Thomas had referred to them as clown-pants, but nuh-uh.
Nope.
She was the only clown in this rodeo.
And while Tash told herself she was sticking around merely to apply more antibiotic ointment onto the back of Thomas’s head, she was lying.
Except when he finally came out of the bathroom, he’d wrapped himself in the red robe that she’d hung on the back of the door. He’d always looked good in rich colors, but this robe was...
It was an equally fantasy-inducing costume, but the plotline had a decidedly different essence than shirtless-from-the-shower. It was a different flavor of delicious.
He didn’t seem surprised to see her still sitting on the sofa with her book, but then again, he had a truly great poker face. It was only when he spoke that she could tell if he was lying or telling the truth.
“I hung my pants up to dry in the bathroom,” he told her, no doubt feeling a need to explain why his legs were bare beneath that decadent-looking robe. On him, it wasn’t floor length. On him, the robe ended mid-powerful-looking-calf. He hadn’t bothered putting on the slippers and his feet were bare, too.
“That’s okay,” she said. “We’re safe. I’ve got my jeans on under here.”
He gave her his Really? You went there? face, so she gestured to the coffee table, where she’d already laid out the first-aid kit.
“It’s time to play our daily round of Prevent! That! Infection!” she told him. “It’s your turn. I’ve already changed my bandage—Melvin is healing very nicely.”
“Next time, wait before you bandage it back up. I want to see. You also might want to start leaving it open to the air.”
“Got it,” she told him, setting down her book as she stood up, heading into the kitchen to wash her hands. “Sit there, and oh, have a beer.” She raised her voice to talk over the water running. “I figured this was a good time for you to drink some calories. I mean, compared to having a beer with your breakfast, before you go back out to check for messages from Uncle Alan...?”
“Good guess,” he called back. “You’re not having one?”
As she came back in, drying her hands on a towel, he took a swig, then reached for the peanut jar that was his—marked with a K-for-King. It was still half-full, while hers—marked with an F-for-Francisco—was nearly empty. Of course, he’d been out for all that time while she’d been sitting here, hungry and anxiety-eating.
“I opted for a glass of liquid grapes a couple hours ago—a very nice red blend that paired wonderfully with peanuts,” she told him. “Here, lean forward a little.”
He complied, and she surveyed his injury. It was slightly swollen and no doubt still badly bruised and tender to the touch, but the scrape was, like Melvin, healing nicely. Still, a little antibiotic goop couldn’t hurt. She dolloped some into her palm, handing the open tube to him to close, and began to gently dab.
“Since we’ve already discussed Ted and his various failings, whatever happened to Rachel?” she asked.
Thomas laughed his surprise. “Rachel?”
“Yeah. Dark brown hair, cool glasses, from New York? She was in San Diego during the summer, for some kind of... tech internship, I think it was...?”
“Oh, I remember Rachel,” he told her. “She had a paid internship for a work-study program at SolarCal. She was in an advanced engineering program at RIT—Rochester Institute of Technology.”
“She was really tall,” Tasha said.
He laughed again. “No, she wasn’t.”
“She was to me,” she pointed out. “And she was smart. I... liked her.” Not a complete lie. She’d been green-dagger jealous of Rachel, for sure. She’d been fourteen when Thomas first started dating the grad student—fifteen when they broke up. But Rachel had always been incredibly patient and kind in the face of Tash’s surly teenaged death-wish petulance.
“She was special,” Thomas agreed. “When did you meet her?”
“You brought her to the Team cookouts at the Catalanottos’,” Tasha said.
“Right,” he said. “Right. Yeah, I had that temporary assignment as a BUD/S instructor, so I was around a lot that summer.”
“It was a good time to girlfriend up.” Tash knew from growing up with a close proximity to the Coronado Naval Base that many of the younger SEALs used the age-old excuse But we’re never in one place for very long to steer clear of romantic commitments. Yeah, right—their keep it casual prime-directive was always gallantly due to a deep desire to keep the other person from being hurt in the