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Somewhere along the way, he’d grown to enjoy going there a couple of times a week. Much to his surprise, he’d discovered sometimes he liked people. Emphasis on sometimes.
He sighed. “So you think that means I’ve got my sucker card already punched?”
She ignored him as she usually did. “You don’t want to help little kids?”
“You said they were high school students.”
“Junior high. It’s career day. They come to the shops on the block, check out the different businesses, participate in a typical day. Then they get candy at each stop.”
“So what the hell’s the thing with the clown?”
“Well, duh, there have to be people in costume. You’ll be wearing the most rockingest wig ever and I’ll do your hair. Live demonstrations. Come on. The kids will love you. You’ll be the meanest clown these kids have seen since the Stephen King movie.”
“Thanks. I think.”
“Jeffy—”
“If you call me Jeffy one more time, you’re going to find your clown wig in a very unpleasant location.”
Her giggle made him grin. “Threats of violence won’t deter me. Now what do you say?”
There could be only one answer, and they both knew it. Even if he wanted to say no, he couldn’t have. She’d made such progress in the last year. Transferring into a diploma program at the cosmetology school, sticking with her new job, booting Karyn’s sloppy seconds to the curb—though it had supposedly been mutual.
It had also occurred shortly after he and Karyn had spent the night together.
As tempted as he’d been to do some investigating to see if Lon had left his sister to reunite with his wife, he hadn’t. If they’d gotten back together, he was happy for them. Ecstatic. He wished them the mother-effing best.
“I’ll do it,” he said under his breath, hoping she couldn’t hear him.
“Yay, thank you. You’re the most awesome brother ever.” She puffed out a giant breath. “So what size clown suit should I get you?”
A few minutes later, clown suit sizes squared away, Jeff propped his bare feet on the railing of his balcony and picked up the bottle on his side table. He was working his way to drunk—slowly, steadily and with little enthusiasm. The wine had yet to give him the slightest buzz. But with the fall breeze carrying the aroma of some lucky jerk’s bonfire and his body comfortably slumped in his chair, it tasted mighty fine.
He closed his eyes, let his head fall back. Gorgeous night. Warm, windy, ripe with possibilities. Would be perfect if he—
His cell went off and his eyes shot open to the sounds of All My Ex’s Live in Texas. But it wasn’t a phone call, as evidenced by the abbreviated tone. He stared at the readout, his heartbeat slamming against his ribs in damn near manic joy.
What r u wring?
His thumbs moved of their own accord. Just as well because he couldn’t think. He was reasonably certain he wasn’t asleep, but this felt like a dream.
A loincloth and body oil. U?
The pause lasted just long enough that he wondered if he’d imagined the whole thing. Then came more bars of the song that would make him smile for the rest of his life.
Plastic wrap.
His eyebrows shot up.
A full roll or partial?
Another pause.
U r easy, aren’t you?
When it comes to u, yes. Vry. Where are u?
Every second that passed made him ache for George Strait. When the ringtone sounded and he read her text—look over the railing—he leaped to his feet and braced his forearms on the cool metal. In the advancing twilight she stood next to a sleek coupe in the small parking lot, face tilted upward. And she was grinning.
