The Boys Who Loved Me - Krista Wolf Page 0,82

right?” asked Soren.

“Technically yes,” I admitted. “For now.”

“So which of us gets your phone number?”

I smirked wryly and set the pretzel tray back on the table again. If Aimee saw me she’d probably kill me.

“I dunno,” I said, setting a hand on my hip. “Which one of you does get my phone number?”

The guys all replied in the affirmative, each one-upping the last. It was funny and cute.

Uhhh… just what the hell are you doing?

The little voice inside my head took on a parental tone. I should be working. I should be walking away. Instead I was flirting with three hulking Vikings who’d just gotten out of a bar-fight. Or at the very least a tent-fight, anyway.

By the way, you’re not flirting. They’re the ones flirting with you.

The second voice — the fun voice — spoke up, immediately squashing the first. I wondered how much truth there was to the statement.

Besides, what’s the harm in flirting?

To be honest, I deserved a little flirting. I’d been working all summer, and when I wasn’t working I was pretty much alone. Stacy had seen to that. When you stepped back and looked at the big picture, it had been way too long.

“Tell ya what,” I said, pulling a blank receipt from my beer wench pocket. I jotted something down, then tore it into three equal pieces. “Here.”

Mechanically the guys reached out to take individual slips of paper. They each looked down at their own torn receipt like they were seeing an alien life form.

“What’s this?” asked Soren.

“My phone number,” I replied dryly. “That’s what you asked for, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but I’ve only got two digits,” he lamented.

“Same here,” added Tristan.

Lucas smiled and held his out in triumph. “I’ve got three.”

“The area code’s 972. Put em’ all together and you have my phone number,” I declared smugly. “That’s how it works.”

Soren’s mouth twisted into a grin. Lucas looked back at me cleverly.

“And how are we going to figure out who gets to call you?” asked Tristan.

“Oh you’re all big boys,” I teased, lifting my pretzels again. Tossing my ponytail backwards, I glanced over my shoulder and grinned. “You’ll figure it out.”

Four

CANDY

The funniest part about letting Stacy rule my summer was that she wasn’t even there to enjoy it with me. She’d thrown a dart at a map and then grabbed my hand. Dragged me to an all new and exotic place, and then abandoned me there to fend for myself.

She’d been turned on to the whole upstate New York thing for a while now, and had shown me hundreds of gorgeous photos from dozens of websites. It was radically different from Texas, especially in autumn. The leaves were magnificent, the trees exploding with colors that I could only remember briefly as a child, living up in places like Ohio and Illinois.

Yet it wasn’t until she talked about Sleepy Hollow that I actually got interested interested.

Part of it was because of the rich history behind Washington Irving’s story. The other part was because we already had jobs lined up, and the pay was outstanding. We’d be house-sitting a quaint old cottage, so we’d be staying for free. Plus there were seasonal jobs we could pick up, especially at the end of the summer when the tourists came.

But the main reason was a lot simpler and much more compelling though: I was a really big fan of Halloween.

“We’ll work the whole summer away and save for a real trip,” she’d told me excitedly. “Then we’ll use the money to go somewhere exotic and cool!”

I’d agreed for a variety of reasons, but mostly out of boredom. I was between jobs. Even further between relationships. My life had been in sort of a rut for a while, and I seemed to be spinning my wheels.

“Maybe we’ll even see the headless horseman!” she’d all but promised.

As it turned out, Sleepy Hollow was every bit as pretty and charming as the photos made it out to be. We’d holed up in our cottage, where our responsibilities included tending the gardens, watering plants, and feeding a beautiful but quiet macaw that sat in an elaborate cage that took up one whole corner of the living room. We did some catering for the Rockefeller estate. Worked a couple of weddings at the park overlooking the Hudson River.

Then Stacy met Dante, and a few short days later I woke up to “the note.”

It was short and apologetic, and did its best to explain away her actions. In the end though, Stacy had finished