Page 2 of Jace
“Noneya.”
He scans the perimeter. The side courtyard with blooming red camellia bushes. The ivy-laced iron gate with squeaky hinges. The pink paint on the long exterior of the house turned exclusive store. The brass lionhead knocker on the black door. Then my face. My bearded jaw clenched under scrutiny.
Clocking shit is my job, not his.
“What’s about to happen in two minutes?” Nash asks like a goddamn soothsayer. Usually, it’s an asset for us. In our secret business, we’re predatorsandprey.
But I prefer my romantic side, disguised as Vivian’s best friend. No one’s fucking up my surprise.
I quip, “You’ll go sit beside your wife at your shared desk until QuickBooks bores you, and you two go have a hot quickie on the third floor…” I smirk. “Daddy.”
Nash smirks back. “All in a good Daddy’s dick day; what about you?”
“Leave him alone!” Vale, his wife and the store’s manager, shouts from her desk inside the front parlor. “He’s got a Valentine’s surprise for Vivian!”
“Thanks, Cupid.” I roll my eyes. She can hear me. “Wanna shoot an arrow through your lips?”
I spot the fountain of golden hair, swishing our way, and warn Nash, “Ruin this for me, and I’ll spoil the ending ofLost.”
Nash and Vale are just now binging the series. Might as well threaten to kidnap their cat.
He glances over his shoulder, noting the woman of my impossible dreams opening the iron gate as he grins, disappearing inside.
Like a bass drum, my heart starts pounding at Vivian’s light steps, bouncing my way. I wake every day to the promise and pain of secretly loving this woman.
How she beams when she sees me, like I’m her desert oasis. As if I’m her paradise in a barren world, and the only thing keeping her alive.
It can’t just be me.
I catch her secret glances too. Then our silent smiles turn into entire conversations: all connection and no words. The tender tension between us is torture, soothed only by our deep friendship.
Yeah, welcome to my hell.
Not only is Vivian married, but she’s also my best friend. Like the devil and the deep blue sea; in both dilemmas, I can’t have her.
“Hey, big guy.” She smiles sweetly, all caramel drizzle over my vanilla sundae.
You have no idea how big I get for you, Smokeshow. Every time I see you.
“Hey.” I fucking melt. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
Halting steps away, she blinks. “It’s Valentine’s today?”
This is why my heart is in a blender over this woman.
She’s so sweet, talented, warm, and hot as fuck. What husband would let a woman like her leave their bed without waking her with roses, a heart-frothed latte, and a morning feast on her pussy?
Then again. Good. That punk-ass better not touch his wife.
He doesn’t deserve her.
I have no idea why she’s still married to him. He’s the dirty fry oil to her spring water.
Because most days, Vivian shows up looking like that. Simple, nude sandals. An elegant black pencil skirt. A wrinkle-free white T-shirt. Sweet Jesus, no bra and happy nipples. With a beaming smile forced beneath her baby-blue yet puffy eyes.
It takes a son who loves his mom to recognize when a woman’s been crying.
It seems Vivian does it every morning, so I shrug. “No biggie. I almost forgot, too, until Vale made me help her with the red-rose vibrator display this morning.”
