“Why didn’t you tell me someone was here?”
“I didn’t want to wake you, and that’s just Chauncey.” He hooks his thumb over his shoulder.
“I heard that,” the other voice chimes in.
Boone shrugs.
“You could have warned me,” I whisper even softer.
“Noted, but you were zonked. He’s not important anyway.”
“Now you’re just being mean. Might as well come on out, doll face. This shithole is far too small to hide in.” I widen my eyes. Clearly Chauncey isn’t going to pretend to give us privacy for this conversation.
“I don’t have any pants,” I mouth and lift the shirt, showing my lack of underwear or pants. I tossed the pair I was forced to wear to the airport yesterday. Boone moves to block the door fully, glancing over his shoulder as if to make sure Chauncey can’t see.
“Thanks for the demonstration. I put that stuff out for you.” He motions to some folded clothes stacked on top of his dresser. Boone slides the door fully closed while remaining inside and leans his shoulders against the wall.
I make my way over to the small stack. It only takes a millisecond to see they are women’s clothes—a black pair of leggings and a crew neck. “Where?” The shock in my tone could be a reaction to the gesture, but I know it’s not. I really want to know where these items came from.
“I placed an order last night. It arrived early this morning.”
“An order? From where?” I lift the pants up and see a tag from Walmart, answering my question. “The toothbrush?”
“Sorry it was blue. It was a substitution.”
“You ordered this last night?” I think I’m going to cry.
“I should have thought to do it earlier in the day. Thankfully, we have a few twenty-four-hour stores around here, but my choices were very limited,” he explains.
I shake my head in denial. I didn’t even think to order my own things yesterday, but he did, and he’s complaining he didn’t do it sooner.
I drop the leggings onto the dresser and throw myself at his chest. He makes an “oof” sound like I pushed the wind out of him then wraps his arms around my back without hesitation. We embrace in silence for a long moment. I manage to regain mycomposure enough that I could deny that the dampness under my eyes are tears and the lump in my throat is from emotion.
“Harlyn,” he says sweetly. I expect him to ask me to get off him because he has someone waiting, but when I pull back, he says, “I didn’t get any underthings.”
I blink, letting his unexpected words sink in. In one swift move, he smacks my butt. The shirt is enough to stop the skin-to-skin clap, but it does little to dampen the effect it has on me. No one has ever smacked my ass, not like that, and I think I see the appeal…
“That’s okay. I can?—”
“It wasn’t an accident.” He cuts me off, fighting a grin.
“I appreciate the thought, even if you have an issue with panties.”
“It’s a new aversion.” He shrugs.
My heart melts again, and I realize I’m going to wind up devastated by this man. “Really, thank you for taking care of me. I…” I don’t have the words to continue or know how to express how much his thoughtfulness means to me.
“You’re welcome. I better get back out there. I wouldn’t be surprised if he isn’t already listening at the door or trying to find a camera angle.” My face falls, and Boone immediately realizes why. “Shit, not really. I just mean he’s nosy as hell. Sorry, Harlyn.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not,” he counters quickly and steps to the side. “I’ll let you get dressed. Come out and meet the asshole when you’re ready.”
He slips out the door, only opening it as much as necessary to do so. I pick up the small pile and hold it to my chest, marveling at the thoughtful gesture for a few seconds longer before removing the tags and getting dressed. The pants are a little snug, but I’m not going to complain. Briefly, I think aboutgrabbing another one of his shirts to wear, but then I think better of it. He made the effort to get me clothes, then the least I can do is appreciate it.
Boone
I know what I’m going to be facing the second I walk out the door—a curious as fuck Chauncey—but I wouldn’t expect anything less. We’ve worked together for years. If I had a best friend, he would be it, or maybe he is and I just never acknowledged it. Sure as shit, when I slide the door to my bedroom closed after emerging, he’s looking at me with one eyebrow arched in expectation and a smug as hell grin on his face.
