A Bet Worth Making (Grayson County #2) by Heather Hildenbrand Page A

cash.”
    I muted the TV and turned in my seat until my eyes met Jordan’s. Clear Caribbean blue framed by wispy blonde hair. I could be all sorts of friendly with that face. “Friends. Just the summer. Cash,” I repeated, nodding. “Sounds good.”
    “Two conditions,” she said.
    “All right, lay it on me.”
    “One, we are not the sort of roommates that walk around half-naked.” She eyed my bare chest pointedly.
    I grinned. “Clothing is mandatory. Got it. And the second?”
    “No more personal questions.”
    I’d seen this one coming from her reaction earlier and already knew I’d have to agree, like it or not. It should’ve made the whole deal even sweeter. Hot blonde sleeping across the hall, doesn’t want to get personal. Anything could happen. But this girl was obviously on a mission to stay platonic and she wasn’t taking any chances. The problem was some part of me was disappointed at her shutting it down before it even began. Part of me wanted to know her story, an extra layer I usually left out of my relationships when possible.
    Growing up here, dating the girls in a place like this, you couldn’t escape knowing someone’s story, baggage and all. So when someone came along whose dirty laundry I didn’t know, I usually opted to keep it that way. No strings. No stories.
    But Jordan was different. She made me want to know what lay underneath the surface. What brought her here and what made her hate country folks so much. And for the first time in my life, I was determined to earn it. I’d have to be sneaky, though. She clearly wasn’t in the mood to share it willingly.
    “Only public questions then?” I asked.
    “What?”
    I twisted so I could get a better look at her—or give her one last good look at me—and swung my arm over the back of the couch between us. “Public. You know, as opposed to personal.”
    She rolled her eyes. “I don’t even know what that means.”
    My fingertips extended just shy of her shoulder and I itched to lean in and let my hand brush her hair. “For example, do you have a boyfriend?”
    She frowned. “That’s personal.”
    “Not true. I need to know if you’re going to be bringing strange guys into the house. Maybe we should create a system. Like a sock on the door or a special knock or you take Mondays at one and I’ll—”
    “I told you earlier, I don’t have a boyfriend.”
    “Great, just wanted to clarify. In case you’re wondering, I don’t have a girlfriend. See how easy that was? That definitely settles it. Public questions only.”
    I grinned and went back to the TV. She scowled, but when I glanced over a minute later, I caught her staring at my bare chest—again. Hell, yeah. This was going to be so much fun.
     

Chapter Seven
    Jordan
     
     
    The next morning, the stillness inside the house was a direct contradiction to the chaotic aftermath I found in the kitchen. Dirty dishes and spilled egg yolk littered the counter and stove. I stepped cautiously, careful to avoid anything liquidy or spongy underfoot, and grimaced when my foot landed in something soft and not made of tile.
    “Yuck,” I muttered.
    And I’d thought the kitchen was bad last night. That was nothing. Girls, be careful what you wish for. Clearly, this guy could cook. But cleaning was a whole different—and obviously foreign—concept. The dishes he’d done last night had clearly been for my benefit only.
    I managed to find the still-warm coffee pot and a clean-ish mug. Between that and the plain toast I snagged and heated inside an ancient—albeit mostly clean—toaster, I was fed and ready for my interview.
    I made it all the way to the front door before I remembered my lack of transportation.
    “Shit.”
    I did not have time for this. Or energy. Or patience. Or—why was I here? Sure, I’d given up my apartment already and my job at the firm where I’d worked since graduation, but I could go home to Hartford. After Dad’s funeral, I’d announced my decision to