Is she serious?
“I’m wearing jeans and leatherloaferswithout socks.”
“Follow me.” She breezily saunters past me, out the door, and down the long hallway to the other side of the house.
“Oh, Jesus …” I cringe as we pass through a bathroom where Mr. Rawlings is buck naked in the shower, his backside to us so he doesn’t notice the intrusion. He’s whistling a tune, and it smells like vanilla. Is that a loofah in his hand?
In his closet, she picks out biking shorts and a shirt one would wear in the Tour de France. Then she plucks short white socks from a drawer and slides a pair of white tennis shoes from a shelf.
No. I’m not wearing this old guy’s clothes.
“We’re not the same size,” I say instead.
She frowns and shoves everything into my chest, forcing me to take them, then she leaves the closet, shutting the door behind her with me still inside it.
“Jail would be better than this,” I grumble, changing into the ridiculous costume because that’s what it is. It’s Halloween bullshit. No one wears this on a city bike tour. The padded shorts are too big for me. The only thing that fits is the shoes. June will take one look at me and know her decision not to grant me a second date was correct.
The door opens.
Nooo!
Full-frontal Rupert stares at me. I try not to look, but his dick size clearly isn’t the issue with his marriage.
“It’s genetics, young man. I’m sure you do the best you can with what God gave you.”
I lift my gaze to his stupid smirk.
“Want to tell me why you’re in here, wearing my clothes?” He steps into the closet, and I retreat to keep a safe distance.
“Your car was just a decoy,” I say. “My goal all along was to get into your closet to steal your Tour de France gear.”
He barks a laugh while pulling on his boxer shorts. “I like your sense of humor. But seriously, where is Callie taking you?”
“City bike tour,” I say, quickly gathering my clothes and sidestepping him to get to the door.
Pulling on his dress pants, he squints at me. “That’s unexpected. Did she say why?”
I’m more comfortable talking to Callie about my personal life. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t give me shit. She feels safer to me.
“Well?” he prods, buttoning his dress shirt.
“When we were at the gallery yesterday, the tour guide stopped by to use the restroom.”
“And she invited you and Callie on a tour?”
“Sure.”
“Christ, kid. Out with it.” He sighs, tucking in his shirt.
“The tour guide has a thing for me.”
He opens a drawer and picks out a neatly rolled tie. “Hmm, she has a thing for you or you have a thing for her, but she’s out of your league, so my wife is playing matchmaker?”
“Didn’t you marry out of your league?”
“Yes.” He chuckles. “But I don’t think you’re as charming as I was at your age. It’s your generation.”
“Well, I don’t think girls in my generation are looking for charming guys.”
