Obviously her good vibes meant squat since tonight had sucked.
Perching on the edge of the sofa, she drew the comforter around her and lifted the flask. Glanced at the doorway again. No Chase. She sipped slowly, letting the brandy slide down her throat and warm her from the inside out. Three sips were enough, as always. She set the flask on the coffee table, leaving it open just in case. She didn’t drink much. Actually, she’d never even officially gotten drunk. She liked being in control of her faculties too much to go beyond a little pleasant fuzziness at the edges of her consciousness.
She started to stand then giggled and sat back down. Wow, she really had no tolerance at all. The lack of any food since lunch didn’t help either. She dug into her bag again and emerged with a semi-crushed pack of Ho-Hos, which she consumed with a relish she normally reserved for bacon cheeseburgers.
Then she remembered she didn’t have her toothbrush and wondered if Chase kept spares for guests. Probably. Along with complimentary toilet seat covers and little fingertip towels.
“Happy homemaker,” she mumbled, giving in to the urge to tuck her cheek against the altogether too soft-looking pillow. She’d rest her eyes for a minute before she searched out that toothbrush and took a shower.
She was asleep an instant later.
Chase tossed and turned for a couple of hours before he decided he wasn’t tired enough. Hard to believe with the evening he’d had, but he also had a sexy as fuck brunette in his living room, separated from his bed by a mere length of hallway. He’d made sure she slept in the living room to increase his chances of steering clear of her, but so far the meager distance wasn’t helping. Especially since Summer probably slept in something closer to underwear than actual pajamas, so a bra and panties in lieu of sleepwear would likely do the job just fine.
The question was what kind of bra and panties. He’d only seen a glimpse of black material when she pulled down her top earlier. Her bra even had a chaste little bow between the cups that teased more effectively than a leather bustier.
He groaned and threw his arms over his head. Jesus, he so didn’t need to be thinking thoughts like that.
Not about Summer, who wasn’t only his baby sister’s closest friend, but the sweetest, most innocent woman he knew. Try as she might to act like a wild woman, he knew better.
The one summer he’d lived next door to her before he’d gone off to college, he’d seen the tight leash her mom kept her on. He’d felt a little bad for her, though Summer hadn’t had the easiest childhood and her mom had only wanted to keep her safe.
Now her mom had gone off to “find herself” and Summer was on her own, not counting Cass. Cass took care of everyone else without compunction, and he knew Summer’s sudden motherlessness after a lifetime of being overprotected had tweaked every one of Cass’s worry bones, especially since Cass and Chase had faced their own fickle parental behavior.
Their dad used rehab as a vacation home and their mom lived on the opposite side of the country with her husband and young-ish children, who might as well have been strangers to Chase and Cass. His sister understood parents screwing over their kids and probably coddled Summer.
Okay, forget probably. She tried to be the girl’s whole family.
If someone unsuitable veered toward Summer—let’s say one of the bad boys of the major league, currently an unrestricted free agent in all possible ways—Cass would snap and bite. Luckily that was never going to happen.
Even though she was twenty-four and perfectly capable of making up her own mind, Summer wasn’t in his field of vision. The kiss they’d shared had been the beginning and end of any flirtation between them, and even that wouldn’t have happened if he’d been fully sober.
And not so damn fascinated by her glossy lips.
That was the past. Nothing else had happened between them, and he’d see to it that they remained strictly business associates. Because, by God, she would have a bodyguard at her shows. Until he found someone suitable, he’d take care of her himself. Platonically. As for other forms of “taking care” of Summer, he wasn’t going there.
He groaned and banged his head against his pillow. He needed to get out of this bed and do something productive. Like jerking off until he couldn’t feel anything below the waist.
Or sit-ups. Sit-ups would work.
Two hundred of them later, he needed a shower and he still wasn’t tired. He used the en suite bathroom and took a quick cold one, hoping that would help with the insistent semi that had sprung up around the time he’d first heard Summer’s sultry voice. It had shrunk entirely during his police questioning ordeal but like the sun coming up in the east, the damn thing kept rising again. Imagining her wet and soapy—something he’d been doing since she’d sent his thoughts there earlier—didn’t help either.
Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t heard her in the bathroom. Had he zoned out without realizing it?
Naked and still dripping from his own shower, he dropped on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. An odd urge to check that she was okay made him fist his hands at his sides. So she hadn’t taken a shower. She hadn’t been carted off by thugs nor had she disarmed the alarm system. She was probably sleeping, safe and sound.
And Christ, he’d been a teetotaler a bit too long if he was getting hung up on the safety of a chick he barely knew. Too much restraint was twisting his shorts.
Painfully.
Living next door to someone for a couple of months and hearing her name at family events didn’t impart any level of caring. So he’d seen Summer get a little roughed up at the club. If she didn’t get some security in place, worse would happen.
He wasn’t going to let it.
Luckily he’d already been relieved from his position at the club due to his tendency to attract notice, according to Chris. Funny how attracting notice had been great before, back when he’d believed Chase’s notoriety might help his club’s PR. Not so anymore. He hadn’t fired Chase, per se, just suggested that perhaps another line of work would be best for him. Chase couldn’t deny the guy was right.
Plus, that meant he’d have plenty of free time to start up the bodyguard agency he’d been mulling over since the situation with his arm had taken a turn for the worse. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he did better being his own boss. The Daggers’ club manager and team owner would attest to that readily.
He didn’t know much about being a bodyguard, but he did know how to get little punks to reconsider touching people they shouldn’t. He couldn’t make use of his skills on the baseball diamond at the moment, but he sure as hell could get up close and personal with any fool who tried to lay a finger on Summer.