Ready or Not (The Ready Series Book 4)(28)

“Did I wake you?”

“Yeah, but I don’t mind.”

“Good. You need to get up,” he commanded.

Laughing, I asked, “And why is that?”

“Because we have plans.”

I didn’t usually go for the bossy type, but on him, it looked good.

“Dirty, huh?” Mia commented. “I want details and pictures—unless they’re kinky. You can keep those to yourself,” she laughed.

Asher’s babbling rang through the phone line, and I heard Mia coo back.

“Someone misses you,” she said.

“Tell him I miss him, too.” I paused for a moment as I looked down at my untouched cup of tea that was turning cold. “Are you sure I’m making the right decision, getting involved with someone so close to me?”

“Isn’t that the whole idea? Getting involved with someone we’re close with, Liv?” she asked.

“You know what I mean.”

She huffed. “Let me ask you something. In the nearly four years since I’ve been back in Richmond, have I ever met a single guy you’ve dated?”

I sat my plate down on the coffee table as my mouth opened to answer. It hung there, wide and empty, as I thought, but I was unable to come up with a single name.

“Well, there was…” I started but stopped.

“No, Liv, there hasn’t been one. We’ve never double-dated. You haven’t brought any of them over here for dinner. Nothing. Why is that?”

This was a jaw-dropping moment.

“I don’t know.”

“You want to know what I think? I think you’re purposely dating the wrong men.”

“Why would I do that?” I asked.

“Honestly, I think you’ve been biding your time.”

“For what?” My eyes suddenly drifted over to the small house next door.

“Now, isn’t that the question of the day?”

Our phone call finished up soon after that, and I spent the next hour staring at my closet, wondering why it seemed like everyone in my life had suddenly decided it was their life mission to counsel me.

Did they have degrees to do this kind of shit professionally?

I sighed audibly as I sunk further into my closet, bending over in search of denim.

Why didn’t I own more jeans?

Jackson had said to dress comfortable. On most days, that was my normal attire. Light, airy dresses and skirts were the epitome of comfort. But he’d also said to prepare to get dirty, which required an entirely different outfit.

I needed denim and a T-shirt—two items that were scarce in my closet. While most women could live in jeans, I personally hated them. They were tight, constrictive, and stiff.

My girlfriends thought I was nuts, too.

Biding my time? That was ridiculous.

Mia clearly had no idea what she was talking about.

It was almost as ridiculous as saying I purposely dated the wrong men because I feared they would all leave me like my father.

I froze, nearly tumbling head first into the darkened depths of my closet.

“Oh crap,” I muttered.

Did I really do that?

I stood upright, my eyes becoming unfocused, as I let my mind wander back to all the men I’d dated and dumped over the years.

I was always the one who had broken it off. I was always the first one to walk away.

Holy shit, I am a nut case.

In an attempt to move past my own self-realization and instead of diving headfirst into denial, I began digging through my closet with gusto. I managed to find a couple of pairs of jeans that didn’t scream soccer mom or that didn’t magically time travel me from the ’90s, and I threw them on. They actually looked pretty good and hugged my hips and ass nicely. Paired with a black tee and some old boots, I was nearly ready to go by the time the doorbell rang. I threw on a pair of earrings, spritzed on some perfume, and high-fived myself in the mirror for being almost on time.

How about that?

I resisted the urge to throw a couple of bangles on my wrist or to accessorize my plain black shirt with a scarf, and I forced myself down the stairs. Jackson had been waiting long enough.

Stopping at the door, I took a deep breath and pulled it open.

Jackson was dressed in similar attire, and I allowed myself a moment to appreciate the way his T-shirt molded to his upper body, outlining every defined muscle.

“I will never look at denim the same way again,” he said as his eyes traveled back up to meet mine. “You look hot.”

“These old things? Really? I pulled them out of the back of my closet.” I turned toward the kitchen to grab my purse, feeling his eyes on me.

“That’s what all women say.”

“No, I’m serious. I literally pulled these out of the back of my closet. I hate jeans.”

“Well, they definitely don’t hate you,” he said, his Southern drawl growing thick and sultry.

The corner of my mouth twitched as I tried not to grin. I didn’t usually give in to cheesy lines like that, but damn, he could read the phone book with that Carolina accent, and my clothes would probably melt away before the end of the first page.

“So, where are we going?” I asked, snatching my purse from the counter.

We headed out the door, and I locked up.

“I’m not telling, but I will guarantee that it will be a dating first for you.” His grin was cool and so very confident.