world completely unknown to him, and it was making him panicky.
Turned out that knowing he was going to have to stop playing ball soon and
Grabbing his guitar, Peter went to the table and pulled out a chair. For the next hour or so he lost himself in his music, able to strum the instrument gently enough that his shoulder didn’t object too terribly. And it helped. It helped a whole lot to find his center in something that he loved.
But he was still feeling moody when the phone rang at just past eight in the morning. Pinning the Gibson to him with his bum arm, Peter reached across the table and snagged his cell. “Hello?” he asked, wondering who could be calling him so early.
It was the doctor’s office needing some more information for his upcoming surgery. Putting on his polite hat, he gave the nurse the requested information and asked a few questions about recovery time. Once he was reassured that it was only a few days and then he would feel back to normal, he was just about to hang up when Leslie came into the room.
She was rubbing her eyes and yawning like a sorority girl after her first frat-house party. Kind of looked like one, too, with her lopsided, messy ponytail and oversized sweatshirt. Except for the bangin’ curves. That was all woman.
“Thanks, Joan,” he said into the phone. “I’ll swing by sometime this morning and get those forms signed.” With that he hung up and took another good long look at Leslie.
“What’s going on, Peter? I heard you talking about a surgery. Is your shoulder going to need it after all?” She had her head in a cupboard looking for coffee.
He hoped like hell not. The doc hadn’t even wanted him to wear a sling. “Nope. Something else entirely. The shoulder’s going to be right in no time.” Maybe if he said that out loud enough it would come true. “I’ll be back in action for the World Series, don’t you worry.”
She leaned out from behind the cupboard to smile at him, and surprise overtook her gorgeous face. “You wear glasses.”
He scrunched his nose and made a funny face, feeling a little embarrassed. She was the first to see him in them. “You got me.”
Her smile cranked up a few degrees and went flirty. “Very nice.”
Yeah? Huh. Maybe he’d keep them.
Leslie pulled out a bag of fair trade, whole bean Columbian and went about making her preferred morning drink. “How are you feeling this morning?”
“Fine.” Not so much, really.
She slid him a look as she measured out water. “You were pretty loopy last night. Do you remember anything?”
His gaze locked with hers. Yeah, he remembered. He remembered every damn thing. Especially what he’d said to her and, he blamed it all on the Vicodin. It was the only explanation for why he’d say something so stupid.
But he wasn’t going to let her know that he knew. Way too embarrassing.
He stared at her levelly. “Nope. Not a thing.”
LESLIE HIT THE brew button on the coffee maker and glanced outside at the snow-covered backyard, soaking up the peaceful sight. She wasn’t sure if she believed Peter or not. The unflinching way he was staring at her was misleading because she knew that he could play his cards really close to his chest. When he wanted to, he could make his eyes so cool and remote that it was jarring. Like he was this detached observer always watching. Whatever he actually felt was anyone’s guess.
Still, she really wanted to know if he remembered what he’d said to her last night. Those words had kept her up tossing and turning far longer than she wanted to admit. “Really? You don’t remember the selkie, the kissing?”
Something flickered in his guarded eyes, and she could tell by the way he shifted and began picking at his guitar that he did in fact remember something. “I recall something like that. But I’m lousy on pain meds, girl. My memory is fuzzy.”
She cocked her head and studied him, noticing the strain on his lean and rugged face. His complexion was pale, too, and every once in a while he flinched when he moved his bad arm too much picking the strings.
“Are you on any now?” If he wasn’t he should be.
“I’ve taken ibuprofen.” His head was down and he was picking out a tune, humming along occasionally.
That’s right. She’d forgotten his aversion to prescription meds. He never took more than was absolutely necessary. Which meant that he had been in some serious pain last night. Maybe he really didn’t remember much of anything.
Leslie poured a cup of Columbia’s fresh-brewed finest and added some organic half-and-half she’d found last week in the fridge. Though she very much appreciated the high-quality food he kept stocked in his kitchen, now she looked at it all a little differently, knowing how he’d grown up. It was no doubt compensation for the time he’d spent as a kid going hungry.
“Do you keep all this fancy food around because you didn’t have much when you grew up?”
Peter turned his head slightly to look at her and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth at the sight of his amazing eyes framed by those black glasses. The man was so effortlessly sexy. It would be annoying if she didn’t enjoy the view so much.
“I guess I never really thought about it, but yeah. You could say that, I suppose. I spent more than a few nights eating only a slice of cheap white bread because Pop had pissed all our money away on booze.”
Because her heart was aching for the little boy with a crap-ass upbringing, she made a funny. “I’ve always thought your growth was stunted.”
Humor sparked in his blue eyes and he let out a low laugh. “Not where it counts, princess.”
She couldn’t resist. “And where is that, Peter?”
He stopped strumming and pinned her with a look that went hot and a little hazy. “If you weren’t so hell- bent on winning this bet you could come over here right now and find out.” A slow, wicked smile upturned his incredible lips. “In fact, you could just come over here and find out, period.”
It was tempting. Really, really tempting after last night. The way he’d made her feel without even trying still had her reeling. And the things he’d said . . .
She replied flippantly, “Or, you could simply agree to play at the club and we could forget this silly bet altogether.”
The sun had made its final ascent into the sky, or at least Leslie assumed it had as she admired the view outside. Snow was still coming down steadily and the sky was heavy and overcast. She couldn’t actually see the sun.
Turning back to Peter, she caught him staring at her with hard, unreadable eyes. “I don’t play in public, Leslie.”
“Then why did you even agree to the bet in the first place?” she asked, instantly frustrated and crossed her arms, still holding the coffee mug.
He went back to strumming his guitar, dismissing her, and it got her back up. “I knew I wouldn’t lose.”
Oh he did, did he? That capped it, now she was officially angry. He thought she was just that easy? “Wrong, Kowalskin. You’re going to be performing, guaranteed.”
A sound that was suspiciously like a snort of amusement came from him and she bit her tongue to keep from saying something mean that she’d regret later. “I don’t think so.”
A hard ball of mad formed in the pit of her stomach. She ignored the tiny skittering fear that said he might be right. “What the hell is your problem with playing guitar in public anyway?” she burst out, exasperated. Not liking to play in public was the same bullshit excuse he’d been telling her for two years and she was tired of it.
She wanted the real truth.
He stopped playing abruptly and hissed painfully when he jarred his shoulder. The glare he shot her was withering. “It’s none of your goddamn business.”
