Page 53 of Lemon Crush

He might have been more disappointed than I was at the way things had turned out.

I pulled out a skirt and scoffed. “I can’t tell you what isn’t true, Chick. We shared a bed and nothing happened.”

“Is the man made of stone? Only-one-bed is supposed to be the magical icebreaker.”

“My thoughts exactly,” I told him wryly. Still in my bra and underwear, I took my phone into the bathroom so I could tame my curls with product and confine them in their usual ponytail.

“This is unacceptable. I told you all about my recent gymnastics, in graphic detail, and all I get from you is a G-rated sleepover? Why didn’t you jump his bones when you had the chance? I thought that was the reason you accepted hisapplication.”

I stopped with my hair gathered in my hands. “Why did you emphasize that? I accepted a real application, not his penis. He’s paying me rent, remember? The stuff I need to fix the house so we can be roommates again? He’s also helping me with said fixing, like I told you.”

“Asking for a quid-pro-quo job instead of a blow job, I know,” he quipped. “Keeping someone’s books is not sexy, but if you’re happy, I’m thrilled for you. As long as it doesn’t distract you from what you’ve been sending me. It’s really good stuff, August. I’ve been reading a few spicy romcoms to compare and contrast, and I have to tell you, I think you’ve got something here. You don’t need to be piling anything else on your plate.”

“It’ll only take a few hours, a few days a week. I can spare the time. More importantly, you’ve been reading romance?”

“I had to do something to calm myself during our communication blackout. So, I read. And I worried. I also might have made a plane reservation. By the way, be ready in two weeks.”

I’d only applied a light coat of lip gloss and some waterproof mascara—because at this point in my life, good concealer that wouldn’t melt in the heat felt like too big of a monetary investment in a lie—when his words finally sank in. “What happens in two weeks?”

“I’m coming for a visit. We’ll call it a roommate dry run. You said the adjuster was rushing your check and you’ve already called your sister’s friend, so your roof should be repaired by then.”

I stared at my shocked reflection. “No way.”

“Youdon’t think the roof will be done by then?”

“I thought the plan was me flying to you in five or six months. Because of that oceanfront paradise in La Jolla that’s a three-minute drive from a trillion different clubs and restaurants you want me to share with you.”

“I’m still hoping that will happen.”

Only hoping? “You’ve never come here before, Chick. Why now?”

He didn’t like the humidity or the politics any more than I did. The one time he’d been willing to brave it and show up for me, he’d been rushed to the hospital for a ruptured appendix days before his flight. He still hadn’t forgiven himself for missing the celebration. Or me for not coming to see him since.

“I feel like I’m missing all the excitement,” he confessed quietly. “You’re taking these huge steps forward into the land of the living. Entering a race. Writing a sexy-as-hell book. Finishing your contract. Renting the apartment and finally breaking a piece off of that sweet—well, I’m still hopeful on that score. All this and I’m too far away to enjoy it. So, I’ve decided to join you and your racing team. I might even write about it.”

“You want to write about— You want to join the team? I’m not sure they’re lettingmejoin them yet. And are you forgetting that you don’t drive?” He’d never had a license.

“I can cheer from the sidelines. I want to do this.”

“The race is still a few months away. That’s a long visit, Chick.”

“Hopefully long enough.”

Aha! I knew there was another reason. “The wrestler?”

“I don’t want to talk about it yet. I only wanted to tell you I was coming. Surprise! Now I can help you with your curb appeal. Though I warn you, if my problem isn’t resolved by the time you’re ready to leave, I’m going to pull the trigger on the writer’s retreat in Nebraska I’ve been dreaming of and take you with me. It’s still available.”

“You’re really coming?” I tried to keep the excitement out of my voice as I dressed. I didn’t want to guilt him into it in case he came to his senses, but there were no words to describe how much I’d missed him.

“Writing challenges and margaritas are precisely what the doctor ordered. It’ll be like old times.”

My mood was lifting with every word out of his mouth. “You lost me at challenges but won me back with margaritas.”

“Margaritas for the win. Oh, and don’t buy any guest room furniture until I get there. I have ideas and I was thinking about wall paint as well. How do you feel about sage?” He hesitated, then, “Shit, I’ve got to take this call, August.”

“Are you sure you’re okay, Chick?” I was getting a few warning tingles of my own.

“Don’t worry about me. After this, I’ll start shopping for my upcoming trip and asking myself some important life questions. Take boots, for instance: what’s the difference between a roper and a shit kicker, and do I need both of them? I think the answer to the last one is yes.”

---