“Melinda . . . aren’t you listening? I wish someone would. No one understands that she’s driving me crazy. This town is driving me crazy.”
I ease closer to him. He’s big. I can hide behind him. “Of course I’m listening. You’re rambling about your stalker while I’m trying to avoid being seen . . .”
Ronan is still muttering, and I’ve missed part of it. “She came to my door and was wearing this shiny black trench coat—”
“In this heat? Why?”
“With lacy lingerie underneath. She dropped her coat right in my foyer and threw herself at me.”
My eyes flare, and I give him my full attention. “Ballsy. Was it pretty? The lingerie?”
He lifts his shoulders. “Who cares?”
I frown. “Wait, let me get this straight. She came to your house to have sex, and you said no. Just clarifying.” Melinda is beautiful, and he is a man . . .
There are several beats of silence as his gaze lowers, skating over me. “I don’t want to have sex with Melinda. She’s not my type.”
“Which is . . . ?”
“Blonde.”
“Just blonde? Pathetic.”
“No, smart-ass. I need a connection to someone. A spark. I don’t have sex with just anyone.”
“Curious. Again. How old was Jenny?”
He huffs. “Old enough!”
“Uh-huh. Forget that. I’m worried about me. I know that woman with Melinda, and I look like something the cat dragged in. Dang it. I forgot the Tylers are related to the Lennox family. That explains why they’re together. Ugh.”
He glances over at them, tugging his hat lower. “Let’s hide, then. Seems to be your go-to to avoid people.”
“Me? Didn’t you hide from Melinda on my porch?”
“That was different. She’s insane.”
I smile. “You know, you just might be back in my good graces with the hiding idea. And I take those nighttime walks to think, so don’t be all huffy that I hid from you. I can’t think with you around—now get us out of here.”
He pauses, his lips quirking. “You can’t? Really?”
I wave at him. “Ronan. Where can we hide? This is your store. And who the heck is Dog?”
“My dog. His name is Dog.”
“Dumb. You have a giant Irish wolfhound, and you didn’t name him something cool like, I don’t know, Goliath or Hercules or Maximus—”
“You talk too much. Come on. Follow me.” He takes off to the back of the barn, where we slide into the slice of shadow created by two looming shelves. Thankfully, there isn’t anyone around us. He positions us so that he’s behind me and tells me to be the lookout since I’m smaller.
“They’re ordering,” I tell him over my shoulder.
“Did they see us?”
I pause to savor Ronan Smith depending on me, sounding all kinds of sweet. It’s a direct contrast to the in-control, überserious quarterback he portrayed for the media. “I don’t think so.” I peek around the corner and run envious eyes over Paisley’s ensemble. Damn her sense of style. Those red stilettos are gorgeous.
“Who are you running from?” he asks. “She looked familiar.”
I suck my cheeks in, then blow them out. “Paisley Lennox Carlisle. Also known as my best friend in high school until she stole my boyfriend, Andrew. And I’m not running, just preventing a social disaster.”
There’s a long pause. “Andrew Carlisle’s your ex? Our basketball coach?”
“Yes.” I turn to face him, starting when I realize how close we are. He’s wearing a blue workout shirt and shiny silver gym shorts with sneakers. The heat from him feels like a furnace, and he smells like man and sweat—with a little coffee. His well-defined forearm muscles ripple as he shifts around.
My eyes race over him as he sets his drink on a shelf. There are three things that make me instantly horny: a man in a lushly tailored suit, muscled forearms, and a male fresh from a workout. He’s hitting two right now, and I’ve seen him in a suit. It was divine.
Deep breath. I’m done with athletes. Especially this one.
“What happened?” he asks.
I lean against the shelf with him. I shouldn’t divulge my past to Ronan—he works with Andrew—but then I’ve never been one to do what I’m supposed to do.
Plus, I left all my friends in New York, and I’m bursting to vent.
“In a nutshell: everyone thought Andrew and I would get married. I assumed.”