What the hell?
Mysterious appeal? I definitely need to stop thinking of her in this way.
Especially if I plan on getting back together with Emily.
I consider Honey’s idea about pretending to date. While I certainly wouldn’t expect her to be so…obvious when extolling my virtues, she definitely would do a fine job rousing a bit of jealousy.
If that pink feather was enough, I can only imagine what the woman herself would do.
But the idea is absurd.
Heaven help me if I can’t win Emily back on my own.
Hell, maybe I should find out what Honey does for a living, confirm my worst suspicions about her. At least it would temper these conflicting, problematic thoughts I have about her.
The elevator arrives before I can even open my mouth.
“Manuel! My hero!” Honey cries out, waving a hand like a beauty contestant in a parade.
A wide grin appears on the face of the maintenance man.
“Miss Honey,” he greets. “You get locked out?”
“We both did, if you can believe that!”
His eyes dart to me as though just now noticing I’m not a piece of furniture she’s leaning against.
“Thank you,” I say, forcing the embarrassment away. I’ve never locked myself out before and something about this situation in particular has me feeling angry with myself.
“Is no problem,” he says in an overly ubiquitous manner, as he heads to my door first.
Am I that imposing?
I reach one long arm out to catch the door and stop it so it’s only slightly ajar. I thank him again. As Manuel walks over to open Honey’s, I help her walk closer to her door. Once he’s done the same with hers, leaving it slightly ajar, he turns back to her—and only her—with a broad smile.
“Well look at me, saved by two of New York’s most handsome men, and all before I’ve even had my mornin’ coffee!”
Good grief.
But Manuel laps it up like pure molasses, especially with that accent of hers laid on so thickly she could smother a man. Our helpful maintenance man looks like he’d happily die of asphyxiation.
“You’re welcome, Miss Honey.”
I get a brief nod and an even briefer smile before he turns to go.
“Well, I guess that’s enough adventure for the morning,” Honey says, turning to me with an adoring smile. “I can’t thank you enough for coming to my rescue, Jesse Castiglione.”
I’m stunned into silence as she rises up and plants a soft kiss on my aching cheek, causing the throb to come back.
“Until we meet again, or maybe just until I find myself once again in distress.” She pulls away and bats her eyelashes. “Unless of course, you find you need my services?”
“I’m good,” I say as curtly as possible.
She just laughs and limps past her threshold. With one last wave, she closes the door, leaving me with nothing but the vision of that smile on her face and the feel of her lips against my sore cheek.
Chapter Twelve Honey
I fall against the door with a smile on my face, listening closely for Jesse to head back to his apartment. My smile subconsciously grows wider until I’m practically beaming when I realize he’s still standing there in the hallway where I left him.
I shouldn’t have flirted so shamelessly with him while he was only trying to help me. It’s obvious that he has very conflicting feelings when it comes to yours truly. I’ve never seen such a tough nut to crack, at least not in heterosexual male form.
Then, of course, there’s Francis.
And Jesse’s Emily.
My smile disappears.
I hear Jesse’s door close softly, which eliminates the last bit of remaining fun from this rather exciting morning.
My idea about pretending to date popped into my head when he mentioned Emily. Our circumstances are so similar it’s amusing.
Or at least it would be if it wasn’t so pathetic.
Jesse would definitely be the kind of man to make Francis jealous. I doubt he has as much money, but he’s handsome and superbly fit. He’s also smart and, as it turns out, quite witty.
I wonder if he’s as good in bed as I suggested with my little act.
Jesse did a good job hiding his reaction, but I could tell he was turned on.
I feel my body heat up at the memory of it.
“Stop it, Honey,” I admonish.
It is really bad form to think of another man in such a way when I’m trying to win Francis back. I can’t help but wonder if I’m only using Jesse to fill the void Francis so abruptly left.
“Of course you are,” I convince myself as I hobble over to the couch and fall into it. “That’s all this is.”
That gets my foot throbbing again and I lift my leg to inspect it with a frown forming on my face.
As fun as it was opening that shell of Jesse’s, this was certainly a most inopportune way of going about it.
If my foot hurts this badly now, I doubt it will be healed enough for me to work by this weekend. A woman can’t very well play the tease if she’s injured, especially considering the heels I have to wear while doing it.
The whole point of the game of cat and mouse is that the mouse is hard to catch!
As if this Valentine’s Day couldn’t get any worse.
I scowl as I think about how I expected the holiday to go last week at lunch. I’ve promised myself I wouldn’t even think about Francis until after my party, and that moment has officially arrived.
I might as well add insult to injury.
Even my sore foot can’t stop me from rising up from the couch in search of my phone which I left in the bedroom. I walk on the heel of my injured foot, which I’m sure presents a clumsy picture. Yes, work is definitely out of the picture, at least for the next several days.
As always, a smile comes to my face at the ostentatiously grand bed, or at least the large, arched headboard. It was a birthday present to myself. The
