What Maxi Needs (Leave Your Shoes On 3)

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“Good thinking.”

And he needed to get his raging lust under control.

Stopping at the kitchen table, he shut down his laptop and then put away the terrine. He dumped his wine, washed the glass, and returned it to the overhead rack. “I’m going for a beer at Pete’s.”

“Tell him I say hey.”

Alex left, braving nature and driving to the small bar in Old Town Scottsdale. He slid onto a stool with thoughts of a sexy blonde stripping down to nothing in his guest bathroom.

Pete Murray cracked the tap on Alex’s favorite amber brew and set the pint in front of him.

“You look like hell.”

“Thanks,” Alex grumbled. But he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror behind the bar and had to admit that his friend was right. His dark hair was windblown from the storm, but the dire look on his face was all Blondie’s doing. He combed his fingers through the damp strands, loosened his tie, and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt. Tried to appear less rocked to the core of his being.

“What gives?” Pete asked.

“Lola’s back in town.”

“Oh, shit.” He laughed—an empathetic one. “No kidding?”

They’d all grown up together. Pete had been in on the ice-blocking expedition.

“She’s staying with me until her new apartment is ready.”

Pete’s light-brown eyes popped. “No one ever stays with you—not even your parents when they come in from Florida. They might put something on the wrong shelf in your refrigerator and throw off the whole food-group balance. Or forget to return a stool at the breakfast bar to its proper forty-five-degree angle. Knowing Lo, she’ll do it on purpose just to get a rise out of you.”

Alex glared at him.

“Oh, that’s right,” his friend taunted. “She does that without even trying.”

“Asshole.” Alex smirked.

Okay, so his secret obsession wasn’t one hundred percent secret. Pete had lusted after Lola for a while, too. He’d been smart enough to get over it.

“And by the way,” Alex said, “my parents prefer the Four Seasons.”

“Whatever. Face facts, man. Lo’s had a rack to rival Pamela Anderson’s since she turned seventeen. So we know they’re real. And all that blonde hair and those long legs and that mind-blowing body…Dude, she’s been a nonstop hard-on since junior year.”

Twenty-four-seven, he reminded himself. Why the hell had he agreed to let her stay? Didn’t those Viagra commercials on TV specifically state to seek medical attention if an erection lasted longer than four hours?

He shook his head dejectedly. Might as well put 9-1-1 on speed dial.

Pete leaned in close and said, “Your balls aren’t going to be blue, buddy. They’re gonna be purple.” He let out a hearty chuckle. Then he went about his business, mixing drinks while Alex downed his beer to cool off.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t just his hormones involved in this suddenly sticky situation. Alex’s heart had been claimed long ago.

Damn. What had he gotten himself into?

A week of Lola Vonn under his roof…

How would he ever survive?