there wearing it . . . and nothing else.
Oh, bad idea. Very bad idea. The mere image sent a shiver down her spine.
Kelsey sat up, her back pressed against her pillows, and hugged her knees to her chest. She rubbed her sore feet, which summoned a memory of last night’s piggyback ride.
Carrying her three and a half blocks to keep her from getting hurt after she’d kicked off her shoes in the middle of the street would’ve been kinda chivalrous, if one could believe he didn’t have an ulterior motive. But his affinity for children aside, Trip always had a motive when it came to women. It started with an s and ended with an x and came with a side of “don’t call me, I’ll call you.”
Sighing, she forced herself out of bed. Grey and Trip were expecting her at eleven for a little advice on updating their social media sites. Last time she’d gone to Backtrax to help, Grey had rejected her and pissed her off. She might not have agreed to try helping again had he and Avery not been dating. Now she’d have to face Trip so soon after all that champagne caused her to let her guard down.
Keeping her cool would be a challenge. Perhaps she could simply focus on the sizable challenge of bringing Grey and Trip’s business into the twenty-first century. Or better yet, the challenge of studying a few more chapters of the real estate investment book Wade had recommended.
Given her itinerary, Sunday would not be a day of rest.
After downing a healthy portion of greasy eggs and bacon to deal with her hangover, she stood in front of her cheval mirror, appraising her Abercrombie navy-and-cranberry-print summer dress and red strappy sandals. Yes, her sore feet rebelled against yet another high-heel shoe, but they were the perfect ones for the dress. The fact Trip thought she had nice legs had nothing to do with her decision to wear that particular outfit or those particular shoes, no sirree. She’d be sitting for most of the morning, anyway.
Once more her gaze drifted to the Stetson, with its fraying hatband. How unlike Trip, a man who took pride in his appearance, to wear such a beat-up hat.
She lifted it off the mattress, her fingers brushing against the supple, well-worn brim. Grinning to herself, she piled her hair atop her head and then donned the Stetson, tipping it back a bit. Looked cute. Maybe she should add hats to her wardrobe in the future.
No doubt Trip expected her to return his today. Of course, he owned several, including a gorgeous black felt one and a summer straw one, too, so this old thing couldn’t be too important. Maybe she’d keep it for a while . . . bribe him or make him earn it back or just generally torment him a bit by “forgetting” to return it.
Tormenting Trip sounded like fun.
She set his hat on the chair, grabbed her purse and Guy Kawasaki’s The Art of Social Media book, and strolled out the door.
When she breezed through Backtrax’s empty reception area, she called out, “Yoo-hoo! You guys back there?”
Trip appeared at the end of the dim hallway, wearing olive-green cargo shorts, a gray T-shirt, and leather flip-flops. His snug cotton tee hugged his broad shoulders and pecs, reminding her of how she’d clung to that same body just last night. She licked her suddenly dry lips, praying he didn’t notice her reaction.
As always, he greeted her with a smile and a quick once-over. His gaze stopped at her feet. Shaking his head, he teased, “I see you didn’t learn your lesson last night.”
She walked up to him and patted his cheek. “Oh, I learned a lot last night.”
“Me too. But what did you learn?” He looked down at her, brows raised. His face was so close she could see the little cleft in his chin and appreciate that clean-shaven jaw. Miraculously, she repressed the urge to run her fingers along his jawbone.
“Beneath this whole playboy persona is a bit of a gentleman. Just a bit, of course. But it’s in there. Once upon a time, your mom must’ve taught you
Oh, bad idea. Very bad idea. The mere image sent a shiver down her spine.
Kelsey sat up, her back pressed against her pillows, and hugged her knees to her chest. She rubbed her sore feet, which summoned a memory of last night’s piggyback ride.
Carrying her three and a half blocks to keep her from getting hurt after she’d kicked off her shoes in the middle of the street would’ve been kinda chivalrous, if one could believe he didn’t have an ulterior motive. But his affinity for children aside, Trip always had a motive when it came to women. It started with an s and ended with an x and came with a side of “don’t call me, I’ll call you.”
Sighing, she forced herself out of bed. Grey and Trip were expecting her at eleven for a little advice on updating their social media sites. Last time she’d gone to Backtrax to help, Grey had rejected her and pissed her off. She might not have agreed to try helping again had he and Avery not been dating. Now she’d have to face Trip so soon after all that champagne caused her to let her guard down.
Keeping her cool would be a challenge. Perhaps she could simply focus on the sizable challenge of bringing Grey and Trip’s business into the twenty-first century. Or better yet, the challenge of studying a few more chapters of the real estate investment book Wade had recommended.
Given her itinerary, Sunday would not be a day of rest.
After downing a healthy portion of greasy eggs and bacon to deal with her hangover, she stood in front of her cheval mirror, appraising her Abercrombie navy-and-cranberry-print summer dress and red strappy sandals. Yes, her sore feet rebelled against yet another high-heel shoe, but they were the perfect ones for the dress. The fact Trip thought she had nice legs had nothing to do with her decision to wear that particular outfit or those particular shoes, no sirree. She’d be sitting for most of the morning, anyway.
Once more her gaze drifted to the Stetson, with its fraying hatband. How unlike Trip, a man who took pride in his appearance, to wear such a beat-up hat.
She lifted it off the mattress, her fingers brushing against the supple, well-worn brim. Grinning to herself, she piled her hair atop her head and then donned the Stetson, tipping it back a bit. Looked cute. Maybe she should add hats to her wardrobe in the future.
No doubt Trip expected her to return his today. Of course, he owned several, including a gorgeous black felt one and a summer straw one, too, so this old thing couldn’t be too important. Maybe she’d keep it for a while . . . bribe him or make him earn it back or just generally torment him a bit by “forgetting” to return it.
Tormenting Trip sounded like fun.
She set his hat on the chair, grabbed her purse and Guy Kawasaki’s The Art of Social Media book, and strolled out the door.
When she breezed through Backtrax’s empty reception area, she called out, “Yoo-hoo! You guys back there?”
Trip appeared at the end of the dim hallway, wearing olive-green cargo shorts, a gray T-shirt, and leather flip-flops. His snug cotton tee hugged his broad shoulders and pecs, reminding her of how she’d clung to that same body just last night. She licked her suddenly dry lips, praying he didn’t notice her reaction.
As always, he greeted her with a smile and a quick once-over. His gaze stopped at her feet. Shaking his head, he teased, “I see you didn’t learn your lesson last night.”
She walked up to him and patted his cheek. “Oh, I learned a lot last night.”
“Me too. But what did you learn?” He looked down at her, brows raised. His face was so close she could see the little cleft in his chin and appreciate that clean-shaven jaw. Miraculously, she repressed the urge to run her fingers along his jawbone.
“Beneath this whole playboy persona is a bit of a gentleman. Just a bit, of course. But it’s in there. Once upon a time, your mom must’ve taught you
Similar Books
