This Changes Everything by Gretchen Galway Page B

everything’s OK,” she called after him. “She looked a little upset at breakfast.”
    In spite of the danger, he turned and removed the earbuds. “Breakfast?”
    “I was surprised you weren’t there.”
    Cleo was going to kill him. She’d endured breakfast with Teresa by herself. “I’m full of surprises. You hated that about me, remember?”
    “Maybe I’ve learned to appreciate spontaneity in my old age.” She looked down at her glistening, toned, picture-perfect body and shook her head. “Not getting any younger.”
    “So true,” he said, happy to leave that bait on the hook. If she wanted to hear him say she was as lithe and lovely as a nineteen-year-old swimsuit model, she was going to be disappointed. “See you later.”
    This time he managed to escape, wondering as he ran up the stairs why he’d thought he couldn’t resist Teresa on his own. Whatever appeal she’d had for him was long gone. Bringing Cleo had been unnecessary and potentially dangerous.
    Dangerous? He strode down the walkway to their room, wondering at his choice of words. What’s the worst thing that could happen? She’d tell him she wouldn’t be his friend anymore? No. They weren’t first graders. Their relationship could handle a little ambiguity. A little excitement.
    A little danger. The thought spread through him like a warm breeze.
    Mumbling repressive curses under his breath, he went into the room, saw it was empty, and got into the shower. To distract himself, he used three of the four showerheads in the cavernous stall. After he’d lathered and rinsed, he got out to shave and brush, and eventually he began to feel like his old self again. He walked out of the bathroom with his mind on a late meal and Poppy Lee, whom he hoped would be at the preview for the silent auction at two.
    “Jeez, Sly,” Cleo cried, slapping her hands over her eyes. She stood right outside the bathroom door in a pink sundress. “Have some consideration for my nerves.”
    “I’m decent.” He readjusted the towel slung around his hips, wishing that were true. “I just need to get my clothes.”
    She turned her face to the wall. “For a mogul, you aren’t very good at planning ahead. You should bring the clothes with you into the bathroom before you get naked.”
    Thoughts of danger made him linger. He studied the dress she was wearing, liking the way it showed off her body. “You’re wearing pink.”
    “It’s all they had.”
    “All who had?”
    “The store last week. The gray was sold out. They call this dusty rose. It’s all they had.”
    He didn’t know why she was shopping for a dress last week or why she sounded insecure about it. “It’s pretty.” Clearing his throat, he walked past her to get his clothes out of the closet and the dresser, strode back into the bathroom, and put them on, checking himself out in the mirror on the door as he did.
    Not getting any younger .
    Cleo loved to tease him about his looks. He knew he wasn’t bad, but she talked about him as if Hollywood would’ve been a reasonable alternative to Silicon Valley. As he buttoned his shirt, he struck poses in the mirror, just to prove to himself she was full of crazy.
    He caught himself staring too long and slapped himself. He was the one full of crazy. Jesus.
    “How was the spa?” he asked as he walked out. Very cool and casual. Not crazy at all.
    Slumping against the wall, she sighed. “Fantastic. I felt so relaxed when it was over.”
    “But not anymore?”
    “It always wears off. I’d have to—” She rolled her eyes. “Never mind. How are you feeling, by the way?”
    He noticed her face had turned as pink as her dress. “You’d have to what?”
    “I’d need more than a professional massage. You know what I’m saying?” She offered an exaggerated wink, but he could tell her mirth was forced.
    This new weirdness between them was all his fault. “Sorry about last night,” he said. “For everything. For fondling you, for drinking too