Forever with Me (With Me in Seattle, #8)(11)

The eagle flies off with his breakfast and my stomach growls as I reach the pier at a restaurant roughly two miles from the condo.

I turn around and head back and try not to think about Dom.

Not gonna think about the sexy Italian who can cure headaches and make me ache in other more interesting places instead.

Nope, not going there.

Shit. I always seem to go there these days. Even through the pain of a headache rated an eleven on a scale of one to ten, his fingers skimming over my skin and his whispered voice in my ear made my girlie parts sit up and take notice.

And then he had to go and put his lips on me, and it was all over.

I haven’t been this physically attracted to a man in…

Years.

I don’t remember the last time. Maybe never. And isn’t that just my luck? Because Dominic isn’t the kind of guy you have as a friend with benefits and not fall for him. It’s simply not possible.

And there’s no way in hell I’m going to fall for him.

I don’t fall. Love isn’t real. Affection. Lust. Those are real.

And in my line of business, I see how quickly they fade.

Fuck, I’ve lived it.

My neighbor from one floor down—Ray? Ralph? Rob?—drives past and waves out of the top of his flashy convertible. He’s made it perfectly clear that he’d like to give the friends with benefits thing a try. He’s good looking. But he’s not memorable, and it seems to me that if I can’t even remember the man’s name, I wouldn’t be terribly impressed with what he can do in the bedroom either.

I wave back and breathe a deep sigh of relief when I turn the corner into my complex. I hate exercising. I hate wearing sneakers. I hate sweating.

And I have the ass and hips to show for it.

I mentally shrug and press the button for the elevator as Train’s “Hey Soul Sister” beats in my ears.

Now, this I like. I could dance all day. Since I’m alone in the elevator, I cut a rug of my own and boogie around the inside of the car, then come to a complete stop and school my features just as the door opens, in case someone is standing on the other side waiting to get in.

My dance moves are best enjoyed in private. I’m no Meredith Summers.

“There you are!” Emily exclaims and shoves her phone in her handbag. She’s leaning against my door.

“Why are you at my condo at the ass crack of dawn?” I ask, as I unlock the door and step inside, Emily on my heels.

“We have two baby showers and an old lady party today.”

“Red Hat Society party,” I reply, and toe off my sneakers as soon as humanly possible. “How can people wear those?”

“The sister of the mom-to-be at party number one has already called me three times this morning,” Emily continues. “The MTB is allergic to watermelon.”

“We’re not serving watermelon.” I roll my eyes and strip out of my yoga pants and Blake’s old Mariners T-shirt and walk past Emily to my shower. “It’s going to be fine. All of the details are in place for all three parties.”

“I know, I just figured that if I’m getting calls at the butt crack of dawn, I might as well be with you when I get them.”

“That’s kind of you,” I mutter, and step into the shower.

“How was Will yesterday?” Emily yells out from my vanity where she’s primping her hair.

“He was hungry, as usual,” I reply with a laugh.

“And Dominic?”

I pause mid-shave on my leg and frown at the foggy shower door. “How did you know I saw Dominic?”

“Because you’re almost chipper this morning. Blake doesn’t do that to you.”

“I’m always chipper,” I lie, and return to shaving my legs.

“No, you’re not. I love this eye shadow! So? Was Dominic sexy or what?”

Sexy like you wouldn’t even believe.

“He’s okay, if you like that sort of thing.”


Emily busts up laughing, and I can’t help but smile with her.

Who doesn’t like that sort of thing?

***

“Old ladies are better than emotional pregnant women any day of the week,” Emily whispers to me as she passes by, refilling the ladies’ teacups with fresh hot water.

We are at our third and final event of the day, a late tea with a local Red Hat Society chapter. Eight women are in attendance today, ranging in age from roughly fifty-five to one hundred and five.

And Wilma, the one-oh-five year old is a spitfire.

“I pinched his rear!” she crows and cackles with glee, her wide-brimmed hat shading her happy face. The party is under a tent to keep the heat off the women, and the hostess, Miss Kitty, also rented portable air conditioners for the event.

“Oh, my goodness, Wilma, he’s at least twenty years younger than you!” Betty, Wilma’s younger sister, laughs and sips her tea daintily.

“You get to be my age, they’re all twenty years younger than me. I’ve gotta get my fun where I can.”

I smile as I place a fresh plate of scones on the table.

“These scones are delicious,” Wilma comments and takes my hand in hers, holding on tight. “You’re a doll to bring them for us, Alecia.”

“It’s my pleasure,” I reply with a smile and rub her delicate shoulder with my free hand. “Are you all having fun, ladies?”