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Oakley closed her eyes and rubbed the spot between them. “I can’t tell her about the house. She’s already had a bad day. And if I do, every storm that comes from now on, she’ll think the house is going to flood and lose power. She’s got enough to worry about. I think I’ll just tell her we’re going to have a sleepover at Uncle Devon’s. And take her to dinner or whatever in the meantime.”
“Or you could just come to my place.”
Her attention turned back to him at that. “What?”
He shrugged. “Reagan said she wants to see my vintage album collection. We could grab takeout. It might distract her until it’s time to head to your brother’s.”
“Pike. I—we can’t. I mean, I don’t want to confuse things or give Rae the wrong idea.”
“You mean give me the wrong idea,” he said with a smirk.
“That, too.”
He lifted his palm like he was swearing in at court. “Seriously. It’ll be completely innocent. Just one friend helping out another. It’s not like I’d make a move on you with your daughter there, anyway.”
She lifted a brow. “I doubt you have ever in your life been completely innocent of anything.”
He grinned and pointed to a spot above his head. “Come on, can’t you see the halo?”
“Yes, your horns are holding it up.”
“Now you’re just hurting my feelings,” he said, putting his hand over his heart in mock despair. “Come on. There’s a kickass Greek restaurant down the street from my condo. Gyros for us all. And homemade pita. Reagan can dig through my record collection. We can talk about project stuff.”
“Why?” she asked, a wrinkle appearing between her brows. “I mean, why would you want us there? I’m sure you have your own things to do tonight. It’s Friday.”
Why? Good question. One he didn’t have an answer for. This wasn’t his game. He didn’t bring women back to his place unless it was to get them into his bed—which would definitely not happen in this situation. But he found himself excited about the possibility of having the two of them over anyway.
Bizarre. He rubbed the back of his neck. “We’re friends. Don’t overanalyze it. I don’t have plans. You need a place to kill time. I have one.”
“Mom, why are you wearing that?” Both he and Oakley turned toward the new voice. Reagan stood a few steps from them, staring at her mother’s outfit with a vaguely horrified expression. “Those shorts are short.”
“Yes, they are,” Pike agreed. “So very short.”
Oakley shot him a look and, turning away from Reagan, he mouthed, I love them.
Oakley narrowed her eyes in warning for the briefest of seconds then smiled at her daughter. “Ms. Tessa lent me some clothes since my other ones got wet.”
“Can we go home? I’m tired.”
Oakley sent a wary glance Pike’s way. “Not yet. Mr. Pike thought we might like to go over to his place and see his album collection.”
Reagan perked up like a flower finding sun. “Really?”
“Would you like that?” Pike asked. “I have a whole punk section.”
“Best. Idea. Ever,” Reagan said, expression comically serious.
Pike grinned. At least he had one Easton girl on his side.
Oakley
shook her head and told Reagan to get her things. As soon as she was out of earshot, Oakley stepped in front of Pike and pinned him with a look. “No crossing the line, Ryland. No kissing or comments or grabby hands or sexy looks, nothing.”
His lips curled. “That’s what you’re picturing isn’t it? Getting Reagan occupied with something then me sneaking you into a room, pushing you against a wall, sliding my …”
Her hand flew up to cover his mouth. “Stop.”
He maintained his smile behind her fingertips.
