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He’d driven me home and helped me from his truck. It was probably being a gentleman on his part, but I had a feeling it had more to do with the fact that the drop to my street was too far for me to make without a parachute.
His big hands spanned my waist as he let me down.
There had been no kiss, no goodbye other than a quick nod and a reminder for me to take some headache pills and take a nap. Nothing else.
Of course, two Pearson Tree and Landscape Service trucks were parked out front and a guy in a bobcat with a drill thing on the front was already breaking up my driveway. I forgot about the project Nana had organized before she left on her trip. But it had been open ended, when they would start since the weather was so iffy.
Clearly, it was this morning.
Was it vomit or his–former–employees watching that kept him from anything else, chaste or not? I still did the walk of shame, or what felt like one.
Any dreams that Mallory and Bridget had of me sleeping with Daniel were dashed and in spectacular fashion. I bet they never did the one-two combo: orgasm and vomit.
Fine. Fine!
I hadn’t wanted to get involved with him anyway. He was everything I didn’t want. Older. Leaving town. Absolutely, positively not interested in anything serious. Just the words “storage room finger banging” indicated casual.
“I was the one who came. Spectacularly. Why am I so irked?” I asked Fred as I poured some kibble in her bowl, eyeing me in a way that told me I was late serving her breakfast. I couldn’t remember the last night I’d spent away from home. Maybe a slumber party right after I moved in with Nana. Thankfully Fred had a doggie door–a cat door really since she was so tiny–to the back yard.
With a cup of black coffee, I took three headache pills–one extra because of all the racket outside–and got in the shower. And berated myself again, this time under almost-scalding water, for being an idiot, which was ironic since I called Daniel one last night.
“The one time at sex stuff and I messed up. No guy finds vomit arousing, Melly. No wonder he dropped me off and ran. He should have told me to tuck and roll and just slowed the truck down.”
I squeezed an overly generous amount of shower gel on my lime-colored loofah and started scrubbing.
“I don’t fuck unconscious women, he said. Well, he doesn’t fuck me conscious either. GAH!”
I moodily shaved my legs while the deep conditioner did its job on my hair.
“I don’t want to be noticed by men and now I’m mad that a guy is repulsed by me. What iswrongwith me?” I shouted, the words echoing off the tile. “Right. Vomit.”
That was what I was thinking an hour later when I walked into Kincaids and tracked down Arlo. Fred slept in the car. I’d called in sick as Daniel suggested and while I should technically be in bed to keep up the ruse, I owed Arlo money.
He was behind the bar attaching a keg to some tubing, which I assumed fed one of the taps.
Standing, he wiped his hands on his jeans and gave me his usual carefree smile. “Hey, Melly. How you feelin’?”
I could feel my cheeks heat, but I reached into my purse for my wallet to redirect my thoughts.
“I came by to pay you for our tab last night.” I set my credit card on the glossy bar surface. “I kind of missed the opportunity.”
He waved his hand. “Pearson took care of that.”
“Daniel?”
He nodded.
“He did?”
“Came in earlier.”
I tucked my card back. “Oh, okay. That was nice of him.”
It was. And thoughtful.
“Want a coffee?”
Did I look that rough? A little extra face powder took care of the dark bags under my eyes. Or so I thought.
