No Strings Attached (7 page)

“Harleys don’t bleed when they fall over.”

She hadn’t meant to cause him alarm, but she liked the fact he’d agonized over her, even a little.

“I’m klutzy and chances are always good that I’ll scrape a knee or twist my ankle.” She gathered a breath. “Tomorrow I walk on stilts.”

He frowned. “It’s safer to join a corner street band and shake a tambourine. Maybe drive a pedal cab or draw caricature portraits.”

“I don’t want safe,” she said, speaking from her heart. “I’ve always been quiet, fearful, invisible Sophie. This is
my
summer. I want adventure. It’s time to discover me.”

He turned introspective. His brow creased, then eventually smoothed. He stared at her for a full minute before asking, “Ever ridden a Harley?”

Excitement gripped her. “Never.”

“It’s a rush.”

“Adrenaline is my middle name.”

Dune smiled. “I have an extra helmet,” he told her. “Hop on and I’ll give you a ride home.”

She went for it. “Twelve-thirteen Saunders Way.”

Three

“W
e’ve gone as far as we can go,” a man said.

A woman sighed heavily. “There’s more to us than three months.”

Mac James looked toward the back of the shop and listened. He’d entered Three Shirts to the Wind through the tangerine-colored door and found the place empty. Apparently there were two people in the storeroom. Jenna Cates and an unidentifiable man. Voices were raised. They were breaking up. He was getting an earful.

He looked around the shop. Three Shirts carried everything from plain white cotton tees to brightly colored polos. Some had caricatures while others had decorative designs. A few naughty slogans raised eyebrows. Most sayings were funny or silly. Overhead clotheslines stretched the width of the ceiling, displaying a line of Barefoot William attire.

Mac browsed the revolving circular racks as the ensuing argument grew even more heated.

“What about this weekend?” Jenna asked sharply. “We had plans.”

“I’m out.”

“But you know the Sneaker Ball is close to my heart.”

The man snorted. “Parks and recreation means nothing to me.”

“You told me you liked kids and sports.”

“To get in your pants.”

“Bastard. ”

“Whatever.”

A door slammed and Mac assumed the dude had split. Whoever he was, he sounded like a douche. But then, Jen wasn’t all that easy to get along with, either. Mac knew her from his trips home with Dune. She had short dark blond hair and a tight body, and wore round glasses. She had decent breasts. He hadn’t given much thought to her waxing.

Over the years, he would’ve been nice to her had she been nice to him. But sarcasm was her second language. More often than not she took a sander to his balls for no apparent reason. They’d never gotten along. He preferred his women sweet and considerate.

Mac expected her to be angry when she returned to the shop. Instead he caught the hurt on her face, her bent shoulders, and slow step. He felt a split second of sympathy until she spotted him. Then her anger snapped back. Lady looked fierce.

He knew she needed to vent. She was Dune’s cousin and, in deference to his partner, he allowed her to let loose on him rather than a paying customer. He planned to charge his clothes to Dune’s account.

“Heard you got dumped,” he said.

She walked toward him in cuffed jeans and a cropped white T-shirt with the motto
Tell Me Something Good
. A bit ironic, he thought. She wore Barefoot sandals, which didn’t have a sole. Thin crystal chains connected a toe ring to an anklet. Her toenails were painted gold. He found her feet sexy.

“Eavesdropping?” she hissed. Her chin was high and her hands were clenched. She looked ready to punch him.

He shook his head. “Your voices traveled through the wall.”

“You didn’t make your presence known,” she accused.

He shrugged. “You needed to finish your fight.”

She flinched. “How much did you hear?”

“If I tell you I like sports, can we do it?”

Her cheeks heated. She crossed to a rack of T-shirts, selected one, and held it up. He read the slogan,
Not in this Lifetime.

Two could play this game. He flipped through the hangers, found a shirt scripted with
I Want to Be Your Next Mistake.
He waved it at her.

She flashed him back.
Tool or Jackass. Hee-Haw.

He came across the perfect one for her.
Bitchiness Becomes You
.

She responded with the shirt,
I See Dumb People.

His next one had her rolling her eyes.
Never Be in Line for a Halo.

She blew out a breath and said, “Enough T-shirt talk. What do you want?”

“Shirt, shorts, and a towel,” he told her. “I need a change of clothes. I’m headed to
Tide One On
.”

“The party boat is clothing optional.”

So he’d heard. “I can party naked.”

“I’m sure you can.”

“Do I get customer assistance or do I shop on my own?” he asked.

“You don’t need me to pick out your clothes.” She returned to the front counter.

He could’ve used her help. He had deuteranopia and was partially color blind. He had trouble discriminating between red and green hues. The colors appeared muted or faded. He compensated by purchasing his clothes in basic colors, so the mix and match came easily. Only a few close friends knew about his vision deficiency. He wanted to keep it that way.

He wound around the circular racks until he reached the shelves of folded shorts. Size thirty-four. He read the inside label: dark brown. He could live with brown. Shorts down, a T-shirt to go.

The selection was enormous. He killed a little time going from rack to rack, spinning and reading, and keeping one eye on Jen. She didn’t hide her feelings well. She wiped her eyes with a Kleenex and her lip trembled. She was still upset over the split.

“What’s with the Sneaker Ball?” he asked from across the room.

“What’s it to you?”

“It’s a cause close to your heart.”

“Why do you care what’s important to me?”

Lady was snippy, difficult, irritating. But she’d just gone through a breakup. He took that into consideration and tried to be nice. “I’m in town for three weeks. The event sounds big.”

She took overly long to respond, finally saying, “The affair is this weekend. Shaye and I are co-chairwomen. Black tie and sneakers. It’s a night to raise money for outdoor activities. The dance is held on the pier. Barefoot William supports its youth. The entire town turns out.”

“Everyone but you.”

“Salt to my wound,” she muttered as she collected a notebook from the counter and crossed to the nearest revolving rack. She cut him a look, then said, “No further disruption. I’m taking inventory.” She held up a shirt.
You Have the Right to Remain Silent. So Please Shut up.

He didn’t want to be quiet. He looped around until he stood directly behind her. “Twelve, thirteen, fourteen,” he disrupted her counting.

She elbowed him in the gut. “What’s with you?”

He rubbed his abdomen. “I’m being sympathetic,” he said.

“You’re being an ass.”

“Breaking up sucks.”

“How would you know?” she challenged.

“I’ve been dumped.” She glanced his way, sharp and disbelieving. He recalled his play date days. “I was young. It was summer in the park. The moms sat on wooden benches while the kids played. Missy Harris and I were both three. Enter Canyon Carter, the older man, age four. We shared toys in the sandbox. Canyon offered Missy a teddy bear he’d gotten wet while drinking at the water fountain. I went with a Tonka truck. She preferred the one-eyed soggy stuffed animal. Broke my heart.”

“Scarred you for life, I see.”

“For about a week,” he said. “Until Libby Atwell went down the sliding board and flashed her floral panties.”

She stepped around him. “Panties do it for you?”

“What are you wearing?”

“My Thursday cotton grannies.”

He let his gaze drop. “I imagined silk bikini. Definitely a Brazilian wax.”

“Stop staring at my crotch.”

He looked up slowly. “Only if your tits stop staring at my eyes.”

“Jerk.” She turned her back on him. “Aren’t you done shopping yet?”

“Never rush the customer.”

“I want you gone.
Now
.”

He followed her to the sale rack. Shirts and shorts were half-price. “What caused your breakup?” he asked.

Pain and annoyance flickered across her face. “Why would you care?”

“Curiosity.” He’d found over the years if a woman talked about her broken heart, the hurt didn’t fester. He’d had women cry on his shoulder. Others had actually slapped him in their rage over another man. One had kneed him in the groin.

He glanced at his watch. He had a few extra minutes to spare. He’d listen if she wanted to talk. She was slow to come around.

“We split over sex,” she finally told him.

“He needed it ten times a day and you could only go nine?”

She rolled her eyes at him.

He tried again. “You were the horny one?” Hard to believe, but he had to ask.

Her answer came through a T-shirt. She set down her notebook and located a step stool and a chrome pole garment hook. She stepped up, using the pole to straighten a T-shirt that had twisted on the hanger.
Earn It
was scripted on the front.

Mac’s laugh was immediate and inappropriate, but he couldn’t help it. “You made him
work
for sex.”

She climbed down. “Stan thought so.”

“No man likes to jump through hoops for nookie.”

She turned on him. “I’m not easy.”

He never thought she was.

“I made him wait.”

For nearly three months from the sound of their breakup. “Your dude suffered blue balls, uncomfortable but curable,” he said.

He hadn’t been in Barefoot William long enough to turn blue. He’d hook up on
Tide One On
. He had his eye on the tall brunette from Crabby Abby’s. Her white crocheted string bikini was so small she spilled from the top. He figured she was bare shaven. He thought about buying her a
Friction Club
T-shirt. He needed a good body rubbing.

“Did you care for the guy?” he asked Jenna. In his mind, knowing someone for three months was lust, not love.

“I thought we had more in common than we actually did.”

“Deceiving bastard.”

She tried not to smile, but he saw the slight curve of her lips. She showed him a T-shirt with the slogan
I Used to Have a Handle on Life, but It Broke.
She was ornery and standoffish, but still feeling vulnerable.

She went on to count a row of men’s cargo shorts, jotted down the number, then hesitantly asked him, “How long do you stay in a relationship after you realize it’s over?”

“A minute, maybe two.” He’d broken a few hearts. Several of his lovers had begged him to stay. But if he wasn’t feeling it, he was gone. He wasn’t being mean, merely honest. “Leading a woman on is far worse than letting her go to find the right man.”

“You’re the wrong man in so many ways.” She pointed to a shirt pinned to the wall.
Your Sole Purpose in Life is to Serve as a Warning to Others.

“Do you always let your T-shirts speak for you?”

“The slogans say it all.”

He wandered over to the men’s shirt rack, sizes medium and large. He looked through the larges. He liked the slogan
Got Sex?
He would fit right in on the booze cruise.

His shorts were dark brown, but he couldn’t distinguish the background color of the T-shirt. He raised both shorts and shirt and called to Jen. “How’s this?”

She scrunched her nose. “Orange isn’t your color.”

He put back the shirt, tried again. This time he chose what appeared to be a tie-dye with
Try Me, You’ll Like Me.
“Jen, does this work?” he asked.

She glanced over. “Only if you’re a firecracker. Red-gold is too bright. More women than men buy tie-dyes.”

Crap. He’d yet to nail the shirt. He hated to draw her into his decision, but he didn’t have all afternoon to fool with the color. There was a beach babe on the party yacht with his name on her. “Pick one out for me?” he requested.

“Do I look like your mother?”

“A little bit around the eyes.”

“I’m busy,” she stated. “The inventory won’t take itself.”

Contrary woman. “Help me with my shirt and—” His heart skipped a beat. “I’ll take you to the Sneaker Ball,” he said in frustration.

She did the unexpected and laughed in his face. “Not a sincere invitation,” she said. “What makes you think I’d go with you?”

“I’m a volleyball god.”

“Believe what you will.”

“Guess you’d rather go alone.”

“Guess you’re right.”

What was her problem?
Mac wondered. Women stood in line to date him, yet Jen hung back, reluctant and indecisive. She looked a little nauseous.

Several minutes passed before she set down her notepad and found him a shirt in a light color. Beige or white, he guessed. He smiled over the slogan:
You Say Psycho Like It’s a Bad Thing.

She handed it to him. “Tan goes well with your brown shorts.”

He felt a mild sense of relief.

“Need help with a towel?” she asked next.

“I can manage.” He headed toward the shelves of towels near the front of the store. The color didn’t matter. He snagged the first one within his reach.

Jen came up behind him. “I didn’t take you for a peach kind of guy.”

He’d thought it looked deep gold. A rack of sunglasses on the checkout counter caught his attention. Very cool shades by Bandy West and Red Eye. He lost sunglasses as fast as he bought them. He tried on a narrow dark frame with even darker lenses. “What do you think?” he asked her.

“What does it matter?”

“I’ll be wearing only my Bandys shortly.”

“Buy a bigger frame.”

“There’s not a frame big enough—”