Shep can’t beat me at golf, so he’s trying to clench a poolside victory.
I will not shrivel into a ball of embarrassment, pleading for him to be a gentleman and turn away. I am done. Done. DONE letting men take advantage of me.
“Who doesn’t love toaster waffles?” I don my most confident smile as I swim toward him.
His grin incrementally swells until I start up the corner stairs and he realizes I’m getting out of the pool. Naked. Giving no fucks that he’s watching me. That grin of his falters a bit like it did yesterday when I handed him his ass on the golf course.
I towel off, shaking a bit from the chilly air, but more than that, I’m way out of my element here—a first-time stripper on the stage. Only I’m not trying to look sexy. I’m shooting for unaffected. Indifferent, yet confident.
Tossing my towel aside, I slip on my nightshirt and then step into my panties. Shep doesn’t blink. Not once.
“Hope it’s real maple syrup. And I’ll walk Cersei. She’s my dog.” I saunter into the house, resisting every urge to run and scream, “Oh my god! I just let him see me naked!”
By the time I emerge from the room, Cersei is ready for her walk. Shep’s waiting by the door, looking his usual hot self—wavy, wet hair, a fitted tee, jogging shorts, and a lidded cup of coffee in each hand.
“Hi.” He grins.
I return the sentiment. “Fine. Thank you.”
He breaks into a spontaneous laugh—one that makes my tummy do those weird flips again.
“I added soy milk and sugar to yours.” He bends down, causing me to freeze in place and have a mini heart attack. The second his lips press to my cheek, I feel it like a zing of electricity all the way to my toes. I need an “anti” pill.
Antibiotics to combat bacteria.
Antihistamines for pesky allergies.
Antidepressants for dealing with the Jimmies of the world.
Anti-shepherds to prevent my legs from spreading because the pet store guy has a great smile and knows how I like my coffee.
“Wh…” my voice trembles “…what makes you think I’m a soy milk and sugar girl?” I take the coffee with a shaky hand, and he opens the door.
“It’s what you ordered yesterday when we stopped for coffee on our way out of Scottsdale. I’m observant.”
We step outside.
“Like I observed that birthmark on your inner thigh.” He adds this unnecessary detail.
Don’t react …
I have a birthmark on my inner right thigh. It’s really high up my leg. Shep didn’t miss anything last night while I was in my bikini or this morning when I was in … nothing.
After taking a sip of coffee, I clear my throat. “Today, you need to focus on not letting your wrists break too soon on your swing.”
He laughs. “We’re talking golf now, huh? I like talking about all the things I’ve observed about you more than I like talking golf.”
“I’m just sharing what I observed about you.”
We cut through a rocky area that leads to the trail.
“Are you hurt?” I interrupt the crunch of our footsteps over the terrain with my question. I’m feeling brave again. I want to figure out this man, but not cross a line. Maybe just nudge it.
“Hurt?” He gives me a sidelong glance after sipping his coffee as Cersei treks ahead of us.
“Did Millie hurt you? Did losing her leave a scar?”
What am I doing? I’m breaking my own unspoken rules. I’m digging on land that’s not mine. Am I hoping to discover something about Shep that makes it easy to walk away unscathed? I continue, “I can’t imagine loving someone then losing them and it not leaving a mark. Even if losing them also leaves a bad taste in your mouth or resentment. I’ve thought that about every man I’ve loved or thought I loved. I couldn’t stop thinking about the things that made me love them in the first place. And I grieved those. And I think that grief leaves a mark.”
“Is this your idea of happy talk?” He shoots me a quick glance, eyes squinted.
Busted. My nose crinkles as I adjust my glasses. “Forget I asked. I’m still learning how to navigate this new kind of friendship.”
After a minute or so, he exhales a long breath. “I’m not hurt. Maybe men don’t experience relationships the same as women do. I think we treat it like a snake shedding its skin. I don’t think it has to hurt unless you don’t want to let go. Unless you feel like something is being ripped away from you. Maybe men don’t give anything away. Maybe we loan a piece of ourselves, but when it’s over, we take it back.”
“Well …” I don’t know how to respond to him. “Yay for you.” It’s impossible to keep all the sarcasm out of my voice.