“How’d it go with your girl?” Jude asked.
My girl. Not really. “I failed worse than Brock when he tried to pick up an entire bridal party.”
Brock, who occupied the other end of the couch, laughed and fluffed the cushion under his neck. He kept his jet-black hair cut close to his scalp and, no matter how often he shaved, always sported a five-o’clock shadow. His eyes were so pale a green they sometimes appeared neon.
“Why are you grumbling about a rejection?” the guy asked. “You’re no longer on the sidelines. You’re now in the game.”
Next time we see each other, let’s pretend we’re strangers.
Daniel drained half the beer. “Her defense might be stronger than my offense.”
“Gotta admit,” Jude said, casting the beer a death glare. “She’s not your usual type.”
The glare, Daniel understood. A drunken frat boy was the one who’d killed his family. The idiot had driven one hundred miles per hour down an overpass at night and slammed into Constance Laurent’s minivan.
But Daniel wasn’t a frat boy, and he wanted to help his friend get past his past, not coddle him.
He drained the rest of the beer and said, “I know she’s not my usual type. She’s better.” Sexier, with a fiercer temper.
“Dude. If you’re this enamored of her after…what?” Brock spread his arms. “Two conversations with her? You’re in trouble. Take it from me. I’ve been divorced twice—”
“From the same woman,” Daniel interjected.
“Still counts. Anyway. The three of us, we are high maintenance, no doubt about it, and we’re never going to make a romantic relationship work long-term until we get our heads screwed on properly.”
“I have no interest in making a romantic relationship work long-term,” Jude grumbled.
Grumble was all he did anymore. But then, he wasn’t living; he was surviving.
Daniel had been doing the same, hadn’t he? Moving from girl to girl. He sighed. “You implying my head is on crooked?”
Brock gave him a pitying look. “My friend, I’m flat-out telling you. Your head is only hanging on by a thread.”
Maybe, maybe not. But probably. Funny thing, though. He’d never been more certain about a woman. He wanted Dorothea in his bed, but he also wanted to talk with her, to laugh with her…
Unfortunately, he had a feeling he would do almost anything to get what he wanted. Consequences be damned. Which proved Brock’s claim. Daniel’s head was hanging on by a thread.
But no matter. He wasn’t a freaking mansel in distress, waiting for his white knightress to come and save him.
He’d have fun with Dorothea, be distracted by the chase. If she succumbed, great. If not, no big deal. One way or another, he would move on. As always.
CHAPTER FIVE
HUFFING AND PUFFING, Dorothea increased her speed for the final mile of her morning run. She’d decided to go ten miles rather than her usual five, hoping to energize her body and clear her mind. Daniel’s offer? Not even a blip.
Okay, maybe a blip.
He’d said he fantasized about her. He’d called her curves “beautiful.” Told her that her body haunted his dreams.
Maybe I should give him a chance?
Ugh! What are you doing? Softening? Stay hard!
Last night Daniel had been as hard as a rock for her…
Shivers danced through her limbs, and she swallowed a groan. Come on! She wasn’t special to him. He would use and discard her.
You planned to use and discard him first.
Yeah, well, that was different, because—why?
Just because!
A cramp in her side slowed her, but her mind continued to whirl. Daniel confused her. He’d rejected her but had later claimed to desire her. He’d offered her a single night of passion only to leave when she finally began to maybe kinda sorta consider it.
Enough! Give no more thought to this.
The more you thought about something, the more power it had over you.
When she reached the inn, she decided she wasn’t ready to adult yet and paced along the sidewalk. Would Holly be stationed at the counter, as commanded? Or had her sister abandoned her, as threatened?
With Dorothea’s luck? I was abandoned without a moment’s consideration.
With a sigh, she leaned against a large white column and watched as the sun rose in the distance. The cloudless sky blazed with magnificent shades of gold, pink and purple. Such beauty! The air wasn’t hotter than a goat’s butt in a pepper patch, or colder than a penguin’s balls.
Break out those short shorts, y’all, but keep a raincoat within reach.
This evening, a thunderstorm would roll in, no doubt about it, and it would be the first of many. Tornado season had officially kicked off, and the possibility of a cyclone would only strengthen throughout the week.
The greater the storms, the more time Jazz would spend on TV screens throughout Oklahoma. Resentment flared within her, the urge to punch something—or someone—strong.
No more regrets. Let go of the past and march into the future.
Right. Dorothea drew in a deep breath. As she released it, she straightened. She would adult whether she wanted to or not. She would shower and—whimper—she would interact with other people.
A loud rumble suddenly assaulted her ears, growing in volume, and the inn began to shake. Earthquake! Dust plumed. Her heart galloped into a faster rhythm.
She stumbled but managed to remain upright. A second later, the shaking stopped, but her heartbeat failed to slow. While Strawberry Valley only registered the bigger ones, quakes had become a way of life. Some people blamed fracking. Others blamed a previously undiscovered fault line.
At long last, Dorothea entered the inn. She’d painted her nails red this morning—anger—and now flattened her palm over her tattoo as she studied the interior, searching for any damage. Nothing appeared to be broken and Holly—
Wasn’t behind the counter.
Dorothea gnashed her molars as she phoned Mrs. Hathaway, who’d promised to man the desk until her doctor appointment, to ask if she could come sooner and return sooner, as well. Then she set up the Be Back Soon sign and stalked to her room. After a quick shower, she dressed in a pale green cotton blouse to match her eyes, and a pair of stonewashed jeans she’d cut into shorts when the denim had ripped at the knees. Recycling old clothes was a great penny saver.