“You’re probably right.”I look up and down Main Street.We had a thaw while I was out of the country and now we’re seeing a refreeze.
The sun is out, but it’s cold as penguin pussy this morning.
“Thank you, Evander,” she whispers.
I’m jarred by the sound of my name on her lips.Her voice is sweet and husky.
And then I get a whiff of her scent.It’s something mellow and feminine, but nothing meant to draw attention.It got mine, though.
Next, I become aware of the warmth of her curvy flesh.I’m not sure what to do with my arms and hands.Do I pull her closer?Pat her back in a brotherly way?Pick her up and crush my mouth against hers?
What the fuck?
Where didthatcome from?
“Uh…” I gingerly remove her from contact with the front of my body and guide her up onto the sidewalk.“Wait here.Be right back.”
I walk to my SUV, grateful for a moment to get my shit together.I open the trunk and grab the crowbar from my toolbox.By the time I get back to Phoebe, I’m in control of myself.
I’ve willed the blood flow to reroute from my junk to my brain.I’m thinking straight again.I use the crowbar to pry the dented panel from the wheel.The tire isn’t punctured, fortunately.
I set the crowbar down and brace the heel of my loafer against the curb, then push her car into the street.Next, I check the rest of the vehicle to make sure it’s safe to drive.
Then I glance her way.
Phoebe has wrapped her chipmunk arms around her torso, hugging herself tightly.Her chin is lifted and she’s looking down the street to avoid my gaze.
I’m simultaneously in awe of her and angry with her.How strange.
She’s too pretty, I decide.Since when did she get too pretty?
Those messy brown waves are pulled back from her angelic face.A sprinkle of freckles are scattered across her nose.Her mouth is a soft pink pout.
She makes a seriously cute gerbil, even if she’s supposed to be a reindeer.
Snap out of it, MacLaine.
Why am I suddenly seeing little Phoebe Travis so differently?Why am I allowing myself to see her as a beautiful woman?I’ve only ever seen Phoebe in one of two ways.Either as the kid from the next ranch over or the competent nurse with the reassuring smile.
I need to go back to that.
Because I absolutely don’t want to see what I’m seeing.It pisses me off.
She’s not my type.Not that I have a type.But if I did, she would definitelynotbe it.
Phoebe Travis is the most cheerful human being I’ve ever known.She’s freakishly perky, really, and I’ve never understood how someone can go through life the way she does, or why they’d even want to.How does a person stay this damn positive all the time?
If I’m pathologically particular, then she’s pathologically pleasant.
It would never work.
Of course, it wouldn’t.Why would I even think that?What the hell is going on with me right now?
I have to get out of here.
“Are you okay to drive?”
She returns her attention to me and nods.“I’m fine.Sorry that your shoes got all messed up.”
