I had to work in a few hours. House-sitting wasn't my only job. But that wasn't the most important reason to decline whatever he was offering. "You have guests, remember?"
He shrugged. "They know the way out."
Seriously? What a jerk. Sure, I didn't care much for Brittney and what's-her-name, but his cavalier attitude was beyond offensive. So how did he envision this going?
I played out the scenario in my head, trying to see things the way he saw it. I'd invite him inside. Dinner or not, we'd do the nasty, and then he'd be treating me in the same dismissive way come morning. I made a scoffing sound. Who was I kidding? No way he'd stick around 'til morning. He'd run out the door the second we were done.
"Something funny?" he asked.
I shook my head. "I've gotta go."
He gave me a crooked smile. "So dinner's a 'no' then?"
"What dinner?"
"The steak, remember?"
Oh, yeah. The steak Chucky ate.
Still, I didn't get it. He had plenty of money and two gorgeous women waiting for him. But here he was, badgering me about dinner and who knows what else.
It was too ridiculous for words. Suddenly, I was very tired. I didn't have time for whatever game he was playing. My fantasies might be hollow, but they served their purpose.
"I don't have any steak," I said.
"Well, whatdoyou have?"
I glanced at the house. "Uh, peanut butter and jelly."
"Sounds great," he said.
At this, I couldn't help but laugh. "Seriously?"
"Why not?" he said.
"Sorry," I said, "but you can't come in. I'll just have to owe you."
"Then I'll just have to collect." He grinned. "Lucky for you, patience is my middle name."
Liar. His middle name was Anthony.
Oh crap. I knew his middle name, for God's sake. What was I? Some kind of crazy stalker-chick?
The Internet – it was a dangerous thing for a girl in my condition. And what condition was that, exactly? Frustrated? Bored with my real life? Oddly aroused by the thought of his perfect pecs and glorious abs? I licked my lips. It was definitely time for me to stop reading about him.
He turned sideways in the seat to face me. "So, uh, tomorrow morning work for you? Steak and eggs?"
I probably had eggs somewhere in the fridge, but I definitely didn't have steak. I mentally slapped myself. Why was I even thinking about this? Obviously, he wasn't serious. And obviously, I wasn't going to have some stranger over for breakfast tomorrow. Especially a stranger like him in a house that wasn't my own.
The guy did funny things to my mind, and even funnier things to parts of my body that had been sadly neglected lately. Some might call it a dry spell. I called it holding out for something meaningful.
"So Chucky," he said in a conversational tone. "How's it goin'?"
Chucky gave a yap and squirmed in my lap.
Oh crap. I never answered him, did I? What was his question again?Hadthere been a question? At this point, I had two choices: try to prove I wasn't an idiot or make a break for it. Since the odds of the first choice were unlikely, I opted for the second.
"I've gotta go," I said. How many times had I said that?
