Chapter Seventeen
Rhett woke to an unfamiliar sensation, his right arm asleep, compressed under the weight of a sleeping woman. Dawn light seeped beneath the curtain, buttery rays spilling on Pepper, all bed-wild hair and parted, slightly puffy mouth. Who knew what made the small mole on her upper lip so kissable. But better not overthink it.
Better not to overthink any of it.
He eased his arm free and she stirred, peering through one eye, a slight frown creasing her brow.
“What time is it?” she mumbled.
“Little before seven.” He shook out his arm, pins and needles prickling below his skin. The sensation was annoying, but not the torture he’d remembered. It had been a long time since he’d spent the night with a woman, and it seemed there were three options: suggest another round, offer to make breakfast, or head for the hills.
Truth be told, he didn’t have a fucking clue how to play this so kept his face a mask. Better to let her make the first move.
Realization spread over her face as she rolled into a half sit. “Hang on. We had a sleepover?” Her uncertain voice was cue enough; time to get out of Dodge.
“Guess so. Not very fling of us.” He made his retreat, rolling out of her warm bed. Once his feet hit the cool carpet an almost tangible force field descended between them.
She tucked the sheet around her torso, modesty returning with the rising sun. “That should go on the list of no-nos, right? No slumber parties.”
“Yeah. Smart.” He dressed in quick, efficient movements while she studied something of interest on the ceiling. “Hey, so I have to let my dogs out. Want me to scramble some eggs before bolting?”
She smiled faintly. “I’m a big girl and prefer oatmeal anyway. Let’s embrace the awkward and shake hands. You don’t need to hang around pretending.” Her tone was relaxed and sounded authentic, except she wouldn’t hold his gaze.
This ma’am was all about the wham bam while he’d hit it and couldn’t quit it. His arms tightened into steel bands. Time to get it together. Leaving was the power move, and hell, she’d basically told him to hit the road. She wasn’t playing games but keeping to her end of the bargain.
She was cool.
A little too icy. She’d reached for her phone and already moved on with the morning.
“See you around?” He lingered in the doorway, waiting, for what? For her to throw back the blankets and make a come-hither gesture? To bat her eyes and purr, “Come back to bed, Rhett. I need another round.”
“See ya, buddy!” She raised a hand in farewell, gaze glued to her screen.
“Yeah.” He forced an upbeat tone. “Buddy.”
But as he let himself out of her back door, it was impossible to shake the troubling truth. His simple, straightforward path had taken a detour down Complication Alley.
***
“Stop.” Pepper halted in front of the dog park, dabbing the perspiration misting her top lip. Wolfgang halted at her side, tail taut at attention. She glanced down at him. “Good boy.” It wasn’t that she was magically cured of her irrational phobia. The old entrenched fear hummed in the background, but repeated daily exposure to a range of familiar pooches helped her relax.
Before leaving New York, she’d have never expected to willingly walk a dog, let alone enter an off-leash area. And never in a million years would she have imagined being calm enough in the situation to notice a penny on the sidewalk, the copper glinting in the sun.
The world divided into two kinds of people: the penny picker-uppers and the penny snubbers. She belonged to Team PPU. A childhood tightrope-walking the poverty line meant never ignoring free money, in any denomination, even when doing a deep breathing meditative walk with a Chihuahua. Even if the coin was turned heads down.
What made tail-side-up pennies bad luck anyway?
She scooped it up and stood. Superstition was for the birds. People made their own luck. A small smile tugged the corner of her mouth. She was getting lucky all over town. The smug ache between her legs caught her breath, conjuring delicious memories of that night before.
Pulling out her phone, she glanced around. The coast was clear. With a quick arm extension, she contorted her face into an over-the-top porn star pout while posing with the penny, took a snap, and sent it to Tuesday with the one-liner:Look out, Pepper just got lucky.
She didn’t add a second part to that statement about how she’d gotten lucky, three times last night, in a range of positions that made her realize you could take the girl out of yoga, but you could never take yoga out of the girl. Her flexibility was still on point, and what’s more, Rhett seemed to like it.
A lot.
A tickle stole across her neck, one of those itchy “somebody’s watching me” sensations.
She turned, chest heaving and yelped. An older man stared down at her, all up in her personal space bubble. Not too old—forty-something—with smarmy daytime soap star features and perfect politician hair down to the distinguished gray temple bolts holding a glass bottle of Coke.
