Page 24 of Airhead

“Have you been thinking about me, Katie?” he asked, his voice hitting that same low gravelly tone as he’d used when he’d told her to get off on his leg. “And since we both know the answer to that is yes, what have you been doing while you’ve been thinking?”

“I gotta go,” she stammered out, her palms sweaty and her mouth suddenly dry.

“I bet you do,” he said, as if he knew exactly what she’d been thinking and doing and wanting since the movie. “See you tomorrow, Katie.”

He hung up, and she just sort of gulped air like a goldfish tossed out of the bowl as she leaned against the kitchen wall, afraid her legs wouldn’t hold her if she attempted to stand on her own. She tried to take a few deep breaths to calm her pulse, but all that did was move her chest so her hard nipples rubbed against her neon T-shirt. That reminded her of how he’d brushed his knuckles against her boobs. It was over the sweater, but damn he might as well have touched them with the way it had made her feel and⁠—

“Oh, you’ve got it bad,” Connie said, emphasizing her pronouncement by snapping her Juicy Fruit.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Katie said as she hung up the phone and walked out into the living room.

“Liar,” Connie scoffed.

Katie flopped down on the other end of their hand-me-down couch and tucked her chilled toes under the corner of Connie’s blanket before letting out a sigh. “He just sees me as another notch on his bedpost.”

Her sister didn’t say anything, but her face sure did. Katie braced herself for whatever her twin was about to say.

“That’s the best story you can tell yourself to justify not giving him a chance?” Connie asked. “This is Frank Hartigan we’re talking about. The guy who has been giving you cow eyes since high school? The one who helped me out at Marinos when I was at my lowest? The guy who fixed your car door and taillight?” She paused and shot Katie a knowing look. “The one who went to Halloween with you? Yeah, we heard allllllllllll about that.”

The couch was old and the springs were extra pokey in spots, but Katie didn’t think it would open up and eat her. Which was a pity, because that was the only way this conversation was going to end well for her. “Who’s we?”

Connie flashed an evil smirk. “Just your brothers and sisters, and our source who saw you two making out in the parking lot.”

“It wasn’t me,” she said, not even sounding convincing to her own ears.

Connie’s laugh filled their small apartment and made a pair of pigeons that had been sitting on their windowsill take flight. “Oh Heather was far away, but it’s hard to mistake Frank Hartigan for anyone else, and your hair makes you pretty distinctive.”

Not for the first time in her life, Katie wished she’d taken after the petite, dark-haired side of the Madigans instead of the tall redheaded side. But she was basically looking into a mirror, so maybe there was hope of getting out of this? “We’re twins. It could have been you.”

“But it wasn’t, and we both know it,” Connie said. “You like him and that’s freaking you out.”

“It is not.” It was it so very was.

Connie triumphantly raised her pillow above her head like a trophy and hollered, “Then you admit that you like him.”

Katie spluttered, trying to find the words to get herself out of this, and there just weren’t any. So she did what any self-respecting woman would do when losing an argument with her sister—she threw the pillow she’d been clutching to her chest at her, and then retreated to her room for some peace, and quiet, and, yes, at least one self-induced orgasm where her fantasy man, formerly played by the model in the International Male catalog, was instead a six-six redhead who had her spread out, naked, on the hood of her Pinto with his face between her thighs.

Chapter Twelve

Frank had to admit it, Marinos had never looked better. The pool table had been covered with tablecloth-covered plywood, and there was enough food loaded on it to feed every firefighter in Waterbury. There were balloons and streamers hanging from the ceiling. And the dartboards were covered with enlarged photos of Fitz at various fire scenes, with a probie stationed at each one to make sure no one came in with a set of darts and tried to get a bullseye through Fitz’s face.

They’d worked, side by side, getting everything ready before the first guests started filtering in. They’d been a great team, doing what needed to be done together to get the bar looking better than it did on a usual Friday night. In the heat of it all, they’d been too busy for anything other than blowing up balloons or re-taping the streamers that kept falling down. But now the drinks were flowing, and someone had Motown blasting from the jukebox while the old school guys danced with their wives.

There were a million things Frank wanted to say to Katie, but O’Rourke was doing shots in the corner with his buddies, and Connie was already making eyes at her ex, so the timing was anything but right. So they stood there by the bar, under the neon Budweiser sign, and watched Fitz tell a story to the young guys from the firehouse that was probably only thirty percent true.

“My feet aren’t even sticking to the floor,” Katie said, lifting her high heel-clad feet to demonstrate.

“Yeah, I threw in a few extra bucks for Sal to hire a real cleaning crew, not just his nephew at the end of a three-day bender.”

He couldn’t help but check out her mile-long legs extending from her short, acid-washed denim skirt. Damn the woman looked good. Sure, she always did. But after they’d gotten the decorations up, she’d gone into the bathroom with a backpack and had come out ten minutes later in an electric blue sweater, a mini skirt, and heels. He’d done a double take, and then one more for good measure. He’d almost spilled everything at that moment. Almost told her exactly why she should go out with him for real this time, but then Fitz’s wife had walked in with her yellow Texas sheet cake covered in chocolate frosting.

Now here they were, side by side, the only ones in the bar who weren’t dancing, or talking, or laughing, or all three at the same time.

No one charms people like you, Hartigan.

“Thank you for doing that.” She looked around the packed bar before her gaze landed back on him, and she smiled. “You’re full of surprises.”

“That almost sounds like a compliment.” He glanced down at the Long Island iced tea she was holding. “How many have you had?”