Frisk Me(59)

Yoga pants.

It was always tempting to leave her work clothes in a messy pile on the bedroom floor. Maybe to teach them a lesson about being binding and damned uncomfortable.

But since dry-cleaning bills were expensive as heck in the city, for the most part she tried to keep things looking nice for as long as possible.

“Look at you, being all boring and shit,” she said to her charcoal wool pants as she carefully folded them along the crease and looped them over the hanger. “I bet you have no friends.”

She picked the sleeveless white blouse off the floor and pulled another hanger off the rack. “Well, I guess this guy could be your friend. Just look at all these stupid ruffles.”

She didn’t even bother speaking to her bra as she undid the front clasp. It deserved the silent treatment.

Left in only her panties, Ava sighed in relief as she pulled on gray, cropped yoga pants and a pink sleeveless tank that she’d gotten at a Las Vegas gift shop after she’d forgotten her pajamas on a bachelorette party trip.

Then it was to the bathroom to swap out her contacts for her black-rimmed glasses, before piling her hair into a messy ponytail.

Life was good.

Plucking her wineglass off the dresser she padded back into the kitchen to survey the contents of her fridge.

She closed it two seconds later.

Sushi takeout it was.

When Ava had first moved to the city and was learning her way around the world of tiny Manhattan kitchens and a reliance on takeout, she’d had her favorite places on speed dial.

But nowadays there was something more magical:

A website and phone app that had an ungodly number of takeout options just a Checkout button away. There were the standards, of course. Chinese. Pizza. Thai.

But this was New York, and food options didn’t stop there. You could also get Ethiopian and bagels and Philly cheese steak sandwiches delivered within half an hour.

It. Was. Glorious.

Sushi was her Friday-night go-to, though. It drove Beth and her other friends crazy, but unless it was a special occasion, Ava kept her Friday nights pretty sacred. Saturday she could go dancing, have a martini or four, maybe go on a date (although not so much these days), but Friday nights were Ava nights.

Just her, her comfy clothes, and whatever TV show she was currently binging on. Lately, it had been Lost. She’d completely dismissed it when it first aired, but at Beth’s insistence she was finally giving it a shot.

It was weird as hell.

And she couldn’t get enough.

“What are we feeling today, Honky Tonk?” she asked as her fat orange cat chased his toy mouse around the floor. “Spicy tuna or dragon roll?”

The cat pounced. “Right. Both it is.”

But a knock at the door delayed her sushi purchase. Honky Tonk went shooting under the couch, and she wished she could join him.

It was probably her creepy landlord who’d left, like, a half dozen “notice of entry” letters over the past week. Something about checking the screens on the windows. Naturally he would wait until seven o’clock on a Friday night.

“Better make it quick, Don,” she said, setting her phone aside and checking the peephole.

It wasn’t her landlord.

Luc.

Ava’s stomach gave a little flip as she remembered the last time he’d stood on the other side of her door.

She didn’t want a repeat of that kiss.

Did she?

“Sims, as a cop, I commend your safety precaution, but think you could open up now that you know it’s me?” he said to the peephole.

Right.

She opened the door.

He gave a little blink of surprise as he looked her over. “This is a new look.”

Too late, she remembered that she was in Friday Frumpy mode. Luc, on the other hand, looked delicious. His cargo shorts were a nod to the unseasonably hot day, and the white T-shirt stretched perfectly across his shoulders.

“I wasn’t expecting visitors,” she said, resisting the urge to smooth her lumpy ponytail.

He held up his right hand, which was holding a small red binder.

“Ah!” she said in delight. “My planner. I’ve been looking everywhere for it! Why do you have it?”

“Found it on my coffee table,” he said, handing it to her.

She frowned. “But I didn’t take it out of my bag when we were filming at your place yesterday.”

He tilted his head slightly and gave her a look.

“Ah,” she said with a smile. “Nonna.”

“Yup. Gotta give her credit for matchmaking balls, if not originality.”

“You didn’t have to bring it all the way over here,” she said, leaning against the door. “I could have gotten it at the precinct on Monday.”

He shrugged. “Gave me a chance to get out of the house. Anthony has female company. This one’s lasted a whole week, and she’s um, noisy.”

“Ah, gotcha.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to invite him in but he was already taking a step backward, and she doubted a night of sushi and TV appealed to him.

“Well thanks again for bringing it by,” she said, setting the planner on the console table by the door.

“Any time, Sims.”

Neither of them moved.

Common sense was demanding that she close the door. Hormones were demanding something very different.