He sounded genuinely confused, and that was the only reason I didn’t laugh it off. “I’ve been strung along by plenty of men who can talk a good game, but all they want is a woman who serves them in some way. Men will say a lot if they think it can net them sex, free housecleaning, and a lifetime cook.”
He rocked back on his heels, but his gaze was thoughtful. “I was that guy once.”
Shocked, I cocked my head. “Really?”
“I didn’t think so. But when Tamera wasn’t interested in cooking or cleaning and wanted to hire out for it all, it threw me for a loop. My mom and dad have a stereotypical traditional relationship, you know. It’s what I grew up with, and I had to check my assumptions.”
“And you changed?” I hung on his reply too much, but he was so open, and I didn’t expect that trait from the mysterious bachelor people had been speculating about for a year.
“Somewhat. I mean, I hated having strangers in my house, but if I wasn’t willing to clean it every week, I shouldn’t expect her to. The cooking, well, I like cooking, but every day wasn’t feasible if I was putting in twelve-hour days. Again, I couldn’t expect her to come home from a work trip and get right to the kitchen.” He scratched the back of his neck, deep in thought. There was more, but he didn’t continue. Instead, he stroked his gaze down my body. “My compliments are sincere, Miss Scarlett.”
Inside, I glowed. “I told you, Scarlett is fine.”
“I like the way Miss Scarlett sounds. There’s several Mr. Baileys in Bourbon Canyon between me, my dad, and my brothers, but there’s only one Miss Scarlett.”
“Oh.” The way he said the name was nothing like my students. Theirs often had a hint of defensiveness, urgency, excitement, or just wanting my attention. Tate said Miss Scarlett like he had a secret and it was for me to uncover.
My breathing quickened, and this time, the heat swamping my body had nothing to do with the sun high overhead. “I’ll let you get back to work, and I’ll go wash my bits.” Oh. My. God. “Clean up.”
I’d officially call today How to Scare Off a Twenty-Thousand-Dollar Date.
But he didn’t look mortified. His grin had layers I was afraid to identify. Hungry. Intrigued. But also amused. “Go ahead and wash those bits, Miss Scarlett.”
My face had to be the color of my name as I rushed into my house. Tate hadn’t stepped inside yet, but the eight hundred square feet would shrink down to one hundred when he did. I couldn’t think about that. Nor could I think about how he’d view my decorations. They’d either make him think about his grandma’s house, or he’d wonder why I only had one cat when I clearly should have five.
Even if Tate Bailey saw me as more than an awkward teacher who was too broke to bid on a date with him, he’d backtrack as soon as he saw the inside of my house. Once guys got to know me, they always lost interest.
* * *
Tate
Scarlett Breen was exactlywho I thought she was, yet she wasn’t.
I stepped out of the shower and reread the needlepoint sign across from the toilet. An embroideredSit down and enjoy the show.
Had she done the needlework?
She must have. The embroidery hanging above her coatrack readLive, Laugh, Fuck Them All. Done in tasteful shades of purples that made you do a double take when you read the actual message.
There was also a tongue-in-cheek framed poster of cats playing poker. The scrawl of embroidered words next to it hit me in the gut.A Real Pussy Accepts the Odds. I had a feeling if I laughed, Scarlett would skitter right out of the house. She was a nervous bundle of energy. She’d answered the door this morning, and while she was much shorter than me, she’d blocked the entrance into her place.
Wash my bits.
The strict little teacher had a wacky sense of humor, and I liked it. I liked her little house too, but it was nothing like my sprawling mountain cabin. What would a meld of the two be like?
Would she make a sign for over my door?Come and relax on my wood.
I was getting ahead of myself. Scarlett had displayed none of the interest in me my sisters claimed she hadexcept for when she’d looked me over in the garage.
I wasn’t ignorant of feminine interest and I’d seen that look in women’s eyes before. I liked the combination of her with that hint of desire.
I toweled off with her fluffy, summery towel. I’d only ever had solid-colored towels. Hadn’t even realized they made towels with designs. Miss Scarlett lived differently than she worked, from the orange-and-purple-striped towels to the curtains that could’ve come from a circus tent.
My place was downright boring. Chance would get a kick out of this house, and he’d fucking love the embroidered art. Sweet, but scandalous.
I was a fan of Scarlett’s pinkish-purple skirt and how it molded over her ass when she pulled weeds. And the way her light-yellow top turned her amber eyes even lighter. She wore different glasses than the black frames from yesterday. The ones she had on today were clear white with blue and peach swirls at the temples.
Dragging my mind off Scarlett’s appearance so I didn’t sport an erection for the second time today—the first, when her apple bottom had wiggled over the flower bed for far too long—I dug clothes out of my duffel bag and dressed. I had a clean pair of jeans, a nicer pair of black boots that I didn’t use for work, and a Henley that wasn’t too hot for this time of year. I pushed the sleeves half up my arms and hauled my duffel out of the bathroom.
