away, taking Mercer’s energy with her. Then she turned, and a little glimmer of her sweet self broke through the crust. “If you like frittata, I can make enough for two tonight.”
He warmed at the offer, so tempted to toss a teasing remark back and remind her what happened the last time they’d shared a meal. “I’m not sure what that is. But if it’s food, then yeah, that’d be real nice.”
“Seven-thirty?”
“I’m leading a session at seven, but make it eight-fifteen and it’s a date, Miss Matchmaker.”
Finally, she smiled. And just like that, he was screwed. Two seconds’ flirting and he wanted her again, worse than ever.
Shit. He better schedule himself a sadistic workout for the late afternoon. Better haul his body up those steps too tired to chew, let alone to muster the energy to mess around. Because near-high-school dropout or not, Mercer was smart enough to know that if Jenna couldn’t manage to keep them strictly platonic tonight… he didn’t stand a chance in hell.
* * *
WHEN MERCER ENTERED the apartment just after eight, Jenna stood a little straighter behind the counter, chopping peppers, steeling herself.
“Hey.”
“Hey yourself, roommate.”
He looked dead tired. Maybe just the by-product of a long, physical workday, or maybe he felt as beat-down as she did, following the unfortunate misunderstanding with the sign. On top of that, she’d spent almost the entire day in the office, and no less than twenty gym members had interrupted to express their condolences, most of them then regaling her with legendary tales of her larger-than-life father. Thoughtful gestures, though each one she smiled through had only reminded her how close he’d been to these strangers, to everyone but her. She felt as tired as Mercer looked.
After disappearing into his room with his gym bag, Mercer came to loiter on the opposite side of the counter. He eyed the bowl of egg mixture. “What’s this called again?”
“Frittata. Not quite an omelet, not quite a quiche.”
“I’m not entirely sure what a quiche is. So, how was your day?”
“Long. Spent most of it getting pummeled with all the stuff the franchise overseers are going to be sweeping through to do in the next couple months.”
“Nothing like a good pummeling. What sort of stuff?”
“They’re sending a bunch of people tomorrow, a design team to drop off the upholstery swatches and paint chips I’m allowed to choose from when I decorate my office. And some last-minute inspection stuff, technicalities before the space gets official approval.”
“You need me to clean the gym’s clutter out of there?”
“Not immediately, but soon.” Jenna turned back to the cutting board. “How was your day, aside from that unpleasant surprise? Thanks for moving the sign, by the way.”
“No problem. And my day was long.”
“How were your stairs?”
“Also long.” He leaned his forearms on the counter, watching her busy hands. “But whatever keeps the kid too beat to worry about bullshit back home, or worse. Girls.”
“Right. No greater threat to you mercenary types than we ladies.”
Mercer smirked.
As Jenna sliced mushrooms, she mustered the courage to say, “Speaking of the danger of women… The dangers of sex and romance, that is.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m issuing us a mutual restraining order tonight.”
He laughed, and though he was clearly confused, it was nice to see him really smiling again. “Pardon?”
“I think we should stay separated by at least four feet at all times. For our own good.” Though even as she said it, she felt heat blooming in her body, felt her resolve turning soft and lazy.
Mercer seemed to consider the proposal, standing up straight and measuring the counter with his gaze. He took a step back. “About like that?”
“Yes. It just seems safer. Well, maybe safe’s not the word—less complicated.”
“So, that means you still like me, even when you’re not drunk?” A different smile, one Jenna enjoyed far too much.
“I was not drunk. And don’t flirt with me. That’s off-limits as well. I don’t know what exactly’s going on with us, attraction-wise. But no need to make it worse. No passing by each other in small spaces, no suggestive remarks…”
“No assaulting me with the sink sprayer?”
“Sadly, no. None of that stuff.” She sighed, knowing that flirting their way around this topic wasn’t going to do a lick of good. “I don’t…I don’t trust myself around you, and we’re the last two people who need to get confused about who we are to each other.”
“You feel confused about last night? I thought it was pretty straightforward.”
She made an exasperated noise. “I’m trying to be serious for a second. That’s yet another reason to be careful around each other until you move out. I don’t work the way I suspect you do, with sex. It’s very… complicated.”
“Doesn’t have to be.”
She shot him a stern look, then went back to chopping. “I’m a pretty stereotypical woman when it comes to sex. It changes everything, emotionally, whether I want it to or not. You seem like a stereotypical man about it. If we did it—which we won’t—”
“Noted.”
“—you’d probably feel the same way about me the next day.”
“And as a stereotypical woman you’d find that infuriating.”
“Likely. Hence the restraining order.”
Mercer crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “You’re right. You’d definitely feel different about me the next day. I’m even better at sex than I am at kissing.”
She narrowed her eyes at him.
“Sorry. I’ll quit it.” He paused a moment before going on. “And I’m with you, incidentally. I think us messing around is a lousy idea, too. It’s just fun winding you up.”
Though she forced herself to nod and say, “I’m glad we’re on the same page,” Jenna felt a pang to hear Mercer agree. She knew in her head that made no sense, but a tiny, illogical part of her couldn’t help but think, How can it be terrible, when it feels so wonderful?
They ate on the couch, the empty cushion between them taunting. So far, yet so close. Jenna found a news special on TV covering a very bloody civil war. If that couldn’t kill the restlessness warming her body, nothing would. Sadly, she caught herself glancing Mercer’s way every minute or two, remembering everything that had happened on that end of the couch, twenty-four hours earlier. Clearly, her attraction was more potent than violent overseas unrest.
Mercer had gone quiet, and stayed that way through the meal. He was rattled, and from what, she couldn’t be sure. By her fessing up to the fact that there was no such thing as strings-free sex to her? Surely that would give a man like Mercer much-needed pause. Or perhaps from the simple fact that his entire life had been turned upside down in the past four days. By her. Also a distinct possibility, and an ugly one. Guilt soured Jenna’s stomach.
When dinner was done Mercer took her plate, and Jenna honored their restraining order and let him do the dishes alone. Though she did steal a couple glances at his shoulders as he worked, those swells of muscle highlighted by the kitchen’s overhead bulbs. Oops.
She changed into lounge pants and a T-shirt and cardigan and got cozy on her end of the couch.