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He grinned. “See you in half an hour.”
When he got to his room, he flipped on the last half of the Bulls game, pulled off his boots, and unpacked his things. He already had more drawings, paintings, and photos of himself than he knew what to do with, but that wasn’t the point. He grabbed a beer from the minibar, along with a can of peanuts. Annabelle had once suggested he send some of the glamour shots people had done of him over the years to his mother, but he’d told her to mind her own damned business. He didn’t let anybody poke around in that twisted relationship.
He stretched out on the bed in his jeans and the white-on-white button-down Marc Jacobs shirt the designer’s PR people had sent him a couple of weeks ago. The Bulls called a time-out. Another night, another hotel room. He owned two condos in Chicago, one not far from the lake and another in the western ’burbs close to Stars headquarters in case he didn’t feel like fighting the traffic back into the city. But since he’d grown up in boarding school dorm rooms, no place really felt like home. Thanks, Mom.
The Tennessee farm had history and roots that grew deep, everything he lacked. Still, he wasn’t usually so impulsive, and he was having second thoughts about buying a place without an ocean nearby. A house with a hundred acres of land around it signaled a permanence he’d never experienced and might not be ready for. Still, it was only a vacation home. If he didn’t like it, he could always sell it.
He heard water running next door. A promotion came on for an upcoming story about the drowning death of country western singer Marli Moffatt. They flashed twelve-year-old news footage of Marli and Jack Patriot coming out of a Reno wedding chapel. He hit the mute button.
He was looking forward to getting the Beav naked tonight. The fact that he’d never had anybody like her made the prospect all the more interesting. He tipped a handful of peanuts into his mouth and reminded himself he’d stopped doing one-night stands years ago. The idea that he might be turning into his mother—a woman who’d been so busy snorting coke and giving head that she’d forgotten she had a son—had gotten too depressing, so he limited himself to short-term girlfriends, relationships lasting anywhere from a few weeks to a couple of months. Yet here he was about to violate a decade-long policy against casual hookups and not feeling one bit bad about it. The Beav was hardly a giggling football groupie. Even though they’d only been together for a day—and despite all the ways she raised his hackles—they had a real relationship, one forged by interesting conversation, shared meals, and similar taste in music. Most important, the Beav had proved herself a match for his BS.
The final quarter of the Bulls game had just begun when a knock sounded on the adjoining door. He needed to start the night out right by letting her know who was in the driver’s seat. “I’m naked,” he called out.
“That’s great. I haven’t done an adult nude in ages. I need the practice.”
She wasn’t biting. He smiled to himself and palmed the remote. “Don’t take this personally, but the idea of being naked in front of a woman is just plain repulsive.”
“I’m a professional. Just like a doctor. You can drape your privates if you’re uncomfortable.”
He grinned. His privates?
“Better yet, we’ll wait until tomorrow when you’ve had a chance to adjust to the idea.”
Game over. He took a swig of beer. “That’s okay. I’ll pull on some clothes.” He unfastened the top buttons of his shirt and watched the Bulls’ new guard miss a foul shot before he switched off the TV and crossed the room to open the door.
Chapter Three
The Beav’s contempt for fashion clearly carried over into nightwear. She wore a maroon man’s T-shirt and a pair of faded black track pants that hung in accordion pleats around her small ankles. Nothing remotely sexy about either of those garments, except for the mystery of what they covered up. He stepped back to let her in. She smelled like soap instead of a perfume factory.
He headed for the minibar. “Let me get you a drink.”
She yelped. “Ohmygod, you don’t actually use that thing?”
He couldn’t help it. He looked down at his crotch.
She, however, had her eye on the minibar. She dropped her sketch pad, shot in front of him, and snatched up the price list. “Look at this. Two-fifty for a tiny water bottle. Three dollars for a Snickers bar. A Snickers bar!”
“You’re paying for more than the candy,” he pointed out. “You’re paying for the convenience of having the candy exactly when you want it.”
But she’d spotted his peanut can on the bed, and he couldn’t talk her down. “Seven dollars. Seven dollars! How could you?”
“Do you need a paper bag to breathe into?”
“You should just hand over your wallet.”
“Normally I wouldn’t mention this,” he said, “but I’m rich.” And, barring the total collapse of the U.S. economy, he always would be. As a kid, the money had come from substantial child support payments. As an adult, it came from something one hell of a lot better. His own hard work.
“I don’t care how rich you are. Seven dollars for a can of peanuts is extortion.”
The Beav, he realized, had some serious money issues, but that didn’t mean he had to buy into them. “Wine or beer, take your choice. Or I’ll choose for you because, one way or another, a bottle’s going to get opened here.”
She still had her nose buried in the price list. “Could you just give me the six bucks, and I’ll pretend to drink the beer?”
He took her by the shoulders and set her aside so he could get to the minibar. “Don’t look if this is too painful for you.”
She snatched up her sketch pad and retreated to the chair across the room. “There are people starving in the world.”
“Don’t be a sore loser.”
