Read Girls' Night Out (Bad Boys) for Free Online Page B

leaving for school discarding a ton of unused and unwanted items to family, friends, charities, and the burn pile. Now, the rainbow of colors and the profusion irritated her, making the muscles in her neck and shoulders cinch together.
    Cory moved past the leather bench in the middle of the room, her slippers gliding over plush carpeting. Not a thing out of place in the oak paneled haven. She reached for a pair of her oldest faded jeans from a cubby of different hued designer denim. Shimmying into the soft material, she shivered and crossed her arms over her chest and rubbed away the chill bumps on her arms. Without much thought, she moved to the section of indoor warm clothing and pulled out the closest thing. Her fingers stroked a perfectly folded cream-colored cashmere sweater. She pulled it off the shelf and over her silk camisole. She ran her fingers through her hair, tying it up in messy knot at her neck. At this time of the morning, she was too tired to give a fig about her appearance.
    Well, not that much. She stopped to grab a scarf from the built-in set of drawers, her gaze scanning the shelf of picture frames of friends and family—mostly family. She swam through a maze of conflicting thoughts and worry. She sank down onto the floor of her closet, scanning the rows of shoes neatly arranged by style and color. Nothing had changed in her room. Same closet, same bed, but her family was changing rapidly. She crawled toward a pair of Mary Jane flats, past the shoes she’d worn on the plane and her memory returned to the flight and Brett Gold’s smart comment. Shaking her head, she sucked in her breath. That type of man was all sorts of unconventional inspired by a mile of sex appeal. She bet he was with a different woman every night of the week.
    Her brothers—most of them—were on their way to settling down permanently with a wife, and soon enough babies would be part of their family. She, for all her small-town popularity, had yet to meet a man who made her want to forget the importance of color coordinating her entire wardrobe.
    Inexplicably, her mind shot back to Brett and her stomach fluttered. That man had a way of talking that resembled rough velvet sliding hard against her skin. God, she imagined what it would be like to have his hands on her body. A spark of heat flushed her skin and she promptly rolled her eyes, tamping down the distracted feeling Mr. Gold provoked.
    Suddenly, she peered up at the racks and shelves, taking stock that here she pitifully sat in a closet daydreaming of a stranger. She groaned and picked up the nearest thing—one of the shoes she’d worn at the airport—and threw it with all her might. It hit the wall and fell and the effort didn’t help her feel better. Cory clenched her jaw, getting off her behind, and then yanking down on her sweater.
    Meeting her reflection in the mirror, she wagged her finger at herself. “Seriously, you need to get a life, not a life-size fantasy.”
    Down in the kitchen, beams from recessed lighting reflected off the granite countertops as she stood, peering up into a cabinet above the coffee maker. No one was about yet. This was unlike her usual appearance in the morning when breakfast had already been served and her boisterous family sat at the table ready to pass her a cup of coffee and a freshly baked biscuit.
    “Not here either,” she said to herself and moved over to the next set of cabinets looking for coffee and filters. So much for familiarity. Same kitchen, but she didn’t know where to look for what. She bent down, then kneeled on the floor and began another round of opening and closing cabinet doors. The sound of the back door shutting jarred her attention. A halting gait approached from the direction of the mud room.
    “Who is in here?” Miss Louisa’s drill sergeant voice rang out. And then the kitchen was awash in light.
    “Me. I’m looking for coffee,” Cory said, peeking her head above the island. She shut the last set of