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Which was the truth, but Rebound frowned like I was giving him the runaround.
“It’s okay. Don’t give me your digits if you’re not down for it, but I really do have to go.”
I nodded as he let Chaz drag him away back toward the front of the bar. Honestly, this might be for the best because even if he was twenty-five or whatever, he was still way too young for me, and more to the point, no way could a hookup match the intensity of that kiss. Chemistry that good didn’t exist in the real world. I was saving us both an awkward moment at my hotel later.
“Monroe! We’ve been looking for you!” Jorge, his cousin, and a few others in our I Do Crew left the dance floor to head in my direction. “Somehow, I ended up with your phone, so we couldn’t call you.”
He held out the missing phone, which probably hadn’t been three feet away from me in five years. It had to be fate. The hottest kiss of my life was destined to be nothing more than a memory.
Chapter Four
Monroe
I wasn’t sure whether it said more about that kiss or my weekend, but by late Sunday afternoon, Jorge and Tyreece were mister and mister, I was back in Safe Harbor surrounded by boxes and to-do lists of repairs, and I had yet to get the memory of Rebound out of my head for more than a few moments. I could taste him. Smell him. Feel him. Every time I closed my eyes, I was right back on the dance floor, wrapped together with that gorgeous guy. Had I ever enjoyed dancing more? And each time I opened my eyes again, I was left wondering what kind of idiot doesn’t have his own phone number memorized?
Me.
I was the idiot. My worries over the age difference and the actual hookup not living up to that kiss seemed silly in the lonely light of dawn. I could have had a few hot memories, at least. And now I was in for a long, dry summer because my stack of half-done lists kept mocking me. At this point, continuing my dry spell seemed a given. I might as well do Rob a solid and take on his kid for the summer. The sooner I got to the next phase of my life, the better.
I’d told Rob as much in a text, so I showed up at his home with a six-pack, a premade fruit platter, and a resigned attitude. Rob and his second wife, Jessica, lived on the newer side of Safe Harbor in a two-story nineties faux craftsman with a daylight basement and big backyard featuring a giant trampoline, play structure, two-level deck, and stone patio perfect for the entertaining they loved to do. With him serving as police chief and her as the head high-school guidance counselor, the two of them knew everyone and never seemed to lack company.
I’d been to dinner twice since my return to town, and both times had been loud affairs with other young families and assorted relatives. Rob had evolved into his parents, who’d always had room for one more at the dinner table and seemed happier with a house full of chaos. Hearing party noises from the backyard, I could have headed for the house’s side gate, but I rang the bell out of courtesy, expecting one of the various guests would answer the door.
Heavy footsteps sounded along with kid laughter. I braced myself for needing to make small talk with some random dad-type. But then the door opened, revealing a smiling face. A familiar smiling face.
“Rebound?” My jaw flopped open, and I almost dropped the beer and fruit. Had I conjured him up from the sheer force of want? Was this a dream? A near-death experience? Like, any second now, I might lose consciousness sort of deal? My rapid pulse and pounding head sure seemed to think doom was near.
“Lieutenant Butter!” He smiled, not a bit alarmed. “You know my dad? Oh man, this is the best luck I’ve ever had. I’ve been thinking about you all weekend.”
Best luck? More like the worst ever. Death was definitely imminent. Might as well have a stroke on the spot because otherwise, Rob was going to kill me himself.
“Your dad?” I croaked.
“Or Jessica? You a new teacher at the school?” Even Rebound’s frown was hopeful. Dead. I was so very dead. And I couldn’t even muster a headshake, let alone a reply, as he grabbed my arm. “Come here. You look like you’re about to fall over.”
He steered me into the living room, a cheerful space with lots of colorful throw pillows and pictures of the triplets. I’d barely registered the photos on my previous visits, but now I scanned the wall, looking for answers. Only a couple of pics with a scrawny teen with a bad buzz cut holding three babies. Not much resemblance to the buff, bearded guy standing in front of me.
