Kissing Under the Mistletoe - By Marina Adair Page 0,81
did more than jump. There he stood in jeans and a sweatshirt, his hair sticking up in the back, and a sleeping Holly snuggled against his chest. “I was thinking that maybe I should put Sleeping Beauty down in one of the guest rooms.”
No, there was nothing cool about her feelings for Gabe.
Regan nodded. It was all she could do. If she opened her mouth, she was sure something close to “I love you” would escape. And to a guy who’d made it clear he wasn’t looking for serious, those three words would for sure send him burning rubber out of her and Holly’s life.
Gabe blew so hot and cold she never knew where he stood. But she was pretty sure where she stood—right on the edge of heartbreak. And watching him tuck Holly in bed would send her over. So after Gabe disappeared down the hall, Regan turned back to the table and knew she had to tell her friends.
She needed a fresh perspective—one that would remind her that, Christmas wish or not, Gabe would not be under her tree come Christmas morning.
She took a deep breath and leaned in to whisper. “I think I blew it. I wanted to feel like something other than a stressed-out single mom for a day, and like a sex-deprived idiot, I threw myself at him.”
“You say it like he suffered some kind of hardship.” Jordan laughed. “I was there—well, for the post-nookie clothes scramble—and trust me when I say, it didn’t look like you had to throw yourself too hard. The man couldn’t keep his eyes—or his hands—off you.”
“That doesn’t mean he likes me, though,” she admitted, humiliation making it hard to see. Or maybe that was the tears.
“Of course he likes you,” Jordan said, placing her hand on Regan’s. Gabe had said the same thing. Then again, he’d been trying to get into her pants. Sex did stupid things to men—apparently women too.
“Then why has he been avoiding me all week? I show up, he leaves skid marks out the door. I didn’t expect him to ask me to be his girlfriend or anything. I just didn’t think he’d be ashamed of me.”
Both women exchanged a look, one that Regan didn’t fully comprehend. But there was enough eyebrow quirking and pointed stares to send her stomach into a nervous nosedive.
“What?” Regan asked. “What are you not telling me?”
But she already knew. This was where her friends would tell her that Gabe was way out of her league, and wishing for anything more was dangerous. So when Frankie folded her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair and Jordan sighed, Regan’s stomach reappeared in her throat.
“Fine. I had a talk with Gabe.”
“What?” That was so not what she expected Jordan would say. And, oh, so much worse. “About what?”
“About screwing around with single moms. About how the rules are different. About how he needed to really know what he was doing before someone got hurt.” Jordan lowered her voice, continuing before Regan could reply—well, scream. Regan had been on her own since she was eighteen; she didn’t need someone fixing her business. “I get it. I’m a single mom too. I know what it’s like to feel alone and how easy it is to forget you’re a woman. Then some good-looking guy with a great package comes along reminding you what you’re missing, and you drop your pants for a quick scratch.”
Regan felt her face heat with anger. “You had no right to talk to Gabe or anyone else about my itches! Quickly scratched or otherwise. I’m not Ava. I’m not part of your purity-for-eternity campaign.”
Lines of concern cut through Jordan’s forehead. “No, you’re not. But you’re also not the kind of person to take something like sleeping with a man lightly.”
“You don’t even know me,” Regan accused.
“Yes, I do,” Jordan said, and Regan realized it was true. They may have only met a few weeks ago, but the women in front of her had quickly become two of the closest friends she’d ever had. And Jordan was hitting painfully close to home with her assessment. “I also see the way you look at him, Regan.”
“We...love...you and don’t want you to get hurt.” Frankie forced the words out as if such an admission were painful.
Not nearly as painful as Regan’s next words. “Why? Because a man like Gabe could never love a woman like me?”
“God, no.” Jordan stared Regan down, not continuing until she knew Regan was listening. “Self-loathing