Heartbreaker - Julie Kriss Page 0,13
door to treat us to the stench.
“So where did you leave it with Hot Girl?” Eric asked.
“How hot are we talking?” Daniela broke in.
Eric hummed like he was contemplating something delicious. “The curvy kind, you know? Lots up top, booty on the bottom. Thick, long hair. Red lipstick.”
“Damn,” Daniela said. “I love curvy ones. I wouldn’t have stood her up for prom.”
“Okay, stop,” I broke in, holding up a hand. “You can both stop drooling over Mina, okay? She’s a nice person. Nicer than I deserve.”
“Does that mean she forgave you?” Daniela asked.
“I’m on probation,” I said. “I’m taking her out to dinner on Thursday to plead my case.”
Eric’s eyebrows went up. “And then what?”
My fork paused in my spaghetti again. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, let’s say you don’t fuck this up for once and she forgives you. What then? Are you dating her?”
My mouth went dry at his words. My throat closed and my heart sped up. Dating Mina Maple. I’d put the idea out of my mind for ten years, after I fucked everything up, because it wasn’t possible. But to date Mina? To hang out with her, make her laugh, listen to her secrets and tell her mine? To kiss her? To sleep with her?
Jesus, Whittaker, get a grip. She’s only your dream girl.
“Um,” I managed.
Daniela interrupted, earning my undying gratitude. “First things first, Eric. Let’s see if Holden manages this dinner. If he even shows up.”
“He better show up, or Grim and I will kick his ass,” Eric said. He looked at me. “I guess I should just say it direct to your face. Grim and I saw how hurt she was. Show up for dinner or we’ll kick your ass.”
I nodded. “I’ll be there.”
Nothing was going to keep me from dinner with Mina. Nothing at all.
Seven
Mina
Holden wasn’t going to show.
I walked anxiously up Sixth Avenue, heading to the restaurant we’d agreed on, which was at Seventh and Fifty-Fourth. Holden worked in Brooklyn, I knew, but he’d picked this place in Manhattan because it was easier for me to get to after I left Morgan Financial. It was a gesture that was really nice of him.
He wasn’t going to show.
I was sure of it. I wasn’t usually the anxious type—I could get on stage and tap dance in front of an audience, and if you asked me to sing a solo, I’d gladly go for it. But there was no denying that when it came to this dinner, I had acid nerves in the pit of my stomach, and Holden Whittaker had put them there.
Why had I agreed to this, anyway? I should have just told him to go to hell and stay out of my life so I wouldn’t have to go through this again. But those blue eyes… and he smelled so good. And he had chest muscles. Apparently I was a sucker for chest muscles just like the ones on the covers of the romance novels I read.
At lunch today, I’d made my usual escape from Hellhound to eat my lunch and read my Kindle. I was finished More Than One Fireman, and I’d gone on to read the next in the series, Arrested by the Hot Cops. That one had been steamy, including a wild scene involving two cops, handcuffs, and the back of a squad car, which was fun to read even though I kept wondering how contaminated the upholstery of that seat must be.
But then I’d finished that one, and my kindle had suggested the third book in the series to me: Taken Hard by the EMT. I’d slapped the cover of my Kindle closed and put the thing down on the table in front of me as if it had turned into a live snake.
I wasn’t going to read that one. No way.
But I finished my sandwich, and before I could think about it I’d pulled my Kindle toward me again, opening the cover. The first thing still on my display was the cover of Taken Hard by the EMT, featuring a man in a navy blue EMT uniform, the shirt unbuttoned. He had chest muscles and rippling abs and big, wide shoulders. The cover artist had cropped his face just below the nose, so all that was visible was a gorgeous mouth and a jawline with a trace of dark scruff on it. A jawline that could easily be Holden Whittaker’s.
I clicked on the book, downloaded it to my Kindle, and opened it to the first page.
It