“Sure. Where are you heading? Said something about a rink?” he asks, halting my retreat.
“Yeah, I own an ice rink twenty minutes away. Skating helps me clear my head, and after this morning? It needs some major clearing up there. I also need time to plot my petty revenge against my best friends. So, like, lock up when you guys go or whatever,” I tell him, turning and heading for the door, deciding I’ve met my awkward and embarrassed quota for the day. I haven’t even given them the keys to actually lock up, that’s how frazzled I am. Since I’m not one to embarrass easily, this is a first for me, and boy, do I hate it.
Just as I reach the door handle, Baxter stops me once more, his hand touching my wrist carefully before I go. “Wait, The Arena? The ice hockey rink?”
“That’s the one. The team is training this week, but there’s always an empty rink for when I need it,” I answer, looking down at his hand with a stunned blink and a whole bunch of fanny flutters that would make me clench my thighs had my poor, beaten vagina not been to war this morning.
“I have to drop off keys to one of the players in a little over an hour. Mind if I catch a ride with you? I don’t have my car with me yet,” he asks boldly, slowly releasing my wrist. I have to give it to these guys, they’re awfully confident, enough to ask a stranger for a ride somewhere. I’d applaud them if my heart hadn’t hiccuped at the first touch of Baxter’s hand against my skin. That can’t be a good sign, can it?
Blinking rapidly, I tell him, “Uh, sure, I guess? I’m not waiting around for an hour until you’re ready to go, though. Plotting someone’s demise waits for no man, and I have three someones who need demising.”
All four snort again, and I roll my eyes just as Baxter replies, “No worries. I’ll wait at the rink.”
I nod, looking around the tall man in front of me, and ask, “You guys plan on actually leaving now that I’ve lifted the restrictions on breathing a word about this morning?”
Caiden snorts. “I guess we’ll take pity on you.”
And just like that, all three of them heave themselves off the couch and barstool, heading toward the door as a unit. My mouth falls open, and the irritating sense that I’ve been duped renders me gaping like a guppy. Before I can even start cussing out the sneaky little bastards, they’re all filing out the door as they brush by me, various grins on their faces as they go. Even Rayne, who doesn’t bother hiding it this time.
Baxter follows, jerking his head toward the door. “Come on. You can wait in our apartment for two minutes while I throw some pants and shoes on.”
He doesn’t wait for me to answer. Doesn’t even wait for my mouth to close or the shock to wear off, just strides out of my apartment with only one backward glance. How did I forget the man was only in a shirt and tight boxers?Oh, God, don’t look, Maddie. Don’t do it.
I look.
I should have listened to myself, because damn, that ass, though. God blessed this man with one hell of an ass, encased in the tightest underwear, plump and round as he strides toward the stairs.
Like those sweet buns have put some weird spell on me, I follow with my lip tucked between my teeth, locking the door behind me. It would appear I need a checkup for the neck up ifI’m going willingly to the apartment of my tenants, the very ones who walked in on a goddamn disaster, practically strangers.
What can I say? An ass that good could lead me to hell, and I’d gladly follow.
Chapter Six
Baxter
I don’t have to look back to know that Madison Fowler, of all people, is following me, her front door shutting with the snick of the lock. I check anyway just as we reach the stairs, taking a quick peek over my shoulder. My head snaps right back and I have to work so hard not to break out laughing when I catch her eyes firmly planted on my ass. Even her head is tilted slightly to the left, her hat not quite covering her widening eyes.
A snort accidentally escapes, and I hear her inhale sharply before she starts coughing. Looking back over my shoulder, eyebrow raised, I ask, “You good?”
“Oh, yeah,” she wheezes before coughing again. “Love embarrassing myself to the nth degree this early in the morning. I live for it as much as I live to receive a bullet to the brain.”
This time I can’t help but laugh, enjoying the red that stains the apples of her cheeks. “This a regular occurrence?”
“Believe it or not, no. I’ve embarrassed myself plenty of times, but this? This is a first for me.” Her rasp is a little more prominent now, after no doubt choking on her spit. “And as you can see, I’m handling it spectacularly.”
“Got to say, you’re handling it better than most would,” I tell her honestly, my smile still in place, because apparently I can’t not smile around her. That shocks me, since I can barely tolerate people on a good day. There’s a reason I work with cars and not people. Cars aren’t complete fuckholes.
“Well, yeah, because I don’t usually get embarrassed easily. It takes a lot to make me feel like a complete idiot. Today… well, today is taking the freaking cake,” she quickly volleys, snorting and shaking her head. It only makes me grina little harder, my cheeks actually aching. I don’t remember the last time I’ve found someone this funny. Call me a liar if I’m not completely intrigued by the woman.
Trying to make her feel a little bit better, but unable to wipe the smile away, I tell her, “It really wasn’t as bad as you probably feel like it was.”
“Oh, no, I know it could have been worse. You four could have seen the whole thing happen like a live-action movie. I’m just lucky my apartment is high enough not to have any peeping Toms, otherwise I’d have actually died of mortification,” she replies so seriously that I snort again.
Never would I have thought this well-known photographer and entrepreneur would be so amusing. Not that she’s even trying, but hell, I’ve never been wrong about a person. She practically radiates good vibes, even when she’s embarrassed and having the day from hell. She must be immune to these situations, or nearly immune, because a weaker person would have cried and locked themselves away for a week. That only brings up the question: what the hell has this woman’s life been like if she’s still joking around and entertaining four men she doesn't know after they found her folded in a tub like a… well, a taco?
“Imagine if I had someone washing my windows this morning,” she whispers with a hint of horror. “Oh hell, they would have had such an eyeful. Standing there, minding their own business while they squeegee their way through a wall of windows, only to bear witness to a blue-haired woman sailing on ice cubes through her apartment with no underwear.”
I lose it. The imagery. The goddamn imagery. Laughing so hard I can only wheeze, tears springing to my eyes, I have to hold on to the open front door of my apartment, my other hand holding my side while I bend at the waist.
