Chapter 11
Doilies
Sam shifted his weight from one side to the other, bleeding off some of his agitation over Angie’s questions tonight.
She wasn’t going to let up. Then again, he’d opened himself up by coming to “check on her.” Trevor had left early, but that hadn’t been the only excuse that had propelled Sam.
That kiss had put him into a tailspin, making him do and say stupid shit, like showing up here and coughing up a secret he’d never meant to reveal.
Was he looking for a redo with Angie?
No clue. What he did know was that he got a kick out of being around her. He liked sparring with her, enjoyed the challenge of seeing if he could get under her skin, and loved it when she surprised him with a zinger. He also loved that he could simply be himself around her. No faking anything.
Who else could he talk to the way he did her? Who else knew his history—lumps, bumps, and scars? There was something oddly comforting about sharing the past, like he was going back to the ground where his roots were planted.
Those pretty sky-blue eyes held no guile when she said, “Tell me, Sam, if you won the lottery tomorrow or a genie appeared and wiped away every last one of your financial worries, would you still want to play hockey?”
Okay. She’d lobbed him a slow pitch he could handle.
“Hell yeah. But I’d do it for fun then, and that might give me room to add other things into my life, like taking more pictures and turning them into art I could hang on my walls.
The walls of a place I owned. With a backyard for a dog.
” Have a serious girlfriend. “Go with you to the shelter and find out what the big deal is, maybe even bring home a dog to dig holes in that backyard.”
Without thinking, he reached out and lightly brushed his finger over her shoulder.
She jerked slightly. Pinching a coarse white hair, he held it up.
“I noticed it on you earlier today, but I didn’t want to say or do anything in case Attila the Bun decided to take my boot and beat me over the head with it. ”
“Attila the Bun?” Angie sputtered, then broke into an adorable fit of laughter.
He’d made her laugh, and he couldn’t help grinning himself. “That woman is harsh as hell. She could scare patients into speeding through their rehab.”
“Bedside manner is not one of her stronger traits,” Angie agreed between giggles, “but she runs this place very efficiently, which I appreciate.”
“Of course you would, being little Miss Efficiency yourself.”
“Hey, I resemble that remark!” she snickered.
God, he loved it when she let the Ice Princess thaw. “I’ll bet your place doesn’t have a speck of dust or a doily out of place.”
“Oh, there’s plenty of dust, and not a doily in sight.”
“I don’t believe you. You’ll have to prove it by showing me.” Why was he pushing to see her place? Because he wanted to know the side of Angie she kept hidden away, wanted her to let him into her world.
His wishes went up in smoke when she scoffed loudly.
His eyebrows bounced playfully. “Do you remember going over to Brianna’s grandparents’ house for Christmas?”
Angie burst out with another laugh. “Omigod, yes! There were doilies everywhere! Doilies on the armrests, on the dining table, on the bookshelves. There were even tissue holders made of doilies in the bathroom!”
“Doily central,” he guffawed. “I thought we were going to be attacked by deadly doily dolls in the bedroom for a while there. Remember their creepy faces?”
“And then you reached out to inspect one, and they all tumbled off the shelf? We were scrambling to shove them back in place before the adults found out! They never looked right after that.” Angie howled, nearly doubling over with laughter, and Sam was right there with her.
When the laughs fizzled out, the Ice Princess snapped back into place. “I need to finish up here and get home. You should probably go.”
“How much more time do you need?”
She glanced over her shoulder at her paperwork. “Five, ten minutes.”
He brushed a leftover tear from his cheek. “I’ll wait for you and walk you to your car.”
“Not necessary.”
“I know that, but I’m going to anyway, so stop arguing and finish what you gotta do.
” He swiped the pink elephant from her desk and began squeezing it, not sure whether to throw it at her or crush the ever-loving foam out of the damn thing.
Angie was a frustrating mix of infuriating and irresistible packed in silky blond hair, crystal-blue eyes, and a body made for sin.
And being around her these last few weeks was making him acutely aware of every feminine detail about her.
Fifteen minutes later, he strode beside her as they headed toward an ancient white Pathfinder under a lamp in the deserted parking lot. Sam kept his head on a swivel but didn’t pick up any movement.
He waved a hand at the vehicle. “Is this where you usually park?”
Angie inserted a key in the lock, and the door clicked. “Yes, why?”
“And you walk out here this late by yourself?”
“I don’t always work late.” She tossed her backpack into the back seat.
“But when you do, you’re walking from your office to here.” He looked around. “Where anyone could see you and approach.”
She jutted out a hip and rested her hand on it. “What else am I supposed to do? I can’t Uber in and out every day.”
“How about you don’t work late and leave when everyone else does? Or you move your car closer when you know you’ll be working late?”
She slid into the driver’s seat and looked up at him. “You’re overthinking this. It’s perfectly safe.” She motioned around herself. “Lights and cameras everywhere.”
Resting one arm on the roof of her SUV and the other on top of her door frame, he leaned in. “And you’re taking a lot for granted. Do you carry any protection?”
Her eyes widened with horror. “You mean, like a gun?”
“Or pepper spray. Better yet, bear spray.”
She shook her head.
“I’ll hook you up.”
“With bear spray,” she deadpanned.
“Yep.” Exactly why he was making the promise eluded him. Being around her had a way of shorting out his circuitry.
He shut her car door and stood back while she turned the key in the ignition. The car made a clicking noise. She tried again and got the same sound.
Uh-oh.
After the third attempt, she peered at him through the window with a helpless expression. He motioned for her to pop the hood and stuck his head underneath, using the light on his phone.
Sliding the phone back into his pocket, he opened her door. “I’m pretty sure your battery is toast. I’ve got jumper cables in my truck. Get your stuff, and let’s go get it and get you started.”
“I’ll wait here.”
He didn’t like the idea of leaving her alone. “Come with me. Keep me company.”
Angie rolled her eyes but fell in step beside him. As they walked toward his truck, she swiveled her head and smiled. “You did get another Chevy.”
“Told ya.”
“And this one is much, much nicer.”
His chest filled with something warm and gooey he couldn’t explain.
Twenty minutes later, her Pathfinder sputtered to life. As she sat behind the wheel, he unhooked the cables and stowed them away.
“We’ll let it run for ten minutes,” he declared, “then I’ll follow you to be sure you get home all right.” She opened her mouth—to object, no doubt—and he held up his hand to cut her off. “Yeah, I know I don’t have to, but I’ll sleep better knowing you got home without breaking down again.”
She nodded, and a frisson of triumph threaded through him.
Ten minutes later, they pulled up to a 1940s brick bungalow, and he parked at the curb while she nosed her SUV inside a tight one-car garage. The taillights winked off, and she scooted from the driver’s side to the back of the vehicle.
“Mind if I come in and wash up?” he asked.
“Is this your ploy to get inside?”
He held up his grimy hands, and she motioned for him to follow her through the garage, into a tidy kitchen with a small eating area. The place didn’t look as though it had ever been remodeled, but it was clean and cozy. No surprise.
She showed him to a bathroom that was smaller than his walk-in closet and handed him a towel that she pulled from a linen cupboard.
He took in the old-fashioned tile and sink. “Wow! That’s a lot of pink.”
“Not my choice, but I’m only a tenant here. I’m told it’s ‘vintage’ and therefore very hip. Even if the pink toilet does have a crack in it and takes about twenty gallons of water to flush.”
He eyed her skeptically in the mirror while he washed. “It reminds me of Brianna’s grandparents’ bathroom.”
She gave his arm a playful shove that lit him up inside. “If it were like their place, I’d have creepy doily dolls ready to spring off a shelf. Like I said before, this is a doily- and dolly-free zone.”
“Yeah?” He wiped his hands on the towel. “Let’s see.”
Her blues widened in alarm. “What do you mean?”
“Show me around. I’ll make sure there are no bogeymen hiding under your bed. And next time, I’ll show you around mine.”
“And what will I be looking for under your bed?” Dancing devil lights replaced the alarm in her eyes.
“Not what you’re thinking you’ll find.” No women’s underwear, no used condoms, no girlie magazines.
Other than its size, his bedroom was more like a monk’s cell than a …
monk’s cell. Hell, his whole apartment qualified.
He’d never brought a hookup there. Hadn’t even been tempted.
Then again, he hadn’t hooked up since moving his stuff to Denver.
“Unless you’re looking for one of my stray socks or a smelly sneaker, I think you’re in for a huge disappointment. ”
She held out her hands, palms up, presentation style.
“Well, you’ve seen the bathroom.” She flipped off the light switch and took him on a two-minute tour around the rest of the place.
Just like her kitchen, it was small and dated but neat and comfortable.
A place where someone could stretch out on the couch and nap on a slow winter afternoon, and he found himself reluctant to leave.