Page 28 of Putting Out
7
“You call this shopping?” Erica looked into the window of the tiny storefront, which had the audacity to claim the word “boutique” in its name.
“What? It’s Midwest fashion at its best,” Reilly told her, as she eyed the simple cotton dress.
It was very pretty. Soft and loose, it would make a great summer outfit. It wasn’t Bloomingdale’s, but no one really cared to look like Bloomingdale’s in Little Creek.
“It’s lame.”
Reilly tried keep her smile in place. Erica was born and raised in Long Island, New York, the only daughter of very wealthy parents. For every trophy she brought home, she was promised a no-limit shopping trip to Manhattan. At thirteen, she’d pushed the bounds of no-limit so far, her parents had been forced to rein her in at twenty-five thousand dollars per spree.
Reilly laughed when she made jokes of how much she could spend and she never labeled Erica as a snob. However, her reaction to small-town America wasn’t like some who came from the big city to visit. She wasn’t finding Kenny’s hometown quaint or charming. Rather, she found it pathetic, and somewhere in Reilly’s sentimental heart that hurt.
“Yeah… well, I’ve always thought Tiffany’s was lame.”
Erica smirked. “Hey, come on. I’m not trying to be mean… I just can’t help it.”
Reilly decided to keep it light, and smiled. “That’s because you’re a bitch.”
“That’s my word. Where are the boys, anyway?”
Reilly looked across the street at the one hardware store and saw Kenny and Luke emerge. They had refused to go into the boutique on the grounds it was a girl store and had opted instead for the manly store. Ironic, too, because Luke knew more about fashion than he did about hardware.
Together they jogged across the street avoiding the two cars that made up the traffic, and triumphantly showed a bag in each hand.
“What did you buy?” Erica asked.
Kenny stuck his hand in the small brown bag and pulled out a rubber washer. Luke pulled out a bigger one.
“You’ve always got to one-up me, man,” Kenny complained.
“Sorry.”
Erica shook her head. “What are those for?”
Kenny and Luke looked at each other and shrugged.
“We don’t know,” Kenny answered. “But a man walks into a hardware store, he ought to buy something.”
“They’re washers, you idiots. They’re for leaky faucets and things that turn like this.”
Reilly made a motion with her hand. She could see the wheels turning in their respective heads trying to fit the rubber pieces in their hand to where it might go in a leaky faucet.
“You’re both such losers.”
“Losers with washers. All the difference in the world.”
Luke reached out to grab at her nose and this time Reilly drew back, not letting him get close. For reasons unbeknownst to her she had woken up exceptionally angry with him. It was a good bet the anger w as a result of being unceremoniously tossed out of his room last night, and that made her angrier.
It’s not like they had a relationship. She knew that. She’d never wanted one. A relationship between them would be too much like…a relationship. Complex, intense, and scary. At least she thought that they had an understanding.
Only now there was some other woman in his life while the ink on his divorce papers was still drying. Geez, he moved fast. Although she was sure there was always a queue of women waiting for him to be single. The two men turned and walked in front of them while she and Erica strolled behind.
Reilly noted Luke was shorter than Kenny but still had two inches on her, which made him tall. Where Kenny was lanky, Luke was more compact. Maybe ten years from now that compactness would turn into a paunch in the front of his gut, but for now it was all still firm.
Dark brown hair, brown eyes, there was nothing unique about him there. His brown eyes were more caramel-colored than brown and could be interesting to look into every once in a while. Despite his looks, though, he was arrogant, competitive – bigger washer case in point – and his easygoing manner could be frustrating when she wanted him to be serious. Or worse, when she wanted him to be easy and sexy and he got all serious on her.
In bed she’d never met his equal. The way he could make her body hum was special. Was it like that for every woman he was with? Did he know how to touch them all in just the right way, to take them with the perfect amount of urgency when heat and speed were called for?
