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The other had long, black hair and yellow glasses, and she rolled her eyes as she pushed the glasses up on top of her head how most people would wear sunglasses.
“Right,” said the blonde. “We went shopping since you don’t have any underwear.”
Reagan raised her eyebrows. “If you took my credit card, it’s your funeral.”
“Yours melted,” the black-haired girl said.
“So we took Preston’s,” the blonde added brightly.
“Acceptable. Go on.” Reagan flashed me a look. She’d clearly noticed that they hadn’t realized I was here, too.
Who the hell was Preston?
“With his permission,” the blonde went on. “I’m not sure we’re quite at the stage yet where I can just spend his money. Unless it’s on the raccoons, but he’s the one who bought that playhouse.”
I had no fucking idea what was going on.
“Can you get on with it?” Reagan asked. “I’m tired, and if you didn’t bring me a Subway, I will hunt you down.”
Ah. This was a friendship based on love and respect, I saw.
“Here’s the sandwich.” The black-haired girl produced a wrapped sandwich from her oversized purse and handed it to Reagan, who took it and motioned for them to continue.
This was getting weird.
The blonde pulled a bra out of the bag, and my eyebrows shot up. “There are three of these and the matching underwear.” She proceeded to pull out two more bras and three pairs of cotton panties.”
“Great. Thanks. I guess neither of you noticed that we’re not alone.” Reagan’s eyes glittered with laughter.
Both women jerked and stared at me. The black-haired one looked me up and down appreciatively, and I fought a laugh as the blonde’s cheeks flushed bright red.
“This is Halley,” Reagan pointed to the blonde, then to the other one. “And this is Ava. And please excuse their rudeness.”
“Nice to meet you, ladies,” I said politely.
“It sure is,” Ava said with a smile.
“Hi,” Halley muttered. “I’m gonna kill you,” she hissed in Reagan’s direction.
Reagan took a bite of her sandwich and said, “And this is Noah.”
They both froze.
Oh, shit, had they seen my penis, too?
The way Ava dropped her gaze gave me my answer.
“Anyway,” I said, pushing off the wall. “I’m happy you’re feeling all right, Reagan. We’ll… talk soon?”
She gave me a thumbs up and nodded, chewing.
“Ava… Halley… It was a pleasure.” I held up my hand in goodbye and quickly made my way out of the room.
“Noah?” Reagan called.
I backtracked a few steps and poked my head through the door. “Yeah?”
“Thank you. Again.”
“Anytime.” I smiled and, with another wave, pulled the door shut behind me to give them some privacy.
***
I paced back and forth in my kitchen. I was close to wearing the flooring thin at this point, but I didn’t care. I was mentally exhausted from working overtime all week long with it culminating in the fire last night, but I couldn’t get Reagan out of my head.
I wanted to shake myself.
Shake the thoughts right out.
Shake her right out.
What were the chances of all this happening? Me accidentally texting her. Her being fine with it. Us striking up somewhat of—
Could you all it a friendship? The beginning of one? We’d joked together, but I never considered that I’d ever meet her. For all I knew, she lived in freaking Canada.
What were the chances that, in a country as big as the United States, she lived in the same small town as I did?
I rubbed my temples.
What were the chances I’d rescue her from a fire?
All the people in this town. In this county. In this state.
And it was her.
Reagan with the purple hair and the apparently great tits.
I’m sure someone somewhere could figure out the statistics, but I wasn’t that person.
How the fuck did this happen? It was a complete and utter coincidence. If I believed in destiny and fate and all that shit, I’d say it was that.
Hell, I didn’t believe in it, and a part of me was thinking it.
Of all the people I could have sent that text to—of all the numbers that irritating person on the dating app sent me, it was Reagan’s.
I’d sent her a picture of my dick.
Four days later, I’d saved her life.
I shook my head and dropped onto my couch. I was supposed to meet the guys for beer tonight, but I didn’t think I could. Physical exhaustion was setting in now, but that was probably because I’d thought myself into it.
I wanted to text her.
I wanted to text Reagan and see how she was, if she was home yet, if she was in disbelief like I was.
I knew it wasn’t a good idea. She already had people fawning over her, but she struck me as the kind of person who considered that their worst nightmare. One glimpse at her and you knew she was an independent soul.
She didn’t need me bothering her, too.
