For Better or Worse

She resisted the urge to kick him with her pointy stiletto—also sparkly, given that it was New Year’s Eve, and she’d busted out every glittery, shimmering item in her possession for the occasion. “You’re being deliberately obtuse. I mean us going to a New Year’s Eve party. Together.”

He pretended to take a shuddering breath as though on the verge of tears. “Don’t cry, Tanner. Don’t cry. She doesn’t mean it.”

Heather laughed and stepped closer. “You know what I mean. People might get the wrong idea about us.”

I might get the wrong idea about us.

Heather had been doing a lot of thinking in the days since her conversation with her mom on Christmas, and although she didn’t have any answers, one thing was becoming abundantly clear.

She wanted a hell of a lot more than what Josh Tanner was offering, and didn’t have the faintest clue about what to do with it.

In fact, Heather had decided on her New Year’s resolution:

Winning Josh Tanner’s heart.

A huge task, to be sure, but an important one. Perhaps the most important one of her life.

And one she’d deal with. Tomorrow.

But tonight she wasn’t going to worry about anything other than enjoying herself and enjoying him.

Seth and Brooke had decided to host a big party, complete with expensive invitations and a top-notch caterer and cocktail attire. Of course, Brooke had insisted that Heather extend the invitation to Josh on her and Seth’s behalf. Heather knew what her friend was up to—giving Heather a reason to invite Josh without having to ask Josh as her date.

Clever, sneaky Brooke.

But when Heather had straightened his collar earlier that evening, and when he’d zipped up her little black dress and helped her with her necklace and kissed her shoulder and told her she looked beautiful . . . well, it felt like a date.

And as they stood out here in the winter night, her hands cradled in his, they felt like a couple.

“Think of it this way,” he said, pressing his lips to her forehead in a casual display of affection that she’d been noticing more and more of lately. “You can pay me back for all the sex by serving me your friends’ fancy champagne.”

“Uh-uh,” she said, tapping a nail against his chest. “I pay you back for all the sex with sex.”

“That you do,” he said, glancing down at her low-cut dress. “Have I told you how hot you look tonight?”

She smiled. “Several times. Just like I’ve told you several times that this is absolutely not the night that I endeavor to try your taxi sex.”

“Damn,” he muttered, releasing her hands so that he could touch a strand of her hair. “I still don’t understand how you got it like this.”

“I didn’t ‘get it’ like anything. The salon that I forked over triple digits to blow it out got it like that,” she said, batting his hand away. “Don’t touch it. You’ll make it frizz.”

In honor of the holiday, Heather had treated herself to a lengthy hair appointment, complete with a rare blowout. Her stylist had undertaken the impressive feat of wrestling her curls into smooth, flowing straightness.

Heather wasn’t turning her back on her curls, but the change was nice. It was emboldening to feel a little different. Reckless, almost.

“Come on, sexy,” he said, putting a hand on her back and guiding her toward the front door. “Let me show you off.”

But as what? she wanted to ask. Your girlfriend? Your lover? The neighbor who lets you into her pants most nights?

She pasted a smile on her face, and by the time the elevator opened into the top-floor apartment, the hum of tipsy partygoers and big band music luring her in, she felt herself relax slightly.

Brooke swept upon them, as bubbly and golden as the champagne she pushed into their hands. “You’re here! Heather, honey, you look amazing in that dress, and I’m digging the hair! Josh, you’re passable. A little puny in the shoulders, maybe.”

Josh laughed and bent to kiss Brooke’s cheek. “Thanks for having us. You look beautiful.”

Brooke laughed. “Damn, you’re pretty and good with the compliments. You’re lucky I’m taken. Heck, for that matter you’re lucky that you’re taken.”