LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

and bumped her shoulder.

      He and his best friend Daryl had double-dated back in high school. Adam brought whoever, but the other half had always been Daryl and Carley. Still was.

      Her brown eyes held concern, and a few milligrams of pity. “You are a sad case, Preston.”

      “What are you talking about? Life is good.”

      “Oh, please. I’ve known you since second grade so I feel obligated to point out a few things.” She lifted her hand, and started ticking points on her fingers. “You live in your mother’s house, alone. You dispense corn plasters and Viagra to the over-sixty set during the day, then fill your off-hours running a softball league for potbellied wannabes.” She took a breath.

      God, he hated when she counted on her fingers. She had so many.

      “Your last girlfriend just came out of the closet, and you’re down to DatesRUs.com, or recommendations from Jesse, at the Café.”

      He winced as the darts hit home. They were small but Carley always had dead aim. “Why don’t you just fillet me, and have it over with?”

      Her fingers encircled his biceps. “Roger’s gone, Adam. But you’re still here.” He’d seen eyes like that behind chain-link fences at the pound. His jaw locked. “We are not discussing that.”

      “Okay, okay.” Her fingers slid off his arm. “Only because I’m such a good friend, I’m here to save you from a long, lonely future.”

      “Why am I afraid?”

      “A big, strong guy like you, afraid of a date?”

      “What date?”

      “Well, working in the office at the school does have its advantages. The replacement for your—um—the teacher who left—”

      “No.” The chain-link twists dug in his forearms when he pushed off and straightened.

      “Adam, just listen. Her name is June Sellers, and she’s just your type.”

      “And what, exactly, is my type?”

      She rolled her eyes and unholstered those fingers. “Blonde and classy, quiet and ladylike. The type a guy could take home to his mother. You know, a good girl.”

      The air quotes stung. “Why do you say that like it’s bad?”

      “It’s not. If that’s what makes you happy.” She dug through her purse a moment and came up with a crumpled Post-it note in hot pink. “I told her about you and she gave me her phone number.” She handed it over. “She’s expecting your call.”

      He avoided what looked like peanut butter on the edge and squinted at the smeared writing.

      “I just think you deserve more than what you want.” She held up a hand to ward off his protest. “I’m only trying to wake your ass up. Life isn’t safe, or neat and tidy. I’d think you’d have figured that out after what you lived through.” The pity was back in her stare. “When are you going to take off the gloves and live life out loud, Preston?”

      “I’m happy as is, thanks, Carley.”

      * * *

      THE NEXT DAY, Adam unlocked the glass front door of Hollister Drugs, stepped in, locking it behind him. He followed the scent of freshly brewed coffee to the soda fountain, where Sin stood in her uniform, reading the Widow’s Grove Telegraph, and sipping coffee from a mug that suggested doing something to oneself that was physically impossible.

      With effort, he pulled his eyes from the multi-colored tattoos that twined, full-sleeve, down both her slim arms. “You need to cover those tattoos, and I asked you to take that mug home.”

      “Well, Happy Monday, Sin.” She put down the paper. “We’re not open yet. I’ll put on the arm warmers when we are, and I don’t drink coffee in front of customers, you know that.” She set a clean stoneware mug on the counter and poured him a cup. “Aren’t you just a ray of sunshine this morning?”

      “Good morning, Sin.” He reached for the coffee, noticing again how badly her hot pink hair clashed with the uniform. “You sure I can’t talk you into a different hair color? Blue? A nice lavender?”

      When she smiled, the crystal set in her tooth flashed. “Nah, but thanks, boss.”

      He saluted her with his cup. “Thanks for the coffee.” He noticed his new tenant sat at one of the tables, reading the Widow’s Grove Telegraph. The paper rustled when she turned a page. He raised an eyebrow at Sin.

      She shrugged. “If you trust her enough to live across the hall from your mother, I thought it was safe to invite her in for a cup of coffee before we opened.”

      He nodded. I should have thought to do that myself.

      Priss wore a closely fitted pink button-down shirt and dress pants. Her short dark hair had that just-fell-out-of-bed look that had him imagining things he shouldn’t.

      Her too-big green eyes held a warning that he’d been staring.

      He slapped on his “trusted pharmacist” smile to cover his gaffe and carried his coffee to her table. “Morning. Mind if I join you?”

      She put down the paper, pulled a phone from her large tapestry purse on the floor and checked the time. “Okay, but I only have a few minutes.”

      He slid into the fancy wrought-iron chair. “I just wanted to officially welcome you to Widow’s Grove. I realized I hadn’t done that yet. Are you finding your way around?”

      “So far, so good. I’m enjoying the apartment, but I wondered what passes for fun around here.”

      “Well, the tourists go on wine tours, and there’s shopping—”

      She waved a hand. “I mean the locals. What do you do for fun?”

      “Baseball.”

      A spark of interest flared in her eyes. “Tell me about that.”

      “We have little league for the kids and a senior league for adults.”

      “Women allowed on the teams?”

      “They’re not banned. But only one team has a woman. It’s pretty competitive.” He leaned his elbows on the edge of the table. “Do you play?”

      She nodded. “High school. And I played first base in a summer league in Boulder.”

      Enchanting and she played baseball? Too good to be true. “Slow-pitch?”

      She made a pfft sound of dismissal. “I said I played.” She leaned an arm over the back of her chair and flashed him a card shark’s smile. “Hard ball, baby.”

      He could talk smack. He just never had, with a woman. He narrowed his eyes. “You any good?”

      She held her hand up and blew on her nails. “Point nine two fielding percentage, no errors.”

      “How many games?”

      “Fifteen.”

      “Nice.” A woman on the Winos? Why not? Pete Gilmour sucked at first base. Plus it would give Adam the opportunity to get to know Priss better.

      On the other hand... He studied her stand-up hair and the stubborn line of her chin. She was hardly his type. And about as far from safe as it was possible to be.

      Still, he’d sure love to see this little dynamo run bases. “You interested in playing?”

      “Maybe. Who would I talk to if I was?”

      “I run the league, and pitch on one of the teams. I might have a slot. If you can hit.”

      “Two seven five average.”

      “Not bad for a girl.” He didn’t let his lips quirk. But he wanted to. She stuck out her chin. “Pretty good for an

Скачать книгу