“It’s because I don’t drink very often. My mom’s an alcoholic, remember?”
“Right,” she says softly. “If it makes you feel any better, she looked great last night. She stayed quiet and kept to herself.”
“Good.” I breathe a sigh of relief. “I guess I showed her up though.”
Daisy shrugs again. “You definitely have some sucking up to do. In fact, I think you ought to just issue an apology to everyone with the last name of Reed or Bourgeois in this town. All the Robins, too.”
I groan and let my head fall back against the headboard, making it pound again. “Wait, how did we even get home?”
“I am a capable adult, you know,” she replies defensively, throwing the covers back. I avert my eyes when her gown rides up and exposes her long legs as she rises from the bed.
“You shouldn’t have been driving, either. I was supposed to be taking care of you.”
“Look, I got us home safely, all right?”
“But you could have gotten hurt, and?—”
“It’s late. You should get moving.” She cuts me off as she begins flittering around the room. “I’m sure you have things to do today, like returning your tuxedo.”
“Shit. I’m actually supposed to go around and pick them up from everyone in the wedding party, then drop them off at the rental place.” I run my fingers through my hair and growl in frustration.
“Hmm, and I don’t imagine any of them will be particularly happy to see you today,” she muses while she pulls a dress from her closet. “It’s probably best if you drive me around while I make the pick-ups.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want you to?—”
“I’ll put the coffee on,” she continues, ignoring me. “I suggest you have a couple of aspirin with yours and do whatever’s necessary to fix your mood before we go.” Then she stops abruptly and adds, “But do it in your own room, if you don’t mind.”
I roll my eyes and force myself out of bed, moving slowly to keep my head from imploding. Meanwhile, it sounds like Daisy’s purposefully slamming cabinet doors and tossing metal pans around the kitchen.
She walks by me again, and I remember I’m standing there in nothing but my underwear. I cover myself with my hands, though modesty seems like a moot point after everything else that’s transpired this morning.
But she barely glances my way. “You’d better get dressed. You’ve got a busy day ahead of you, Doc,” Daisy mutters dryly, darting into the bathroom and letting the door shut loudly behind her.
I whimper at the noise and shuffle into the kitchen. I should probably stop by my bedroom to slip on a pair of gym shorts first, but she doesn’t seem as bothered by my semi-nudity anymore, so I settle for pouring myself a cup of coffee and throwing back a couple of OTC pain relievers.
I sit on the first stool at the kitchen counter, still trying to make sense of everything that just happened. I don’t get it. Why am I struggling so much to figure out basic human interaction, especially at my age?
What am I supposed to think now? Daisy has said before that she could ignore her initial attraction to me, but I’m pretty certain she was into it when we were spooning this morning. She wasn’t shy about admitting to her participation, either.
But now she’s claiming she wasn’t trying to lure me into actuallydoinganything with her, and I’m more confused than ever.
It doesn’t matter, though. All I should feel is relief, because our arrangement would be ruined if anything were to happen between us, and I like the way things are now. We’re both better off forgetting the whole thing. I should just drop it.
That’s what I’m going to do—drop the subject.
But it’s bothering me more than it should. I mean, I’m a generically attractive heterosexual male with all my parts in working order. And I’m a doctor, for goodness’ sake. I get the look from women all the time. Hell, I get the look fromDaisyall the time.
I glance down at myself. I could probably use some grooming, but I’m in decent shape. So, why wasn’t she ogling me in my underwear just now? Better yet, whydidn’tanything happen between us last night?
Not that anythingshouldhave happened. I’m grateful it didn’t. Married roommates or not, we could never hook up, not only because of our age difference and the fact that she’s my best friend’s baby sister, but also because I’m well aware of the LaFleur family values.
Still, I’d allegedly flirted with her before stripping down and sneaking into her bed last night. If she’s even remotely attracted to me, she’d at least have entertained the idea, right?
I’m still sitting at the small bar in the kitchen trying to figure things out when she walks in.
“Why aren’t you dressed?” She stops and glares at me.
I huff. “Why do you care?”
