Page 21 of Home Town

When he glanced up he saw a renewed, hotter than usual hatred in the glare she sent him from between narrowed eyes.

He frowned. What had he done now? Whatever it was, she didn’t like it.

In what he hoped would be a calming voice, he said, “All righty. So how about we go inside and take a look?”

He didn’t wait for her reply, just turned toward the back door of her house.

The sound of her footsteps as she scurried to catch up with his longer stride heralded her pulling ahead of him as they both headed toward the house.

She paused only long enough to glance back and shoot him another annoyed-looking glare.

Maybe he deserved that one. He had been staring at her ass as she trotted past him.

Of course he had been. What man wouldn’t? It was unavoidable as her butt cheeks moved temptingly beneath the tight stretchy pants she wore with a cropped T-shirt.

He’d had his hands on that perfect heart-shaped ass once upon a time. Back during those couple of weeks that summer when his world was so upside down he didn’t remember much of anything about it.

But now, home again and face-to-face with Josie—or rather face-to-ass right now—he remembered those stolen moments he’d spent with her. Away from his newly widowed mother. Away from the grief. Away from his own guilt and self-hatred.

He pushed all the bad feelings aside again as they crept upon him along with the good memories of having lost himself inside Josie’s body back then. Things weren’t like they had been. Mom was okay now. Thriving, even—as long as she didn’t fall off the counter. And judging by Josie’s demeanor, a repeat of that summer was not on the table so there was no use thinking about it.

She’d been plenty into him then, but now she was most definitely not. Or maybe she was off men and sex altogether. Who knew? Certainly not him.

He’d barely known her back then given she was younger than he was. Two grades difference in school had felt huge. Freshmen and Juniors didn’t mingle. And even though he played hockey with Quinn, Josie didn’t run in the same circles as her brother or as Corey.

And he hadn’t been around enough these past ten years to know anything about this Josie. The grown-up version who served on committees and drank tea with his mom’s old lady friends.

He had to wrestle his mind off the memories and his own thoughts as she disappeared through the back door and sprinted up the stairs, making him have to hurry a bit himself to catch up.

The moment he saw the kitchen, he felt an undeniable sense of familiarity. He hadn’t been inside it in years, and even then it had only been maybe a dozen times, but it still felt the same.

Reminders of his youth—and the Baldwin siblings—were everywhere.

A framed certificate with Josie’s name on it for some honor society thing hung next to a picture of his and Quinn’s official hockey team photo, all these years later. As if Quinn was about to walk through the door and dump his gear bag on the floor.

As Josie stormed on ahead, Corey didn’t have time to look closer but he knew he was there in that photo. Back row. Far right.

Funny how some memories were so clear—even the seemingly insignificant ones—while other far more important ones faded.

The Baldwin house always had a feeling of warmth. Cozy. Even now with Mr. and Mrs. Baldwin away.

Not that his own upbringing had been bad. His family just wasn’t like the Baldwins.

Here, friends would drop in. Stay for dinner or to watch a game on TV. The invite was always there. The door always open.

Corey had even accepted once or twice, while he and Quinn had been playing in the league. Teammates. Hockey buddies. Not friends but it was enough. Corey was more loner than not back then anyway.

The Navy had kind of cured that impulse—that need to have his own space. To be alone. Thank God he’d changed, or it would have been unbearable living on an aircraft carrier for the past five months.

Last time he’d been inside this room Quinn’s mother had been baking them frozen pizza rolls in the toaster oven that used to be—make that still was—on the kitchen counter. And if he wasn’t mistaken that might be the same Mr. Coffee machine next to it.

The Baldwin kitchen was vintage. Old school. He liked it. There’d been too much change in his life lately for him not to value and appreciate the things that remained the same.

“They went in through the pipe hole under the kitchen sink,” Josie explained as he stood in the kitchen, lost in his memories.

Her comment brought him back to the present, to where Josie knelt on hands and knees on the kitchen floor and stared up at him.

Her current position put too many ideas into his head. Which was especially bad since he’d changed into PT shorts to get ready for a run. They wouldn’t hide anything. Definitely not the hard-on that would make a very untimely appearance if he didn’t wrestle his libido into check.

---