Read A Better Reason to Fall in Love Online
Authors: Marcia Lynn McClure
Tags: #Romance, #General, #Contemporary, #Fiction
Jagger got out of his car, walked around to the back of it—visibly shivering all the way—and retrieved a black duffle bag from his trunk.
“I was supposed to head over to the restaurant tonight to help the kitchen,” he said. “I guess I better call and let them know I won’t be there.”
“I’m so sorry,” Tabby said as he stepped into the house, still shivering.
“Don’t be,” he told her. “And besides…I’m sure they’ll close. It looks like this storm is shutting the city down.”
Jagger stomped his feet on the mat lying just inside the door in the kitchen.
“Can I take my shoes off?” he asked.
“Oh! Of course,” Tabby said. “Here…let me take that for you.” Reaching out, she took the duffle bag from him, enabling him to remove his shoes.
She watched as he lined his shoes up on the floor mat. He shivered again and smiled down at her.
“Hey,” he said, studying her from head to toe. “You got shorter.”
“Heels.” She shrugged. “Let me take your jacket,” she said, placing the duffle bag on the floor.
Jagger loosened his tie, removed his suit coat, and handed it to Tabby, who hung the coat on the back of a nearby chair.
“Would you mind if I change clothes?” he asked. “I have stuff in my bag…since I was supposed to be washing dishes tonight.”
“I’m glad you won’t have to wear your suit all night,” she said. She watched him pull on his tie again. The knot unwound, and he pulled the length of silk from around his collar and then began unbuttoning his shirt. “Oh!” she exclaimed, blushing. “The bathroom is right through there.” She pointed across the kitchen and living room to the bathroom just beyond.
“Well then, excuse me while I slip into something more comfortable.” He smiled and winked.
Tabby smiled and blushed to the tips of her toes.
“Wait a minute,” he said, as he picked up his duffle bag. “Isn’t that supposed to be your line?”
Tabby giggled, relieved that Jagger didn’t seem to be angry about being trapped—delighted with his flirting.
“Oh, I’m definitely going to change out of this skirt,” she said.
“Okay. I’ll be back in minute.”
He started toward the bathroom but paused and turned to look at her once more.
“Can I get you something?” she asked.
“Nope,” he said. “I was just thinking…I bet it’s been, like, sixteen years since I was at a campout.”
“You mean a sleepover,” Tabby giggled.
Jagger shook his head, frowning. “Guys don’t have sleepovers, Tabby. Guys have campouts…even if it’s indoors.”
“Oh, I see,” she said, smiling.
He swaggered toward the bathroom then, black duffle bag in hand. Tabby stifled a giggle of delighted disbelief as she watched him go. He disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
“Driven home by the Derrière-inator,” she softly whispered to herself. “Driven home, carried to the door, and all alone during a blizzard…with His Royal Hineyness.” She sighed and headed toward her room. “Unbelievable,” she mumbled to herself.
❦
“Seriously, I should open my own restaurant,” Jagger said as he placed a plate of food on the table in front of Tabby. “See? I told you I could cook.”
Tabby smiled as she studied the enormous mound of corn chips, chili, and cheese heaped on her plate.
“What’s it called?” she asked.
“Jagger’s Famous Frito Pie, of course,” Jagger said, setting a plate down on the table next to her. “Oh, wait,” he said, snapping his fingers as if he’d forgotten something. “We need milk with this. Where are your glasses?”
“In the cupboard to the right of the sink,” she answered. The smile on her face as she watched him fumble around the kitchen was so broad it was beginning to hurt. She watched as Jagger opened the cupboard and took out two glasses. Opening the fridge, he pulled out a gallon jug of milk and filled the glasses.
He returned the milk to the fridge, picked up the two glasses, and headed back to the small table.
“There,” he said. The milk in the glasses sloshed as he seated himself in a chair and set the glasses on the table. “Well? Dig in,” he said.
Giggling, Tabby plunged her fork into the heap of food. The corn chips beneath the microwave-warmed chili were beginning to soften, and the cheese on top was melting. Tabby awkwardly shoveled a bit of the concoction into her mouth, feeling her eyebrows arch in astonishment at how delicious it was.
“It’s good!” she mumbled with her mouth still full.
Jagger smiled and nodded. “You doubted it at first. I could tell. But I knew you’d like it.”
Jagger had volunteered to make dinner—having had Fritos, canned chili, and grated cheese in his duffle bag. He’d explained that he didn’t like to eat the restaurant food when he was working there; the delicious New Orleans cuisine didn’t taste as good after a body had been washing dishes in the kitchen. So he’d packed his supper that morning, in his duffle bag with his change of clothes. He had assured Tabby that he needed to use the cheese—so why not let him fix dinner?
Tabby had agreed easily enough. And now—now she sat eating Jagger Brodie’s Frito pie, entirely delighted by his total bachelor-ness.
“Perfect, huh?” Jagger said as he took a bite. “I mean, can you think of anything better we could eat on a night like this?”
“Absolutely not,” Tabby giggled. She took another bite of the warm, satisfying mixture.
They ate in silence for a minute or two. Tabby’s silence was borne more of the astonishment in her—that she was lingering in isolation with Jagger Brodie—than in being awestruck by his culinary skills.
“So,” he began after a moment, “what kind of stuff does one do on a sleepover?”
Tabby smiled as she shrugged. “You know, makeup makeovers, braiding each other’s hair, talking about boys, dancing around in pajamas, singing along to boy bands.”
“Hmm,” Jagger said, grinning. “I’m not sure I’m up for all that. My hair isn’t long enough to braid for one thing.”
Tabby laughed. “Mine either, I guess,” she said. “What kinds of things do boys do at these so-called campouts then?”
Jagger shrugged. “The regular stuff—tell stupid jokes, eat a truckload of chips and salsa, talk about hot girls…dare each other to run naked around the backyard.”
“What? Are you serious?” Tabby asked, laughing.
“Oh yeah,” Jagger confirmed. “So, if you’re not up for stupid jokes or streaking, I guess we’ll have to find some other means of entertainment.” He paused and winked at her, adding, “Won’t we?”
Tabby felt herself blush—even though she tried not to.
“I suppose so,” she said. “Though I’m sure I could manage the chips and salsa part.”
He chuckled and ate for a moment.
“Can I ask you a question?” he asked.
“Sure,” she answered.
“Do they really call me ‘Iron Buns’ at the office?”
Tabby choked a bit, stunned by his question. She glanced up at him, expecting to see a teasing expression on his face. Yet he looked sincere, as if he were truly curious—and a little embarrassed.
“Do they really call us the Foxy Four?” she countered in trying to buy time before answering his question.
“Yeah,” he told her. “What about me though? It’s not really true, right?”
Tabby blushed, thinking of the nicknames she’d contributed.
“I mean, it’s not like anyone could even see my butt anyway. I wear a suit every day,” he said.
“But you don’t always wear a suit coat,” she mumbled.
He glanced up to her, frowning a bit. “So it’s true?”
Tabby looked down to her Frito pie. “Iron Buns, Mr. Tight Tush…Gladiator Gluteus,” she shamefully admitted.
“Are you serious?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she admitted, blushing guiltily.
He shook his head a moment. “That’s uncomfortable,” he muttered.
“I-I think the girls just do it to be stupid,” she told him. “You know how silly girls can be…how boring work is if you don’t have something dumb to talk about.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I guess you’re right.” He chuckled then and shook his head, obviously amused. “Gladiator Gluteus,” he repeated. “I guess I should be flattered, right?”
“Exactly,” Tabby told him. “Of course, there’s always my favorite.”
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Um…the Derrière-inator,” she confessed.
Jagger laughed. “Now that’s clever,” he said. “The Derrière-inator. That’s good. Who thought of that one?”
Tabby felt a blush redden her cheeks again. Looking down at her plate, she shoveled another bite of food into her mouth.
But Jagger was not so easily deterred. “Wait a minute…was it you? You came up with the Derrière-inator?” he asked.
“We…we were just talking about it one day. You know…just joking around,” she stammered.
Jagger smiled. “So you like my butt then?”
“No! Of course not!” Tabby exclaimed in defense of herself. “We were just being dumb…thinking up different stupid nicknames…”
“So you don’t think I have a nice butt?”
“No…I’m sure you do. It’s just that—”
“So you’ve never checked it out?”
“Of course…I mean, no!” Tabby stammered. She was entirely discombobulated—excruciatingly embarrassed.
“Hey, I’m just teasing you,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. Tabby knew her face was still as red as a tomato, however.
She heard him chuckle again. “The Derrière-inator. That’s a good one,” he said. “Have you come up with any others?”
It was pointless to play dumb now. Therefore, she ventured, “His Royal Hineyness?”
Jagger choked, for he’d been drinking his milk.
“Are you okay?” Tabby asked, quickly patting him on the back.
“His Royal Hineyness?” he asked.
Tabby shrugged. “Work gets pretty monotonous sometimes,” she said.
“That’s an understatement,” he agreed. He smiled as he scraped the last of the Frito pie from his plate. “I guess we all do something to keep it interesting, right?”
“I guess,” Tabby said. She put her fork down and sighed. She’d way overeaten and now felt uncomfortable. There was still half a plate full of Frito pie, but she couldn’t eat another bite.
“Didn’t you like it?” he asked. His brow was puckered in almost a worried frown.
“Oh, I loved it!” she assured him. “But it was a pretty man-sized portion. And in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not a man.”
Jagger smiled. As he took hold of the edge of her plate and pulled it to sit in front of him, he said, “Oh, believe me…I
have
noticed.”
Tabby giggled as she watched him begin to finish the food on her plate.
“Wow…you really are a player, aren’t you?” she said. He was way too charming to be safe. Already her pulse had increased.
He frowned. “I’m not a player,” he argued. “How could I not have noticed you? It ain’t every office that has a dead-sexy redheaded graphics designer.”
“Oh, so you like redheads, huh?” she asked.
“I always have,” he said. “I think they’re sexy.”
Tabby couldn’t decide whether to be happy at his confession or disappointed. She was glad he claimed to find her attractive. Yet her old fear of her hair being the only pretty feature she owned returned in an instant.
“Oh, sure,” she said, staring at him with blatant skepticism.
“Really,” he assured her.
“So, you think, like, Lucille Ball was sexy?” she teased him.
“No…but she was hilarious,” he admitted.
“Name one sexy redhead then,” she challenged. “Go on. I’ll bet you can’t think of one.”
He grinned at her. “You,” he said.
Tabby rolled her eyes, shaking her head with disbelief. “I’m serious,” she told him.
“So am I,” he said, pushing his plate to the middle of the table and leaning back in the chair. “I even sang about it. How much more proof do you need?”
Tabby rolled her eyes once more. This guy was good! She’d have to watch her heart closer than she thought.
“Okay, whatever,” she said. “Then name another one.”
“Easy,” he said, shrugging broad shoulders as if her challenge held no merit. “Ginger.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Tabby frowned. “Ginger?” He’d said the name as if she would instantly know who he was talking about.
His brow puckered, and he looked at her with an “are-you-kidding” expression.
“Ginger,” he repeated. “
The
Ginger? The Ginger that every boy in America—and probably all over the world—has been hot for since, like, nineteen sixty-something?” He made a sound as if it were the simplest fact in the world—that everyone knew who Ginger was. “I mean, seriously. Mary Ann was cute. She was even pretty—like, really pretty—and most of the time, you’d have to go with Mary Ann. But let’s be serious. Ginger was like a fantasy.” He smiled—a broad, dazzling smile that caused Tabby to sigh.