with the fraternity.
“I could show you my merit badges,” he said at her doubtful look.
“I bet you could.” What did they give merit badges out for ? She was certain he’d excelled in totally different areas of achievement and socialization than had the rest of his troop. And despite his aversion to suits and ties, she could imagine him in the little green shorts uniform, politely helping an old lady across the street and shamelessly flirting with her all the way.
Tabitha bet he had nice legs too, to go with the rest of that hard body she’d been secretly ogling since he’d arrived.
“What about you?”
“Me?” She raised a brow.
“I can see you in a little Brownie’s uniform selling cookies door to door.”
The double entendre didn’t escape her—she knew he’d meant it not to—his smile slow and seductive as he sat back in his seat waiting for her response.
“I was entirely too busy with more important activities to indulge in that particular whimsy.” Too busy surviving, she thought.
Tabitha had never had to sell cookies door to door, but she’d had to barter, borrow and steal for a meal more times than she liked to count.
She especially remembered a period when her mother had neglected to come home for several days after Tabitha’s father had left them. Everyday for a week she had come home to an empty house, and an even emptier refrigerator before going out to the neighbors to play “Whimpy from Popeye” with promises that her mother would gladly pay them Tuesday for a meal today.
No, hawking hundreds of boxes of overpriced cookies for top-selling honors and a cheesy overrated prize had not been high on her list of eight-year-old priorities.
21
Gracie C. McKeever
“So, back to least favorite colors and materials?”
“I’m not too fond of orange and pink, unless they’re on a woman. As for materials, I like anything that’s washable.”
She wanted to ask him if that jacket he was wearing was washable since it looked like it had been through the ringer. Distressed leather had been a trend back in the 90’s, which looked to be about when he had bought the jacket. Of course, leather and blazers were pretty timeless…
“Before you ask, yes, it is.”
“I’m sorry? Yes, what is?”
“The jacket’s washable.”
Her jaw dropped but she quickly coughed into a fist to cover her shock. “What are you, a mind reader?” she asked and watched as he fidgeted in his seat, for the first time since he’d come into her office looking uneasy, as if she had hit a nerve.
“I read facial expressions and body language, remember?”
Tabitha recalled a couple of articles and his observations about what certain expressions meant, wondered if she had used the one that had given her away in the seconds between his washable comment to his confirming that his jacket was.
She took out her BlackBerry and pulled up her schedule. “How about we set up an appointment for me to visit your closet?” The quicker she got this man out of her office the better. He was entirely too unsettling, especially that way he had of seeming as if he were crawling around in her head, siphoning her thoughts.
Not to mention her totally out of character physical reaction to him—like she’d been sleepwalking through a non-existent sex life and her hormones had only jolted to wakefulness when he walked in the door twenty minutes ago.
“You’re done with me?” he asked.
Not nearly. “For now.”
22
Beneath the Surface
Chapter 3
She’d shot his concentration to hell and thrown him into instant writer’s block. EJ
knew it was infantile to take such a defeatist stand. Normally he didn’t put any credence into or own writer’s block. He personally thought the syndrome an all-purpose excuse for unproductiveness, laziness or procrastination—the first and second of which he almost never laid claim, the third…well, he was still working on that—laying the blame squarely where it belonged: with
“I could show you my merit badges,” he said at her doubtful look.
“I bet you could.” What did they give merit badges out for ? She was certain he’d excelled in totally different areas of achievement and socialization than had the rest of his troop. And despite his aversion to suits and ties, she could imagine him in the little green shorts uniform, politely helping an old lady across the street and shamelessly flirting with her all the way.
Tabitha bet he had nice legs too, to go with the rest of that hard body she’d been secretly ogling since he’d arrived.
“What about you?”
“Me?” She raised a brow.
“I can see you in a little Brownie’s uniform selling cookies door to door.”
The double entendre didn’t escape her—she knew he’d meant it not to—his smile slow and seductive as he sat back in his seat waiting for her response.
“I was entirely too busy with more important activities to indulge in that particular whimsy.” Too busy surviving, she thought.
Tabitha had never had to sell cookies door to door, but she’d had to barter, borrow and steal for a meal more times than she liked to count.
She especially remembered a period when her mother had neglected to come home for several days after Tabitha’s father had left them. Everyday for a week she had come home to an empty house, and an even emptier refrigerator before going out to the neighbors to play “Whimpy from Popeye” with promises that her mother would gladly pay them Tuesday for a meal today.
No, hawking hundreds of boxes of overpriced cookies for top-selling honors and a cheesy overrated prize had not been high on her list of eight-year-old priorities.
21
Gracie C. McKeever
“So, back to least favorite colors and materials?”
“I’m not too fond of orange and pink, unless they’re on a woman. As for materials, I like anything that’s washable.”
She wanted to ask him if that jacket he was wearing was washable since it looked like it had been through the ringer. Distressed leather had been a trend back in the 90’s, which looked to be about when he had bought the jacket. Of course, leather and blazers were pretty timeless…
“Before you ask, yes, it is.”
“I’m sorry? Yes, what is?”
“The jacket’s washable.”
Her jaw dropped but she quickly coughed into a fist to cover her shock. “What are you, a mind reader?” she asked and watched as he fidgeted in his seat, for the first time since he’d come into her office looking uneasy, as if she had hit a nerve.
“I read facial expressions and body language, remember?”
Tabitha recalled a couple of articles and his observations about what certain expressions meant, wondered if she had used the one that had given her away in the seconds between his washable comment to his confirming that his jacket was.
She took out her BlackBerry and pulled up her schedule. “How about we set up an appointment for me to visit your closet?” The quicker she got this man out of her office the better. He was entirely too unsettling, especially that way he had of seeming as if he were crawling around in her head, siphoning her thoughts.
Not to mention her totally out of character physical reaction to him—like she’d been sleepwalking through a non-existent sex life and her hormones had only jolted to wakefulness when he walked in the door twenty minutes ago.
“You’re done with me?” he asked.
Not nearly. “For now.”
22
Beneath the Surface
Chapter 3
She’d shot his concentration to hell and thrown him into instant writer’s block. EJ
knew it was infantile to take such a defeatist stand. Normally he didn’t put any credence into or own writer’s block. He personally thought the syndrome an all-purpose excuse for unproductiveness, laziness or procrastination—the first and second of which he almost never laid claim, the third…well, he was still working on that—laying the blame squarely where it belonged: with
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