Show Time (Juniper Ridge Romantic Comedies #1) - Tawna Fenske Page 0,46

feel a stronger sense of closure. Roughly seventy percent of participants responded ‘definitely yes” when asked if they felt ready to move on from the relationship. That was more than a fifty-percent increase from their responses at the start of the study.”

“No kidding?” I’m trying not to sound too interested, but the look Lana shoots me suggests I’ve failed. “So there really is something to the idea of getting it out of your system.”

Mari’s brow furrows. “In terms of data, it’s a strong possibility. Of course, there were couples who emerged from the exercise intent on giving the relationship another try.”

“And we’re talking about exes, right?” Lauren lifts an eyebrow at me. “Not relative strangers who have the hots for each other.”

I open my mouth to defend my honor, but Mari interrupts. “Theoretically, it could work either way,” she says. “But yes, there’s a different set of psychological and emotional factors at play with exes.”

Lana laughs and pats my hand. “Good try, big brother.”

“What?” I force myself to keep a neutral face, not giving anything away. “I was just curious about the research.”

“You were curious about getting into Vanessa’s pants,” Lauren points out.

Lana nods. “Which all of us would approve of, for the record.”

I glance at Mari, my lone sister who doesn’t seem to be jumping on the bandwagon of…well, me jumping Vanessa. “I’m not saying I’d go there,” I begin. “Because I probably wouldn’t, and it’s not up to me anyway and—”

“Yes.” Mari takes off her glasses and folds them beside her empty mug. “In theory, the act of demystifying your physical chemistry by establishing parameters around a desired connection before engaging in some mutually pleasurable contact could produce satisfactory results.”

Lana makes a face. “That’s hot.”

“Not everything needs to be hot,” Mari shoots back.

“Fair point,” Lauren agrees. “Maybe it’s the act of eliminating the hotness that leads to…well, whatever the opposite of hot would be.”

As my sisters launch into a discussion of hotness or lack thereof, I’m saved by the ringing of my phone. Slipping it out of my pocket, I catch sight of Vanessa’s name and number. My heart ticks up, and I take a second to collect myself before answering.

“Hey, Vanessa. How’s—”

“Oh my God, Dean! I need help right away.”

Chapter 10

CONFESSIONAL 316

Vincent, Vanessa: (CFO, Juniper Ridge)

I hate being vulnerable. There, I said it. [heavy sigh] I hate it so much. My mother, she’s the one who used to say all the time, “Don’t lift that heavy thing, Vanessa. Ask a man to help, Vanessa.” Always, from the time I was a little kid. It drove me bonkers. I mean, come on. I’m smart and capable and can do everything for myself. Even orgasms, thank you very much. I know what I need, okay? What I like.

You’re not going to use that, right?

By the time Dean shows up at my front door, I’ve stopped hyperventilating. Roughneck, on the other hand, is losing his shit.

“Roo-roo-roo-roo-rooooooo!” He’s at the other end of my cabin, shouting though the back door as he lunges at my worst nightmare lying on the deck.

The doorbell chimes again, and I snag Roughneck’s harness to pull him across the living room and over to the front door. Swinging it open, I take a few breaths to slow my heartbeat.

God, Dean looks good. And worried. But also really, really good.

“I’m so sorry,” I tell him as I struggle to keep Roughneck from jumping up on him. “I just found the booklet with the number for maintenance. I should have called them first.”

“No, you shouldn’t.” Dean shoulders past me, pausing to pet Roughneck, who promptly settles down. “You did the right thing.”

“By calling the CEO for a maintenance issue?”

He ignores that and starts toward my back door. “Show me. The police are on their way, but I want to see it for myself first.”

That gives me pause. Is there a reason he’d want to check things out before the cops? Or a reason he’s not contacting the PI first?

I don’t ask questions as I hustle through the living room and to the back door. The window beside it overlooks the exact spot we stood just days ago, kissing and touching and edging closer to crossing that line we’d never be able to uncross. Still, it was hot. Hot and sexy and—

“There,” I say, pointing through the window. “Right on the edge.”

Dean stares through the window for a long, long time. I look, too, even though the terrifying image is burned into my brain. At the edge of the