Sweet Pea leaps onto my shins, barking out her utter joy.
“Hi, Sweet Pea,” I murmur, holding absolutely still. “It’s so good to see you too. Yes, it is. Who’s such a good puppy? Who’s the best puppy? Where’s your daddy?”
She barks again.
The powder room door on the other side of the kitchen squeaks, and there he is.
Fletcher slides around the edge of the bar-height countertop between the kitchen and dining room, his eyes unexpectedly wide while he looks between me and the older man like he can’t decide if he wants to laugh at me standing here in nothing more than one of his T-shirts or vault across the condo and hustle me either out of his apartment or back to his bedroom.
Either way, watching his reaction spurs me into action of my own.
“Hi,” I say brightly as I step around the dog—I am so sorry, Sweet Pea, but I absolutely cannot risk flashing anyone this early in the morning.I head across the living room toward the kitchen and the bar counter. Fuck it. Why not? What do I have to lose here? I’m leaving next weekend. Eight days from now, to be exact.
“I’m Goldie.”
The older man looks me up and down in a way that says he knows exactly what went on here last night.
That scattered Monopoly board tells a whole story when you add me to the mix. Also, my bra is on full display hanging over the back of the couch.
Awesome.
Even if Sweet Pea hadn’t dragged my pants in here—oh, yeah, there’s my red thong peeking out at the waistband too—it would be very obvious what went on here last night.
Fletcher’s shoulders relax and his mouth settles into resting neutral face while he looks at the older man, then back at me. “Goldie, this is my father, Daniel, who didn’t tell me he was coming for a visit. General, this is Goldie.”
General.
That says even more than my scattered clothing does. I reach General Daniel and hold out a hand, pretending I’m not standing here in nothing but one of his son’s T-shirts. A Pounders T-shirt, actually. That saysWe Pound All Day.
“Lovely to meet you,” I say.
Sweet Pea is right on my heels.
If she barked in glee when this man got here, I slept through it.
“How’d you get a name like Goldie with black hair?” he says by way of greeting.
“Oh, my legal name is Jessica. Goldie’s a nickname. But my family’s called me Goldie since before I can remember. Apparentlyit was my eyes. And then I fell in love with the story.Goldilocks and the Three Bears?”
Shut. Up. Goldie. Shut up right now.
Both men gape at me long enough that it takes the smell of burnt egg to spur General Daniel back to the stovetop.
And this is weirdly more awkward than walking out here in nothing but an innuendo-laced T-shirt while I clearly ignore a dog I’d love to pet in the interest of not putting on a show.
“Fuck me,” Fletcher mutters at the same time his father looks up from the eggs that he’s moving to a plate now to say, “You still have a type.”
Oh god.
Oh god.
His bio.
His first wife.
His first wife’s name was Jessica. I didn’t think anything of it since I don’t identify as a Jessica, but—well.
What’s more awkward than awkward?
