Chapter 3
Baylor
“Not where I thought this was going,” I say, sliding my hands down to the curve where her shoulders meet her neck. “But I can’t lie. I could eat something.”
I hear her swallow in the quiet room before she asks, “Are we still talking about food?”
Massaging her shoulders gently, I lean against the counter and bring her closer to stand between my legs. “I’m up for whatever suits your mood.”
Her lips part, and she tugs the lower one under her top teeth. Her breath steadies as if she’s caught herself. Wrapping her hands around my wrists, Lauralee replies, “We should get some food. I can go downstairs and make something?—”
“You don’t have to cook for me.”
“It could be simple like a sandwich. Or ice cream.”
Earlier tensions have disappeared, and our bodies have eased against each other. There’s no rush to the bed or to make something happen. I like it, actually. She’s comfortable to me. “Seems sleep is going to evade us. Let’s go down together.”
She slides out of my hold, though her hand drags lightly across my abs until her feet take her out of reach, and she heads for the door. Taking the key off the hook on the wall, she tugs on the hem of her T-shirt. “Should we bother getting dressed?”
“We’ll be soaked before we get down the stairs.” I come around the peninsula to stand next to her. “Nothing like an adventure at three in the morning.”
Excitement widens her eyes as she grins like she’s about to get into some good trouble. Opening the door, she looks back over her shoulder. “We’ll make a run for it.” There’s no question, but I can see by her raised brows that she wants to hear my thoughts.
“I’m right behind you.”
With a nod, she turns back to the pouring rain and dashes out the door. I stay close as she uses the rail to guide her down. Twirling around the pole to safe cover under the patio, she unlocks the door to the shop and shoulders it open.
Inside, we stand dripping on the hard floor. My eyes are drawn to a face I’ve not paid enough attention to—dark lashes wet from the rain, high cheekbones on either side of her straight nose, all highlighted by the heart shape.
I slide my gaze lower to the fabric clinging to her body.
Her tits round, a good helping and a handful, her nipples hard and teasing.
The shirt dips down to the curve of her waist to the swell of her hips.
I remember her having a rockin’ body at the reception, and we even had a moment that felt like it could have led to more.
But then my nephew jumped in excitement when he saw a doodlebug on the side of the chicken coop, and we lost the opportunity that had been presented.
I can’t remember what happened after, but I know it involved a lot of shots and stumbling up to my room, alone, before passing out just before sunrise.
I catch her eyes returning after a quick once-over herself and biting that lip again. I’m tempted to bite it for her. She laughs as if I’ve called her out. I don’t laugh, but a wry grin has solidified on my face.
“We’re soaked.” Her eyes glitter with mischief before she turns away from me.
If I’m reading her right, which I rarely get women wrong, she’s nervous.
Which is surprising, but what I know about Lauralee Knot, which might only be a small fraction of who she is, she’s not a shy woman.
I’ve seen her dance at Whiskey’s on a Thursday night like she doesn’t have work the following morning.
I’ve heard a few stories about her and my sister sneaking out back in high school and skinny-dipping down at the river with some assholes from Dover Country.
And she held her own the night of the reception.
I might have been stumbling upstairs, but she looked fine and dandy from what I recall.
So her being nervous almost doesn’t make sense.
She’s known me forever, so that’s the last thing I want her to be with me.
I reach out, capturing her by the elbow. “Hey?—”
“I’ll get some towels,” she says with her gaze falling to the floor. Sticking to the mats covering the tile floor, she walks like the lava might get her if she steps off. She opens a large cabinet and pulls out a stack of dishcloths.
I chuckle. She rolls her eyes and grins. “You get what you get.” A small pile of them hits my chest before she eyes me again. “Guess you’re stuck in those wet underwear.”
“Yeah,” I say, holding the tiny towels and glancing at the soaked black cotton hugging my body. Peeking up at her, I smirk with a waggle of my brows. “I can always take them off. ”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself there, Greene.”
It’s hard not to with her. Even drenched, this woman is fucking stunning. I’m kicking myself for not seeing her outside my sister’s shadow. What would I have done anyway? Fucked her back then and ditched her for New York City. She was a girl.
She’s not anymore.
With the cabinet door blocking my view of her, I start to dry my body while watching the shirt come over her and down her arms. Yeah, I’m shameless. No use pretending I’m a gentleman when she already knows I’m not.
When she pushes the cabinet closed, her bare torso sports a white apron with a red-trimmed ruffle around the edge, unfortunately hiding what I really wanted to see. I never had a kitchen fantasy, but one’s in the making with her looking that fucking sexy.
“Eyes up here, Baylor.”
I look up, grinning. “That’s quite the outfit.”
“Better than freezing and dripping everywhere in that shirt.”
“I definitely approve.” The ruffle doesn’t hide the rounded side of her tit or the tattoo on her ribs.
“I bet you do.” She walks to the large fridge to peek inside. “Are we thinking soup or sandwich or both?”
Neither but I keep what I’m really craving to myself, or I might get whacked over the head with a bag of flour this time. “Whatever is easiest.” I come closer, and ask, “What does your tattoo say?”
Her hand covers the bare skin over her ribs. “Oh . . . nothing really. Just something . . . I’m thinking chicken salad on croissants.”
“Sounds good.” I study her expression and the way she appears restrained in some ways she didn’t prior. “Did I cross a boundary I didn’t know existed? Or is it a secret?”
With a shrug of her shoulders, she dips into the fridge. “Kind of.”
Not sure which question she’s answering, though it may be both. “Now I’m more curious than before.”
Laughter shakes her shoulders, but she doesn’t give me the pleasure of seeing her smile since she’s faced away from me. “Curiosity killed the cat.”
“Yet I still want to know.”
“Living on the edge?” When she turns around with a glass container, she carries on like we weren’t talking about the tattoo at all. “I made this before I closed last night. I think it needs time for the flavors to marinate.” She glances at me. “So if it’s not as good as?—”
“I’m sure it will be great.”
As much as I want to push the topic, it’s not my business. And the way I see things potentially headed with her, I’ll see it for myself anyway. I ask, “What can I do?”
“Something you’re great at.” She raises a brow and smirks. “Stand there and look good.”
Chuckling, I weave my fingers through my hair. “Easy enough.” Too easy. I move to the stainless-steel island in the center of the room that shines under the lights and look around. “I thought it would be bigger.”
“Do you hear that often?” She snorts with laughter as she pops the top off the container. My ego isn’t so fragile that I can’t find her utterly adorable.
“You’re as quick with the quips as you are the punches.”
“You know firsthand.” My hand moves to my head automatically, but I see concern ripple through her expression when she looks at it as well. "Sorry about that. I should make another ice pack. ”
“It’s fine. No need to fuss. But lesson learned. Don’t sneak into bed with Lauralee Knot.”
She laughs. This time, it’s more genuine and softer, but then her hands still, and she asks, “Why is that disappointing?”
“Because it’s three forty-five in the morning, and you’re delirious.” She has me questioning if she’d feel the same when she’s not exhausted. I’m starting to think it’s worth spending some time in Peaches Sundries & More while I’m here.
She crosses the room and opens a bin on the far counter. “I appreciate you giving me grace, but I’m responsible for my own actions no matter the hour. Trust me, I’ve done worse at this hour.” She takes two croissants out and returns to the steel table, standing across from me.
“Color me intrigued and tell me more. Tell me all the bad things you’ve done.”
While she cuts the bread lengthwise and starts to dress them, she continues smiling. “I think you were right. It’s too early.”
“Is that your way of wanting to change the subject? Seems you like to do that a lot.”
“Not a lot. I just keep thinking how weird it is that my best friend’s brother—who used to tell us to scram—is so interested in me now.”
This time, I shrug. “Years pass. People change.” She’s changed alright. “We’re both adults and can talk about these things.” Her brown eyes are set on mine, but there’s no anger or any sign of being upset that a memory came back. I still feel the need to say, “I’m sorry I was an asshole.”
She returns to topping the sandwich, then cuts it in half. “As long as you’re not an asshole now, we’ll be good.”
“No guarantees. ”
Her mouth twists to the side. I can tell something hangs on the tip of her tongue by how her gaze lands hard on mine. “You don’t have to be like that with me, Baylor.”
“What do you mean? Be like what?”
“Play the part of the hometown hero who has everyone falling at his feet, the smooth playboy I’m pretty certain you are in New York, or hold the expectations of the Pass on your shoulders anymore. You can be you with me. No mask. No facade. Just be real with me.”
There’s no venom to her words, no warning, not even a judgment placed on me or my behavior. She’s just saying what’s on her mind and allowing me to say what’s on mine. I’m not sure I like being under her microscope, though.
“Who says I’m not?” Even I hear the defensive edge in my tone.
She takes a deep breath, then tightens her lips into a straight line. Pushing the sandwich over on a napkin, she says, “Enjoy.”
I drop my guard. Lauralee’s not calling me out. She doesn’t know me well enough to do it anyway, so I let it roll off my back. But if she isn’t, why do I feel seen? “I’m not hiding who I am.”
“Okay.” She nods with a gentle smile.
Throwing my arms out wide, I reply, “No, for real. What you see is what you get.”
Her expression falters, but then she wrenches the corners of her mouth back into place. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.”
Then why do I feel like I do?
I take a bite of the sandwich, needing time to think about what’s going on here. Is it the hour, the woman, or the accusation that struck a chord? Probably all three. And why is this sandwich the best thing I’ve ever had ?
I take another bite, watching her eat across from me. After I swallow, I ask, “Why do you think I’m not being genuine?”
“I think you’re genuine.” She lowers the sandwich to the napkin.
“When you held me earlier to protect me from the storm, that was genuine. When you kissed my head, I know that came from the heart. But it’s the show you put on.
It’s worked for you for so long that I don’t think you’re even aware you’re doing it anymore. ”
My heartbeats grow heavy under her words.
I’m not bothered by much, but this does the trick.
I stare at her as she continues, “It’s late, or early, whatever you want to call this time of night or morning.
I don’t have the energy to impress you, and I don’t want to.
I just want you to see me as someone you don’t have to impress either because that guy doesn’t stand a chance of staying in my bed. ”
I’m not upset, but she’s hit a nerve like no one else has bothered to try. If I take the words for how she means them, it’s not discomforting. She’s calling it like she sees me and is still standing on the other side of this table like she’s rooting for me.
I may not have known her before, but she’s giving me a good taste of who she is now, and I like it. I like that she’s comfortable enough to tell me what’s on her mind. No guessing. No playing games. A real straight shooter. I grin. “What about the other guy? What are his chances?”
This time, a smile blooms across her pretty face. Her eyes are bright as if the decision was already made, and she’s excited. “That guy has a real good chance.”
“I like those odds.”
“Me too.” She finishes half the sandwich, then asks, “What do you think? ”
Her hair has started to dry, the strands forming soft curls around her shoulders. “I think you’re a fascinating woman.”
Her cheeks pinken under the bright lights of the kitchen, and she looks down with a smile that holds plenty of secrets. Angling to the side, she whispers, “I meant about the sandwich.”
“Best I ever had.” I catch her attention, and that smile grows as if I’m in on those secrets with her.
Wrapping the other half of the sandwich in the napkin, she sets it aside and starts to close the container. “I think I’m ready to go back upstairs.” She puts it in the fridge and closes it behind her. “How do you feel?”
No way am I leaving food behind. I finish the sandwich, still thinking about what she said.
Some of it’s starting to make sense, which has me rethinking things.
I push that aside, though. I don’t want to waste this night stuck in my head when I have a much better offer at hand.
I nod to the door. “Ready when you are.”