Dream a Little Dream (Chicago Stars, #4)(184)

Rising with as much dignity as she could muster, she nodded. “Very well. I suppose I can spare you a few minutes.”

Ethan was not gracious in victory. “Darned right you can.”

He took her arm in a firm grasp, but as she stepped forward, she found her nervousness easing. A fuzzy pink cloud had settled over her, bringing with it a feeling of well-being. She wasn’t used to drinking, and although she’d barely finished two beers, she realized it had been enough to make her a bit giddy. It felt wonderful, and she decided that Ethan could preach at her all he wanted, and it wouldn’t bother her one bit.

Ethan led her toward his car. As they approached, he used his free hand—the one that wasn’t fastened to her arm—to pat the left pocket of his jeans. Not finding what he wanted, he tried the opposite one, then reached around to explore the back pockets.

He’d forgotten his keys again. They were undoubtedly lying on the table inside, which was why she always kept a spare set in her purse.

She automatically reached for it, then realized she wasn’t carrying her old purse of many pockets, but a trendy little quilted number on a gold chain. She also remembered that Rachel had told her to stop mothering him.

“I left my keys inside.” He held out his hand. “I need the spare set.”

Good old reliable Kristy Brown. His absolute certainty that she would be carrying his spare keys—even though she no longer worked for him—poked a large hole in her fuzzy pink cloud, and she realized she wasn’t nearly as drunk as she wanted to be. “That’s unfortunate.”

He released her arm. Giving her an irritated look, he hooked the purse by its chain and drew it off her shoulder. She watched in silence as he riffled through its contents.

“They’re not here.”

“I don’t work for you anymore, remember? I don’t have to carry around your keys.”

“Of course you still work for—” He froze. Slowly his hand emerged from her purse holding a small square foil packet. “What is this? ”

She was mortified. Her skin flushed, and that embarrassed her even more, until she realized it was too dark in the parking lot for him to see. She took a deep breath and struggled to speak calmly. “It’s a condom, Ethan. I’m surprised you’ve never seen one.”

“Of course I’ve seen one!”

“Then why are you asking?”

“Because I want to know what it’s doing in your purse.”

Her embarrassment faded, replaced by anger. “That’s none of your business.” She snatched it away from him, slipped it back into her purse, and returned the strap to her shoulder.

Two couples, one of whom belonged to Ethan’s congregation, came out of the Mountaineer. Ethan grabbed her arm again and pulled her toward his car only to come to a stop as he remembered he couldn’t get in. He glanced toward the couples, who were just beginning to move off the porch, and she knew he wanted to get away before he was spotted.

The Mountaineer was located on a quiet dead-end street between a children’s boutique and a gift shop, both of which were dark for the night. Across the street was a small, wooded park with some picnic tables and play equipment. Ethan apparently decided the park was the closest escape because he turned her toward the street, and, with a none-too-gentle grip, led her there.

On nice days, local businesspeople ate their lunches on the picnic tables that were scattered underneath the trees. Using the light of the street lamp to keep from stumbling, Ethan led her to the most secluded of the tables.


“Sit down.”

She didn’t appreciate his bossy manner, so instead of sitting on the bench where he indicated, she stepped up on it and sat on the tabletop. He had no intention of relinquishing his authority by sitting below her, so he took a place at her side.

His legs were longer than hers, and they bent at a sharper angle. As she glanced over at him, she thought she saw him looking down her top, but when she heard the stuffy note in his voice as he spoke, she decided she’d been wrong.

“I’m your pastor, and the fact that a single woman in my congregation is carrying around a condom is very much my business.”

Why was he acting like this? Ethan always respected people’s choices, even if he didn’t agree with them, and she’d heard his youth-group lectures on sexual responsibility. He vehemently preached abstinence, but he was also blunt about birth control and AIDS prevention.

“Every single woman in your congregation who’s sexually active had better be carrying some of these around,” she observed.

“What do you mean, sexually active? Who are you—I mean— But— How—”

Ethan Bonner, known for his sexual straight talk, was sputtering. He finally gathered himself together. “I didn’t know there was a man in your life.”

The last of her fuzzy pink cloud evaporated, and a sort of desperate boldness took its place. What, after all, did she have to lose? “How would you? You don’t know anything about my life.”

He seemed genuinely shocked. “We’ve known each other since elementary school. You’re one of my oldest friends.”

“Is that the way you see me?”

“Of course.”

“You’re right, I’m your friend.” She swallowed, mustering her courage. “But you’re not mine, Ethan. Friends know things about each other, but you don’t know anything about me.”