Page 50 of Lemon Crush

“He has hurricane rounds?” I asked, slightly mystified.

Wade was half a pool away from me now, avoiding eye contact and looking tense. “What? Uh…yeah. He was part of a city emergency unit when he lived in Louisiana. Now he freelances around his tech support job. His garage is full of radios, batteries and air conditioning units ready to go at a moment’s notice. If someone’s in danger, Rick will usually come along, but other than that, Lucy says he can handle ‘his people’ himself.”

“I guess it’s a good thing you’re staying here then.”

He stopped halfway up the stairs and looked back over his shoulder to stare at me. “He came to check onyou, Gus. He would have, whether I was here or not.”

If you say so.

When I stepped out of the pool and he tossed me a towel, his expression was definitely aggravated. There was no time to ask him why because Lucy was striding by again.

“Radioed Rick and gave him the skinny about that fat tree. He’ll be over to see us in the morning.”

To seeus?

I moved to follow up, but Wade stopped me before I took twosteps. “We need to talk about that,” he said, tipping his head at the pool.

“Do we though?” I went for sophisticated and casual but my heart was pounding painfully. “I’d rather discuss why Lucy has a sleeping bag over his shoulder, and why he’s taking it and the generator to the apartment instead of my house.”

Wade studied my lips until I licked them nervously. “Our conversation isn’t over.”

I hoped not, but I wasn’t going to hold him to it. He might have implied he’d kept his distance because he wanted me, but in the light of day and outside of the honesty pool, he’d probably remember all the reasons he’d thought it was a good idea in the first place.

And I’d be right back where I started. Wanting someone I couldn’t have.

11

AUGUST

Weirdest slumber party ever.

Picture three large dogs and three not-insubstantial humans huddled in an itty-bitty apartment, playing poker while a hurricane raged outside. (To clarify, the humans played poker; the dogs were thankfully exhausted from all the excitement and their residual gummy high.)

Lucy insisted on setting up camp there because it was easier to cool a smaller space, especially one with no holes in the roof. So we sat on the living room floor all evening, playing cards around the bulky rattan table, eating chips and trail mix, and enjoying the cool air from the AC unit while the little generator-on-wheels hummed outside, protected from the wind and rain by its own special tent.

It should have been difficult to see Wade’s things scattered around my mother’s apartment. It should have been uncomfortable to sit beside him all night, after everything we’d said and done in the pool.

The reason it wasn’t? My new hero, Lucy Babineaux, whonever stopped talking long enough for me to get lost in my own head.

He shared embarrassing boot camp stories. He discussed the lengths he’d gone to in wooing his wife, including a very unfortunate flash mob of men in suits of armor in the middle of the French Quarter, which I didn’t believe until he showed me the video he’d saved to his phone. The way he described the over-the-top and often obscure themes Gene had chosen for each Lemons race through the years, along with his insistence on full costumes and scripts, had me laughing so hard my stomach muscles hurt. The man simply hadn’t stopped talking. Forhours.

And then he fell asleep.

It was the oddest thing—he’d wrapped up yet another humorous anecdote, gotten up from the floor with a few loud pops and groans, laid his sleeping bag on the couch and passed out beside a very confused-looking Merlin.

He was snoring less than ten seconds later, leaving Wade and me alone without a buffer.

Of course Wade chose that moment to start an argument.

“You take the bed,” he whispered, immediately getting to his feet and holding out a hand to help me up. “I’ll sleep on the rug out here.”

“It’s your bed according to the lease,” I whispered back, trying to subtly slap the thigh that had gone numb from hours on the floor. “I’llsleep out here.”

“You own the bed, and I’m a gentleman.”

“You’re an older gentleman and you might throw your back out.”

Wade sent me a disgruntled look. “You could have gone all night without saying that.”

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