Fall (VIP 3)

No, no, no, Stella. Calm yourself. I can’t let him know I’m affected; he’ll never let me live it down.

“I’m sorry,” I say with a false smile. “Do I know you?”

His expression clearly says he thinks I’m a smartass. But he extends his big hand with those long, talented fingers. “Hi, I’m John Blackwood. You glared at me all over a grocery store, kissed me, then stole my dessert.”

I don’t take his hand. “You seem fairly stuck on that whole kissing and stealing bit.”

The corner of his mouth pulls higher. He might be dressed like a geek, but he looks like sin incarnate. I have no idea how he does it. His voice remains mellow, a slow tease. “I admit, I am. I’ve never had anyone steal a kiss and not stick around for me to return the favor.”

I swear my lips soften and swell. Which is just plain nonsense, I tell myself grimly. “Why am I not surprised they all run away?”

His brow lifts. Deliberately misunderstanding me? Very cute, Button.

Oh, was that deliberate?

He grins wide. And I try not to stare. Usually, there’s something a bit cynical about John Blackwood. A strange stillness that overtakes him when he isn’t talking, and it’s as if he’s in his own world, and it’s a dark place. But when he smiles like this, unguarded and full out, he’s almost another person—boyish and happy.

I can’t get past his transformation.

“Are those glasses even prescription?” On closer inspection, the glass is flat and thin.

John pushes the glasses further up the prominent bridge of his nose. “They’re a prop. I’ve found most people look right past me when I’m neat and tidy.”

“Imagine that.”

He chuckles and steps a bit closer. “But you noticed right off.”

“Because you were staring at me.”

“You were staring right back.” He’s near enough now that the heat of his body buffets mine. I am around men all the time. Some smell good, some reek of cologne, and some just reek. John’s scent is more of a tease: a bit warm and spicy, a little citrusy and musky. The combination tickles the edges of my senses, beckoning me to get closer, burrow in and investigate. It’s diabolical.

I take a step away from him and glance at the restaurant we just left. “What are you doing here?”

“Eating lunch at my favorite dim sum restaurant. Obviously.”

“It’s my favorite dim sum restaurant.”

“Pretty sure it’s half the city’s favorite,” he says.

“And yet you just happen to be here. Today.”

His eyes crinkle with a grin. “Now, now, my little Sherlock Gnome. As it happens, my therapist’s office is across the street, and I like to have lunch here after a session.”

“Oh.” Now I feel like an ass.

Something John obviously realizes. His answering grin rivals the Cheshire Cat’s. “Look at you all adorably awkward, thinking you’ve put your foot in it.”

“Well, I kind of did.”

His brow quirks. “Because you got me to say I go to therapy? I’m not embarrassed to talk about it. Dr. Allen helped pull me out of a bad spot.” He shrugs. “Truth is, I kind of like therapy now. It helps me get things off my chest and keep things in perspective.”

“I went for a while when I was a teen,” I tell him lightly. Inside, however, I’m twitchy. Because, while John seems to be fairly at ease in opening up about himself, I’m not. I never have been. “I could probably do with a few sessions again.”

If he’s curious about why I had needed counseling before, he mercifully doesn’t prod. Instead, his attitude remains light and teasing. “It might help with that raging case of paranoia you have going on.” He gives me a conspiratorial wink.

When I wipe the corner of my eye with my middle finger, John chuckles low and clearly pleased with himself. He settles down and peers at me with renewed interest. “Are you really surprised we have the same taste in restaurants?”

“What do you mean?”

A furrow runs between his dark brows. “What was all that the other night when we were shopping? We had almost the exact same items.”

“I’d noticed,” I murmur, unsettled. “It was odd.”

“It was fucking weird.”

We start walking down the street. I’m not sure where we’re going or why we started walking, but I don’t stop. John remains close enough to touch but he keeps his eyes focused straight ahead. “Thought you were stalking me at first.”

I laugh. “I thought the same of you.”

“I know. You kept glaring with those crazy ‘if you even flinch in my direction I will nut you’ eyes.”

“That look is the first line of defense for most women.”

He shrugs. “Never had one of those directed at me before.”

“Because you’re the great Jax Blackwood?” I’m only half teasing.

“Well … yeah.” From behind his glasses, his green eyes gleam. “Why are you looking at me like I should apologize for that?”