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“The question is whose?” Ginny asked. “I think we’re going to have to induct her into our Sunday evening social hour at the salon and pry the intel out of her over a color treatment.” Her attention switched to Roxy. “What are you using for your streaks? Matrix? Redken? I can touch them up tonight while you spill your highly satisfied guts, and—”
r /> Ginny broke off as someone knocked on the locked front door of the diner. They all turned as one to see West standing outside, holding a to-go tray of some sort. Through the glass, he pointed at her.
Roxy’s heart rolled over in her chest like a puppy begging for a belly rub. Down, girl. After a moment of silence, Ginny, Ellie, and Addy whooped and did a three-way fist bump. Melody hung her head. “Oh. My. God. I am never going to hear the end of this. Not from you. Or you. Or you.” She pointed at each woman in turn. “Or worst of all, Josh.” She looked at Roxy. “It’s not that I doubted your appeal, sweetie, but that particularly mouthwatering example of Bluelick man-candy has resisted Callie the cocktail waitress, Diana from the drug store, and Everett the law school friend who’s visited Roger and Doug twice since West arrived in town. The man was a nut nobody could crack, so to speak.”
“Well, she cracked him,” Addy gloated. “I clocked that chemistry from the first time he escorted her into the diner.”
“No. Nuh-uh. No cracking. No chemistry.” Roxy mentally sidestepped a fib by taking the comments on their face. She and West hadn’t cracked so much as a knuckle or conducted a single chemistry experiment during the course of fucking each other into oblivion. But she owed it to West to protect his privacy, not to mention his reputation. She smoothed a hand over the hair she’d pulled back into a ponytail before her shift. “It’s not what you think.”
“Really?” Ginny asked then winked at the ladies. “’Cause we think you’ve been on the receiving end of some serious BDE.”
Okay, it was exactly what they thought, but Addy spared her the need to deny the truth. She waved a hand at Roxy. “Go on. I’ll take care of the rest. You’re off the clock.”
“And on Officer Donovan’s nightstick,” Ginny teased. “May he put another smile on your face.”
Roxy grabbed her purse from beneath the counter and scurried to the entrance. Opening the door just enough to slip through, she called, “Night, girls!” and pulled it shut behind her. Sadly, not fast enough to muffle a chorus of extremely suggestive good nights.
Turning, she wound up flattened against West. His body heat seeped through her white work blouse. Denim-encased thighs brushed hers.
She drew away in an instinctive effort to put some space between them, only to find her retreat thwarted by his hand at her back. Flustered by the knowledge the ladies in the diner were getting an eyeful of the clinch—including one who enjoyed spousal privileges with West’s boss—she aimed a warning look at him and whispered, “What are you doing here?”
He lifted the to-go tray to eye level, and she saw the Blue Buffalo Ice Cream logo printed across two cups with dome lids. “I invited you out for ice cream,” he responded in his normal speaking voice. “The shop closes at the same time as DeShay’s on Sundays, so I planned ahead.”
She glanced around to make sure there were no ears nearby before responding in another agitated whisper. “I thought when you said ice cream, you meant sex.”
“I meant both.”
“Shhh. Keep your voice down.” She reached behind her and clasped his wrist then turned and started walking along the shady side of the sidewalk. She wasn’t delusional enough to think she could move a man West’s size without him cooperating, but he let her drag him away from the diner.
“All right. I’ll bite. Why are we whispering?”
“Because people could hear us and jump to conclusions.”
He leaned close to her and hunched his shoulders like a co-conspirator. “What kind of conclusions?”
“Ha. You think this is funny? What if I tell you there are four women back in DeShay’s who already suspect we slept together, including your boss’ wife?”
“I would say they’re correct. We did sleep together.” He made a hard turn at the street corner, slid out of her grasp, and took her hand. Those two quick moves switched her from the dragger to the draggee, and the new destination one of the Magnolia-shaded park benches along the perimeter of the town square. “Play your cards right, Reckless, and it might happen again.”
“Look, West, I’m no expert on small town life, but after a couple weeks at DeShay’s, even I’ve figured out Bluelick’s official flower is the grapevine, and gossip gets served up like wine.”
He slowed his steps. “I completely agree.”
Finally. “Okay, so…no, wait.” The infuriating man sat on the bench right there in front of God and everyone. “What are you doing?”
He placed the to-go tray on the bench and proceeded to unfurl a plastic spoon from a rolled napkin tucked between the cups. “Preparing to enjoy a time-honored summer treat.” He held out the spoon to her. “You’ll need one of these. Hey, Grady, Roger,” he added as the two men strolled past them with undisguised interest on their faces.
She grabbed the spoon and pointed it at him. “Folks are seeing this. You don’t think Grady Landry’s going to tell every single soul who swings by the credit union tomorrow that he spotted us having ice cream in the square?”
He shrugged and pried the lid off one of the cups. “He might. And that concerns me, why?”
“Because you’re you”—she waved the spoon at him—“and I’m”—she turned it on herself—“me.”
Now he looked up at her, his stoic face firmly in place. “That’s flat-out insulting to both of us. Sit down before you stick your other foot in your mouth and wind up on that ass I’ve got plans for. Here.” He passed her one of the cups. “Put this in your mouth instead.”
“West—”
“Roxy.”
