SLOW PLAY (7-Stud Club #4) - Christie Ridgway Page 0,41
realization hitting him like a quick slap to the side of the head.
He was calling an imaginary dog.
Considering where to hang an imaginary leash.
Jesus, this was bad.
He was the male, thirty-year-old equivalent of a cat lady.
To save the wall he felt like punching, he headed for the laundry closet, just big enough for a stacked washer and dryer and a couple of baskets. He gathered the sheets there and stuffed them into the machine, a pillowcase falling at his feet. When he lifted it from the hardwood, a scent wafted off the cotton. His gut tightened and he couldn’t stop himself from bringing the fabric to his nose.
To breathe in the scent of Harper’s shampoo.
Damn her. Damn her gorgeous self for sleeping with him and making it so fucking great.
Which of course wasn’t fair. So he felt guilty for ten seconds for the thought, then thought it again, and put in another ten seconds of guilt.
Shit. Strangling the pillowcase wasn’t helping matters, so he shoved it into the machine and strode into his bathroom to grab the towels.
Then he buried his face in the damp one she’d used.
What had he been thinking?
But good sense wasn’t first and foremost when he’d found her on the porch or when they’d shared dinner and wine and especially not when she’d kissed him. Then he’d been sensation, desire, whimsy.
God, whimsy was a terrible thing that he didn’t need in his life. Whimsy was the source of impulsive decisions. Imaginary dogs. Leashes that did not exist.
He had to turn this situation around immediately.
Of course, he’d paved the way for that already.
I know this isn’t going anywhere.
He’d spoken that aloud for the both of them. And for all he knew, she was packed up and heading out of town this very minute. The expression on her face as she’d run out without even drinking an entire cup of coffee hadn’t given him a clue as to where she thought things between them stood, now that they’d slept together.
But of course, he had clearly expressed the state of his head.
I know this isn’t going anywhere, okay?
Had that remark cut off any second chance for them? Second chancing in the sack, that was.
Which, really, was the best plan—not doing it again. Their interlude was over.
One and done.
The towel made a satisfying splat on the drum of the washing machine when he threw it inside. But the ensuing echo didn’t cover up the sound of a car pulling into his drive. His pulse leaped. Harper?
Back to discuss why she’d left so abruptly? Back to discuss what exactly had led them into the sheets?
Or just back for more sex.
He’d take it, he decided, striding toward the front of the house.
But standing on his doorstep wasn’t one green-eyed brunette. Instead it was a cute streaky blonde with brown eyes that looked a lot like his. He swung open the door. “What’s up, Tracy?”
His sister pushed past him. “Looking for coffee.”
“Harry’s is between your place and mine.” He followed at her heels into the kitchen. “And I must admit they make a better brew than me.”
“But their coffee doesn’t come with a free car wash,” she said, reaching for a mug.
“Or a younger brother, accustomed to years of your childhood bullying, to do the washing?”
“Right.” She took a first sip, considered. “Your coffee’s not so bad.”
He smiled. She had more energy than any three women, and he hadn’t seen her in a while. Then his smile died. Not only was she energy-filled, she was unfailingly nosy. Had she sniffed out the fact he’d had an overnight guest? “What brings you here again?”
“A car wash. I told you.”
There was a glint in her eye he didn’t trust. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“I might have seen a strange car in front when I arrived. And then I may have waited half a block away in my car while watching for your guest to make the exit of shame.”
He frowned. “She wasn’t ashamed of anything. She shouldn’t be ashamed of anything.”
Tracy held up a palm. “Sorry, just kidding. But I can’t pretend I didn’t see that it was Harper Hill leaving early this very fine morning. I even stayed in my car for a while longer in case she decided to return for more of your scintillating company.”
Harper hadn’t returned for more of his scintillating company. He grunted.
“So…” Tracy said, with an encouraging scoop of her hand. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
His sister’s eyebrows shot toward her forehead. “So touchy.”