“Hey peaches,” he greeted when I got close.
I had not bothered with makeup or hair. I’d taken a shower and put on another pair of yoga pants, a camisole and a zip up hoodie. I hoped I looked like hell but the way he was watching my h*ps move as I walked I was guessing I didn’t. Or at least my h*ps didn’t.
“Hey,” I replied.
His eyes lifted from my h*ps to mine. “Got a minute?”
“Depends,” I answered. “Are you here to tell me Ginger owes you three million dollars now?”
“Nope.”
“Are you here about Ginger at all?”
“Nope.”
“Are you here to freak me out in any other way?”
“Nope.”
“This would include asking me for a date,” I warned.
“Babe, don’t date,” he replied.
This was a surprise so I tipped my head to the side. “You don’t?”
“Do tequila shots followed by five hours of sex count as a date?” he asked.
“Um… no,” I answered.
“Then I don’t date.”
I smiled at him.
Then, stupidly, I asked, “You can have sex for five hours?”
He smiled at me.
Yikes.
Moving on.
“Okay, you can have a minute.”
“Obliged,” he muttered.
I opened the door and the alarm started beeping. Then I panicked because I forgot the code. Then I deep breathed and remembered the code. Then I punched it in and the beeping stopped.
Shoo.
I turned to see Tack followed me in and closed the door.
“See you domesticated,” he noted, glancing around.
“No, my stepmom has been in residence due to fire damage to her living room. She domesticated.”
His eyes came to me. “She in residence now?”
“She’s at her house cleaning up fire damage.”