Page 10 of Pickled
I followed him past the entryway and up the curved staircase. Just like the house next door, he had two double doors leading tohis bedroom. I opened them and headed straight to the en suite bathroom. “I think that you should put Calico Cat in here.”
He stood in the doorway, the kitten’s face buried in the crook of his elbow. “You know your way around pretty good.”
“It’s the same layout next door. I could navigate your entire top floor with my eyes closed.”
“But you have pink carpet.”
You.
I didn’t have pink carpet. I was paid to clean that carpet. Why didn’t I correct him? I guess I wasn’t ready for the adventure to be over. “What are these?” I ignored the carpet comment and strode around the king-sized bed to pick up one of the books on his nightstand. “Are you a Caroline Chapman fan?”
His cheeks flushed. Caroline Chapman wrote cheesy mysteries that were lighthearted and always had a happy ending. They were a fun read but not what I would’ve expected to find on an NHL player’s nightstand. “Someone gave that one to me,” he grumbled and took the book from my hand.
“This one too?” I picked up the next novel in the stack and flipped it over to read the description on the back. “Is this an Agatha Christie retelling? The one with the people on the island?”
Gideon shrugged. “I don’t know, I haven’t gotten to it yet. I’m still on Chapman’s Loreena Lamb series.”
I’d never in a million years have pictured a guy like Gideon curling up with Loreena Lamb. “I’ve read a few of those. The last one was Tango Bay.”
He held up his hand. “Wait. Don’t tell me what happens—it’s next in the series.”
“I thought someone just gave you that book. Do youactually likeCaroline Chapman’s books?” I threw in a teasing tone.
He took the book from me. “Alright. I don’tlikeChaman’s books.” A hint of pink flushed his tanned cheeks as he shrugged. “Ilovethem.”
The man had turned from cocky jock to adorable book nerd, and holy shit, I was turned on. And not just a little. Heat thrummed between my legs as I watched him straighten the stack of books next to his bed.
“What do you like about them?” I’d read a few Chapman books over the years, but as a single mom, I didn’t have enough hours in the day to keep up with the Loreena Lamb series.
Gideon sat on the edge of the bed, the cat still in his arms. “They feel like apple crisp. I know that sounds stupid, but that was my favorite dessert growing up. When I read the books, it reminds of the feeling I got when I ate it. They’re lighthearted, not too serious, and I usually can’t figure out who did it until at least halfway through.”
I sat next to him, close enough that I could hear the cat’s muffled purrs. Describing a book as a food was a new one for me, but it totally made sense. “What in the world do you need to escape from?” He was a rich NHL hockey player. He had won at life.
He paused. I had definitely overstepped. Clearing his throat, he ran his hand through his dark, wavy hair. “What do you read?”
Thankful for the out, I thought back to the last book I’d read. “I like those books that are set in Nantucket. I can’t think of the author, but her covers are always blue.”
“Hilderbrand.” He smiled as he stroked the cat’s head. “And what do you like about them?” He lobbed my question back to me.
“Hmmm.” I tapped my lips with my finger. That wasn’t a question I’d ever been asked before. “I’m not sure. It’s a window into the world of the kind of people who take the summer off to live in Nantucket.” Had I just given myself away? Before he could delve any deeper, I stood. “We should get the litter box set up before mister kitty pees all over you.”
His eyes widened. “I’m surprised he hasn’t yet.” Gideon went to stand, but I rested my hand on his shoulder, gently urging him down. “Don’t disrupt the little guy. He’s had a rough day. Let me do it for you.” Before he could protest, I went into the bathroom and poured the litter into the box. I put the crate with the blanket next to Gideon’s bed.
The alarm went off on my watch. “Shit.” I silenced it. I’d completely lost track of time. “I’ve got to go.” I brushed my hands together and pointed to his bed, a California king with crisp white sheets and a smooth white duvet. “One hundred bucks says that cat sleeps in your bed tonight.”
“Never.” He went into the bathroom and set the cat on the floor. The smart little feline immediately went to the litter box and used it. “Thank God. I was not looking forward to potty training this cat.” The kitten did a couple of cute hops and then started exploring the bathroom.
“I have the feeling that cat is going to be just fine.”At home here, I thought but didn’t say it.
“Thank you, Piper.”
“For what? I basically forced you to adopt a cat.”
“For helping me. I couldn’t have done this without you.” His gaze met mine.
The sentiment was nice, but he totally could have done it without me. The sweet compliment, however, had woken a part of me that had been dormant for years. I’d forgotten what it was like to be appreciated and to have a libido. The unfamiliar urge between my legs reminded me of how long it had been.
The whole afternoon, we’d stood just a little too close to each other. Now, we were standing a little too close to each other—in his bedroom. His breath mingled with mine, and we shifted, our bodies facing one another. One step was all it would’ve taken to bridge the gap between us. Twelve inches were all that separated his body from mine. It was tense as hell. “You could’ve done this on your own.” My voice cracked, and I broke free from his gaze to stare at the white carpet.
