She seemed to really like me then.
It had been a few weeks of booty calls, and I couldn’t say I minded them. The doctor’s appointment had been enlightening. So many things to know and worry about if—when—she got pregnant.
Even if I was her dirty little secret. It was always me going to her apartment, not vice versa. And okay, so I enjoyed the many—and I do mean many—different versions of after work outfits I found when I went to Kin’s apartment.
My favorite was naked, of course.
But I’d really liked peeling her out of her footie pajamas last night. She tended toward cozy clothing on the cooler nights. I was unaware footie pajamas were a thing outside of the kids’ department, but she made them work.
Especially when red lace was hiding under the fleece.
I quickly typed back an answer and tucked a towel around my hips. Before I got to my bedroom, she answered with her ice cream flavor preference.
Guess it was a chocolate swirl kind of night.
My previous annoyance slipped away as I whistled my way over to my closet for a pair of my oldest jeans and pulled on a T-shirt to go with my sweatshirt. Spring was thinking about making itself known, but the brutal wind off the lake always reminded me it was still early March.
I tugged on a winter cap instead of my usual ball cap, grabbed my keys, and was out the door in ten minutes. Night didn’t drop like a curtain quite as quickly as it used to, but it was well after six when I stopped into the café for ice cream.
I couldn’t exactly raid my sister’s fridge like I usually would.
Luckily, Macy had started carrying Ivy’s ice cream all year round. And because I hadn’t had time for dinner, I ordered a pie from Robbie’s while I was in line. Then what was a pizza without beer?
By the time I was on the road toward Kinleigh’s apartment, the front seat of my truck was full. I caught the bunch of tulips out of the corner of my eye. Maybe that was going a little over the top.
I sighed. I wasn’t exactly good at the booty call kind of dating. Especially when I wanted so much more.
“Long game, man,” I muttered to myself once I arrived and gathered all of my contraband. I hip-checked my door shut and tucked the tulips more fully in the bag with the ice cream.
Kinleigh lived in a rehabbed old Victorian that had been sliced up into six apartments. It suited her funky side with the old dollhouse-style. Or gingerbread, give or take the historian.
Her window glowed with twinkle lights and bright pink curtains framed out each of the four windows that made up the tower jutting out from the side of the house. Kinleigh was in the center of it, her hair making a wild silhouette in the glass.
I swallowed hard.
Hair down Kin tonight. She was doing something with one of her dress forms. Slowly circling it in that way she had when she was deep in thought. I understood her design mind, if not always the output she came up with.
She never stopped working. We had that in common at least.
One of her neighbors was coming out as I was climbing the stairs to the porch. She was an older woman I didn’t see often in town. Not overly friendly, but she seemed to recognize me and held the door open.
“Thanks.”
She gave me a brisk nod and rushed down the stairs to the driveway.
I took the stairs to Kinleigh’s floor, two at a
time. My hands were full so I didn’t get to text her ahead of time, but she should be expecting me.
The closer I got to her apartment door, I heard music. It was one of Kinleigh’s favorite singers. I heard her singing along upstairs a lot. Tonight was no different.
I knocked with my boot.
Her music was too loud, evidently.
I tried again and finally, she swung the door open. Her golden-red curls haloed around her, and her endless legs were showing under a pair of short-shorts in a girly pink. She wore a cropped purple sweatshirt with The Misfits slashed across the front.
Was she even old enough to know who they were? I barely did.