Runaway (Wolfes of Manhattan 3) - Page 24

I wasn’t about to go there.

She’d finally left him alone, but not until he sicked the sheriff on her and scared her shitless.

Leena was fine as someone to do odd jobs for, though. Luke gave me shit about it from time to time. He never set foot in her place for obvious reasons.

“Hey, Mattie,” Leena said through the screen door as I approached. “Come on in.”

I opened the door, let myself in, and knelt down to give her dog a pet. “Hey, Roscoe.”

“Roscoe, leave Mattie alone.”

“You know I don’t mind.”

“Still miss your Herbie?”

“Every day.”

“Time to get another pup, I’d say.”

“I will. Eventually. Herbie was just so young. It’s hard. Losing a dog is hard no matter what, but all my other ones at least had long lives. It’s still too soon.”

Leena approached and patted my cheek. “You’re such a softie.”

Leena was always touchy feely. Normally I didn’t mind so much. She never got anywhere. Today, though, it bothered me. I nudged away and walked toward the kitchen. “Everything ready?”

“Yup. I got all the supplies you requested. Help yourself to a beer in the fridge.”

“No thanks. I’ll take a seltzer, though, if you’ve got it.”

“Yup. Next to the beer.”

I opened her refrigerator, found a lemon-lime seltzer, opened it, and took a long sip. Good stuff.

“Excuse me,” Leena said. “I’ve got to get ready for work.”

“No problem.”

The supplies lay on the counter. I took stock. Looked like she had everything I’d need. Good. I wouldn’t have to get anything from my truck. I kept it stocked for my odd jobs just in case.

The job shouldn’t take more than an hour.

A few minutes later, Leena strode into the kitchen while I was lying supine, my head inside the cupboard under her sink.

Her legs and feet were bare. She was a cocktail waitress at the saloon, not a damned stripper.

“Thought you were getting ready for work,” I said.

“I am.” She squatted down.

She was wearing a black bikini, giving me a bird’s-eye view of her rack.

“Is it beach night at the Stein?” I asked.

She winked. “Nah. I’m actually off tonight. I figured I might scare you away if I came out here in a lace corset and panties.”

“You don’t scare me, Leena.”

“I don’t seem to do much of anything to you.”

“We’ve been through this. You’re not my type.”

“Mattie, you don’t have a type. I’ve seen you with all kinds of women. Skinny, curvy, tall, short, blond, brunette, redhead. Hell, you even dated a woman with a shaved head once.”

She wasn’t wrong. Drea Matthews had been one hot little number. She’d cut off her hair in solidarity with her twin sister who was undergoing chemotherapy for breast cancer. The feel of a bald head during sex had been something else. Drea had been passing through on a run. She was a trucker. We met at the Stein and had a night of amazing sex.

Then we said our goodbyes and never saw each other again. I hadn’t thought of Drea in a long time. I hoped her sister had recovered.

“It’s because of Luke, isn’t it?”

“Leena, do you want me to fix your damned pipe or not?”

She sighed and stood, so only her legs were once again visible. They were pretty decent gams, too.

“All right. Can’t blame a girl for trying. I suppose you have it bad for that new chick.”

“Who might that be?”

“You know, the one who looks like she was born with a silver spoon up her ass? I saw you walking around town earlier today.”

“Her name’s Riley, and she’s only here for a week.” Or less. We hadn’t exactly left things well.

Damn. It was my fault. I’d pried. I’d pushed.

Whatever she was hiding, she wasn’t ready to talk about it. God knew I understood that sentiment. Why had I pushed so hard?

Fuck.

Because I cared.

I’d known the woman for two days, and I cared about her.

I hadn’t even gotten her into the sack.

“One of your renters, huh?”

“Yeah.” I grabbed a wrench and started loosening the pipe.

“You say I’m not your type,” Leena said. “I’d have bet a million bucks that rich girl isn’t your type.”

“Rich girl?”

“Yeah. She exudes it. That one comes from money.”

I’d had the same thought, of course. No way was she a teacher from Pittsburgh.

But who was she, exactly?

“She’s a teacher from Pittsburgh,” I said, knowing full well I was lying through my teeth.

“Really? Hmm. Didn’t see that coming. I’d have sworn she’s a blue blood.”

“Leena, honey, I’ve got to get this done, okay?”

“Sure, sure. Let me take you to dinner as a thank you.”

“The hundred bucks will be more than enough.”

“Come on, Mattie. I’ll still give you the money. It’s my night off. Let me take you out. As friends.”

“Fine.” A guy had to eat, after all.

I’d wanted to see Riley tonight, but I doubted she’d see me. I’d let her cool off and go see her tomorrow. With a dozen of Kari’s roses this time. And if she threw them on the ground, I’d grab her and kiss her.

Tags: Helen Hardt Wolfes of Manhattan Erotic
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