Page 15 of Secondhand Secrets

Another memory washed him over, just days after he’d arrived in Boston, when his father prodded at his skinny, fourteen-year-old biceps. You’ll have to work on these. That brain of yours is an asset, Son, but it’s not enough.

A week hadn’t passed before he’d been enrolled into every local sporting team his schedule would allow. Smarts weren’t enough. He wasn’t enough.

She took the vase from his hand and proceeded to trace a thumb over the etched-in, geometric details. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll introduce you to Gerry next time we’re at Maynard’s. He married Darleen Hayes fresh outta high school, and they have three kids together with another one on the way. You wouldn’t know it though, not with all the time he spends hiding at the bar, chasing any new female unfortunate enough to catch his notice.”

Chip kept a straight face but raised a brow of mild interest, even though he wanted to laugh at the recap on his unofficial high school rival. “So, Gerry found his niche?”

“And he quit being a pretty boy in favor of questionable personal hygiene. But of course, he still thinks he’s all that and more.” She shrugged before reaching out and patting his bicep, the heat of her hand warming his skin. “So, let’s just say, you win, Chip.”

Her stare held him, and he could have sworn his heart skipped at her apparent awareness of his insecurities. “Is that your way of saying you’ve developed a preference for geeky smiles?”

She took her hand back, her laugh turning tight as she rolled her eyes. “These days, I prefer nothing over nothing. I’m good being single, thanks.”

He waited, but her gaze didn’t meet his. “Sounds like you’ve been through some things.”

Her eyelashes fluttered through a quick, stunned pause, only for her to flick hair from her eyes in a seemingly self-fortifying move. “Nothing major. In fact, I have a lot to look forward to. Seems you do too.”

But the husky dip in her voice once again contradicted, as did her sudden flurry of steps toward her bed, where she sat on the edge and patted the spot next to her for him to sit also.

The muscles over his face tensed, and the rest of him failed to move. He took a moment to gather his bearings and play casual about joining her. On her bed.

“So, want to tell me what your family’s planning down there?” His heartbeat drummed loud in his ears, even as he leaned back and propped his hands into the white faux fur blanket behind him.

Despite all stereotypes about geeks, he’d learned to hide his eccentricities well enough to be with other women and even turned down a few over the years.

He also never really got nervous about being around any of them, his take on physical intimacy being that it was little more than an act to satisfy biological urges. Fun? Sure. Still, nowhere near the magical experience so many of his fiction books described.

Only Ally hinted at rebutting this theory. And they’d never engaged in anything more than a plutonic touch.

We just have history, that’s all.

The red vase still in her hand, she lowered it onto her lap and lifted her face to him, her sudden bright expression akin to a cheerful cloudless day. “I’m about as clueless as you are about what my parents have planned, but we’re in my house, and they are my parents, so I have more reason to worry here. I’m just hoping they don’t pull out an album of embarrassing childhood photos.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He refocused on her makeup table again, a piece of furniture not there years ago. “Your folks don’t do things by halves. At least give them the credit of having multiple big albums of embarrassing childhood photos. Hey, what’s that?”

He pointed at a matching chair tucked under the table and squinted at some garment draped over the top, distinguishing the details of filmy lace and midnight blue shiny satin, his teeth clamping down on his inner cheeks the moment he discerned what he looked at.

Ally’s gaze hit the same spot, and she drew in a quick gasp. “You’re not allowed to check out my underwear.”

She grabbed his face and wrenched it toward her, only for him to jokingly fight back, even though he preferred the view of her wide blue eyes over any inanimate set of underthings.

Either way, he ticked one corner of his lip upward in a disappointed gesture. “I would have figured you more a sensible tank top and cotton panties type.”

Her face stilled before a distinctive and alluring deep blush bloomed up her neck and into her cheeks.

“Chiiip?” She dragged his name down to a low warning. “Why are you even figuring anything about my choice of underwear?”

He gave an easy shrug, although the heat trekking through his body likely had him mirroring the rosiness of her face. “I didn’t until I was confronted with your stray wardrobe. You may want to tidy up occasion—”

“Do you want me to boot you from this room?” Her deliberate stare dared him to let loose with another joke, but the dry scratchiness in his throat kept him from doing that. Meanwhile, his smile fell at her hands still touching him.

He liked a joke as much as the next guy, but he liked this more. The delicate banter. The sudden shifts and uncertainty. Time alone with her.

So, he held her stare and shook his head, offering a rough, “No.”

Her gaze danced about his face, as though she too could feel her blood coursing at the constant push and pull between who they’d once been to each other and whatever seemed to linger now. “Chip?”

Her gaze dropped to his lips, and his heart damn-near burst. She offered a clue on where her thoughts went, but he had no words. All he had was the slight lean of his torso toward her and raw hope.

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