Chapter 13
Sheridan
I said nothing. I just looked at Luke Hotwell over the top of the huge mass of flowers.
“I see you got my flowers.” Instead of looking sheepish or creepy, he was smiling at me broadly.
The way the sight of all his white teeth affected my heart, I almost missed that quirk of a side-grin. I should’ve shushed the little rave party in my ventricles, but there was no way I could have unless I looked away from that smile.
And I couldn’t look away from that smile. It owns me.
“You’re not saying anything. You don’t like peonies?” His brows pushed together. He muttered something like, “I could’ve sworn it said peonies. Pansies? Petunias? No, I know it said peonies.”
“Could’ve sworn what said peonies?” The guy had some serious explaining to do. Half of me wanted to drop the heavy vase on his foot. The other half wanted to set them down and throw my arms around this man who seemed to see into the depths of my soul.
“Do you want to come in?”
That hadn’t worked out well last time. “I want you to give me some answers.”
The elevator’s bell dinged, and a woman stalked out of it. Confidence radiated from every muscle, and when she caught sight of me, her whole countenance changed—almost shockingly so.
Because she beamed at me.
Usually, women who came to see a man as good-looking and available as Luke Hotwell turned into territorial female grizzly bears. Not her. She looked at me like I was her favorite flavor of cupcake.
“You must be Sheridan!” Now, she started bounding toward me, loping like the most graceful gazelle on a rerun of Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom. “I’m Lola. I’m sure Luke has told you all about me.”
“Of course,” I said only because my mother is Kendy Allen, who’d insisted that I practice good manners, even if they required a white lie. “It’s so nice to meet you in person.”
While Lola gushed, I shot a look at Luke that said, How could you put me in this situation where I have to choose between lying and rudeness? But I couldn’t tell whether he was adept at reading looks meant to convey complex sentences. Instead, he just had a weird, besotted-type look on his face. And he was looking at me, not her.
I had officially entered an alternate reality.
“My sister was here a bit ago and forgot her phone.”
His sister!
Then again, Luke had mentioned Lola. His sister, the one who didn’t like paranormal things, so I hadn’t lied. Whew. I hated lies.
Lola kept talking about how great it was to meet me and how much she liked peonies too, and then she turned to Luke. “I didn’t manage to leave my wallet on the counter, too, did I?”
Her phone was in his hand, and he said, “Do you want to come in and check?”
“If Sheridan is coming in, yes. I’d love to get to know her more.”
“I’m just leaving.”
“You just got here.” Luke touched my wrist—shooting some kind of dangerous current up my arm—and I entered the apartment again, like some kind of stalker-girl myself.
Being around Luke Hotwell was the equivalent of filling my prescription of Dumb Girl pills. I tripped along after him, allowed him to take the heavy floral arrangement from my hands, and then didn’t really struggle when he sat much too close to me for comfort on the sofa. At least he didn’t put his arm around me.
And then he rested his arm along the back of the couch behind my shoulders.
As long as I don’t relax back against it, it doesn’t count. Right?
I was so messed up.
“Sheridan, I should have made the introductions more formally. This is my older sister Lola. She and her husband, Keith, live down toward the beach, but she has been checking on me every day since the accident.”