Stacking the Deck (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 2)(35)
“Could be. I keep wondering if I should have boarded him like Grant suggested.”
“Grant?”
“A friend. In Chicago. Coworker, actually.” Liz smoothed the wayward tendrils from her face and reached for the bottle of wine, avoiding Carter’s gaze. “I’ll go, ah, check on dinner.”
Carter trailed her into the kitchen and inhaled the robust scent of roasting meat and vegetables. Tossed salad sat in bowls atop the counter, and there were some baked goods under a dish towel that looked suspiciously like cookies. “Smells like heaven. You didn’t have to go all out like this, though. You’re here to work on the house, not cook fancy meals. I know I suggested it, but I’m feeling a bit like a freeloader.”
“You’re not freeloading. I offered. I enjoy visiting with... old friends. Besides, I wouldn’t call it fancy. Pot roast isn’t hard to make, and I plan to eat the leftovers for days, so it’s somewhat self-serving.”
“Self-serving,” he murmured as he settled at the kitchen table to watch. She lifted the lid and fragrant steam billowed out. His stomach growled. He jiggled his knee impatiently. “Want me to set the table?”
“Sure. That’d be great. The silverware—”
“I remember where it is.” He jumped up, glad for something to do.
Her gaze met his then skittered away. “Of course you do.”
“So, this Grant guy… coworker you said?”
“Mm-hmm?”
“You wouldn’t by chance be sleeping with him?”
The spoon she’d been testing the broth with clattered to the floor, little dots of pale gravy spattering the linoleum. “No! Of course not. Why would you even ask?”
He shrugged, pleased this Grant guy wasn’t getting any. “Just wondering.”
Liz swiped at the floor with a sponge, her slim khaki pants molding tight over her rear as she pounced on each little dot. “I fail to see how it would be any of your business even if we were—which we’re not.” She swept the sponge up a dribble on the table leg. “You know, maybe this wasn’t a good idea. I’m sorry if I gave the wrong impression, but I—”
She stopped mid-sentence as his hand covered hers. “I can take it from here,” he offered.
Her fingers flexed, then she slid her hand from under his, avoiding his gaze. “I don’t know what I’m doing here.”
“I believe you were cleaning the table leg.”
She stood abruptly and tugged the hem of her shirt into place as she returned the sponge to the sink. “I’m being serious.”
“So am I.”
“You’re making fun of me,” she accused, turning to meet his gaze. “And I’m not the one who asked the inappropriate question.”
“Inappropriate? I wasn’t the one that got all flustered and red-faced when his name came up. An office romance, Liz? Tsk. Tsk. I thought you were smarter than that.”
“I—” The stove timer dinged and she turned to pull a tray of biscuits from the oven. “I’m sorry to say this, but I think having you here is a mistake.”
“Because I ask awkward questions or because you don’t want to answer them?”
She pursed her lips and refused to reply.
“Aw, come on,” he coaxed, grabbing the bottle of wine and inserting the corkscrew. “We’re just old friends catching up, right? I’ll behave and won’t ask any more questions about your little interoffice flirtation, and we’ll enjoy a nice, relaxing dinner together. What do you say?” The cork popped temptingly and he poured a splash of wine into two tumblers he’d found in the cupboard and held one out to her.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
____________________
Twelve years earlier…
“I DON’T NEED TO GO FIRST.”
Beth stared down the neck of the wine bottle like it was the barrel of a gun.
Valerie’s annoyingly perfect, bow-shaped lips smirked. “Nervous?”
“No,” Beth lied. “I just don’t want to, ah, take the fun away from you guys.”
“I’d kiss her,” Rudy West piped up.
Beth’s heart thudded hard in her chest. Rudy had thick, red hair and beefy lips and was on the wrestling team. Beth dared not meet his eyes, looking instead at his sausage-like fingers. She imagined them groping her up in the Whitmeyers’ pantry. She swallowed over the lump in her throat and prayed no one would discover her nylon-enhanced boobs.
“Maybe it’s her first time,” Cindy Townsend murmured from across the circle. Beth turned toward Cindy and wondered what she’d ever done to have her say something so evil. Except Cindy didn’t look like she was paying attention to torturing Beth seeing as Evan Rollins had his hand up the back of her shirt. As if no one could see!
Valerie rolled her eyes. “Come on, Beth. We’re waiting. If you’re not going to play the game…”
“I am,” Beth said, standing up hurriedly. “Sure. Why not? Of course, I am.” She laughed in what she hoped was a carefree, adventurous way so no one would suspect the icy dread slicking through her veins.
“This way,” Valerie said, leading her out of the kitchen into a little back hall and an even smaller, dark room off of that.