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Shelley frowns at the bag, her eyes moving back to my face.
“You really should keep a spare key in here for emergencies,” she tells me lightly, turning her eyes to the TV, where Richard Gere and Julia Roberts are now making out. “What if there was a fire and I was stuck here?”
My eyebrows shoot up. Fucking hell, I hadn’t thought of that. I’m a bit wary that she still hasn’t yelled at me for locking her in here all day. Is this like the calm before the storm?
“Where are my things?”
Okay. This is really surreal. I’m used to women screaming when they don’t get what they want. My mother was a screamer – all day, all night – screaming at my father that he was never giving her what she needed, screaming at me that I never did what I was told, screaming at the cops that they couldn’t take her kids away from her just because she had a drug conviction. Always screaming.
This calm, measured response from Shelley is throwing me for a loop. I was all geared up for yelling. I wasn’t prepared for logic.
“I took your dress and coat to the dry cleaners. They didn’t seem like the kind of things you leave on the floor all night.”
She nods slowly, but I see her biting back a smile. “I couldn’t find my purse.”
Yeah, I took that too. It was pissing me off.
“Your mom kept calling. I didn’t want to wake you.”
“For nine hours? What am I, Sleeping Beauty? Only to be awakened with a kiss?”
Grinning, I waggle my eyebrows at her. “I could arrange a kiss.”
Unfortunately, Shelley is not going to be distracted. She rolls her eyes, finally standing from the couch and dropping the pillow she was cuddling. My eyes eat her up. Fuck, she looks good in my sweatshirt. I would keep her in it forever if I could.
“Where’s my dress? I need to get home.”
I nudge the duffel bag with my toe, and Shelley moves across the room, faltering when I speak again.
“It’s at the dry cleaners,” I grunt. “They don’t do same-day service. Lisa gave me some clothes for you.”
Shelley’s eyebrows raise, but she doesn’t speak, closing the distance between us and dropping to her knees. She digs around in the duffel bag, grabs some clothes, and disappears into the bathroom. Pity. I only just realized that she wouldn’t have been wearing any underwear under my clothes. It’s a nice thought.
I wait for Shelley to emerge from the bathroom, my eyes drinking her in when she does. She’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt. Lisa is petite, but even her shirt is baggy on my little pixie. I prefer Shelley in my clothes, but these will do at a stretch.
“I can collect my dress and coat tomorrow or whatever. I should go,” she says, crossing back to me and crouching beside the duffel bag. Not a chance. She’s not going anywhere.
Shelley digs through the bag again, looking for something else. Eventually, she looks up at me with a frown. “My purse isn’t in here.”
Of courseit’s not. I’m not an idiot. I shrug, shoving my hands in the pockets of my jeans. It’s still eerie that she hasn’t yelled at me yet. Maybe she’s still working up to it.
“It must still be at Palmer’s place,” I offer. It is. I left it on the sideboard with strict instructions to Lisa not to come and give it to Shelley.
Shelley sighs, abandoning the duffel bag and climbing to her feet. “I’ll just have to stop there on my way home.”
She still hasn’t clued into the fact that she’s not going fucking anywhere. You know, she can be kind of dumb for a smart woman.
“Can you give me a life there?”
I shake my head, crossing my arms over my chest. Well, that’s not happening.
“Okay. I’ll just walk.”
What the fuck? She brushes past me, clearly pissed off and yetstill not yelling, and tries to open the door. When it doesn’t budge, she turns to glare at me, giving me her best stink eye.
“The door is locked.”
Yeah, it is. “I know.”
