Read Accounting for Cole (Natural Beauty) for Free Online Page B

one else should, either.
    We got our sandwiches at the bar—Cole got half a cow on rye, and I got a BLTA on whole wheat—and made our way out to the pool. We ate in near-darkness, discarded the evidence of our meal in a nearby trashcan, and sat on the edge of the deep end, plunging our feet into the bathtub-warm water.
    I’d stuffed my hose into my shoes and felt suddenly very free…and very guilty about my legs’ nakedness. My mother had taught me that only floozies wore skirts without hose. Yes—the same woman who set up play dates for me, Gretchen, and Beth who even then were on the fast-track to Bad Examples.
    My mother is a very confusing woman.
    From our low vantage point, we could see folks at the party walking around, and hear pretty much everything, but they couldn’t identify us since the lights around the pool were turned off. Cole pulled his feet up and sat criss-cross-applesauce at the pool edge.
    When I looked over at him, he was wearing a coy grin.
    “What?” I stirred my legs in the water.
    “I’m surprised you’re not peppering me with questions.”
    “Why, because we women can’t control our tongues?”
    “No.” He leaned back on his palms and rolled his shoulders. “When most people find out what I do for a living, they want to know all the sordid details. I kind of wish you’d ask so we can get it out of the way.”
    “Why?”
    “So I can ask you some questions.”
    “Oh.” I stared at the bubbles formed by the pool pump that clung to my now-still legs. “You can ask me whatever you want. It doesn’t have to be quid pro quo.”
    “Really? Okay.” He did that clucking thing with his tongue again, and I feared perhaps giving him carte blanche to ask me personal questions was a bad idea. I wasn’t interesting—a lily that couldn’t be gilded, because I was really more of a dandelion to start with.
    “What would you be doing tonight if you weren’t here?” he asked.
    “Nothing spectacular. Probably scan the cable channel listings for some reruns I’ve already seen ten times since the first Bush administration and curl up with my favorite pillow.”
    “You’re a wild woman, Miss Macy. You live on the edge, huh?”
    “Yeah, it’s a dull edge and if I were to fall over it, I’d only drop three feet.”
    That laugh again. There was a masculine sensuality about it that sent a charge rippling down my spine and settling in a place lower down. I took a deep breath and swished pool water once more.
    “You make it sound like there’s something wrong with being a homebody.”
    “Naturally, I don’t think so, but your mileage may vary. I bet you’re out nearly every night when you’re not working.”
    I looked up, and he shook his head. “Nope.”
    “Really?”
    “You really think I begged off from those after-party shenanigans so I could go party elsewhere ?” he asked.
    It was a reasonable question. “So, what do you do?”
    “Not what you’re imagining, probably.” He reached over and ran the pad of his thumb across my forehead, moving my hair from my eyes yet again. “That’s better,” he cooed.
    I offered him a shaky grin. When he touched me like that, and smiled the way he did, I couldn’t tell if he saw me as some pathetic woman that needed caring for, or if he actually liked me. The line shouldn’t have been so blurry, right?
    “Nights like tonight, I can usually be found catching up on sleep. When I have a whole day off, and if I have our schedule far enough in advance, sometimes I sign up to run 5K, 10K, and half marathons in whatever city we’re performing in. When I’m in central North Carolina, I spend most nights with my son.”
    As he should. “What aren’t you with him tonight?”
    “He’s a cellist.” His voice softened, and I could see the pride in his expression. “He’s a damn good cellist, actually. Makes me feel like this gig has been worth it, though I do wish I could see him perform more often. If you could be there, Macy, you’d