This Crazy Little Thing (A New Adult Billionaire Romance) (16 page)

He stiffened, not sure if she was aware of what she was doing. Jason Foxx never took advantage of drunk women, no matter how beautiful and sexy they were. “Came back?”

“You went on a trip, silly. Remember?”

“Huh?” he asked, thoroughly confused. “I just went outside to get the car.” Straining, he grasped the buckle and pulled the seat belt over her chest. With his urging, it clicked into place next to her hip.

“She’s talking in her sleep,” Lori explained. “Last time I heard her do that was when she was sick one time and took too much Nyquil. Just wait ‘til later. It’ll get better. Last time she started talking about little green men in spaceships visiting her in the middle of the night. That girl has one active imagination.”

“Wow.” He started the car and let it warm up for a few minutes.

“You know, until now, I’d forgotten all about that night. I was so tempted to tape-record her, especially when she denied everything the next morning. To this day she thinks I’m lying.”

“I believe you.”

“Thanks. That’s one person who doesn’t think I’m totally nuts.”

“Well, I didn’t say that,” he joked. He put the car in gear and drove across the parking lot. “Which way?” he asked before turning onto the street.

“Turn right. I live a few miles down the road. Not too far.”

“At least you don’t have far to go home,” he said, making small talk.

“Yeah. I planned it that way. When I’m loaded I get terribly carsick. Wanted to make sure I didn’t mess up
Jane’s cute new car. It’s a beauty, isn’t it? I nearly died when she told me she’d bought a new car. And her hair and clothes are all different too.”

“Really?” Had
Jane also done a complete one-eighty like Monica?

“Yep. Oh. Turn left here.”

“Shoot.” Caught in the wrong lane and surrounded by cars on all sides, he missed the turn and had to go down several blocks and turn around.

“Sorry. My bad. Anyway, I didn’t hear from her for a week or two and then next time I saw her, she’d been magically transformed.”

“Really?” He was repeating himself, but something about Jane’s “magical” transformation was fishy. “How long ago was that?”

“A while back. September, maybe.”

Same time as Monica’s. “How has she changed?”

“She used to dress…well…how can I say this? Uh, very plain. Her clothes didn’t fit her well at all. They were all dark, dull, did nothing for her. Sort of frumpy. Her hair was plain too. Usually just pulled back into a sloppy ponytail. And you should have seen the car she drove.”

“Oh yeah? Bad?”

“Rust on four wheels. I’ve tried to convince her to buy a new one but she said she couldn’t afford a new car. Now, out of the blue she can. I wonder if she’s moonlighting somewhere…” She whispered the last sentence conspiratorially.

“How long have you known Jane?”

“Only a
few months but we’re best friends. We do almost everything together.” She paused for a moment then added. “Turn right at the next light. My house is at the end of the street.”

“Okay.”

They rode the remaining distance in silence. Jason dropped her off and insisted on leaving Jane at Lori’s house. Lori was politely stubborn, declining a houseguest for the night. She gave him concise directions to Jane’s home then stumbled inside and closed her front door.

Jason followed the directions, pulling up to a quaint house converted into a multi-family. He found her door around the back. After returning to his car, he tried to wake her but when she remained unconscious, he rummaged through her purse for her keys then walked around to unlock the door before carrying her inside. When the door swung open, he found a long, extremely narrow staircase. That would be a bear to navigate with a limp woman in his arms.

Curious, but not wanting to leave Jane snoozing in the car for long, he dashed up the stairs and opened the door at the top. He found a cramped but homey apartment. Traditionally furnished with soft chenille couches and feminine draperies and rugs, it was exactly what he’d imagined her home would be like. The kitchen was tidy but used. Baked goods and a bowl of fruit sat on the counter. Back in the living room, he noticed the French door opening to what looked like a terrace overlooking the front of the house.

He stepped outside and checked his car, parked almost directly below. Everything looked okay. He could take just a minute more to snoop…no, find the bedroom. He would need to turn down the bed so he could put her right to bed when he carried her up.

Yeah, that was it.

Back inside, he opened the only door off the living room, finding a small room with only two pieces of furniture—a small dresser and the largest four-poster bed he’d ever seen. There was almost no space to walk around it and ultra-feminine, it wouldn’t normally be something he’d appreciate. But he had to admit it was beautiful, romantic. Dressed in filmy white sheers with tiny red ribbon roses embroidered throughout, it beckoned him. He sat and ran his hand over the ivory satin comforter.

A person’s bed, especially their pillows, usually held their scent. He lifted a pillow to his nose and inhaled.

Heaven and lavender.

“Jason? What are you doing in here?” Jane slurred as she staggered into the room, bouncing off of walls and furnishings like a pinball.

He dropped the pillow and, totally awkward and uncomfortable for being caught on her bed, he jumped to his feet. “I was going to turn down the covers for you.”

“Oh, that’s sweet.” She smiled and staggered toward him, looking like she’d fall over any moment.

He reached out and caught her before she did and supported her as she took the last few steps toward the bed. As she hobbled around him, she stomped on his healing foot and he bit back a cry of pain. Even after three weeks, it was still a little sore.

She dropped onto her bottom then fell backward, leaving her legs hanging over the side. He forgot his pain.

Bent backward like she was, her short skirt barely covered her vitals and he had to force himself to look elsewhere. She was wearing black lace panties. He loved black lace.

Her eyes closed, she said, “I don’t feel so good. I think I had a little too much to drink. I hate being drunk. Why did I do this to myself?”

“You’ll feel better tomorrow.”

“Oh, I remember now,” she said, answering her own question, or so he assumed. She drew her legs up onto the bed and rolled to her side. The neckline of her top slid down, exposing her matching black lace demi-bra and the tantalizing swell of one breast. “You aren’t leaving right now, are you?”

A mountain-sized lump formed in his throat as his gaze glued itself to that smooth ivory skin. He could even see the pink of her nipple through the lace. It was erect. So was one particular part of him. “I should be going.”

“Won’t you stay for just a little bit? I’m tired but I need to tell you something. I know I won’t have the nerve to tell you later.”

“Okay. I’ll stay for a short time.” He looked around the room for a chair. Of course there wasn’t one.

Jane patted the bed. “Do you want to sit?”

“No thanks.”

“Please? It’s making me dizzy looking up at you like this.”

“All right.” He sat on the very edge of the mattress as far as he could from that exposed breast. To further remove temptation, he pointed at her chest. “Your top.”

“Yeah. It’s new. Do you like it? It’s a very bright color. I don’t usually—“

“No, I mean it’s a little…needs to be fixed.”

“Oh.” She glanced down and quickly made an adjustment. A soft pink stained her cheeks. “My goodness. You weren’t lying. Better?”

No.
“Yes. Thanks.”

“Anyway. I wanted to tell you something.” She rolled over onto her stomach.

“Yes, you said that.”

“You’re probably going to think I’m crazy,” she said, picking lint off the soft blanket. “But I swear I’m telling you the truth.”

“I would never think you’re crazy.”

“We’ll see about that. Um…I don’t know how to say this.”

“Just spit it out,” he suggested, noting how nervous she appeared. Her gaze was fixed on the blanket she was practically picking apart.

“Okay. It’s about Monica and me. You remember when you asked me about the time at your house?”

“Yes.” He wondered where she was going with this.

“Well, you were right. It was me. I was there.”

Ah ha! I knew it. I wasn’t going crazy.
“How? Was she wearing some kind of wire?”

“Oh no. Nothing like that. I was her. I mean, I was the one at your house that night. You were talking to me.”

Huh?
“Oh?”

She looked up, her watery, bloodshot eyes searching his face. “I don’t blame you for not believing me. It’s pretty much impossible.”

“I’m trying to understand.”

“I’ll go back to the beginning. Do you remember my question about wishing on stars? We were at the cider mill.”

“I remember that night with Monica, yes.”

“That was me then too. I asked that question for a reason. One Monday night a while back I made a wish on a falling star…or a meteor…or something. Anyway, the next morning I woke up in Monica’s bed.”

That sounds…kinky…but what does it have to do with anything
? “Really?” he asked, not able to disguise the doubt in his voice.

“Yep. I swear it’s the truth. I don’t know how it happened. I’ve always been jealous of her. Of her fancy cars and rich boyfriend and what I thought was her sheltered life. I thought she had it so much better than me and I envied her. Anyway, somehow some fairy godmother or pissed-off god or someone switched us by magic and I was her and she was me for a while. Kinda like that
Freaky Friday
movie. Did you see that by any chance?”

“No.”

“Me neither. I was wondering how they were switched, thought it might shed some light on how it happened to me.”

“You think it was your fairy godmother?” he asked, recalling his earlier conversation with her girlfriend, in particular the part about the green spacemen.

She chuckled. “Sounds silly, doesn’t it?”

He shook his head. “Oh, no. Absolutely not. I believe in fairy godmothers too.”

Her smile was broad. Her eyes sparkled, despite the dilated blood vessels making them look blood-red. She rolled over onto her back and settled her head on a pillow. Her hair fanned out around her face like liquid mahogany. Her eyelids fell to halfway cover her eyes. “You do?”

“Sure.” Despite the almost excruciating urge to curl up with her in that bed, he drew the covers up over her and stood. “Thanks for explaining. Now how about going to sleep?”

Still on her back, she raised herself on her elbows. “Are you humoring me?”

“Absolutely…not. Go to sleep. I’ll see myself out.”

“But doesn’t this mean anything to you?” She sat up. He swore her eyes were sloshing around in her head like an ice cube in a stirred glass of water. She’d feel like heck tomorrow morning. He wished he could be here to take care of her, give her some aspirin, an ice pack for her pounding head.

“Sure.” He patted her knee.

She caught his wrist with one hand and held her head with the other. “Yikes. Can’t move too fast right now. Stop moving so I can focus, would ya?”

He remained motionless for a moment.

“That’s better. Thanks. Now I can ask you, don’t you see what I’m trying to tell you?” She tipped her head and looked up at him with round eyes. Her expression was so serious, so innocent. Her lips were soft, glistening wet, tempting. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to kiss her.

He needed to leave. “Yes. I understand. It was you. Now, lay down. You need to get some sleep.”

She gave his wrist a sharp yank. “But I was the one eating the ice cream and talking about babies and farms and marriage and all that other stuff. So I need to know…which one is it?” He gaze searched his face and he could read the desperation in it.

“Which one what?” he asked, knowing what her answer would be but unable to face it.

“Which one of us do you love, Jason? Monica or me? I need to know.”

Jason couldn’t answer her question. Not at the moment. There were too many peoples’ hearts at stake. Too many lives potentially shattered. He had to think things through. He had to do what was right for everyone. That did not involve a hasty answer to a drunk woman’s desperate question. Yet, he couldn’t hurt her feelings either.

A quick retreat was his best bet. Maybe her friend was right and she had a crazy imagination. Maybe she didn’t know what she was saying.

Like a chicken, something he never prided in being, he headed for the door. “
Jane, get some rest and we’ll talk about it later.”

“Promise?” she said behind him as he made his getaway.

“Promise,” he answered, hoping by morning she would have forgotten all about it. Or better yet, come to her senses.

There was no such thing as fairy godmothers. And wishes—even made by lonely little boys on falling stars or on extra-special, limited edition coins thrown in wishing wells—didn’t come true.