When the Stars Align Read online

  I pull back a bit so I can see her honey brown eyes, my arms still around her shoulders. “Yeah,” I whisper back. I’ll do anything for her. Protect her. Care for her.

  “You see the guy who was standing by me at the bar?”

  “Yeah.” I glance over. He’s watching us.

  “He’s a colleague, and he’s a bit overbearing. Can you pretend we’re dating?”

  She couldn’t possibly know how happy her request makes me. I grin. “Abso-fucking-lutely.” She hasn’t mentioned this guy before, but I don’t like him. And if he’s a colleague, it’s definitely not okay. If he’ll treat her like that while out with others, I can’t help but wonder if he also comes on to her at the office when they’re alone. I’ll have to remember to ask.

  I wrap my arm around Anna’s shoulder. She tilts her face up, and I lean down closer to her. Something deep inside urges me to take possession, and I brush my lips against hers. Yes, we’re pretending, but I want the jerk to know she’s mine.

  Her lips are soft. Her eyes widen with surprise. I press my lips against hers again, and she shocks me by rubbing her hand along my face and opening up to deepen the kiss. My tongue slips into her mouth and dances with hers. Goosebumps spring up along my arms, and blood rushes to my cock. It’s a fake kiss. An act. Damn if I don’t enjoy it, though. Anna can kiss.

  Her cheeks flush pink. I’m out of breath and have no desire to address the guy standing near us, or anyone else, for that matter. Her kiss drives me crazy. I want to carry her out of here and find a place to grind into her, kiss her until she begs for more, but I refrain. She’s here with colleagues. We’re pretending. Then I see her wrapped ankle.

  “Have you been walking on your ankle much? You should be sitting.”

  The fondness in her warm brown eyes cuts me to the quick. She seems grateful I’m concerned for her. We’re friends. Of course, I’m concerned.

  I guide her back to her stool. Anna introduces me to Nick, the asshole, and Delilah and Stacey, her colleagues.

  Nick and I exchange hard looks as we shake hands. That’s right, asshole. Hands off. I’m a lawyer, and a sexual harassment lawsuit has your name on it, free of charge, motherfucker.

  Nick holds his beer, his eyes assessing. His scowl zeroes in on my arm wrapped around Anna’s shoulder.

  Anna snuggles into my side as she carries on a conversation with Delilah. She feels good, her soft, full breast pressed against me. This is a game I enjoy playing. Maybe a little too much.

  With an almost angry tone, Nick interrupts. “Anna, you haven’t mentioned a boyfriend.”

  “Yeah, well, I just moved to New York a few weeks ago,” I offer. Look at me, asshole, not her.

  She adds, “We knew each other at Carolina.”

  Nick’s entire face radiates anger. He watches us—no, glares at us—and he continues drinking his beer.

  Nick and I continue eyeing each other as I politely answer questions from Delilah and Stacey. Both are art directors on Anna’s team and seem particularly interested in meeting their boss’s “boyfriend.” Delilah, in particular, flips her hands around and bops up and down as she talks. The mass of hair on top of her head bounces in tandem.

  Nick finishes his beer, sets it down, and says, “Well, I’m going to call it a night. Need to prepare for my party tomorrow.” He directs his attention to the three women. “You ladies are coming, right?”

  Delilah and Stacy, with big smiles, assure him they’ll be there. Delilah adds, “Yeah, it sounds like a pretty big crew is gonna make it. Should I bring my Jell-O shots?”

  “Please do. Love those.” Directing his gaze to Anna, he asks, “Are you coming?”

  Anna’s unease is evident. She snuggles into my side and caresses my chest. Hell, yes. My pride grows, and a feeling of protectiveness surges. That’s not the only part of my anatomy surging. Damn Anna.

  “No, I’m not gonna be able to make it. Jackson and I have plans.”

  I nod along with her. Take that, asshole. And anything you want, Anna, I’m game.

  After he leaves, Anna shifts away from me on her stool. Delilah jumps up and down in front of us, a huge grin plastered on her face. “Holy shit! You took my advice and got a fake boyfriend.”

  Anna grins over her beer. “Hey, how do you know he’s fake?”

  I can’t help but wonder the same thing.

  Delilah smiles. “Because you never date. And you’d tell me if you actually went out on a date. I’ve worked with you for, what, three years now, and you avoid dates like I’ve never seen anyone avoid dates.”

  I observe the two friends talking. Now, this is interesting information. Unexpected. At Carolina, I’d seen her many nights out dancing with different guys, shaking her ass to a variety of bands. And she had gone out on dates with me.

  Anna appears a bit uncomfortable at Delilah’s assessment, but she doesn’t argue. She goes for a conversation turner instead and asks Delilah about some guy named Josh. The conversation then pivots and focuses completely on Delilah’s love interest.

  As Anna interacts with her colleagues, I can’t stop watching her. Her long, dark hair falls in loose waves midway down her back. Her loose, flowing skirt drapes over her lean, muscular legs. Legs I admire running in shorts or tight leggings each morning. Her oversized gray sweater has one large hole near the bottom. She dressed for comfort today, but even in loose and casual, she oozes sexy. I can’t help but think about what’s hidden beneath her clothes. Those large, dark nipples, her flat stomach, and her perfect, curvy ass.

  Beautiful. She isn’t my type. My type is more suits, sexy, form-fitting pencil skirts, and heels. Corporate sexy. Boardroom sharp. No, she’s not my type. And it would be the height of stupidity to hook up with someone living on my floor. And I don’t plan to be in a relationship again for another five years, at the earliest. The kind of hours I have to put in is not conducive to a relationship.

  Back at Carolina? Yeah, I had wanted a relationship with her then. I’d wanted to rearrange our plans to be together. She didn’t. And now, the timing doesn’t work. Maybe in another four years.

  But I do need a date for a work event coming up. After I played along with this, she owes me.

  On the cab ride home, I deliberate the facts. We’re just friends. Doing each other favors. I’m going to be running her dog for her until her ankle strengthens.

  Almost as if she’s a mind reader, she says, “Thank you for hanging out this evening. And for pretending to be my boyfriend.”

  “Yeah, about that. Does that guy treat you like that at the office?”

  She looks out the window, away from me. A slight pink blush colors her cheeks. “Yeah, sometimes. I’ve got it under control, though.”

  That wasn’t really what it looked like to me, but Anna doesn’t respond well when I argue with her. “Well, if you need me to play along as your boyfriend, I’m happy to do so anytime.”

  “I should take a selfie of us and frame it to put on my desk. It seems like a crazy thing to do, but it would drive home the point.” She sounds proud for coming up with the idea.

  “What point? That you aren’t interested?” Has she lost her mind? She should tell the guy she’s not interested. If that doesn’t solve it, there are legal ways to handle him.

  “Yeah.” She smiles and nods. Does she not realize there is something seriously wrong if she needs to fake a boyfriend to deflect someone’s attention at work? Since her focus has returned to the window, away from me, and she’s fidgeting, I decide to drop it. For now.

  Instead, I go for the question I want to ask. “Since I helped you out, can you help me out? Return the favor?”

  She gives me her full attention. “Sure. You need to deflect attention?”

  “Yeah, but of the partners’ wives variety.”

  “They’re hitting on you?” she practically squeals with a huge smile.

  “No. No. No. But I’ve been warned they are like piranhas if they sense a single guy around. They have a reputation of be
ing aggressive matchmakers. Blind dates. Even worse, blind dates with daughters and friends’ daughters.” I shiver dramatically and widen my eyes in mock fear to drive home the point. She giggles. “There’s a work function coming up. I could use a fake date.”

  Anna smiles. “Sure, I’d love to be your fake date.”

  When she giggles, it makes me feel ten feet tall. I’d forgotten what that felt like. Yes, she’s the perfect date to bring. Gorgeous, fun, and doesn’t want a boyfriend. Doesn’t want me. No misplaced expectations. Perfect. She’s perfect.

  Chapter 14

  Anna

  Early Saturday evening, the knocking on my door sends Chewie into a manic round of vicious barking. Her tail wags frantically behind her as she charges. Both front paws pound on the door as she jumps at it, as if there’s a chance she can defy the laws of physics and pass through it.

  I leap up, ignoring the jabbing pain in my ankle, and hobble to the door as quickly as a one-legged injured person can. If possible, I’d like to avoid a third warning from building management.

  I scold Chewie, telling her to hush, as I open the door. As soon as the door opens, Chewie stops barking, a good thing. She lunges forward, paws landing square on Jackson’s chest, a bad thing. Jackson kind of laughs and scratches beneath her ears. He’s wearing a form-fitting black V-neck, faded jeans, and running shoes. He looks absolutely delectable. Casual Jackson is my favorite Jackson.

  “Hey, I probably should have texted. Wanted to see if you wanted to order dinner in. I think you said you’re staying in tonight, right?”

  Rain has splattered across my windows all day. A cold, miserable rain that’s doubly miserable on windy city streets. Bobby stopped by early this morning to take Chewie for a long walk. He left with strict instructions for my dog walker to do the afternoon walk. I’ve been a lump all day, alternating between reading and Netflix.

  “Yeah. It’s rainy. Great night to stay in.” I point at my ankle and grin. “No dancing tonight. That’s for sure.”

  Jackson follows me inside to the futon. My menu basket sits on the coffee table. We claim opposite ends of the lumpy futon. I’m in loose flannel pajama bottoms and a gray ribbed tank top with thick fluffy socks. My hair’s kind of a wavy mess. It did occur to me he might come over, but I thought it would be a little later.

  He flicks through the menus and picks up the one from Peng’s Noodle Folk. One of my favorites. “Ramen and dumplings sound good?”

  I grin. “A man after my own heart.” I stand and hobble over to the kitchen. “Do you want red or white?” Before I reach the kitchen, he’s behind me. He scoops me up and delivers me back to the futon.

  He grumbles, “Stay off the ankle.” He opens the door and flips the lock so the door can’t close on him and calls, “I’ll be right back.”

  Chewie stands by the propped-open door. The black tip of her nose fits inside the gaping crack, and she stands sentry.

  Within minutes, Jackson returns with two bottles of wine and two wine glasses. “Red okay? I didn’t ask you, but it will go best with what we ordered.”

  “That’s fine. I love good wine. I really love those glasses.” The wine glasses are enormous, and there’s an artistic indention in the curve of the bulb on one side.

  He holds one up. “I bought a dozen of these on a trip to Napa last year. Handblown glass. The large glass allows the wine to breathe. Also holds a lot of wine.” He wiggles his eyebrows in a playful, exaggerated way.

  He picks up my phone from the coffee table and thumbs through playlists, finally selecting one of my more random lists with funky melodies. Phosphorescent’s song, New Birth in New England, drifts from my wireless speakers through my apartment.

  It’s one of my favorite songs. As the singer sings about having another beer, I sit back, swirling the wine in my glass. I ponder how many glasses of wine I’m going to allow myself to drink.

  “You’ve been on your ankle too much. Sit back.” He grabs some throw pillows to position behind my back then sets another pillow down and props both my legs on it. Then he ventures into my bedroom and comes back with one of my throws. He cocoons me in the soft throw then plops down at the end of the futon.

  His bossy, commanding side normally irks me, but the wine and relaxing music has me feeling mellow. And it’s kind of nice to be taken care of. I can’t remember the last time anyone treated me with so much care.

  Our food arrives, and Jackson handles everything. Pays the delivery guy, sets out the plates, and cleans up when we’re done. Four years have passed, but it’s like no time has passed at all. We’re good friends, hanging out like we used to. We talk about music, about food, good restaurants, my favorite places in the city.

  My phone pings, and I read the text.

  Delilah: Still not coming tonight?

  Me: No

  Delilah: Hanging with the Todd Snyder man?

  Me: Who?

  Jackson leans over to read my text. “Todd Snyder?”

  I tap the back of my phone as I await her response. “No idea.”

  Delilah: The guy from the bar last night.

  Me: Jackson?

  Delilah: He was wearing Todd Snyder.

  “Were you wearing a brand called Todd Snyder last night?”

  He raises one eyebrow, a contemplative expression on his face. “Yeah, I guess. Maybe. I use a personal shopper. Your friend knows her brands.”

  Me: Why do you know men’s brands?

  Delilah: Girlfriend, why don’t you?

  I toss my phone onto the table. It’s rude to be texting in front of Jackson, anyway.

  Jackson picks up my sore leg and starts rotating my foot, checking for tenderness. I lean back, sipping my wine, and enjoy watching him. My loose pajama pants allow his hand to roam, and as we talk, strong hands massage my calf muscles. My whole body relaxes.

  “Is Delilah a good friend?”

  “Yeah, she is. Probably too good of a friend, considering she works for me. An opening is coming up in another group, and I’m going to recommend she take it. My agency isn’t huge, and we all hang out together, but she’s become one of my best friends. It’ll be better for her if she switches groups, you know?”

  He nods in agreement. “I can see that. My firm in Atlanta was enormous. Cutthroat competitive. I don’t have a frame of reference. But I can see how it would be tough to manage a good friend.” He shifts, adjusting himself on the futon, and adds, “I’m glad you didn’t go to Nick’s party tonight.”

  He has no idea about the history there. But he did meet Nick.

  “There was no way I was going to the party. I don’t like him. He’s a strange guy. But he’s a group account director, a level up from me. He’s close friends with the founders of the agency. I have to play nice to some degree. He was one of the first five employees.”

  “Well, I don’t know what he’s like in your office, but I can tell you that what I saw in the bar was not acceptable behavior for a colleague, especially a senior colleague.”

  He sounds like such a lawyer. Or maybe a dad. Yes, what he’s saying is true. But I can’t explain the entire situation to him. “I know. I promise I’ve got it under control. Thanks again for being my fake boyfriend.” I smile, and a warmth spreads through my entire being as I remember our kiss. Our kisses. “The kiss surprised me,” I whisper. “It was nice.”

  His eyes widen. I notice his eyes have a dark green hue tonight. That’s one thing I used to love about Jackson. His chameleon eyes. And personality. He can flip from boyish to serious in a nanosecond. I loved knowing all his sides. And that he has sides he doesn’t share with others, but he shared only with me.

  He lifts my healthy leg onto his lap and presses onto the sole of my foot then uses his strong hands to knead and press. I shift to allow him greater access. If I were a cat, I would be purring loudly. Man, foot massages might be my favorite. Evan, my ex, used to do this when we were watching movies at his house in the basement, when our relationship was new. Such a long time ago.


  Jackson studies my feet, as if examining my navy nail color. Minutes pass, and I hear a quiet, “Yeah, I agree. About the kiss.” He’s quiet after his admission, and so am I. I’m about to suggest we pick a movie when he asks, “Have you ever thought about what would have happened if we’d taken jobs in the same city?”

  His question surprises me. “Hmmm. If we’d planned to move to the same city, we wouldn’t have fought.”

  He nods, silent, contemplative.

  “But, Jackson, I’m glad we went to different cities.”

  He jerks back and drops my foot. “You are?”

  “Yeah. I wanted to make it on my own. I needed to. I think.”

  He studies me and reaches out to grab the remote, then pauses. “Right now, that’s what I need. To be on my own. Work has to be my top priority.”

  I get it. I do. Jackson has a lot to prove to his dad. To his family. His dad wanted him to join his company, and he chose law. No one gets it more than I do. I nod to show him I understand.

  He squeezes my foot. “But if things were different, if dating made sense for me, there’s no one I’d rather date than you.”

  Swoon. Right there. Swoon. “Right back at you.”

  He frowns. “Why exactly is dating not in the cards for you right now?”

  I heave out a sigh and run my hand through my hair. “I’m kind of in the same boat, work-wise, I guess? I’m a creative director. I have a team of people, almost all older than I am, reporting to me. I’m doing work on three accounts plus helping out on new business when I get the chance. It’s a lot.” Green eyes study me. “My parents never wanted me to have a career. They wanted me to get married. It was...I don’t know. Both my parents aren’t here now, so maybe it’s ridiculous. But I feel like I have something to prove. If not to them, to myself. Does that sound crazy?”

  He raps his foot on the floor several times in quick succession. “No. Not at all. Doesn’t answer why you can’t date, though.”

  “Why is work a satisfactory answer for you and not for me?”