Taste (Cloverleigh Farms, #7)(11)

From the back of my closet, I snagged a small duffel bag and tossed in a good pair of shoes. On impulse, I grabbed a clean pair of underwear, some deodorant, and an extra pair of socks—just in case. I tossed it all in the bag, and at the last second, decided to throw in my jeans and sweater too.

I turned off the light and opened the bedroom door at the same time Ellie came out of the bathroom. We stood chest to chest for an awkward moment—or maybe more like face to chest. She’d taken her boots off at the door too, and in her socks she was a solid eight inches shorter than me. I glanced down at her feet and started to laugh.

“What’s funny?” she demanded.

“Your socks.” They were bright aqua blue with strawberries and some kind of small animals on them. “Are those beavers?”

“Hedgehogs.” She covered one foot with the other. “These are my lucky socks, okay? My dad got them for me. I love hedgehogs.”

“Okay.”

“What’s in the bag?” she asked, pointing at my duffel.

“Whips. Chains. My gimp suit.” I shrugged. “If the party gets fun, I want to be prepared.”

She exhaled, her eyes closing.

“Relax, it’s just my dress shoes. A change of clothes.”

“Why do you need a change of clothes?”

“My mom taught me to be prepared.” I sidestepped her, dropping my bag in the hall and moving into the bathroom. “Didn’t yours?”

She stood behind me, watching as I checked my reflection in the mirror over the sink. “Um, only every single day of my life. I was the only kid in elementary school that had a spare raincoat, umbrella, hat, mittens, and scarf in her locker at all times.”

“I think I stole an umbrella from your locker once.”

“You did. It had hedgehogs on it, and it was adorable. You whacked it against the flagpole, and it got all bent out of shape.”

“Sorry. I’ll get you a new one.” I ran a hand over my scruffy jaw. “I didn’t shave today. Or yesterday.”

“Too late to worry about that now.”

I fussed with my hair a little and caught her smirking in the mirror. “What?”

“You’re so vain about your hair.”

“I am not.” But I totally was. If she wasn’t standing right there, I’d have gotten my blow dryer out and given it a little more life.

“You so are. I bet you have more hair products than I do.” She nodded at the vanity cupboards. “Open that.”

“No.”

She elbowed me aside and opened one door, then burst out laughing. “My God! You have more hair products than Winnie and me put together! Is that mousse?”

“Enough.” I grabbed her from behind and dragged her out of the bathroom. “We have to go. You’re in a hurry, remember? Go put your boots back on.”

But I didn’t let go of her right away. I was bigger and stronger and felt like I had to take her down a notch by showing it. Plus, not gonna lie, her hair smelled amazing—like summer at the beach. I almost asked her what shampoo she used.

She tugged at my arms. “Let go of me, you big umbrella-bashing bully.”

I held on a couple seconds longer than necessary, then released her. Back in the bathroom, I shut the door, used it, and washed my hands. Figuring she’d hear the blow dryer if I turned it on, I settled for messing with my hair with my fingers. After a quick spray of cologne, I tossed a couple products in my bag, hid them beneath my jeans and sweater, and zipped it back up.

When I opened the door, she was standing right there, a grin on her face. “Did you pack the mousse? The blizzard might flatten your ’do.”

“Go,” I barked, giving her a gentle nudge with my bag. “We’re going to be late.”

I followed her out, locked the door, and popped the hatch on my SUV. The temperature was dropping quickly, and the wind had picked up. The flurries that had been gently drifting from the sky when we’d left Abelard were blowing sideways. I tossed my bag in the back, and a few minutes later, we were on the highway again.

“It’s like we’re on a romantic little road trip,” I said as we headed north.

“No, it isn’t—it’s a work event.” She reached over and poked my shoulder. “My work event. You’re going to stay in the background, remember?”

“So, like, don’t take my pants off and dance on the table?”

“I would murder you with a corkscrew. Then I’d flatten your hair in your coffin.”

“Damn. I’ll stay out of your way.”

“Thank you.” A few minutes later, she sniffed. “What is that?”

“What is what?”

“That smell.” She leaned toward me, nearly putting her face in my neck. “Did you put cologne on?”

“I forget,” I lied, unnerved at the way my pulse quickened with her lips so close to my skin. “I might have.”

She laughed. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I like to smell nice.”

She inhaled once more, then settled back in her seat. “It does smell nice.”

I glanced at her, surprised at the rare compliment. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Focusing on the road again, and the snow swirling across the pavement, I felt warm beneath my coat as I thought about my hands on her body in the dark.