“And I used to think so, too.” Ben turned to the backseat of his car and began strapping his uncooperative armful into a rear-facing baby seat. “But as my wife says, she carried them each nine months, and I’ve carried them ever since. Hence, the chiropractor. Mention my name if you go see him. Make sure you get the Stevens discount.”
“Will do.”
The other man finished buckling Death Wish in, made sure Faith was correctly latched into her front-facing car seat, and then turned to face Josh. “You’re here for Melody?”
“Yep. She’s inside getting dress—”—no, that didn’t sound right—“getting ready for dinner.”
“He’s her friend,” Turbo-Tattler helpfully informed her father, and then climbed into the booster seat positioned by the window and fastened her seat belt.
“I see. Well.” He shut the door, grinned, and looked at Josh. “Thanks for amusing my girls.”
“No problem.”
Ben slid behind the wheel, shut his door, and started the car. “Tell Melody that Belinda and I said thanks, and Belinda will call her tomorrow.”
“Sure. Bye, girls.”
“Byeeeee, Joooosh,” emanated from the car as it pulled away from the curb and headed slowly down the street. Feeling a bit worse for wear, he carefully straightened his spine, re-tucked his white button-down shirt into his jeans, and turned back toward the house.
The sight greeting him on the other side of the open doorframe left him worse for wear in a whole different way. Melody stood there, blond hair tumbling down her shoulders in smooth waves. Her blue eyes danced with pleasure and something else he could only define as excitement. She’d wrapped her traffic-stopping body in one of those little sundresses that looked about as substantial as a butterfly’s wing and made a man thank God for eighty-degree heat and 90 percent humidity. The dress wasn’t particularly tight or short—the women he’d dated in Cincinnati routinely wore outfits consisting of half the fabric—but on her it was straight-up sexy. The pale pink shade should have looked innocent, like ballet slippers or cotton candy. But it wasn’t. Not on her.
The color made him think of her skin. The soft, hidden expanses not kissed by the sun. His mind filled with memories of her round, full breasts, her smooth, flat stomach…the peach-like curve of her ass. Raspberry-red high-heeled sandals strapped to her feet only intensified the effect by highlighting her slender calves and reminding him of another pink destination at the other end of those amazing legs.
He forced his eyes back up and stopped at her face. Her smile washed over him, and for the first time in weeks, th
e restless, hemmed-in feeling he’d gotten used to since moving to Kentucky backed off.
“You appear to be in one piece. Did the girls behave?”
“Nothing I couldn’t handle. Like I said, I’m good with kids. Your nieces are fun.”
“They are.” Her expression turned wistful. “I always thought I’d have one of my own by now, but…” She shrugged and tipped the corner of her mouth up into a lopsided smile she probably meant to be sardonic, but didn’t completely erase the wistful look in her eyes. “Things didn’t exactly go as planned.”
He figured it was his job to put a real smile back on her face. He took a small square box from his back pocket and handed it to her.
Her brows lifted as she accepted it. “What’s this?”
“Something to celebrate me not getting your sweet ass fired.”
The explanation earned him even more pink—in the form of blushing cheeks this time—and a tap on his chest from her index finger. “The firing, had it happened, would have been my own fault, but you’re so nice. You didn’t have to get me anything.” She pulled the top off the box and laughed.
Inside he’d tucked a refrigerator magnet in the shape of a Powerball lottery ticket, with a logo across the bottom that read, “Get lucky at Boone’s.”
She slapped a hand across her mouth and laughed, her pretty blue eyes sparkling, and he mentally high-fived himself for following the impulse to buy the stupid thing.
“You ready to go?”
“Yes.” She placed his gift on the hall table near the door and grabbed a slim, dark pink purse the exact same shade as her sandals, which for some inexplicable reason made him wonder what color underwear she wore.
He hoped to catch a glimpse when he helped her into the passenger side of his truck, but no dice. Fate apparently wanted him to learn patience, and it promised to be a painful lesson. While he strapped in, she placed her little pink purse across her lap, unknowingly waving the red flag at the bull, and he fought the urge to go down on her, right then and there.
Something in his expression, or maybe his white-knuckle grip on the gearshift knob, roused her concern. She put her hand on his forearm. “Everything okay?”
Fuck patience. “Everything’s fine. I’m just hungry for yo—”
“Me, too. I’m starving.” She smiled and leaned back in her seat. “I skipped lunch today because we were so busy, which entitles me to go a little crazy for dinner. DeShay’s chicken-fried chicken has been calling to me all afternoon.”
Okay. Lesson learned. No fucking with patience. The woman needed a decent meal. What he had planned for them tonight required energy and stamina. “That sounds good. Not as good as my first choice,” he added under his breath as he started the truck.