His Off Limits Best Friend - Vivian Wood Page 0,32

called, and nearly laughed at how appropriate that response was.

Sam hustled to the door, her damp hair hung in long ropes down her back.

“What?” she asked as she answered the door. Damn, he was good looking. If she wasn’t already about to orgasm anyway, she would have been as soon as she’d opened the door. She bit her lip and looked at his jersey shirt pressed against his chest with sweat.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know you were in the shower,” he said. She couldn’t read anything in his eyes because of the sunglasses. “I was just on a run, and was in your neighborhood, so…”

“So?” she asked, flustered.

He strolled inside without her offering.

“Come on in,” she said with an eye roll.

“You look red,” he said, and removed his sunglasses. “You know, it’s actually not good to take showers too hot. Cold showers are actually best.”

She blushed an even deeper red. If he only knew how much I could use a cold shower right now. “Thanks for the tip,” she said.

“So,” he said, and sprawled on her couch. “What are you up to on your day off? Any hard and fast plans?”

She could have sworn he gave her a wink, but she wasn’t absolutely certain. Was he teasing? Was that supposed to be a double entendre? She couldn’t ever find her footing with him.

“Not really,” she said, and sat on the chair opposite him. His eyes roved to her cleavage, and she pulled the robe tighter together.

“You know,” he said, as he looked around, “I’ve never really looked around your place much. I’m usually in and out, you know.”

Oh, God, I wish.

“It’s cute,” he said, and nodded his head. “It’s you. I like these old buildings. All the wooden trim, the coffered ceilings.” He got up and explored her picture frames. “This you?” he asked, and held up her senior group cheerleading photo.

“Yeah,” she said, suddenly feeling like the awkward teen she’d been in that photo.

“Hot,” he said. “I never hooked up with a cheerleader. Believe it or not, I wasn’t such a ladies’ man in high school. You still have the uniform?”

She turned scarlet. “Probably. Somewhere,” she said.

“Huh.” He continued to poke through her bookshelves. “Toni Morrison, J.D. Salinger, Sylvia Plath… Stephen King? That’s an odd choice,” he said.

“Don’t knock it,” she said, defensive of her books. “Regardless of genre, he’s an amazing writer.”

“I’m not knocking it,” Connor said. “In fact, that would be my choice given your otherwise snobbish shelves.”

“Snobbish? I don’t go into your place and—”

“Calm down, pussycat, I’m just playing with you,” he said. “But if you’re trying to distract me from criticizing your books with a peepshow, you need to show just a little more skin.” He nodded toward her thighs, and when she looked down, she saw that the robe had risen to almost entirely expose her lower half.

Hurriedly, Sam pulled the material together. “Is there something I can help you with? Besides random entertainment on your running break?”

He made his way back to her couch and sprawled out, feet kicked up on the coffee table. “Tell me what you think about the upcoming schedule,” he said. “Any concerns? Requests? Specific restaurants or bars you want to go to? I can always ask James to move around the logistics. Hell, you might as well make the most of the gig.”

She looked at him oddly. Did he really run all the way over here to ask her if she had any changes to the schedule? And speaking of running, he’d have to have run a half marathon by now to get to her place! “Hold on,” she said. “Where exactly did you run from?”

He looked at his fitness watch and raised his brows. “What’s it to you? I’m just trying to be nice, make sure you’re happy with the schedule.”

“Right, sorry,” she said. “I’m fine with it, really. No complaints.”

“And what about my father?” he asked. “I don’t foresee any massive family gatherings coming up, but if you’re uncomfortable around him—”

“I can handle him,” she assured him.

“Handle him,” he repeated.

“Yes.”

“Hey, do you have any water? Diet soda?”

She groaned, but got up and headed for the kitchen. “LaCroix okay?” she called to him. “It’s that or tap.”

“God, you women and your overpriced French water crap. Yeah, that’s fine. Do you have the blackberry cucumber flavor?”

She rolled her eyes and pulled one out of the box. “Yeah, women are the target demographic of LaCroix alright. And yes, I have it.”

“Great. With a wedge of lime? In a glass?”

She