Take a shower. That was second on his list. A long shower. First hot. And then cold. He was in no hurry. Had no place to be and no desire to lie in a dark bedroom and stare at the ceiling.
Dressed in silk basketball shorts and a clean T-shirt—presents to himself purchased with the small portion of his Christmas bonus he’d slated for savings the previous year—he left his flip-flops in his room and wandered barefoot to the kitchen. He wasn’t going outside. Didn’t need shoes.
He needed a beer. And poured himself a glass of milk instead. White, not chocolate. No caffeine.
A baby?
Him, a father?
He had to do the right thing. Had to make damn certain that he was the best dropout Bierly had ever seen.
Unlike his old man, the world would be a better place for him having lived in it.
Life didn’t hand out happiness. A guy had to make his own.
Movement from the patio caught his eye.
Addy was out there.
Waiting for him.
Amazing, how her mere presence compelled him to want to talk to her. As though she could somehow make a difference to the news he’d just received, the mess he’d made. And to go to her under the circumstances, when he might be committed to another woman, was pure selfishness.
There was no point in making matters harder on himself by giving in to temptation. Sitting outside with Addy, sharing his distress, would be a small-picture choice—and make life harder in the long run when he had to shut her out to open the door to Ella.
He watched Addy lean forward on her chair toward the fountain, her forearms resting on her knees. She rubbed the back of her neck.
Talk about selfish...he’d been so wrapped up in his own woes, he hadn’t even thought about what Abby might need. What if she’d had a bad day, too? Needed to talk to him?
What if she was hurting because he’d come on to her and was now leaving her sitting out there without any explanation? She’d know he was home. Probably knew he was standing right there, just a few feet away from her, aware that she was outside. She’d have seen the light go on in his kitchen.
His milk glass in hand, Mark opened the sliding door.
* * *
HE’D GIVEN HER enough time to reassess. To analyze, overthink and talk herself out of the advisability of entering into any kind of intimate relationship with her kind and incredibly sexy neighbor.
She hadn’t done so.
Her nipples hardened against the white cotton of her blouse. Mark’s hands had been gentle, his touch assured, as he’d assembled the small tubular pieces of her fountain. Would they be as attentive to her body?
Would he want her tonight? Or be too tired after a long day of classes and work.
She took in his glass of milk. And then, raising her gaze to his face, crossed her arms over her chest. Her outfit was completely modest to the eye, but she felt far too exposed.
“Bad day?” she asked, wishing her wine wasn’t on the table between them, signaling the more libatious evening she’d envisioned.
He stood looking at her for a few very long seconds before picking up his chair and setting it down next to her. “Long day.” The way he said it, his reply sounded like an understatement.
“You didn’t get a lot of sleep this weekend.”
Looking slightly morose, he stared out at the yard. Of course, it was dark and most of the yard was in shadows.
“How’s Nonnie?” It had only been an hour since she’d been next door.
“Fine. Asleep and breathing normally.”
“She ate a good lunch. Even had seconds.”