SLOW PLAY (7-Stud Club #4) - Christie Ridgway Page 0,25
ribs as he tasted her again. His spinning head had still retained enough sense not to grasp, hold, promise.
But he’d set another date before dropping her off that night, and then another and another until some of their friends called them Marper or Harpox or something equally annoying.
And he’d loved it, even when he’d pretended to be dragging an iron ball behind him, chained to his ankle.
No one had been fooled, of course, hence the pitying looks three years later when Harper had gone off on her adventures.
“You owe me for that, you know,” he said aloud. Then wished the words back.
“For what?” She shifted on the seat, switching her moon attention to him.
“You ruined this place for me,” he lied.
She smiled, clearly delighted. “You didn’t score when you brought other women to our spot?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Never even tried.”
“Hmm.” She paused. “Am I bad for enjoying the idea?”
“As long as you’re only bad with me.”
Her happy expression sobered and she looked away. “Well…”
Yeah. Talk of the past wasn’t the street either of them wanted to venture down. He turned his gaze out the window. “Do you still hate mustard?”
“Just the bright yellow kind. But I like Dijon now, and that grainy brown spicy stuff.”
“Tastes change.”
“I learned to like a lot of different cuisines,” she said.
“Travel will do that for you. In Costa Rico I lived on chifrijo.”
“I never tried that.”
“It’s only the best snack ever! It includes fried pork rinds, beans, and avocados among other things.”
“Not a big stretch for a California boy,” she pointed out.
“I had snails in France. Haggis in Scotland.”
“I’m impressed. I remember you turning your nose up at Doritos unless they were the nacho cheese variety.”
“That’s not me, that’s Raf.” He frowned. “By the way, did he ever try to hit on you? I just learned he planned on it and also that he’s not above setting his sights on other guys’ girls.”
“I don’t remember,” she said, with an airy wave of her hand.
That was his problem. He remembered it all. Every kiss, every sigh, every time they’d made love. He’d been her first.
She’d been his best.
Another blast of cold blew across the back of his neck. What the hell was the source of that draft? “Do you still avoid cracks in the sidewalk?”
“No.” She laughed. “Not since I’ve been to places that have more cracks than sidewalk. And I look up now, not down.”
“Is that a new philosophy?”
Another laugh. “A precaution since the time I ran into a potted geranium hanging from a wall in Portugal and nearly knocked myself out. But I do stuff twelve grapes into my mouth at the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Eve.”
“Because…”
“I learned in Spain that it’s supposed to bring me good luck for the next twelve months.” She shifted on her seat, facing him more fully. “What’s with all the questions?”
“Just checking.”
“Don’t make me pull it out of you.”
He couldn’t afford to let her put her hands on him, that’s for sure. “Verifying that we’ve both changed. You and I, we’re different now.”
“Right. Changed. Different.”
Her agreement didn’t appease him. In the dark, in that place, with her beside him, her scent surrounding him, it felt as if his heart could too easily fall into old habits.
Stay alert, Kelly, he told himself. Stay apart.
Chapter Six
Under the shade of the Sunnybird Farm pop-up tent, Harper made minute adjustments to the baskets of produce displayed on one of the portable tables. “Did we leave some bunches of basil in the van?” she asked her mother. They were tied with short cotton lengths of ribbon in the farm’s signature yellow with their name trailing along it in spring green. “I bet these go fast.”
Her mom piled oranges beside a grouping of lemons. “That’s all for today. The restaurant at the new winery nearly cleaned us out.”
“A new winery, huh? I’ve heard the economy around here is booming.”
Her mother smiled. “I’m not complaining. Especially since I have my daughter helping me out today.”
“With Grandpop still off his feet, of course I’m willing to help out.” Part of the farm’s income stream was selling their produce at a couple of farmers markets in the area. Today they were set up at a supermarket parking lot one town south of Sawyer Beach.
“You’re not too tired after last night’s vigil with the avocados?” her mom asked.
“Shall I get us each a lemonade from the stand across the way?” Avoiding discussing the night before seemed imperative.