Lucy grinned at Mia. “What you need to do is have a kid. Give her some babies to hold.”
Instead of protesting, Mia blushed.
“No…” Lucy gasped.
“No, I’m not. But…we’re trying.”
Lucy howled and hugged Mia. “What a ridiculous thing to call lots and lots of unprotected sex. But I’m thrilled for you.”
Mia squeezed her and then snatched the white tank top and the filmy camisole. “This should help.”
“Go get `em, sis.”
Mia headed for the door and stopped. “Why…why are you all dressed up? You doing something tonight?”
“I—” Lucy stood and pulled down the hem on the thin red sweater she wore with her jet necklace. Beneath she wore her favorite black bra.
She called it her Betty Boop outfit.
“Have a date.”
“With who?”
“Jeremiah—”
“Stone?”
Lucy nodded, her smile fading fast as Mia’s face grew solemn.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing…I just…you’re like a relationship person, Lucy. And I don’t know whatever crisis you’re having with your design and your business. But I’d hate to think of you using Jeremiah as a substitute—”
“How can you say that?” Lucy asked, but wondered if Jeremiah thought the same thing. “I’m a grown woman, Mia. I know my mind. My life.” My heart. And my heart is slip-slip-slipping into familiar territory.
“Really? Because you’re not acting like it. Look, I love you both, and I don’t want to see anyone hurt.”
“We agreed it would be casual.”
“Yeah.” Mia lifted her eyebrow. “That sweater looks real…casual.” And she was out the door. Lucy turned to face the mirror over her dresser and considered the V-neck of her sweater. After a moment she pulled it down a little further.
She’d hate Jeremiah to get the wrong idea.
Jeremiah could not stop talking. He was listening to himself ramble on about restaurant choices and he honestly wanted to punch himself in the mouth.
“The Round-Up has a pretty good steak if you don’t mind listening to the band they’ve got there. Or, if you want, down by the highway I think there’s, like, an Applebee’s. They’ve got salads and stuff. You like vegetables, right?”
He glanced over, only to see her propped up against the passenger-side door, laughing at him. “I do, Jeremiah. I do like vegetables.”
Was he sweating? He was. It trickled down from his hairline, got caught in the band of his hat. Frustrated, embarrassed, he pushed it off his head.
“You got any better ideas?” he asked.
“Yes.” She dug into her back pocket. “I got you something.”
And she pulled out a long strip of silver.
Condoms.
A bunch of them.
“Dinner later?” he asked.
“Dinner later.”
And he pulled a U-turn and headed out toward the highway and the hotel reservation he’d already made.
Fifteen minutes later he stood at the front desk, very conscious of the fact that they didn’t have any luggage.
Classy, Stone, he told himself. Very classy.
He wondered if Lucy felt awkward as they walked down the carpeted hallway, silent and not touching. Maybe this was more of that slightly dirty stuff she wanted, something wild. Something to relieve the stress of her life.
Be grateful, he told himself when the thought rankled. It’s not like you have anything else to offer her. He wasn’t even sure if he could offer her something dirty and dangerous. More like quick and sweaty.
We should have had dinner, he thought. This would be a whole lot easier with a couple of drinks under my belt.
“Here we go,” he said and slipped the key card into the door. The light flashed red and he did it again. No luck. He swore and tried harder.
“Calm down, cowboy,” she murmured and took the card out of his hand. She swiped it, the light flashed green and the door popped open under the flick of her wrist.
She slipped past him, grinning over her shoulder as she walked into the dark, slightly sterile hotel room. The red of her sweater, her eyes and smile—they glowed in the room. A beacon in the shadows.
He followed. The room could have been on fire, filled with bees, and he would have followed. He would have followed her anywhere.
The door shut behind him and she lifted her hand to the tiny buttons at the bottom of her thin sweater. Slowly the material parted to reveal the top of her tight jeans, the sweet curve of her tummy, her belly button, the bottom of her ribs. And then, finally, the sweater slipped off her shoulders, revealing her breasts, lovingly cradled by black lace.
“You going to help me out here?” she asked, her fingers dropping to the button on her jeans.
“You are doing great all by yourself.” His mouth was a dust storm.
“Maybe…I’m shy.” Her hair fell over her eye as she pretended to play the maiden.
Good Lord she was hot. The act, the game, all of it, she made the air sizzle, his body burn.
He pulled his tee-shirt up over his head and threw it over his shoulder. Eyes on her fingers as they toyed with the zipper of her pants, he bent over and pulled off his boots, barely noticing that his socks didn’t match.