Page 20 of A Holly Jilly Christmas

“Sorry about that. A little fire needed to be put out.” He glances around. “Do we need to wait for Case, or should we tell him to meet us for lunch? I know it’s already a little late.”

I stand, doing my best to smile normally and not like a woman who can’t kill her stupid crush. “No need to wait. Let's go.”

CHAPTER 6

By the time Case blows into the diner, Tank and I have already ordered. I’ve also rushed through a lot of my questions at a speed that made the former football player chuckle. “Where’s the fire?” he even asked. I just forced a laugh and told him I was really excited.

Which I am. I also wanted to ask him questions without Case getting a sense of what I’m thinking about Sheet Cake.

I see Case through the glass window before he walks in, mostly because I’ve been watching for him. I’ve heard of stormy expressions, but his looks more hurricaine-y, and I’m totally on the dirty side of the storm.

Ruh-roh. Looks like somebody doesn’t like being left out.

My stomach swirls with a mix of guilt and triumph that I managed to have a discussion without including Case. I’m doing my level best to hold on tightly to my goals and forget the few nice moments we’ve had.

Actually … it’s been more than a few nice moments, I realize as he strides over. The effort to get to know me last night, letting me keep his coat in the car, bringing me breakfast in bed. And though it’s true he’s been glued to his phone, he hasn’t been awful. He’s actually been surprisingly … nice. Maybe I’m being too hard on him.

Then again, he met with Tank this morning. And I have a hard time believing they just talked football.

Case’s eyes find mine and lock. He doesn’t so much as blink as he storms across the packed diner to our booth.

This must be what a gazelle feels like, being chased down by a lion.

Except I bet the gazelle didn’t take a weird sort of pleasure in it the way I am. I definitely love the way he slides right into the booth next to me, not leaving any room between us. We are connected from shoulder down to our hips and thighs.

I shouldn’t like this. That’s the thing. But giving myself a mental reprimand doesn’t do diddly squat. Telling my heart to slow down doesn’t make it change its erratic rhythm. Reminding my lungs to take slow, deep breaths doesn’t stop me from being light-headed. All because Case Winchester is giving me a heated look while plastered to me in a diner booth.

Anger, I tell myself. It’s anger not desire or anything else. Because he hurt my feelings by ignoring me and might be trying to get in the way of me making my big work move.

But I don’t know that he’s trying to do anything nefarious at work. I still don’t know why else he’d be here, so I cling to this thin suspicion like a shield.

“Sorry about the delay,” Case says, scootching even further into me, my space completely invaded by his big body and his ridiculously male scent.

Do they bottle and sell testosterone? Or some kind of Pure Man Spray? Because that’s got to be what he’s wearing. It’s undeniably delicious, even when competing with the scent of bacon and coffee.

“No worries,” Tank says, his smile cutting right through the tension. The man practically seeps kindness from his pores. If it weren’t for his intimidating frame, I’d struggle to believe Tank ever played a sport as rough and relentless as football. “We just ordered, but we can add yours. Let me go grab Mari.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Case says. “I’ll wait.”

“It’s fine,” Tank says, his eyes darting between Case and me. “Looks like you two might need a moment.”

I expect Case to protest, to tell Tank we’re just two colleagues who barely know each other, but he says nothing. Instead, the moment Tank is gone, Case angles his body toward me, putting an arm behind my shoulders. I lean slightly away to combat the deep urge to press back into his arm.

“You couldn’t wait, huh?” Case asks.

“You didn’t wait for me earlier,” I say, but it sounds way too petulant and whiny, so I add, “Also, I was starving.”

Case’s eyes narrow, and he leans forward the slightest bit, making me feel like prey again. Willing prey, based on the delicious shiver I try to hide.

“It’s only been a few hours,” he says. “I fed you breakfast. A good breakfast.”

“You underestimate the close relationship I have with food.”

“I’ll make a note in your file.”

“You have a file on me?”

Case only rolls his eyes. And now I’m wondering if Case does have a file and is jotting down notes to share with David when we get back from the holidays.

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