Romancing The Wallflower. Michelle Major

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      “You’re a white-picket-fence girl. America and apple pie. What you saw at my sister’s apartment pretty much sums up how I was raised. I come from that world. It’s what I know.”

      Right now that didn’t matter. This man had flirted with her, then kissed her senseless. Twenty minutes with David had been more exciting than the sum total of the rest of her life. Heck no, she couldn’t have an affair with him, even if he was willing. She was liable to spontaneously combust. It was time to get the subject back to safer ground.

      “How’s Rhett doing?” she asked, reaching into her purse for her keys. She moved to the edge of the sidewalk where her Subaru hatchback was parked at the curb.

      “He’s with his mom tonight. They’re staying at my loft.”

      “Is your sister okay with going into treatment?”

      He nodded. “Deep in her heart she doesn’t want to repeat the mistakes our mother made. I have to believe last night was a wake-up call for her.”

      “Then maybe it was a blessing in disguise. I hope she gets the help she needs.” She hit the remote start on her key fob.

      “I hope Rhett and I survive the next month together.” He ran a hand over his jaw and the scratching sound made her want to whimper. She was truly pathetic.

      “He’s welcome at Crimson Kidzone in the afternoon. It starts Monday at four. Sign him up if you need a break.”

      When he stared at her, she held out a hand. “No strings attached or indecent proposals from me. Promise.”

      He took her hand but instead of shaking it, pressed a lingering kiss on her knuckles. “That would be a huge disappointment.”

      Erin sighed. Cue the weak knees. “You don’t mean that,” she whispered.

      “I might have enough willpower to leave you alone, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be thinking about how good we could be together.”

      He released her hand and she clutched it against her stomach, feeling ridiculously like a teenage girl who wanted to hold on to the imprint of that kiss. “Good to know,” she told him.

      He winked at her. “Night, Erin. Sweet dreams.”

      * * *

      “Seriously, McCay? Your nephew’s kindergarten teacher?”

      David blew out a breath at the annoyance in the feminine voice behind him.

      He hoisted a bushel of hops over his shoulder and turned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Tracie, but I promised Rhett I’d take him fishing after thirty minutes of screen time so I need to make the most of my electronic babysitter.”

      It was early Sunday morning—too early considering David hadn’t gotten to sleep until after 3:00 a.m. He’d paid one of the waitresses to babysit his nephew last night, which had left him short-staffed since his best—if mouthiest—bartender Tracie Sheldon had taken the evening off for a date with the local orthopedic surgeon who’d been asking her out for months.

      Tracie stood behind him now, wearing running shorts and a long-sleeved athletic shirt. Her short blond hair stuck out from under a bright pink headband and he guessed she’d stopped into the bar in the middle of her daily five-mile run.

      “Besides, shouldn’t you be busy basking in post-date glow or doing the walk of shame or something?”

      “I’m not that kind of girl,” she shot back, then added softly, “anymore. Besides, it wasn’t a good match.”

      With a quiet sigh, David dropped the heavy bag to the floor. “Why not? Your doctor has bellied up to the bar several nights a week for the past month, even when he’s on call and drinking root beer. We might serve up a helluva plate of chicken wings and some crazy good nachos, but there’s only so much bar food a man can take.”

      He leaned in closer. “Unless he has another compelling reason for becoming a regular.”

      “Compelling.” Tracie snorted. “Right. He’s a surgeon, Davey, my boy. I’m a high-school dropout bartender. We have nothing in common.”

      “I’ve spent some time talking to Luke Baylor. He’s a decent guy, Tracie. Worked his way through med school. You work hard, and you’re not a high-school dropout anymore. It won’t be long until you graduate nursing school. You should hold your head high.”

      “So tell me about the schoolteacher,” she countered, placing her hands on her hips.

      “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but there’s nothing to tell.”

      “Do you like her?”

      “Do you like Doc Luke?”

      She arched a brow. “We had dinner at Carlo’s Bistro last night. Remember Lance who washed dishes here for a while?”

      “Yeah.” David nodded. “Punk kid.”

      “That’s the one. He’s a busboy at Carlo’s and was all too happy to stop me on the way to the restroom and report he saw you and a dark-haired librarian type sucking face on the street.”

      David felt a headache begin to pulse behind one temple. “No one was sucking face.”

      “I figured it was the teacher after seeing the way she looked at you Thursday night. Like she was a kid in a candy store and you were her favorite flavor.”

      He didn’t want to admit how much he liked the idea of that. “You’re changing the subject.”

      “You started it.”

      “We’re quite a pair.” He wrapped an arm around the tiny blonde’s shoulders—she barely came to his chest—and pulled her in for a hug. “I’m not going to stop trying to make you believe you deserve some happiness.”

      “Goes both ways,” she said, and gently elbowed him in the ribs.

      He grunted and squeezed her shoulders. “Rhett’s happiness is what matters to me now.”

      At that moment, Rhett gave a small shout. “Ms. MacDonald,” he yelled, and scrambled out of the booth, his iPad forgotten on the table.

      Tracie took a step away from him as David turned to see Erin, backlit in the doorway of the bar by the morning sunlight. Her dark jeans hugged her curves and a cranberry-colored sweater with a scooped neckline made her skin look even more luminous. It was difficult to read her expression, but her gaze was bouncing between him and Tracie in a way David didn’t like one bit.

      “Don’t just stand there staring,” Tracie muttered. “Go to her. I’m going to slip out through the kitchen.”

      “Tracie, you don’t need to...” David started, but he was talking to her back.

      “Ms. MacDonald, I live in a bar now.” David cringed as Rhett’s voice carried across the empty space.

      “We don’t live in the bar,” David corrected СКАЧАТЬ