Page 19 of Played

As soon as she leaves, and is out of earshot, we burst out laughing again. The waitress actually looks back, and we notice, gaining our composure temporarily, but as soon as she turns her back again, more laughter comes. “I think she’s figured us out, Freya.” I say between laughs.

“Ask me if I care.” She chuckles.

“I should offer for her to touch my arm.”

“You do and I’ll chop it off.” She says.

I laugh again. She’s a card.

We eat our breakfast, and I pay the bill, giving a generous tip, as Freya suggested. “Can I come help you bring your things to the venue? I don’t have to be at the office for another hour.”

“You don’t have to do that, Ethan.”

“But I want to. Come on. Humor me.”

She smiles. “Okay. Follow me.”

I head into my truck, and follow her home, thinking that at least I have a truck, so I can carry more cargo than she can, in her little sedan. Sure, it’s a nice Mercedes, but it’s small. When we arrive, she takes me inside. “Pardon the mess. I haven’t exactly been home the last few days.”

“It doesn’t offend me. Where’s your stuff?”

“It’s just in my spare room.”

Her house is small but modern. It’s a bungalow. Kind of like grandma’s house, but with hardwood flooring and stainless-steel appliances. She has beadboard on the walls and ranch-style doors on both the interior and exterior, plus a wraparound porch. “Do you own this place?”

“I do. It’s mortgaged, though. Not mine yet, but soon.”

“How much money did you have to front to put your supplies together?” I ask, following her to the spare room, which is next to what I’m guessing is her bedroom, since it looks the most lived in, and the bed isn’t made. She notices my gaze.

“Sorry, I normally never leave the house without making my bed, but I…”

I look at her. Her face actually turns pink. “You what?” I ask, smiling.

She rolls her eyes, embarrassed. “I had to change my clothes.”

I look her up and down, but with a playful smirk. “Why?”

She scratches her nose nervously. “Because I realized my pants didn’t match my shirt.”

“Why didn’t you just change your shirt?”

A sigh, frustrated, but her face is still pink, indicating that she’s still embarrassed. “Because this is my lucky shirt.”

Good call. It perfectly accentuates her breasts and works even more perfectly with her little kilt. My voice is low, my eyes hooded, as I look her up and down again. “Well, if it’s any consolation, you made a great choice.”

Her eyes meet mine. “I did?”

I nod. “Yeah. There’s nothing sexier than a lass in a kilt.”

“Really?” She asks, as if questioning her choice, but I notice that her eyes are searching mine.

“Really.” I take a step towards her, feeling brave. “And…um…do you know what this is?” I point at my chest, taking another step to her.

Her voice is low, her eyes still searching mine. “What is it?”

The gap between us is closed. One inch stands between Freya and me. “This is my lucky shirt.”

Her eyes go to my chest for a moment, and then return to my gaze again. “It is.”

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