One Moment Please (Wait With Me #3) - Amy Daws Page 0,5
sire of Seabiscuit would be living a charmed life.
I shake that embarrassing comparison out of my head and try to forget about what a tremendous dick he was. Richardson was his last name? More like Dr. Dick!
His expression was positively homicidal when I stuffed that pie into my mouth. It’s not a moment I’m proud of, but Kate always tells me to be confident in my blunders, and they won’t seem so bad the next day. So…enjoy your crotch pie, Dr. Dick.
The sun dips low over the horizon as I pull onto the road leading to my townhouse. As I turn into my driveway, I see my friend, Dean, jogging on the bike trail across the road. I honk and wave him over while I pull into my garage.
“What’s up, Lyns? Did you finish your paper?” Dean calls out as he crosses the street toward me.
“Um…Dean, it’s November. Isn’t it time to put the extra-short shorties away?” I ask, gesturing to his electric blue running shorts flapping in the breeze. “If Kate were here—”
“Don’t you dare tell Kate about these,” he cuts me off. His bearded jaw goes rigid as he wipes the moisture dripping from his brow with the sweatband around his forearm. “It’s unseasonably warm out today. And you know I only wear these because they provide better mobility.”
My hands rise in surrender at his defensive tone. “It’s totally cool. I think you have really nice thighs. You rock those shorties.”
He pins me with a glare. “They’re called running shorts. Athletes wear them. And just because Kate moved out doesn’t mean you have to pick up where she left off with the sarcasm.”
I bite my lip because, honestly, if anyone can rock those short shorts, it’s Dean.
A gust of air blows through the thin fabric, and I can’t help the next words that tumble out of my mouth. “Does shrinkage provide better mobility too?”
He shakes his head in defeat. “You lived with Kate for too long.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” I reply with a sheepish smile. Even if he is right, I really don’t care. Living with Kate these past few months was a blast. I’d have kept her at my place forever if Miles wasn’t so damned in love with her.
My eyes refocus on Dean’s furry legs. “Do you wear underwear with those shorties?”
“Stop talking about my shorts, Lynsey.” He reaches out and grabs me by the shoulders, tearing my gaze from his thighs to his face. “Just tell me…did you finish editing your thesis?”
My smile spreads ear to ear. “Damn right, I did.”
“Well, congratulations,” he replies with an exasperated but genuine smile. Pulling me under his sweaty arm, he ruffles my hair. “Does that mean we’re celebrating tonight?”
“Yes,” I exclaim and push his sweaty body away from me. “Kate can’t make it, but I don’t care. I need a drink after what just happened.”
“What just happened?” He frowns, looming over me in all his six-foot well-proportioned, non-pie-butt glory.
I pat him on the chest and give him a gentle shove toward the bike trail. “I’ll tell you over drinks. Go finish your run and pick me up at seven, okay?”
“We’re going out?” he asks in surprise because he knows I prefer to hang out at home by my tiki bar.
I nod firmly. “We’re going out.”
“Okay, then.” He shoots me a sexy smile and walks backward down the driveway. “That means you have to be my wingman, you know.”
“Only if you’ll be mine,” I reply, throwing my hands in the air and wiggling my hips.
Dean does a double take. “I can’t wait to hear what’s inspired this change in you.”
“It’s a doozie,” I reply with a wave, and he turns to run across the street while I head inside.
My townhouse greets me in all its colorful, eclectic glory. I quasi-inherited this place when my grandmother passed away three years ago and my family discovered she’d paid her five-year lease in full and still had three years left on it. My parents considered subleasing, but when I decided to go back to school for my master’s, they wanted me to move in so I could quit my job at the substance abuse clinic and focus on my studies. They always hated me working there. My mother isn’t exactly the most compassionate person.
Most of my furnishings here are odds and ends handed down from my parents and carried over from college. I kept some of my grandma’s furniture because it’s retro, and I can’t afford to buy