“No, don’t guess,” she blurted. But for the life of her, she couldn’t remember what they had been talking about. Quickly, she retraced her steps—the idea that she was young, that she didn’t want to head home to an empty apartment, that Jack Vaughn was attractive. Wait, she had not been thinking that, so where did the thought come from? She forced her brain back into compliance. They had been talking about seaweed wraps and massage appointments and—
“I’m not cheap. That’s what I intended to say.” She wanted to give a little victorious fist pump to commemorate her sudden surge in memory, but refrained. Thank God for good judgment.
“I might argue that point,” Jack said. “I haven’t gone on a date in years that cost me only eight bucks. You just might be the cheapest woman who ever lived.”
April gave him a long look and motioned for the waiter. That little dig was going to cost him. In the form of a slice of cheesecake. Maybe two. No one called her cheap and got away with it.
She was feisty; he liked it. She was incredibly hot; he liked that too. She was also quick to put him in his place, something he hadn’t seen for a couple of years now. He liked that most of all; probably a little more than he should. But something about April Quinn had him feeling instantly connected, and that was something he didn’t need. Not at this point in his career. Maybe not ever.
But every time he considered taking her home, he came up with two new reasons not to.
She was funny.
He wanted more coffee.
Traffic was bound to be busy at midnight.
She had just ordered cheesecake. A move he saw right through but somehow liked anyway. Note to self: never call April Quinn cheap. Although if that’s what it took to spend more time with her . . .
And above everything else, he wanted to see more of April Quinn.
This was the worst reason of all. He needed to get out of here before the desire to spend time with her took over. Before he found himself asking for another date and another and another.
Under the table, something kicked at his shin. He looked up into April’s amused face.
“What was that for?”
“You disappeared. It’s one thing to call me cheap. It’s another to check out on our date altogether.”
His mouth tilted, his signature wicked grin that almost always worked on women. “Is that what we’re on? A date?”
She shrugged, stifled a yawn. “Just repeating what you said earlier. Personally, I would call it more like a peace offering given by you, yet still up for debate on my end. I haven’t decided whether to accept or not. Maybe I’ll have some pie while I think it over.”
Apparently the signature grin thing didn’t work on April.
Jack raised an eyebrow. “Cheesecake and pie? Are you trying to put on weight while you do all this thinking?”
She gave him a look. “Careful Jack, you should never call a woman fat. You never know when she might retaliate. You could be up onstage singing or—”
“Why didn’t you sing with me tonight?” He hadn’t meant to ask the question, but the opportunity had practically landed in his lap.
“Because I knew why you asked, and I wasn’t about to make it that easy for you. If you want to smooth things over with me, you’ll need to get a lot more creative than that.”
More creative than pulling her up onstage for a duet? He was Jack freaking Vaughn. It didn’t get more creative than that. He swallowed all the retorts that floated through his brain and tried to think up a response—one that didn’t make him sound like an arrogant jerk. It wasn’t easy.
“You got any suggestions? Something in particular you want me to do?” She probably wanted him to sign over all his royalties. Give her a writer’s credit. Make a public statement declaring his guilt. Make a ridiculous apology on camera. He might have done that a couple of years ago, but not now. No way. Not happening.
Again, she shrugged. She almost looked . . . annoyed. “Well, I can tell you right now I don’t want anything obvious. It’s not like I want back pay or anything. That would be ridiculous.” She laughed a brief, impatient laugh, one that had him baffled.
She didn’t?
Jack drained the rest of his mocha latte and set the cup in front of him. “Then what do you want?”
April looked at him a long moment before giving him a barely perceptible smile. “I don’t know, Jack. But I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
“If you would use your brain, you might be able to come up with a better idea. One that hasn’t been used by every bride since 1964.”
For the third time today, April refrained from chucking something heavy at her sister’s head. Her sister, who April considered to be her best friend on occasion. Her confidante. Her go-to-gal when everyone else left her all alone. Now April wanted to do the leaving, but of course she was stuck nine feet in the air, propped on a ladder, hanging white and cream paper lanterns from the reception hall’s black ceilings. She knew the effect would be beautiful, but frankly, she wouldn’t mind gathering all this paper crap in a pile and lighting it on fire.