Sidelined

Bolt could smell the coffee before his eyes were open. He shook his head and sat on the couch.

“Good morning.” He grinned. It came back to him. Last night he had gone home with the librarian. Of course they both knew she probably had never stacked a book in her life. She was in the kitchen, her dark hair pulled in a ponytail. It had hung loosely on her shoulders at the bar. He wondered how long she had been awake.

“Oh, hey.” She kept her head down and was busy with something over the sink.

He stretched his arms toward the ceiling before dropping to the floor for pushups. It cleared his head. After a count of thirty he hopped up from the floor and walked toward the kitchen where she was furiously scrubbing a water glass.

“Last night was fun.” He winked at her.

“Uh—yeah, it was great.”

“I think you missed a spot.” He pointed to the glass covered in bubbles. It was perfectly clean, but she seemed nervous. He noticed there wasn’t a crumb on the counter. It didn’t look like anyone lived in the place.

She shot him a look. “You don’t have on any pants.”

He saw the way her cheeks turned a deep crimson. “I think you took care of those last night.” He didn’t know why, but something about her made him want to test her. She was a bundle of contradictions that he wanted to unwind. Last night felt like only the beginning of what he could get her to do.

He walked back toward the couch and dug into the cushions until he retrieved his boxer briefs. He slipped them on and reappeared in the kitchen.

“This better?”

“Uh—sure.” She reached near him for a coffee cup.

He felt her elbow graze his shoulder. “Can I have a cup?”

She nodded, then handed him a mug.

This was unchartered territory. Bolt waited for her to pour a cup then he tipped the p

ot toward his cup. Usually, women clamored for his number or gushed about the night before. The silent treatment was a first.

“Why don’t we go get some breakfast?” He placed the cup on the counter. “You like pancakes?”

He eyed her legs. She was wearing a pair of boxer shorts and a cropped T-shirt. He knew last night when he spotted her at the bar she had an incredible body under that suit, but it was like unwrapping a present when he got her home. Each layer he took off surprised him by revealing something more gorgeous and sexier than the last. He wasn’t ready to admit that last night was a first for him too. He had never spent the night with a woman and not had sex. True, it wasn’t platonic by any means, but it still wasn’t sex and that hadn’t happened since high school.

“Breakfast?” she questioned.

“Yes, you know the meal that people eat in the morning. Usually comes before lunch.”

“I don’t know.” She hesitated. “I’ve got the literary conference thing.” She stared at the floor.

That was all he needed to hear. “Ok. Well, enjoy your conference.” He walked to the living room to redress. His clothes were piled under the coffee table. He debated whether he should try again, but he had dated and slept with enough women to know when the game was over. This one had climbed back into her shell. She must be one of those buttoned-up proper types who goes crazy after a glass of chardonnay and wakes up with instant hangover remorse. He smiled, glad even if it was only for a few hours, he had pulled her out of her comfort zone. She was like wildfire under his touch and he had enjoyed every second of it.

He walked toward the door. “Last night was fun.” He waved as he pulled on the handle. “Nice to meet you.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah.” She barely smiled.

Bolt closed the door behind him and walked toward the elevators. Nice to meet you? What kind of line was that? He shook his head. Three days in a row he had left a woman behind as he walked toward an elevator, but for the first time he left with something—regret. He hesitated in front of the elevator bay. Maybe he should go back and ask for her number. Maybe he should ask her real name. No. That wasn’t part of his plan. Fly straight, he reminded himself as the doors shut and he descended to the lobby.

“Dude, you haven’t hit a straight shot all morning.” Hollywood laughed as he placed his beer on the cooler and put his ball on the tee.

“Whatever. Shut up.” Bolt stepped back and assessed his shot again. They had been at the driving range for an hour and there wasn’t any improvement in his swing.

Hollywood watched as his ball landed near the two hundred yard marker. “See? Like that. Hit it like that.” He reached into the cooler for another beer. “You missed a good time at the O-club.”

“Oh yeah? Nurses again?” Bolt accepted a cold bottle from his friend.

“Nurses, you name it, the girls were there.”