I Want You Back (Want You #1)(115)

He kissed my shoulder and said, “Baby, you asleep?”

“Yes. Santa is only supposed to come once a year and you’ve already doubled that in one night, so hands off, big guy.”

“I’ve always been an overachiever.” His gentle fingers pushed my hair out of my face, and he leaned down to peer into my eyes.

My eyes narrowed at him. “What?”

“I promised Mimi I wouldn’t tell you this until Christmas was over because she didn’t want you to be mad at her. It’s twelve thirty, so technically, Christmas is over . . .”

“Tell me.”

“When she moved her hockey bag out of your car into mine, she spilled her orange Creamsicle shake all over the floor and the back seat of your car,” he said in a rush.

“When did this happen?”

“Yesterday morning after she and I finished running errands.”

My mouth dropped open. “There’s been ice cream sinking into the interior of my car for a day and a half and you’re just telling me now? Do you know how much a sour milk product reeks?” I paused. “Is that why you insisted on taking your car today when we went to spread Christmas cheer?”

“Yeah.” He gave me a sheepish smile. “Sorry. We did get most of the mess cleaned up right after it happened. Anyway, I kept my promise to her and now you know.”

“I know what I’ll be doing first thing tomorrow morning,” I grumbled.

“I can take it and get it detailed for you, if that’ll put a smile on this beautiful face.”

“Nope.” I poked him in the chest. “You promised Mimi you’d play with her new toys tomorrow, buddy.”

“All day?”

“All day and all night, probably. The girl’s got stamina.”

“Mmm. So do I.” He planted kisses down my spine. “You can stay just like that, all sexy and sleepy, and I’ll do all the work.”



* * *



? ? ?

For five seconds, the next morning, after seeing the enormous stain in the back seat—orange food dye was nearly impossible to remove—I considered selling my car rather than having it detailed. But my frugal side won out and I drove to the super deluxe car wash closest to our apartment.

With an hour to kill, I grabbed a magazine and a Diet Mountain Dew. The lobby was completely empty—not a surprise since it was only nine a.m. the day after Christmas. Thankful for the quiet time, I settled in.

My alone time lasted about ten minutes. The door banged open, and I heard a man yakking on his cell phone at a thousand decibels, but I couldn’t see him.

The sound of his voice made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

“Yeah? Well you suggested it when I told you money was no object, and I think she’s really unhappy with it.” Pause. “Why? Because she gave me a thoughtful, personal, perfect gift and all she got from me was a crappy Cartier necklace.”

I rolled my eyes. Crappy Cartier? I don’t think so.

“What the gift said was that I don’t listen to her. I didn’t get her what she really wanted. She tried to hide her disappointment, but damn, I don’t think she realizes that those beautiful brown eyes of hers reveal every emotion.”

I kept my head down, playing along as he recreated the scene.

Annoying man on his cell phone?

Check.

Annoying man pacing around me?

Check.

From the reflection in the glass that allowed customers to see their cars going through the automated portion of the car wash, I watched every inch of his six-foot-four frame pacing, those long, muscled arms gesturing wildly.

He couldn’t see me smiling at him, as his head was down and his baseball cap put his face in shadow. Not that he’d looked my way even one time to see if his loud, one-sided conversation might be bothering me.

Because it was bothering me that he thought I hadn’t liked his beautiful gift to me.

He stopped moving. “Fine. You think it’s stupid as shit I’m doing this, but I want her to know her worth to me.” Pause. “Look. I’m done with this convo. I’ll call you later, bro. Bye.”

My heart threatened to beat out of my chest when he stopped in front of me, but I nonchalantly flipped through a couple of magazine pages.

Then he plopped down on the bench directly across from me. I felt his gaze moving up my legs from my heeled suede boots to where the hem of my wool skirt ended above my knees.

“Ever have one of those days?” he asked me.

“One of those days where you’re enjoying a rare moment of quiet and some rude guy destroys it with an obnoxiously loud phone conversation? Why yes, ironically enough, I am having one of those days right now.”

Silence.

Then he laughed. A deep rumble of amusement that had me glancing up at him.

Our eyes met.

That punch of lust hit me like it always did.

“Jax. What are you doing here?”

He leaned in, resting his forearms on his knees. “Making conversation with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Do you know what today is?”

“No clue, dude.”

“In Canada, it’s ‘Boxing Day,’ which I never understood. Why would the day after Christmas be devoted to a sport where guys beat the crap out of each other? I always thought it’d be more appropriate if they called it ‘Hockey Day’ because . . . well . . . Canada and hockey, aay.”