The Bachelor's Baby(6)

“Lily? She asked me about Blake. She was disappointed to hear he’s engaged. She asked if I could think of any other eligible bachelors in town. I said I had just met a perfect one-date wonder.” Blink. Blink. Blink.

These baby blues had pulled Meg from basement cable interviews of small-time activists to a relief position with a syndicated station. She wasn’t afraid to use them.

Linc was really tall. And had perfected his glower of intimidation. She privately admitted he worked that like a hot damn, but she’d made a career for herself in what was still a world heavily ceded to men. Outwardly, she didn’t falter.

“Can you tell me if these are self-screwing?” She held up the box in her hand.

His scruffed beard seemed to bristle as his jaw hardened.

“Oh, you’ve got a handful of screw yourself,” he assured her.

She swallowed back a laugh, pretty sure that would get her into more trouble than she already stood in. Instead, she turned the box over in her hands. She hadn’t had this much fun in ages. “Maybe one nail would be simpler?”

“Why are you so pissed off?” he demanded.

“I’m not, I’m really not,” she insisted. “I think it’s funny.”

“You think tricking me into standing on a stage and have women bid on me like a stud bull is funny?”

“I didn’t think you’d agree,” she defended. “It was an impulse to mention you, since you walked right by us and you’re, I assume, single?”

He narrowed his eyes.

Seriously? He didn’t see the humor in this?

“Look, I just…” She couldn’t explain it. Not without getting into how she’d let go of something today. Found herself again. She felt cheerful and sassy. She wanted to flirt. He drew her.

But she’d made him mad.

“Come on,” she cajoled. “It’s not my fault you didn’t say no. It’s a good cause,” she tried.

“You don’t even know me.” His tone said, It was a dick move.

She had to look away. Her cheeks began to sting. She suddenly felt very gauche and juvenile. Rejection was always a tough one for her and all she’d wanted was to keep playing with him. Now he hated her.

“I’m out of practice,” she allowed quietly, genuinely sorry. “Honestly, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Practice?” he repeated. “Doing what?”

Seriously? She lifted a gaze that let him see how uncomfortable she was, while scolding him for being obtuse.

He let out a choke of disbelieving laughter. “This is you trying to get a man’s attention? Are you twelve?”

She looked away, frowning, trying to hide that her eyes began to burn along with the back of her throat. Pointing Lily at him had been meant in fun, but it was becoming personal and hurtful. She felt twelve. Hell, she felt seven, realizing for the first time what it really meant to be adopted: that your ‘real’ mom and dad hadn’t wanted you.

“Look—” she started to say, ready to apologize, but only saw his back. He was walking away.

She might as well have slept with him. This was going to be awful, running into him in future, making her feel this same callow misery. Good thing she was going back to Chicago.

Which was no consolation at all.

Gritting her teeth, she tried to put the whole thing out of her mind, checking with a boy stocking shelves to make sure she had the right screws Blake needed before she took them up to the cashier.

A lot of people were taking advantage of a clear day to run errands. She was standing in line, chatting with the father of a friend from high school, when she felt something nudge her arm.

Glancing, she saw Linc standing beside her, offering the small carrier basket he held. “I think you were looking for these?” He gave her no choice but to accept it.

“What—?” Oh. Nice. A brass nipple. High friction lube. Something called a hickey, a stud finder—predictable—and, very pointedly, a butt marker.

Quite the basket full of hell.

“Are we even now?” she asked as she left her place in line and passed him on the way to hiding the basket on an empty shelf under a yellow clearance tag.

“I could have waited ‘til you were at the counter.” He didn’t turn around when she stepped into line behind him, but two people ahead of them did. One waved at her.

She smiled as she waved back, then drilled holes with her eyes into the chamois back of Linc Brady’s sheepskin coat.

“Are we even now?” she repeated.

He shuffled forward, only half-turning his head to say over his shoulder, “Doubt it. I’m up a few double-entendres. You strike me as the kind of person who wouldn’t let that go.”