So Not Meant To Be
: Chapter 7

I wish he’d leave me alone.

I wish I hadn’t been left here at the table, with JP as the only person to talk to.

Hell, I wish Edwin had an ounce of self-awareness and didn’t leave me hanging, especially since I was the one who brought him here.

But that’s not my luck, is it? And, of course, during the presentation, I got a text from Lottie, who has been MIA this entire party. She and Huxley were headed back to the house. This was followed by an eggplant emoji and three squirting drops. She also trusted Edwin would drive me back to her place to pick up my car.

If only she knew.

“I asked you a question,” JP says next to me.

Lost in thought, I say, “Uh . . . what was the question?”

“Edwin, all he said was that you had a nice colored dress?”

Oh, yes, we’re still on that.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

He pauses and I can feel his eyes on me. In fact, they haven’t left me since he switched seats with Edwin. His green irises, focused completely in my direction, like a nagging mother, tapping me on the shoulder every few seconds with questions I don’t want to answer. Shouldn’t he be looking toward the dance floor to reclaim his date? His beautiful, sweet date . . . who definitely seems more into Edwin than JP. So, so weird.

“Fine, then . . .” He holds out his hand. “Come dance with me.”

I glance down at his large palm and long fingers and then back up at him. “Excuse me?”

Leaning in close, his cologne soft and seductive as it swirls around me, he says, “Dance with me.”

Okay . . .

Dance with JP. I can list more than enough reasons why I don’t want to do that.

One—being held by him is at the very bottom of things I want to do.

Two—I can’t imagine a scenario where I don’t accidentally knee him in the crotch for something annoying he’ll say while we dance.

And three—his cologne is far too enticing at the moment. I like the smell of it, which would possibly make me think positively toward him, and I don’t want that. I want to forever think he’s the worst.

But . . .

Pride is a funny thing.

I came to this gala with all the intention of getting lost in an evening with a nice guy. I assumed we’d talk about the different nests each one of Edwin’s favorite birds make, I would have a few glasses of champagne and hope that maybe . . . just maybe, Edwin would have enough confidence in himself to try to at least push me against his car and make out with me.

I think we all can agree that such imagined events won’t be transpiring tonight. I don’t want to be the girl that was ditched at the event. I don’t want to be the girl in the nice colored dress, and I don’t want to leave this evening feeling like I was the last girl picked . . . if that makes sense.

I want to feel valued, and even though taking the hand of JP Cane would be like conducting a waltz with the devil, I’m desperate.

“You know, it would be rude to say no,” he says. “When a man offers a dance, it’s the polite thing to do to take his hand.” When I don’t say anything, he adds, “You can’t possibly just sit here like a wallflower the rest of the night.”

My eyes flash to his. “Wow, you sure know how to woo a woman.”

He smirks. “Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“Felt like one to me.”

Could he be any more infuriating?

Wait, don’t answer that. I’m sure he can.

Ugh, God, I can’t believe I’m doing this.

I place my hand in his and watch as his face lights up with a rakish grin.

“Good choice, Kelsey.”

Remember what I said about the whole “kneeing in the crotch” thing? Chances have just increased.

He’s the first to stand from his chair and then he helps me up and ushers me to the side so he can push our chairs in.

For some reason, it feels as if every eye in the ballroom is on us as we slowly weave through the crowded tables. Why couldn’t the dance floor be at the front of the room where we are, rather than at the side? He stops to shake hands with a few people, a gallant businessman working the room. He keeps his hand on the small of my back while he speaks, never neglecting to introduce me and what I do.

It’s . . . a kind thing to do. The right thing to do. Professional. I’m sure business etiquette has been drilled into him from a young age, so it’s only second nature to conduct himself in this way. It has nothing to do with me.

“Sorry,” he whispers into my ear as we make our way closer to the dance floor. “It’s impossible to walk anywhere in these events without getting stopped.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. The need to talk to you is out of obligation. These people don’t actually like you.” I really want to bite my tongue. Clearly Edwin dissing me has affected me more than I thought. Or maybe, I don’t want to look like a loser in front of JP. If anything, watching him network the room has been a great lesson for me. He has the sort of business acumen I admire. But . . . I need to remain unfazed.

His nose moves close to my ear as his hand is at my back, guiding me. “Mmm, I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

“You’re obnoxious.”

“So you’ve said before.”

“Just reminding you.”

We’re nearly clear of the tables now, and he smooths his hand over my back, ushering me ahead of him. “Don’t need a remin-ooooof!”

JP exhales against my skin, like a gust of very strong wind. There’s a loud crash and then a horrifying thud.

I turn just in time to see JP’s body bounce off the dance floor, his arms clutching his stomach, his long legs stretched out.

“What on earth—”

“Mother . . . fu—” he starts to say but stops himself. Eyes wincing with an immense amount of pain, he takes a few deep breaths, and just when I think he’s about to unleash a plethora of swear words, the room falls silent. All eyes are on us.

He groans.

Winces in pain once more and then lets out a loud . . . forceful reaction . . .

“Golly . . . goodness,” he groans.

Golly goodness?

No motherfucker?

No holy shit?

No fuckety fuck fuck?

Just a simple, classic, George Bailey from It’s a Wonderful Life “golly goodness.”

I snort.

My hand covers my face and I attempt to hold back the laughter that’s bubbling up inside of me.

If I know one thing about JP Cane, it’s that he’s not the golly goodness type.

He’s the guy that whispers the words throbbing cock in your ear, repeatedly, just for the hell of it.

Unsure of what to do, I consider bending down to ask him what happened, when an old man behind JP stands shakily from his chair. That’s when I see the pushed-out chair in the walkway. Oh no, JP must have been struck solid while walking by. With the tip of his black cane, the old man taps JP on the leg and says, “Watch where you’re going, son.”

With no regard for what he caused, or even a hint of an apology, the ballsy old man hobbles away, muttering something about people getting in his way.

A waiter quickly helps JP to his feet, lifting him under his arms. A few of the men who were just shaking his hand come to ask if he’s all right, but all I can focus on is the way JP is staring at me as if I’m the one who knocked him out with a chair.

“I’m good,” he says, dusting off his suit.

“Are you sure?” one of the waiters asks. “I can get you some ice.”

“Not necessary. I think the only thing bruised here is my pride. Wasn’t expecting a seventy-year-old man to take me out like that.”

Another snort.

Another glare from him.

“I’ll be good.” He shakes off the waiter and closes the space between us once again, takes my hand in his, and leads me to the dance floor.

I’m still chuckling when he pulls me close to his body, his hand on my lower back, his other holding our palms closely together. With his mouth right next to my ear, he asks, “Did you replace that entertaining?”

“Very much so,” I answer as he pulls me in tighter. My chest is pressed against his, our legs tangling, and I honestly can’t tell where I begin and he ends. Our bodies fuse together, like magnets, drawing in, pulling, with no release.

It’s unexpected.

It’s damning.

It’s not a position I want to be in with JP, but it doesn’t seem like one I can get out of.

“So, me getting hurt and humiliated in front of the masses, that’s comical to you?”

“A little slapstick humor never hurt anyone. But it wasn’t what happened to you, it was your reaction.” I laugh softly as he moves me around the dance floor. We’re slowly swaying to the music, an instrumental version of Taylor Swift’s Wildest Dreams, but the way he’s twirling me makes the room a blur, and I can’t focus on anything but us and only us.

The stillness in his breath as we float over the parquet floor.

The tight grip he has on my hand, guiding me to our next move.

The gentle whisper of his words over my ear as he speaks just low enough to keep our conversation private.

“And what about my reaction made you chuckle?” He releases me, twirls me out so my dress floats against the whoosh of wind, then yanks me back close to his chest. My breath catches in my lungs and my eyes widen from the elegant dance move I wasn’t expecting.

When I don’t answer right away, he lowers his lips closer to my ear and says, “I’m waiting, Kelsey.”

Waiting.

He’s waiting for . . . oh, an answer to his question.

What’s happening to me? One spin around the dance floor and I can’t seem to keep my mind straight.

My brain feels foggy, disrupted, disoriented. His warm palm slides to the spot just above the curve of my ass and all I can think about is . . . are people watching? Do they think we’re a couple? Is he going to lower his hand any farther?

I wet my lips and focus on the conversation. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but golly goodness doesn’t seem like something that would ever come out of your mouth.”

“You’d be correct about that,” he answers, and then, to my utter surprise, he braces himself and dips me. My startled gasp makes him smile as he lifts me back up. “What did you expect me to say, though? That old fucking bastard just Tonya Harding-ed my ass, nearly cutting my dick off with the edge of his chair. I didn’t think motherfucker was appropriate for the setting.”

The music slows, and so do we. It almost feels as though he created his own dance to this song, and he led me through it with precision and grace, something I didn’t think he had in him.

“Well, it was funny, is all,” I say, my ability to come up with a witty response completely gone as his hand slides up my spine. The music switches to another slow-paced song, and when I think our dance is over, he doesn’t let go. Instead, he continues to move us around as two cellists take centerstage and play With or Without You.

It’s beautiful, the deep glide of the strings weaving through the gold room as the chandeliers dim, setting more of a romantic mood. I’ve been so irritated by Edwin and Genesis that I’ve completely neglected the romance of the night—not that there’s any romance between me and JP, but the ambiance offers a stunning setting for a first kiss.

“What are you thinking about?” JP asks. “I can practically see the wheels in your head turning.”

“The ballroom is beautiful. I’m finally taking a moment to appreciate it.”

“It is,” he says softly. “The food, the décor, the band. It’s the same every year, and even though it benefits the children, I know a lot of couples come to this event just for the experience.”

“I can see why. It’s all so whimsical.”

“Is this what you envisioned the night being like?”

I shake my head gently. “No, I didn’t envision being ditched by my date, then finishing the night dancing with you.”

“I meant with the décor, the feeling, the mood. I know being here, in my arms, with the one person who repulses you the most wasn’t at the forefront of your mind.”

The way he said that, the dejection in his tone, actually makes me feel bad. He might annoy me and he might irritate me, now more than ever, but if I strip away his defense mechanism of acting like an ass, I know there’s a good man under that sarcastic wit.

“You . . . you don’t repulse me, JP.”

“Not looking for a pity comment, just looking for an answer to my question.”

But he doesn’t repulse me. He might not be my favorite person, but repulse? I mean, if he repulsed me, there’s no way I’d allow him to hold me as close as he is. I wouldn’t be getting lost in his delectable scent, a scent that I know will cling to me for the rest of the night.

But he’s a prideful man, and I know he’s not one—in a serious moment—to fish for compliments.

“I didn’t know what to expect about the event. I figured it had to be nice for such a steep price. But this, the almost Great Gatsby feel, this is what movies are made of.”

“None of the donations go to the actual event. This event is put on by a society who chips in their own money. It’s another reason why we love it so much. It’s a true fundraiser. Very little business occurs here.”

“Is that why you brought a date?” I ask, truly curious about him and Genesis.

Not that I’m the expert on JP Cane, but he just doesn’t seem like the dating type to me. He seems more like the guy who’s in and out of bedrooms every other night. The guy that never settles down, flirts shamelessly, and has no need for a companion other than himself.

“Genesis and I met a few weeks ago. She’s smart, someone who can hold an intelligent conversation, and when we went out, I had a good time. I thought this would be a good place to take her, let her mingle with some people, make connections. Didn’t expect her to mingle with your date, though.”

“Yeah, me neither,” I say softly.

JP pulls away just enough that our eyes meet, his light green ones to my hazel. “Listen, Kelsey, he’s—”

“Excuse us. Sorry to interrupt,” Edwin says as he walks up to us, Genesis at his side. “I hope it’s okay, but I think we’re going to head out.” Edwin thumbs to the door behind him. “Genesis has a headache and I figured I’d take her home.”

My stomach drops. He’s leaving the party with someone else?

Sure, the sting of seeing him talk to someone else the entire night was a direct hit to the ego.

Watching him dance with someone else was drink-worthy.

But seeing him leave . . .

JP’s arm stiffens around me as he says, “Sure thing, thanks, man.”

“You don’t mind?” Genesis asks. I can’t even look at them, because from the corner of my eye, I can see Edwin’s hand laced with Genesis’s.

“Not at all,” JP answers, his voice even.

“Okay, well . . . thanks for a good night,” Edwin says before patting me on the shoulder and taking off.

That’s all I get.

A pat on the shoulder.

I expected this night to go so differently. I thought that maybe Edwin and I could get to know each other a little more, become more comfortable with one another, maybe kiss again.

But he’s taking another woman home.

And that’s an absolute gut punch.

My feet stop moving, and my grip loosens on JP.

“Head held high,” he whispers as he spins me around. “Don’t let him see you upset.”

“But I am.”

“I know.” JP’s mouth is now touching my ear as he speaks softly. “But give them a few more minutes and then I’ll get you out of here.”

My lip trembles and I can feel my eyes start to well, and just when I think a tear is going to fall, JP grips my hand tighter, spins me out and smirks at me, before pulling me back in. It’s just enough to forget for a moment that, once again, romance isn’t in the cards for me.

“GOOD EVENING, MR. CANE,” the driver says as he opens the back door for us.

After Edwin and Genesis took off, we spent another five minutes on the dance floor before JP escorted me toward the back of the ballroom and sent a quick text. He then led me to the bar, where he handed me a heavy glass of wine and said we weren’t leaving until I finished it.

It took me no more than a minute.

With a wine belly and heavy heart, we made our way to the front of the mansion where JP’s driver just happened to be waiting. I’m not sure if Huxley set it up that way or if JP’s driver can drive at lightning speed, but I didn’t have to hang around the event for longer than I needed to.

JP helps me into the car and then slides in beside me. We both buckle up, and when the driver sits in his seat, JP says, “My house.”

I don’t have it in me to discuss the details, to consider if JP has any idea what’s going to happen tonight, so I lean my head to the side and look out the window.

The dark, starry sky looms over us as we drive through rows and rows of impressive houses. And with every gated home that we pass, I can’t help but wonder if the people who live inside that home are actually in love, or if they live in a world where ditching a date for someone else is the norm.

God, I expected so much more from Edwin, the bird-loving prick. He was so . . . nice. A bit of a nerd, but definitely someone I thought I could trust. Sure, we only went out for a few weeks, but I feel like I’m a good judge of character.

But Edwin’s actions reflected something I’d almost expect JP to do. And yet, JP was the one who made sure I didn’t look foolish, the one who carried me around the dance floor, and the one who made me forget, even if it was momentarily.

There seems to be some good in him, after all.

“He’s an idiot,” JP says as the car makes a right-hand turn and Huxley’s house comes into view.

“What?” I ask.

And instead of turning right into Huxley’s circular driveway, we turn left, to a large, looming gate that opens as we approach.

JP is silent for a moment, and when the car is parked, he holds his hand up to the driver and opens the door himself. Once outside of the car, he dips back in and holds his hand out to me. Disoriented, I take it and he helps me out of the car. The moment he shuts it, the driver takes off, leaving me alone under the stars with JP.

Together, my hand still in his, we stand in the driveway, the darkness of the night enveloping us. “Edwin,” JP says. “He’s an idiot.”

“He’s not an idiot, he was just—”

JP lifts my chin, forcing me to look him in the eyes. This time when he speaks, it’s more authoritative. “He’s an idiot, Kelsey. Do you know how I know he’s an idiot?”

From the sincere look in his eyes and the firm grip he has on my chin, I’m rendered speechless. I feel captured, captivated, and looped into this unexpected whirlwind of a night with JP. And I don’t know how to handle it.

JP takes a step closer and says, “Edwin is an idiot because he didn’t appreciate something other than the color of your dress. What he should’ve said the moment he saw you was how fucking breathtaking you look, how the yellow in your dress makes the gold in your eyes sparkle even brighter. He should’ve lifted your hand and pressed the lightest of kisses to your knuckles, just so he could claim you in front of everyone around him. His eyes never should have strayed from yours. And when he lowered your hand, he should’ve taken one more step closer to you, leaned inches from your ear, and said how intoxicatingly beautiful you smelled.”

My lungs have seized.

My legs have melted, like ice cream on a scalding day.

And my hand laced with JP’s trembles in his grasp.

What . . . what’s he doing?

Why is he saying these things?

What’s his end goal?

The romantic in me would love to believe he means what he just said. That he thinks those things about me. But sadly, I suspect there’s only one end goal when it comes to JP and a girl, late at night, standing outside his house. I’m confident I know what he expects. And I’m not blind. I can understand the appeal. He’s an extremely handsome man, after all. He can pull you in with one look, one flash of his rakish eyes. You can feel his gaze.

Just like I can feel it now.

The flash of his eyes to my lips.

The dip of his tongue over his lips, wetting them. Preparing.

The step he makes to close the space between us one more time.

It’s all there, the signs.

And I might be sad. I might feel distraught, but I know one thing—a night in JP Cane’s bed is not going to help matters.

So, I release his hand and take a step back. “JP, I’m not going to sleep with you.” The words fly out of my mouth in a flurry, making it clear where I stand.

His compliments, his kindness, aren’t going to factor into my decision.

And when I look him in the eyes, to hold strong, I’m not met with his usual smirk or flirtatious expression, but rather a scowl. His dark, thick brows are pulled together, the softness has morphed into a stern, almost insulted gaze.

His lips twist to the side in a mock snarl and when I think he’s going to say something, his hand drives through his thick hair as he turns away.

“Yeah,” he says on a huff, his back turned toward me. “Let’s get you back to your car.”

One hand still in his hair, he walks toward the gate of his driveway, not even bothering to wait for me. I hurry behind him as he opens an undetected single-person gate hidden in the bushes. He holds it open for me, and right before I walk through it, I stop and stare up at him.

“You can’t be mad at me for not wanting to sleep with you, JP.”

He stares up at the sky as he lets out a heavy breath. “Just walk through the gate, Kelsey.”

Irritation is steaming off him and even though I have this need to push him, to make him understand my reasoning, I can see that’s only going to make him madder. Keeping my composure, I walk past him, through the gate, and then together, we walk across the street to Huxley and Lottie’s house, where once again, JP opens a gate for me and takes me right to my car.

“Do you have your keys?” he asks.

I hold up my small clutch. “In here.”

“Good.” He steps back and sticks both hands in his pockets.

He doesn’t say another word, and I can’t help but feel that I did something wrong. He was gallant and kind, which I truly appreciate, but it should be okay for me to use words—not my body—to thank him.

“JP—”

“Have a good night, Kelsey.” He takes another step back and I realize he’s not going to leave until I get in my car and start it, another gentlemanly act that I didn’t expect from him. This entire night has been incredibly unexpected and I’m not sure I’m capable of sifting through it all in my head, not when I’m exhausted and mentally spent.

Thankfully, I really only had that one glass of wine, so I’m good to drive. I unlock my car and get in. I consider saying something to JP. Thank you, maybe, but when I turn to roll down my window, he’s already walking across the street to his house.

Well, I guess that’s that.

With a heavy heart, I start my car and drive back to my small studio apartment.

MEANT to Be Podcast

Rath and Charlee

Kelsey: Welcome, listener, to the Meant to Be Podcast, where we talk to madly-in-love couples about the way they met. Rath and Charlee, thank you so much for joining me today. Please, tell us how you met.

Charlee: First, can I say how much I love this podcast? I can’t believe you are actually having us on the show. Gah, I listen to it every week. Rath thinks I’m a lunatic, of course, when I gush over every couple, but he’s also one of the biggest grumps you could imagine. I had to bribe him with sexual favors to get him here.

Rath: Charlee, filter.

Charlee: He’s really worried that I’m going to say something that embarrasses him, which, sure, is probably the truth because I don’t know when to stop talking. Ask me a question and I just let loose. But, yeah, I told him I would do some favors under his desk while at work—

Rath: For the love of Christ, Charlee.

Kelsey: Oh, please, tell me more about these favors.

Charlee: Well, he really likes it when you tickle—

Rath: We bumped into each other at an office supply convention. I needed an assistant. She drove me insane with her incessant jabbering. Somehow, I fell in love, we got married, end of story.

Charlee: Isn’t he just so charming?