“Actually, I was hoping Romy would play hooky today,” he says.
“Hooky?” Lottie’s smile deepens as she swings her gaze between us. “That’s fun. What are your plans? A plane ride to Paris for dinner at the Eiffel Tower? Or I bet you’re going to take her to an opera in San Francisco.”
“This isn’t a romcom,” I whisper, mortified. “And it’s not like that.” How could she think it would be, knowing my situation?
“Do you like big things like that?” Zander asks softly.
I shake my head quickly.
“It’s called wooing. I get that you probably don’t have to do too much. I’m sure a whole slew of women beg and plead for you to take them on your tour bus. But one of these days, Zander Shaw, you’re going to find a woman who flips your world around, and you’ll be whisking her away to Paris.” Lottie hugs me tightly, then shoots him a wink. “Gotta go. You know how crabby Brooks gets when his coffee isn’t ready on time.” She smacks Zander lightly on the arm. “See ya.”
“I don’t understand. Isn’t she married to Brooks?” Zander asks, watching her walk off.
“It’s their thing.” I fumble for my key.
“Their thing?” He holds the door open for me once I’ve unlocked it.
“You know how couples have things…” In my office doorway, I hesitate, torn between wanting space and wanting him. I feel as if an arrow is hovering over the drawer with the test in it. “Seriously?”
Something shifts across his face. Could it be embarrassment?
“Right, you’re not into those types of relationships.” My bitterness is loud and clear.
He braces his hands against the top of the doorframe, shirt tugging up, revealing skin and a line of dark hair that disappears into the waistband of his jeans.
My body reacts before my brain can scold it. Why is he so damn sexy?
“So, their thing is her making him coffee in the morning? Wouldn’t it be better to have her bring coffee to him in bed or, I don’t know, wearing lingerie or, hell, naked?”
A full-body shiver rocks me. “Okay, first, I don’t want to think of Brooks in a bed and definitely not my sister bringing him coffee naked.”
He chuckles. “That’s a tad immature, no? They obviously have sex.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Do you have siblings?”
He shakes his head.
Right. Foster kid, you idiot.
“Okay, think about Beau or better yet, DeSoto. Imagine him naked, beating off.”
His brows rise, but he nods in mock understanding.
“See what I mean?”
“Yeah.” He grimaces. “Now I have to think of how to banish that image from my head.”
His smile—his real smile—breaks out. The one that used to belong only to me. Or so I thought. Maybe a lot of women think that smile is theirs. My chest aches at the memory of the nights when that grin was mine and mine alone.
I clear my throat, desperate to redirect this line of conversation. “Anyway, you said something about playing hooky?”
Still leaning forward on the doorframe, biceps straining, he says, “I don’t want the whole video shot in the barn. I wanted to have flashbacks to where they fell in love. So, I thought maybe you could show me around the ranch, and we can brainstorm?” His voice dips, sounding shy in a way that disarms my anger completely.
“You already got the tour.”
His smile falters. “Yeah, but I could barely concentrate then.”
“Why?” I cross my arms, bracing myself.
