More, Please (8 page)

“My pleasure.” She turns to me. “Well, I
better be going. Will you let me know how your pre-op appointment goes at the
vet next week?”

“I will,” I respond, grateful to have a
reason to call her. I’m not sure why.

“And if you have any questions—”

“I’ll text you.”

She nods. “Good.” She bends over to pet Kosmo.
“You be a good boy, Kosmo.” Her head is close to his and her voice cracks. This
must be harder than hell on her.

Hannah embraces her around the waist. “Bye.
Thanks for Kosmo.”

“Don’t forget my offer. And good luck on
the bidding process,” I add.

“Thanks.” She touches my forearm lightly,
almost as though she would have given me a hug if my brother wasn’t standing
there.

Damn you, Ryan.

“See ya.” Her eyes linger on mine a beat
or two, before she descends the short staircase and walks to her car.

“I’ll pack up my backpack,” Hannah says, charging
back inside.

Ryan’s still watching Allie as she pulls
away. “She’s cute. Single?”

I glare at him. “Yes.”

“Wow.”

“Wow what?”

“You know there’s only about a dozen
single women in this town, right?”

“Yeah, but don’t get any ideas. She’s too
young for you.”

“How old?”

“24.”

“On what planet is that too young for me
to date? I was
married
at 24.”

“And see how that turned out?” I raise an
eyebrow. “Seriously, she’s off limits, bro.”

“You’ve got a thing for her.”

“Maybe. She’s—” Sweet. Kind.
Responsible. Cute. And a hell of a kisser. But I don’t say any of that. “Too
young. Ryan, she’s fresh out of college. I remember what I was like at that
age.”

“Not the jaded asshole you are now,
right?”

I shrug. He’s not too far from the truth.

“All the more reason to date a younger
woman. Who the hell needs someone who’s jaded? You’re 32. She’s 24. ‘Half plus
seven’ is the rule, you know, and she falls within the range.”

My eyes shoot upward at that formula,
which I’m certain was created by a bunch of desperate old men looking for a way
to justify dating much younger women. “A guy like me doesn’t fall within the
ramifications of that formula.” Or any formula, I’m tempted to add.

“Well, if you’re not going for her, then
I will.”

I look inside my door to make sure Hannah
isn’t within sight, and fist his shirt close to his neck. “Still think you
will?” I ask, my eyes searing into him. It’s done in jest, the way my brothers
and I always roughhouse. But there’s a trace of me that’s really thinking about
punching him for wanting to date Allie.

As I release him, he backs off laughing.
“Ha! I
knew
you had a thing for her.”

Hannah trots back onto the front porch
with Kosmo jogging along behind her.

“Will you be at Grandma and Grandpa’s
this Sunday?” she asks, grabbing my hands and proceeding to climb up me like a
tree the way she has since the day she took her first steps.

“I will.”

She smacks a kiss on my cheek. “Thanks
for saving Kosmo. I love him sooooo much.” She draws out the word “so” to last
at least five seconds.

“And I love you sooooo much,” I say, drawing
out the word twice as long as I give her a squeeze.

~ ALLIE ~

My life has generally moved at the pace
of one of those slow-moving vehicles I always get stuck behind in a no passing
zone when I’m late for something. So it’s no wonder that my hands are shaking
as I sign the documents in front of me.

In the past eight hours, I’ve vacated my
condo, signed it over to a couple who commutes to Dayton, and right now I’m
making an offer on the foreclosure that could change my life forever.

I’m not sure if I’m nervous, excited, or
terrified.

Kim is waiting downstairs in a rented van
with all my worldly possessions, including my newest fosters: a German shepherd,
a hyperactive Welsh corgi, and a Siberian husky who sheds enough fur to stuff a
pillow every thirty minutes. I keep this in mind as I scan the fine print of my
offer, trying to read as quickly as possible so I don’t jeopardize a friendship
that I can’t imagine living without.

My condo sold as quickly as my real
estate agent said it would. I had two offers in the first week and one was
slightly over asking price. I was doing my happy dance till this morning when a
thick lump of sadness settled into my throat as I signed the closing papers.

That little one-bedroom was my last gift
from my father. Not literally, but I still think of it that way. When my mother
remarried a year after my dad’s death, she decided to give me a chunk of money
from his estate. I think it was a guilt gift, since she must have known how I
disapproved of her marrying again so quickly.

It’s not that I dislike her husband—my
stepdad, though I never call him that. I just felt like she swept Dad’s memory
under the rug so quickly and that hurts. I don’t want to forget him.

So I bought the condo here in his
hometown with the money my mom gave me. I know he would have loved knowing I settled
here in Newton’s Creek. And if he could look down on me right now, signing
these papers to hopefully open a rescue kennel, I know he’d be smiling.

My heart is pounding as I walk outside to
see Kim’s exasperated expression awaiting me in the front seat of the van. It’s
hot, but she can only have the windows half open because the corgi has made it
apparent she’d have no qualms about jumping out of the car and leading us on a
chase. The little short-legged dog could probably outrun a greyhound, paws-down.

“Sorry it took so long.” I shoot her an
apologetic look as I slide into the passenger seat without letting the dogs
escape. I had wanted to unpack the van at Logan’s before going to the real
estate office, but the closing ran a little later than expected, and I really
wanted to get my offer into the bank before the end of the business day.

“No problem,” she says not so
convincingly, putting the van in reverse. Suddenly tapping the brakes, she
pauses to pick some fur out of her eyes and then pulls out of the parking lot,
shaking her head.

The drive to Logan’s townhomes is brief,
but we barely say a word. I know she doesn’t like the idea of me moving next
door to him for free. “Nothing is free,” Kim told me when I mentioned his
offer. “There are always strings attached.”

What’s funny is that half of me is hoping
for those strings. He hasn’t even seemed slightly interested in me since that
night we met, and I certainly can’t blame him. I came across as some kind of
freak the way I deserted him that night, and then a complete bitch to follow-up
the next day.

If I were smart, I’d push from my mind
any trace of hope that I might get to touch those washboard abs again.

But if I were smart, I wouldn’t have just
sold a perfectly decent condo on the off-chance of snagging a dilapidated
kennel.

Logan steps out of his front door just as
our wheels hit the noisy gravel leading up to the townhomes.

“Good God,” Kim mutters at the sight of
him in his t-shirt. He’s dirty in the sexiest way possible, his tight shirt
covered in sweat and some kind of grit, and a fresh tan glowing on his shredded
arms.

He lopes over to our car window. “Just
pull to the side of the building, if you don’t mind,” he says pointing. “I’m in
the middle of putting pavers in the walkway. I’ll help you unload everything.”

“The pavers look great,” I notice as I
step onto a completed portion of a tidy path leading up to his door.

“You like them?”

“Love them.” I glance at Kim who looks a
little pale as she steps out of the van. I can’t blame her. We just don’t see many
men who look like they’ve stepped off the cover of
Men’s Fitness
. “Do
you remember Kim from the adoption event?”

“Of course.” He extends his hand. “I’m
Logan. Thanks for all the work you do for the dogs.”

“Mmhm,” Kim murmurs, seemingly incapable
of forming full sentences just yet. I know how she feels.

“I wish you’d have let me help you load
the van,” he tells me as I hook up the dogs to the leashes. “I was free all
day.”

My gaze moves from him, to the new
pavers, and back to him. “Doesn’t look like you were very free today. Besides, I
really don’t have much stuff.” It’s true. My furniture is pretty spare. I never
got around to buying “Big Girl” furniture after college.

“Want to let the dogs run out back while
we unload?” he asks.

My heart picks up its pace at the word
“we.” I love how he just assumes he will help. “Sounds great. But Kim and I can
really do it on our own.”

I feel her eyes burrowing into my side
from the glare I see in my peripheral vision.

“We’d love your help,” she quickly corrects
me.

 I step into the house to lead the
dogs to the fenced-in backyard that overlooks Newton’s Creek. A smile inches
upward on my face, looking at the crisply painted walls and crown molding. A
fireplace similar to the one I saw in Logan’s house is on the front wall. This
townhome doesn’t have all the built-in bookshelves that Logan’s had, but I sure
can’t complain. I’ve never lived in a place so elegantly adorned. The house I
grew up in was okay, but a cookie cutter 1970s split foyer that had only been
updated once in the early 80s can’t really stand up to a renovation like this.

I take the dogs through to the kitchen
and can’t resist running my hand across the granite countertop. My eyes soak in
the sight of stainless steel appliances, even though I’m not much of a cook.

As I set the dogs free from their leashes
in the newly sodded backyard, I say a silent prayer they won’t dig any holes.

I don’t care what Kim says. Living here
is like a gift, and I still feel a pang of guilt for not paying him.

Still… he offered. And I’d be a fool to
refuse. As Cass told me, if the whole deal goes south, I can always pack up my
meager belongings, throw my mattress on her floor, and live with her.

Logan enters carrying my writing desk. It’s
not huge, but I still love the sight of his muscles bulging as he carries it. Carefully
he moves it through the doorway without marring the new trim along the wall.

“Do you want this upstairs?”

“No. Right there is fine.” I can’t see
the point in getting too settled here. Hopefully, I’ll be moving out in a month
or two. Maybe even less if I get lucky and the bank doesn’t move at a snail’s
pace.

Logan heads back into the van and within
seconds he’s in the doorway again with a box. “This one is marked ‘samples,’” he
says. “Where do you want it?”

A surge of heat touches my cheeks as I
see this man with his burly arms wrapped around every type of sex toy in my
line. I’m tempted to tell him I want it upstairs in the bedroom along with him,
naked. “In the coat closet,” I say forcefully instead.

Cass walks in behind him. “Hey, hon.
Thought I’d stop by after shift and help you unpack.” She does a double-take at
the sight of Logan holding my samples box. “Well, you’re just about every
fantasy I’ve ever had right now,” she says, batting the false eyelashes she
must have left on from her work shift. Her makeup is heavier than usual and she
still has sparkles in her hair from her Buckeye Princess costume.

Logan looks flummoxed. “Pardon me?”

She’s still grinning from ear to ear. “If
you can handle the contents of that box as easily as the box itself, I’ll make
myself free tonight and every night for the next three months.”

I expel a breath, rushing to take the box
from Logan before the bottom drops out of it and fifty-five vibrators scatter
on the ground.

“Watch it, Cass,” I warn. Clearly she
assumes that I’ve told him about my second job. Call me a private person, but I
really don’t like sharing that information with men even though Cass insists it
could only help my nonexistent sex life.

Logan gives a shake of his head, refusing
to give up the box, and instead moves it to the coat closet himself. He’s
returning the playful smile that Cass is shooting him, and I’m insanely
jealous. “I have no idea what you mean, but I’m pretty sure I’d enjoy whatever
it is that’s going through your head right now,” he counters back to her.

She tosses her head back and laughs, her
platinum blonde hair flowing over her shoulders like she’s in slow motion. My
hair, thin as it is, wouldn’t move like that if I used a gallon of those hair products
I see on infomercials at 4 a.m.

“Those boxes,” Cass begins. “That’s where
Allie keeps her secret stash. Maybe if you’re lucky, she’ll share.”

His supremely remarkable ass is pointed in
our direction as he bends to put it in the closet. So he’s not looking long
enough for me to go over to my so-called friend and smack her on her skinny,
sparkly arm. “Shut
up
, Cass.”

Her eyes widen and I see she’s still
clueless that I haven’t told him.
Hello?
She knows me. She should know
better.

As Logan turns, his one eyebrow is raised
slightly. “Do I dare even ask?”

Of course I
have
to tell him now
because he is probably picturing illegal drugs or something in that box.

I dart a look at Cass. “Cass, go. Make
yourself useful. There’s a box outside with your name on it.” I inhale. “Logan,
those are just my samples for work.”

“Oh.” He gives a nod and starts to leave.
It bothers me because I really don’t want him thinking that I’m lying to him,
especially since he’s been so nice to me. “Aren’t you going to ask what I
sell?”

He turns. “Your business. Not mine.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want you thinking I’ve
got something illegal in that box. The way Cass was talking—”

His laughter cuts me off.

“What’s so funny?”

“Allie, you really don’t strike me as the
type to do anything illegal.”

I should be relieved by that statement,
but somehow I’m insulted. Do I really look that boring? I catch a glimpse of myself
in the reflection of the living room window.

Yeah, I really do.

I shrug. “Okay, if you really don’t
care.”

One eye narrows slightly as half his
mouth eases up into a smirk. “Well, since you clearly want me to know, I was
picturing you selling medical equipment before. But the way your friend there
was joking...”

I can’t resist a snort as I cut him off.
“Medical equipment,” I repeat. “I have to tell Kim and Cass that one.”

“I guessed wrong, then?”

“Uh, yeah.” I step over to the box. “I
work for a multi-level marketing company. I sell my stuff at parties that other
people host. I get a chunk of whatever I sell, plus if I can get anyone to sign
up as a rep, I get a chunk of everything they sell till forever.”

He nods, obviously familiar with the
idea. “Oh. I had a girlfriend who used to host a lot of those kinds of parties
selling all sorts of crap.” He winces slightly. “No offense.”

“No offense taken.”

He laughs. “So what is it you sell,
anyway? Makeup? Jewelry?”

Frowning, I pop open the box and hand him
a BestMan Classic Model #8800. Some things are better seen than said.

“Sex toys,” he says, staring at the
vibrator in his hand before a laugh escapes him.

Cass walks in again, this time carrying a
box labeled “bathroom,” and sees Logan armed and ready. “Should I leave you two
alone?” she asks with a grin.

I glare at her. “Upstairs bathroom,” I
tell her as I read the box, and she saunters up the staircase giggling. My eyes
then meet Logan’s which are filled with laughter.

“Alexandra, you are full of surprises,
aren’t you?”

I take my sample from him and put it back
in the box. “Yep. So go ahead, get in all your digs. Laugh at my expense. There’s
not a joke I haven’t heard, believe me.”

“I’m not going to laugh,” he says, and I
angle him a look. “Anymore. I won’t laugh
anymore
.”

“Yeah, well, I’m laughing all the way to
the bank. I make more doing this than with my assistant job, and there just
aren’t a ton of jobs out here in the middle of nowhere. Do you know how much I
have to fork over in vet bills for all my fosters?”