Running Away With You (Running #3) Read online

  Suddenly all those senses that stopped working kick in at once and I’m on sensory overload. The first thing I notice is how good he smells. It’s that unique combination of testosterone and rich sandalwood soap that drives me crazy.

  Of course, there’s the mere sight of him dressed casually and youthfully. His jeans are worn and soft, and they hang just low enough on his ass that I want to slide my hand into one of the pockets and grab a squeeze. A pair of Sanuk Hemp loafers cover the bare feet I love so very much.

  The black T-shirt I took out for him hangs loosely and leaves me just enough of an opening to snake my hand underneath and steal a quick touch of his incredibly firm and sexy back muscles. My body hums with the desire to feel his touch on my sensitive flesh.

  The moment I feel his bare skin against the palm of my hand, I lose restratint and snuggle up against his warm body. He feels so right. He has such an immediate calming effect on me that I know without a doubt that tonight will end exactly as it should. If that means Shea helps me plan my wedding, then that’s great. If not, then it wasn’t meant to be, and I can live with that so long as Evan is by my side.

  Evan slips his hand around my waist, drawing me even more tightly against his chest. He wraps his other hand around my long hair and, with just the slightest force, he slowly pulls down enough to bring my face up to meet him.

  He looks down at me with smoldering eyes, leans down, and places a lingering, persuasive kiss on my lips. “Do you have any idea how incredibly sexy you are?” he asks.

  “That’s funny, because I was thinking the same exact thing about you.” I deepen the kiss, our tongues madly seeking each other, our breaths quickening. The arm he has wrapped around my waist slips beneath my shirt, caressing my bare skin with his warm touch. I arch into his embrace, enjoying the closeness and wanting more.

  We are rattled from our stupor by the ringing of our doorbell. It’s show time. I pull away from his embrace and make my way over to the door to greet our guests. I peek back over my shoulder and see Evan adjusting his pants. I know how he feels. My breasts are full and pert, pressing against the silk of my bra. This is the effect we have on each other, and it’s intoxicating.

  I open the door and welcome in Shea and Derek. Derek knows his way around our home, so I tell him Evan is waiting for him by the bar in the kitchen. I show Shea into the living room so she can deposit her things. She’s brought with her a rather large tote filled with all sort of treasures I cannot wait to uncover.

  As I lead her the short distance, I can’t help but notice how comfortable and relaxed she looks. She’s wearing a baby-blue Henley shirt and a pair of gray skinny jeans. I cannot imagine Laci ever dressing like that. When I met her, she wore a power suit and presented herself in a very take-charge and intimidating manner.

  I have to ask her about the contrast. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but you seem so different from your sister. Were you two close?”

  “Very close. But we were always sort of yin and yang. Despite how much we looked alike, we were actually fraternal twins. The one trait we shared was our drive toward success. She was very good at what she did, and I try to be the same.”

  “Well, from everything I’ve heard, you’re exceptional at what you do. That’s why I want to work with you so badly. Come on, let’s eat. We can talk business later.” I show her into the kitchen, where Derek has already made himself at home making drinks.

  “Here you go, Shea.” He hands her a Cosmo he’s just finished making.

  “Oh, yeah! Thank you, Derek.” She kisses him sweetly before taking a sip. She turns to me and asks, “Have you ever had one of Derek’s Cosmos? Aren’t they the best?”

  Of course I’ve tried one of his Cosmos. I think Derek has made me every type of drink under the sun. Hell, he’s invented drinks just for me and my bar. But I don’t want to throw that in her face, so I just nod my head and say, “Derek is one of the best bartenders I know. He’s taught me a lot about bar science.”

  Shea nods her head and smiles. “So what’s for dinner? Can I help?” she offers.

  “Well, tonight I made Chicken Francese. I hope you like it.”

  “I love it. It’s one of my favorites. What can I do? I have to warn you, though, I’m pretty helpless in the kitchen, so don’t expect miracles.”

  “You don’t like to cook?” I ask. It always amazes me when I meet women who don’t know their way around a kitchen.

  “Nope. When I was young, my mother would constantly tell me, ‘Stove. Hot. Bad.’ And I always listen to my mother,” she chuckles.

  She’s great. I really like her.

  “No problem. Why don’t you start with the salad?” I hand her four wooden bowls and tongs so she can serve the salad. “I just tossed it with the dressing, so all you have to do is dish it out.”

  As she does, I strain the pasta and check on the chicken. Everything looks great. I look over at Derek and Evan and they are deep in a conversation about the playoffs. Each has a prediction about who’s going to make it and who’s going to be shut out.

  So far, Evan hasn’t said two words to Shea. Nor has she spoken to him. But when she hands him his salad, he of course thanks her. It feels a little tense and awkward at first. As we sit down and begin our meal, I slide my foot under Evan’s leg and run it up and down his calf, hoping to get him to relax.

  “So Evan, is it true that you’re not sleeping around anymore like you used to?” Shea blurts out.

  Holy crap. I nearly choke on a crouton.

  “Shea!” Derek interrupts. “We just got here.”

  “No, no. It’s okay,” Evan intercedes. “Let’s get it over with. You obviously have questions. What do you want to know?” he asks her.

  “Well, for starters I was wondering if you could tell me why you never once spoke to Laci again after you fucked her.” Shea has daggers aimed right at Evan. “You have to know she wasn’t the kind of girl who slept around.”

  “Listen, I don’t regret anything that happened. Your sister knew exactly what she was getting herself into when she took two men up to her hotel room that night. My history with women was very well known. We met. We had drinks. We fucked. That’s it. There was never any illusion of more.”

  I listen to Evan talk about fucking other women, and it makes me sick to my stomach.

  “So would it have killed you to talk to her?” Shea demands. “All she wanted was an explanation.”

  “No. All she wanted was more. More time. More sex. More attention. Your sister was beautiful and intelligent, but she wasn’t right for me. All I would have given her was more heartbreak and disappointment. When you meet the right person, you just know it.”

  Evan takes my hand and looks at me with his big, beautiful blue eyes. “All of a sudden, everything changes – your whole perspective on life shifts. It’s like looking at the world for the first time, full of possibilities and potential. I have that now. I hope she found it too.”

  Almost a whisper, Shea admits, “She did.” The room is painfully silent as Evan and Shea size each other up.

  Finally it’s Evan who breaks the silence. “So let me ask you a question. Are you here in my home hoping to finish the vendetta your sister had against me? Juliette means the world to me. She doesn’t deserve to be caught up in this vicious cycle. She deserves better than that –”

  “Evan, please!” I interrupt, but he won’t let me speak.

  “She deserves better than me. But for some inexplicable reason, she loves me. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to let a one-night stand that happened almost three years ago destroy my fiancée’s dream.”

  “You don’t like me, do you?” Shea asks.

  “I don’t know you,” Evan replies flatly. “But if you can make Juliette’s dreams come true, I’ll be your biggest fan and I’ll see to it that everyone in the NFL knows where to go to plan their big day.”

  “Okay, I’m in,” Shea states as she takes a forkful of her salad.

  “Excuse me?”
Evan barks back.

  “I said, I’m in. If you can stand being in the same room with me, then I think we can work together.”

  Shea takes a sip of her Cosmo and turns to Derek. “You’ve been awfully quiet all this time, Slick. What do you think?”

  “I think I’ve got my hands full,” Derek tells her with a goofy grin on his face.

  “Damned right you do.”

  “Okay, then. If everyone’s done ripping each other apart, I could use some help clearing the table and serving dinner.” Both Shea and Evan motion to get up and help.

  “No!” I demand. “You two stay here and talk. Derek? Do you mind?”

  “Um, sure, boss. Whatever you say.” Derek grabs Shea’s bowl and I grab Evan’s. Derek rinses them in the sink, passes them to me, and I place them strategically in the dishwasher.

  “So, Derek, how’s it going with you two?” I ask.

  “Great. She’s smart, funny, and we have a shitload of fun when we’re together. I have to tell you, I haven’t felt this way in a long time,” he admits. “She’s got the perfect job for me. She can schedule her appointments around my schedule and we get to spend lots of time together. She doesn’t care that I’m a lowly bartender. It’s a nice change.”

  That last comment makes me think about Reese. I think she gave him a rather hard time about finding a real job and a serious career. Derek is doing what he loves, and that should mean more than anything. The right girl would know that. Maybe Reese wasn’t that girl after all.

  Derek and I prepare the plates and take them to the table, only to find Shea and Evan in a heated discussion about football of all things.

  “The 49ers have outstanding depth on both offense and defense,” Shea argues. “They’ve got a string of performance players that goes way beyond their starters. Teams like the Sentinels are relying too heavily on their rookies.”

  “True, and don’t worry, I didn’t take the crack about rookies personally. But you have to admit, the 49ers’ coaching staff is stubborn. They draw up a plan and stick to it, no matter what. You’ll never see the players huddling on the sidelines, chatting or trying to make course corrections. When things don’t work out as planned, they fail to make the necessary adjustments. That’s where a young team like the Sentinels can crack their defense and punch a hole through their offense.” Evan shoves a forkful of chicken in his mouth, but I doubt he even knows what he’s eating.

  “Let’s talk special teams,” Shea suggests. “The Niners’ kicker hit a record-setting sixty-four-yard goal in week four. If San Francisco's offense fails to advance the football, Lee can still be counted on to put the Niners in a favorable situation when the defense takes the field.”

  “I’m counting on San Francisco relying on their passing game and failing to gain yards. They’re putting too much faith in Kaepernick’s arm. He’s got strength and he’s got depth, but he lacks accuracy. His completion percentage during the regular season was 58.4, fourth worst in the league. He throws like a rocket, but he doesn’t throw with finesse.”

  I look at Derek, who’s watching the give-and-take discussion like he’s at a tennis match. His eyes shine with pride as he watches his new girlfriend go toe-to-toe debating football stats with one of the league’s brightest stars.

  Curiosity gets the better of me. “Shea, I have to ask – how do you know so much about football and the 49ers?”

  “I grew up in San Francisco. I’ve been a Niners fan my whole life. My father wanted sons, but all he got was Laci and me, so he’d drag the both of us to games since we were old enough to walk. My father got transferred to the East Coast when I was a freshman in high school. He got Giants season tickets just so we could see the 49ers play when they’re in town.”

  Evan looks directly at Derek and warns him in all seriousness, “Derek, listen. You can bring anyone you want with you to this week’s game. You’re my guest for the day. But I refuse to have anyone wearing 49ers gear in my suite. If your girlfriend wants to wear that shit, you two will be sitting in the stadium. Got it?”

  “Don’t worry, Mac. I won’t let that happen,” Derek promises.

  “Hey, did you guys say something about Colin Kaepernick?” I ask.

  “We did. He’s the quarterback for San Francisco,” Shea explains.

  “Isn’t he the one who’s on Emmy’s ‘Freebie List’?”

  “Yeah, so?” Evan seems confused by my line of questioning.

  “Well, I was just thinking that maybe you could invite him up to the suite after the game and introduce them. It could be a surprise. Wouldn’t that be awesome?” I suggest.

  “Oh my God. Evan, could you do that? Really? Get Kaep up to the suite? I’d give anything to meet him in person.” Shea is practically bouncing in her chair.

  Derek even jumps in with his best excited girl impersonation, “Ooh, please? Pretty please, Evan? He’s so dreamy! Or steamy. Or is it creamy? I forget.”

  “I can try, but only on one condition,” Evan tells Shea.

  “Name it,” she answers.

  “You have to wear a Sentinels jersey to the game. Wait, no. Not just any Sentinels jersey – my Sentinels jersey. I’ll have someone from the front office send you one. That’s my condition!” Evan tosses down his fork, clearly proud of his plan.

  Shea sits back in her chair and contemplates his offer. “You, sir, have a deal.” They even shake hands on it.

  We finish our meal and the dynamics of our little gathering have changed dramatically. The pendulum has swung in the opposite direction and it’s clear that Shea and Evan are going to get along just fine.

  The three of them clean up from dinner as I put the finishing touches on dessert. I’m making a playful twist on Bananas Foster. I made a version of this once for Derek, and I hope he remembers.

  I stand at the stove, heating up the Foster sauce. While it simmers, I melt some white chocolate in a double boiler. Just as they finish cleaning, I begin to plate the warm brioche pudding, topping it with my classic Foster sauce, sliced bananas, and a drizzle of white chocolate on the plate. I add a dollop of homemade caramel ice cream and garnish it with a rock sugar waffle for just that little bit of crunch.

  “Oh man, Jette, this is so good,” Derek compliments me. “Remember that time you made me Bananas Foster for a pancake breakfast? I thought that was good, but this –” He stops talking and shoves a giant forkful in his mouth.

  Shea and Evan both stop dead in their tracks. “She made breakfast for you?” Shea asks incredulously.

  “Yeah, when exactly did that happen?” Evan questions.

  “The night I found out you lied to me, remember? I had way too much to drink and I drunk-dialed you or something like that. I crashed on Derek’s couch that night.”

  “Oh, yeah. What was the name of that guy Emmy was dating at the time?” Evan turns to Derek. “Your roommate. Gary? Glenn? Gordon?”

  “Grant. His name was Grant. He was a really cool guy. I still haven’t cleaned out his room, though. He got a job offer and flew out to Chicago the next day. He left all kinds of shit behind that I still need to go through.”

  “How long ago did he move out?” Shea asks.

  “I dunno. April, I think?” he guesses.

  “Derek, that was, like, eight months ago. I’m coming over tomorrow and we’re cleaning out that room,” she tells him. “God only knows what’s in there.”

  “We could stay at my place tonight, and then we can get an early start,” he teases.

  “Is it so bad that we need an early start?”

  “It’s pretty bad. We should stop somewhere on the way home and pick up some trash bags. And rubber gloves. Just in case.”

  After dessert, we clean up and gather in the living room. Derek and Evan put on the Knicks game while Shea and I talk weddings. She shows me countless pictures of her weddings and I share my clippings. One thing becomes glaringly obvious – we are not even close to being in the same league. My snapshots are mundane and pedestrian at best. I had no idea ho
w much opulence and grandeur was possible.

  Shea doesn’t know our history and she knows very little about me personally, so most of our time together is spent filling in those gaps.

  “Okay, Juliette, I’m going to show you pictures of ten weddings. I want you to take them and place them in order from your most favorite to least favorite.” She hands me ten postcard-size photographs that range from rustic chic to elegant crystal.

  Once I’ve placed them in order, she collects the cards in reverse order, leaving the top four. “Now tell me what you like about each of these.”

  “The thing that drew me to the top four pictures was the flowers. They were everywhere. Some even had bouquets hanging from trees, and flower-covered arches. Flowers have such a special meaning for us.”

  “I notice three of these are indoor weddings and one is outdoors. Why is that?” Shea points to the tropical wedding photograph taken on a beach.

  I explain to her about our fateful meeting here on the beach and how much we love and adore our beach house. She takes copious notes throughout our talk.

  She puts the cards away and takes back out my bottom four cards. “Now tell me why you eliminated these,” she says.

  “This one you have labeled ‘Old Hollywood’ is too art deco,” I explain. “I’m not a fan of rich colors and geometric shapes.”

  I point to the image of gold and ivory tapestries with ceiling murals. “This,” I tell her, “reminds me of Liberace’s bedroom. Yuck.”

  There’s another one labeled “Bling” that I eliminate because of the soft pastels and overly stylized accessories. Pearls, baubles, and tea lights don’t interest me.

  “And as beautiful as this one is, I can’t get married in a winery. Marcus and Camilla had their reception in early September in the middle of grape vines and wine barrels. I don’t want anyone comparing the two.”

  “I understand. This is a great start. Give me a day or two to come up with some ideas.”

  We make plans for her to come back to Rush on Friday night. I give her a list of all the places I’ve been, with notes explaining the problem at each location. She tells me she can get a better idea about my tastes by looking over my choices.