Perfect Summer (20 page)

“How many can I eat?” His voice was muffled, and it sounded like he’d already popped one in his mouth.

“I made an extra dozen or so.”

At her closet, she pulled out a tee shirt and jeans. This shirt read
Time Flies when You’re Bewildered
—the story of her life.

Grabbing a bra from the bureau in her bathroom, she debated her choice of clean panties. Staring down the lone option at the back of the drawer—a giant pair of white cotton underpants with faded red glitter cobwebs that had been part of a disastrous Halloween costume—she shook her head and pulled on her jeans au naturel. Feeling very naughty, she threw on a shirt. After ripping the towel off her head, she ran her fingers through her wet, curly hair. Without looking in the mirror, she stepped into some flip-flops and headed to the kitchen.

If only she’d had something low-cut to wear, Clint would spend more time admiring her body. How many times had she dreamed of walking into a room and having every man follow her with his eyes?

Admired. To be admired and to have a man at her side who was proud to show her off would be something. She was a long way from pretty, but there was a man in the next room who liked her boobs. It was a start.

Clint swirled frosting on cupcakes and thought about the weight of Summer’s breasts on his shoulder. They were full and firm and warm.

How would they feel in his palms as she rode him for all she was worth, her round ass bouncing up and down? Christ, he shifted in the chair.

Had she been naked under that robe? He swallowed. Just stepped out of the shower—of course she’d been naked. Soaping up those amazing tits would be fan-fucking-tastic, and then he’d work his way down…lower…and lower…and lower. He shifted again. He liked sex, had lots of it, but he hadn’t lusted after a woman this hard since he was in high school.

He swiped a finger through the chocolate frosting and brought it to his lips. The things he wanted to do to Summer… He wanted his hands all over her, to fill his mouth with her, to discover all the hidden treasures her body had to offer. Maybe he’d talk her into twisting up her hair with that pencil sticking out. A certain Van Halen song played in his head…he was so hot for teacher.

God, he hoped she’d wear another baggy tee shirt. At first, he hadn’t fully appreciated the mystery offered by her tent-like tees; now he saw it as wrapping paper on a priceless gift.

"That's a big one." Summer's voice came from behind him.

Clint sat up and crossed his legs. "Sorry."

"That cupcake. It’s larger than the rest.” She took the one he was holding. "Nice job. I like lots of icing." She shook her head in mocking dismay. "Imperfect. Too bad. Have to eat it."

Daintily, she peeled the light yellow paper back and took a bite. Chocolate frosting mustached her, and the tip of her pink tongue ran along her top lip, capturing the chocolate. She closed her eyes and enjoyed. "Mmmmm."

Clint stifled a gasp.

Her half moan, half sigh roared through his system. It hadn't even been three weeks since he'd been with the twins, but it felt like forever. That was the only explanation for his intense desire.

She took another bite, and he couldn’t look away. "I love frosting. Until it's socially acceptable to eat it alone, we have to eat cake." Summer's face held nothing but pleasure.

He wanted to see that look on her face after he’d spent the evening making love to her. Would he start at her head and work his way down or at her toes and work his way up?

"What do you think?" She stared down at him.

What did he think about what?

"Never mind." She patted his shoulder. "Your mind was miles away."

Not that far, just between her legs, on her nipples, and licking frosting off her lips.

"Would you mind finishing those while I get dinner together?” Summer picked up a pencil from the bar separating the kitchen from the breakfast room, twisted her hair into a knot, and shoved the pencil into it, holding the mass into place.

Welcome back, sexy librarian. God bless Ticonderoga #2s.

“Is that incredible smell our dinner?” His vocal chords had started working again. He sniffed hopefully. “Beef?”

“Debris. Basically, it’s a pot roast po’ boy like they serve at Mother’s in New Orleans. I lived in New Orleans for a year and loved it.”

Clint picked up a chocolate cupcake, slathered on some chocolate frosting, and went to the next one. “I don’t care what it is. It smells fantastic.”

Summer pulled out a loaf of French bread, sliced it in half, and then cut each side down the middle. “First, you start with French bread, preferably fresh from New Orleans. Then spread on mayo and Swiss cheese, spoon on the roast beef with lots of au jus, and there you go.”

She assembled the other sandwich, popped them on plates, and set them on the bar. “Let’s eat over here.” She opened the refrigerator. “Tea?”

“Sure.”

Clint scooted back, stood, and slid onto a barstool while Summer poured him a glass of iced tea and set it in front of him.

“Sugar?”

“No, unsweet’s fine.”

Her kitchen walls were the color of honey, the countertops were red, and the little glass tiles of the backsplash were varying shades of purple. Colors that shouldn’t have gone together created a warm, homey feel. It fit her.

His house was stark white. Did that fit him?

She grabbed a couple of forks and napkins then sat down beside him.

“I hope you like it.” She leaned forward on the stool. “The trick is to not spill sandwich juice all over you.”

“You made it. What’s not to like?”

She took the large sandwich in both hands, opened wide, and took a bite. Gravy oozed out, but she didn’t get a drop on her. She had skills.

Clint followed her lead. He bit into the warm, gooey bread. The rich beef had a Cajun kick and plenty of garlic. It was unbelievable. He swallowed. “That’s amazing. How come you don’t cook professionally?”

“Too much work. Cooking is a hobby. Mainly, I like eating.” She stiffened her spine and studied him as if she was waiting for him to say something.

“Thanks for dinner. It’s the best meal I’ve ever had.” He hoped that’s what she wanted to hear, and the fact that it was true made it all the easier to say. Clint leaned over and kissed her cheek. “You’re hot as hell, and you can cook. I’m a lucky man.”

Summer looked away and took another bite of her sandwich. Meat and gravy oozed out and down the front of her shirt. “Crap.”

She pulled at her tee. “Give me a minute to change.”

No one had ever rushed out of a room faster. Was it him, or had she seemed nervous and uncomfortable at the “hot” comment? She wasn’t the type to play coy or to fish for compliments. He took another bite and chewed slowly. Certainly, she didn’t dress provocatively or call attention to herself in any way.

Was it possible she didn’t know how hot she was?

Her ex must have done a real number on her head.

Clint ground his teeth together. Jacky Boy was a dick, and based on earlier, he’d mind-fucked her but good. A shiver went down his spine at the memory of whipped-puppy Summer. He never wanted to see that again.

Maybe if she felt sexier, that would lead to more self-confidence? He liked the way she looked, even though she didn’t. Appearance—shallow as it was—was definitely his specialty. Bunny had suggested a makeover. Would that make Summer happier and give her more confidence?

Clint smiled to himself. He wanted…no…needed to do this for her. By the time he was done with Summer, Jack would be pulling out his hair trying to figure out why he’d let her get away. Revenge was so much more fun when done for someone else.

The doorbell rang.

“Would you mind getting that?” Summer stuck her head out of her bedroom doorway.

Clint glanced toward the closed door. What did that room look like? Did she have a huge brass bed layered with a thousand pillows, or was she a sleek, modern girl with just two? For her, he wanted pillows…mountains of them—fluffy ones, skinny ones, large ones, even those kind that didn’t do anything but sit there and look pretty. Silk sheets, velvet, and miles of lace—not too flowery—but ultra feminine and soft…lots of soft to lay her down on while he explored her lush body.

Three male voices laughed as Summer stepped out of her room. It sounded like Chuck and Stan had dropped by. She’d taken too long, she realized, as Clint was no longer at the bar, and she noted he’d taken all the dirty dishes to the sink. She wasn’t done eating, but he got points for neatness. Ever conscious of his positive boob comment, she’d rummaged around in her closet and come up with a tee shirt that was girl cut and tight across her chest. It wasn’t something she would have ever worn outside the house, but it really showed off Clint’s favorite items. It was gratifying to be admired for once.

She walked into the living room.

Chuck, Stan, and Clint all held Shiner beer bottles and sat on the sofa.

Stan waggled a pen at Clint. “Can I get your autograph?”

“Oh God, did he ask you to sign his balls?” Summer stopped in her tracks. “That came out wrong.”

Stan raised his eyebrows. “Nope, just my calendar. I haven’t gotten to the footballs. But I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind—”

She glared at Stan. “Stop exploiting my new friend.” She put a hand on Clint’s arm. “I swear I didn’t tell them you were coming over.”

She didn’t want him to think she’d used him. True, she had used him earlier, but those had been dire circumstances.

Chuck sipped his beer. “I was working in the yard and saw him drive up. You know Stan’s a huge fan. How could I not tell him?”

Clint took the calendar page and poised his pen to write.
To Stan—Yes, I’ll sign your balls. All the best, Clint Grayson.

Summer laughed. “That’s funny.”

And unexpected. He had homophobe written all over him. Mentally, she slapped herself. Judgmental much? Clint was all charm and ease with her best friends. Really at ease—no fidgeting.

She smiled at him.

Clint held her gaze and smiled back. His hand went to the small of her back and pulled her to him. It was something a boyfriend would do—an unconscious gesture of intimacy and possession.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Chuck sipping his beer.

Maybe Clint hadn’t completely overcome his fear and was a little nervous around people he didn’t know. That must be why his arm was around her. He was shy, and she was his wingman. Duh. She fit herself against him, reassuring him that she wasn’t going anywhere. His hold tightened.

“What, exactly, is your interest in our Summer?” Chuck eyed Clint’s arm resting on Summer’s waist.

He misunderstood. He actually thought Clint was interested in her—well, more than interested in her body. Since Chuck believed in looking to the future, he wouldn’t understand that she and Clint didn’t have one.

Clint sipped his beer. “I see you’re the one to talk to about Jack. Please tell me you beat the shit out of him.” He pointed to Chuck with his beer bottle. “You boys must want to string him up. I wanted to kill him, and I only spent five minutes with the son of a bitch.”

Chuck nodded. “I like you. Damn if I don’t. Summer needs a nice guy.”

If she’d slathered on napalm, her face couldn’t have been hotter. “Summer is standing right here, and she doesn’t need anyone.” Embarrassment made some women blush prettily, but Summer glowed in the dark.

Chuck picked at the yellow Shiner label on his bottle. “Stan and I wanted to use Jack as a hood ornament at last year’s demolition derby, but she wouldn’t let us. But I get to torment him at work—”

“Chuck’s a judge.” Stan was a neon sign blinking with pride.

“The burden of proof is on the prosecution.” Chuck said. “In my courtroom, Jack’s burden is a whole lot heavier.”

Clint clanked his beer bottle against Chuck’s. “You’re a good man.”

Summer sent Stan a pleading look.

Stan shook his head. “Like I’m going to break it up now? We haven’t gotten to the male bonding part. I’m hoping for some arm wrestling.” He grinned in anticipation.

Summer rolled her eyes so far back in her head she could see her childhood. “It’s official. Testosterone makes you stupid. I’m going to take my estrogen-ridden self over to the kitchen and do the dishes.” She made it halfway there and turned around. “Have you two eaten?”

Stan tilted his head back and sniffed the air like a lion scenting a gazelle. “That all depends. Is that incredible smell dinner?”

Chuck shook his head. “Nope, sorry, honey. We’ve got plans. Molly ordered pizza.” He grabbed his partner’s arm and pulled him to the door. “Grayson, you have my blessing.”

“Thanks.” Clint seemed genuinely happy about whatever that meant. “About that thing we discussed earlier—”

“Mum’s the word.” Stan touched the side of his nose like a spy in a cheesy film. “I’ll take care of everything, don’t you worry.”

What was that about?

Summer walked them to the door. Clint came up next to her, and his hand went to the small of her back again.

Chuck stepped outside, but Stan lingered. “FYI—Summer hasn’t had sex in a really long time—”

“Stanley!” Summer practically pushed him out the door. “With friends like you, who needs enemies?”

“I’m just saying that should the opportunity present itself, you need to jump.” Stan waved at Clint. “Make sure opportunity knocks.”

Summer slammed the door in Stan’s face and leaned against it. “I’m not sure there’s an apology big enough to cover what just happened.”

If there was an emotion stronger than mortification, she was it.

“They love you and want what’s best for you. Friends like that are hard to find.” Clint stuck his finger in the neckline of her tee shirt and used it to pull her to him. Not being one to let an opportunity pass him by, he also looked down her shirt. “Lace. I didn’t expect lace. But you’ve never been what I expected.”

“I’m sorry.” It was out before she could stop it. Living up to other people’s expectations had never been her strongest point, and no doubt, where women were concerned, he had pretty high expectations.