—heaven forbid—she really hoped this didn’t mean J.D. was going to start being nice to her or anything. Suddenly being on friendly terms with him could make things complicated. And she certainly didn’t need any complications at work right now.

I would’ve done it for you in a heartbeat.

Payton’s thoughts lingered over those words. And despite herself, she smiled.

Not that it mattered.

Really.

Sixteen

“FOR EIGHTY DOLLARS per person for brunch, there better be diamonds stashed in that omelet.”

It was the fifth comment that morning about the stupid omelet. Payton knew she just should’ve gone with the Belgian waffles. But resolved to have a pleasant brunch, she ignored the remark and gestured to her mother’s plate.

“How’s the fresh fruit and granola?” In NoMI restaurant’s entire 100-plus-item buffet, they were the only two things her mother had deemed acceptable to eat.

Lex Kendall was in typical form that morning. And not about to be sidetracked so easily.

“You’re trying to change the subject,” she said.

“Yes, I am.” Payton took a sip of her mimosa. At this rate, she was likely to need a second one, so she raised a finger to the waiter. Service, please. Quickly.

Sitting across the pristine white-linen-covered table, Lex shook her head in frustration. Her long brown hair fell over the sleeves of her floral peasant blouse in kinky, unstylized waves. In her faded jeans and animal-cruelty-free clogs, she was a bit underdressed for brunch at the Park Hyatt hotel’s premiere restaurant. Not that Payton ever would’ve dared to tell her that.

“Come on, Sis,” Lex urged, “you know that the poultry industry is more concerned with financial shortcuts than providing humane conditions for the birds they carelessly mistreat. I don’t see how you can ignore that.”