Calling His Bluff Read Online Free PDF Page A

pieces.” She shook a finger at him. “And since you started the trend,
     I figure you should get the blame for every jerk and jackass who followed.”
    “Me?” The shock on his face looked genuine but she refused to feel sorry for him.
     “What did
I
do?”
    She pushed her head forward and stared him down, but his look of confusion didn’t
     even hint at any guilt.
    “What?”
    “You kissed me,” she enunciated with precision, just in case his hearing was as defective
     as his conscience, “and then five minutes later you were making out with Jessica Blackwell
     in the bathtub.”
    “I never—when?” he demanded, swinging his legs over her head and dropping his feet
     on the floor by her side with a thud. He set his wine glass on the end table and turned
     back to her. “When did I kiss you, and who’s Jessica Blackwell?”
    The last three words did nothing to improve her impression of him. She waited for
     him to remember.
    After a minute of their glaring at each other, it became clear that that was not going
     to happen.
    With pleasure, she enlightened him.
    “July, 1995.”
    “July ninety-five…” His forehead wrinkled and then smoothed as she saw the memory
     return to him. She sat up straighter and waited for his apology. It had been a long
     time coming.
    “But you were only, what? Twelve!”
    She could hear from the disbelief in his voice that she’d be waiting for that apology
     forever.
    J.D. ran his fingers through his hair, dislodging a few loose strands that fell against
     his chin as he shook his head.
    “You were twelve, and I was saving you from kissing Tad Kipling, who I believe you
     referred to as ‘that sweaty-palmed toad from square-dancing class.’ You kids were
     playing spin the bottle in your mom’s basement and I pretended the bottle was pointing
     at me when I came downstairs to check on you, because I could see you squinching up
     your face at the thought of kissing him. I rescued you!”
    She had forgotten. He was a man, and men never understood anything.
    “You kissed me, and then two minutes later you were sucking face with Jessica Blackwell!”
    Apparently she’d lost all control over both her brain and her mouth.
    “Let me repeat. You were twelve. I was fifteen. Jessica Blackwell was sixteen. She
     had her own car and wore a 36D bra.” He nipped the wine glass out of her fingers before
     she could throw it at him. “I’m sorry, honey, but you never stood a chance.”
    “Tell me something I don’t know,” she muttered and threw herself down onto the concrete
     floor so that she could stare morosely at the far-off ceiling. “I was twelve. Don’t
     expect rationality from a preteen.”
    A light flashed.
    She propped herself up on her elbows and glared at him as he dropped a camera into
     his lap.
When did he bring that out?
    “Hey! Don’t take my picture when I’m pouting. Jackass.”
    He smiled at her and she felt herself blush.
Damn it.
    “Sorry. If it’ll help, I apologize for handing your heart back to you in pieces. In
     my own defense, I have to say that I wasn’t aware that I had it.”
    “Yeah, you’re forgiven. I got over it in my twenties.” She waved a hand in his general
     direction. “I’m thirty-one. Old enough to know that the kiss wasn’t
that
good.”
    She rolled onto her side, ready to laugh at the end of a good joke, the same way he’d
     done earlier after pretending to hit on her. Of course, she knew she was kidding herself
     when she called it joking. A part of her still felt like that twelve-year-old girl
     watching her crush drive off with the beautiful blonde girl who had the car and the
     boobs.
    She smiled at her own foolishness and was about to sit up when two glowing gold eyes
     flashed out at her from beneath the couch.
    “Hey,” she lowered her head back to the floor, “there’s a cat under here.” When she
     popped back up, J.D. was looking at her with raised eyebrows. Suddenly she remembered
     why she’d shown