Perfect Catch(86)
“I don’t mean the hammer. I mean that piece of clothing. Why are you practically naked?”
“I need to take a shower before my show.” She inched closer, the hammer still clutched between her perky breasts. And there was that word again. Perky. “You don’t want me to stink when I’m on stage, do you?” She lifted her wrist and sniffed. “I reek of—”
“Chocolate and vanilla and everything nice?” He barely resisted a snarl.
She smirked. “You seem stressed. Maybe you should sit down and eat your ice cream before you go play with my hammer.” As she stroked it, he shifted uncomfortably. If he didn’t have sex soon, he’d probably shoot off from the image of those golden fingers wrapping around the wood. Squeezing again and again.
Christ. He needed ice cream or a cold compress or something. Maybe he should stuff his dick in the pint of chocolate. Couldn’t hurt.
“I’m fine,” he gritted out. “Give me the freaking hammer. And go get dressed. We need to leave soon.”
“Oh, we have plenty of time.” The way she caressed the word plenty made his balls throb. Stupid balls. Stupid celibacy.
Like his pathetic truck trick, he took as long to mess around with her shutters as humanly possible. If they’d actually been loose, it would’ve helped. They weren’t. He still hammered and banged the outside of her house, hoping she’d feel guilty for driving him out into the cold and wind to avoid her numerous blatant sexual overtures.
They had been blatant sexual overtures, right? Sometimes he just wasn’t sure. Not that it mattered. His fish couldn’t be lured with pink, perky nipp—hooks.
When he came back into the living room, his hands ached from his vigorous needless pounding. Other parts of him ached because they hadn’t pounded anything in way too long. Seeing Summer all curled up in the corner of the couch with a spoon in her jar of sauce and his ice cream stuff spread out on the coffee table didn’t help with the latter.
“Hey. Thank you. You’re so sweet.” She leaned forward and her robe gaped almost to the point of indecency. She didn’t seem to notice. “Here, let’s eat. I’ll get showered and ready to go when we’re done.” She waved her dripping spoon. “I had paperwork to do,” she added, all blue-eyed and pink-cheeked innocence.
“Uh huh.”
He took the opposite end of the couch and reached for his melting ice cream. Instead of his plastic spoon, she’d given him a fancy dessert one with a long handle. “You didn’t need to go to any trouble. I’m not company.”
If she noticed his peeved tone, she didn’t react. She smiled around her spoon, currently hidden between her luscious pink lips. Then she slid it out, nice and slow. “No, but you are doing a service for me. Protecting my assets and all.”
“Uh huh.” That would now be his standard answer to everything.
“Come on, Chase. We used to be friends.” She stretched out her bare legs and nudged his thigh with unpainted toes. The surprising lack of artifice turned him to stone faster than any coat of passion red or whatever they called that crap. “Can’t we hang out and have fun?”
“Sure. You having fun yet?”
She heaved out a sigh. “No, but I know how to get the party started. I have a confession to make.”
“God help me.”
“I have a pair of Daggers team panties with your name on the ass.” Though he was too busy swallowing his own spoon to look her way, he heard her sucking on hers. “I’m wearing them right now.”
The Daggers had team panties? That fabric got to cup her slick pussy while he nursed the hard-on from hell?
Surely there had to be an appropriate way to redirect this conversation. Until his brain cells regenerated he’d focus on not adding fuel to her fire. “That’s nice. Always glad to have a fan support the team, even if it’s not technically mine anymore. Did you catch any games last season?”
“I never missed one of your games.”
His chest tightened and he dropped his forgotten spoon in his waffle bowl. Pretty soon he’d be able to drink his ice cream. “Why?”
“I’m a baseball fan. Can’t say I kept up on much of the drama that surrounded you and the team, but I like the sport itself.” She shrugged and swirled her spoon in the jar, clinking the sides. “I like you too. Not that you’d ever see me that way.” Her mirthless chuckle echoed in his head. “Sister’s best friend equals no stray zone, right?”
His brain had detoured somewhere around the mention of her watching all his games. Then he clicked into the rest. “What way?” he asked, knowing full well. He shifted to face her, needing to watch the words form on her damp lips. Hearing them wasn’t enough. “You know I like you too.” Too much. Dangerously much.