“But now I have to ask Savannah to come to the holiday party or everyone here will assume I think she’s too good for them. And when we break up, I’ll be the poor sap who couldn’t close the deal. No offense, but I’ve had enough sympathy for a lifetime.”
“Okay, fine. Sorry I didn’t think it through that far.”
“No, you were too busy trying to talk your way off Ashley’s shit list. It’s a lost cause.”
“I don’t know why.” Hunter picked up a stray napkin from the counter, crumpled it, and hurled it into the trash. “She treats everyone else around here like a professional, but with me, she’s all, ‘Get your lazy ass out to the garage and don’t hand me any excuses.’ I’m a nice guy. People like me—especially female people.”
“Could be you’re trying too hard. She smells the desperation on you.”
“What desperation? Normal women find me charming, dammit. I’ve got plenty of friends who can testify to my charm.”
“That looks a whole lot more desperate than you realize, Hunt.”
“Says the engaged virgin.”
“I’m no virgin.”
“You might as well be, for all you’ve used it lately.”
A memory of half-naked Savannah in his bed spun through his mind, taunting him more than anything his partner said. He held up a hand to reject all of it—the flashback, the powerful longing, the entire conversation. “I’ve used it.” One-night stands counted, and while he didn’t hook up often, he hadn’t taken a vow of chastity.
“Not in a meaningful way,” Hunter argued.
True. He avoided meaningful, unless one considered a few sweaty hours of strictly physical release with a like-minded partner meaningful. Even as the thought formed in his head, the image of Savannah stubbornly resurfaced. Time to shift the focus of this discussion away from him. “Your definition of meaningful involves having ‘plenty of friends.’ I think it’s safe to assume Ash doesn’t find the whole man-whore thing endearing.”
“Why should she care? She’s engaged to some jarhead—God help him—and I have a few morals about that kind of thing, anyway. All I’m asking is for a little respect.”
“I think you’re SOL, Aretha. Maybe you remind her of an ex, or something.”
“So I get my ass kicked just for showing up? How is that fair?”
“Why am I still waiting, Knox?” The question sailed into the break room from down the hall. Ashley’s patience had expired.
“Life’s not fair, Hunt.”
Hunter finished the last swallow of his coffee and banged the mug down on the counter. He tossed Beau a cocky smile. “I love a challenge.”
Beau waved at his partner’s back and tried hard not to laugh. Then he prayed for Atlanta, because Hunter and Ashley wouldn’t survive twelve hours together in the rig.
…
Savannah inhaled sheets that smelled like Tide, and the scent immediately transported her to her formative years. Were it not for the underlying notes of aftershave and testosterone, she might have believed she lolled in her childhood bed. But the havoc those additional scents wreaked on her system was anything but childish.
She cracked an eye open and stared around an unfamiliar bedroom. Well, not totally unfamiliar. It featured the same
basic shape, size, and layout as hers, and served the same basic purpose, but otherwise, this stark, clutter-free blank canvas couldn’t have been more different.
Beau’s bedroom. Whoops, she’d fallen asleep here after all. But where was the man of the house? She looked around the empty room. Her meandering gaze landed on the folded note propped against a coffee mug. She levered herself up on her arms, and—yikes. Her robe was tangled around her waist. When had that happened? Hopefully after Beau had left the room. A couple tugs righted the situation, and then she crawled over to the nightstand. The smell of coffee beckoned. Black, just like she preferred. She picked up the mug, took a taste, and paused to savor the brew. Not bad. Only after she swallowed did she notice the printing on the mug.
Feel safe at night. Sleep with an EMT.
She laughed. Mission accomplished, and she did feel safe. But alone. Something about the quiet apartment told her she had the place to herself. The note sat on the nightstand like a tiny paper tent. She opened it and found a few lines of strong, spare script written across the page.
Thanks for checking on me last night.
Later,
Beau