Page 47 of S.O.S. Billboard

O’Shea let him off the hook. “That’s okay. You’re right. We might not be together long enough to do any vacations.” She went on immediately to dispel his discomfort. “Least favorite household chore?”

That got him back into a chuckling mood. “Laundry. Period. I don’t like washing it, drying it, or folding it.”

“Hmm…”

Since his hands were on the wheel and his armpit was accessible, she leaned in and sniffed. His pheromones went up her nose. “You smell okay to me,” she rasped.

Understatement. She could bury her face in his underarm all day.

She sat back up, reluctantly. “Does that mean your mother does your clothes for you?”

The tops of his ears turned red. “Uh, no. I, umm, have a service that comes and gets it. Then they deliver it back to me all clean and neat.”

“Even your underwear?” O’Shea blurted out, horrified. She wouldn’t want anyone messing with her unmentionables. She had a thing for sexy bras and thongs, and the last thing she’s need was a bunch of people touching her special stuff.

“Underwear, too,” he admitted.

“Geeze. Who knew.” She turned to him with wide eyes. “Youdohave a washer and dryer, though, don’t you? Because I have to do my own laundry, even though it’s not my favorite, either.”

“Yeah. I have those.”

She let out a breath. “Good. Then cancel your service for as long as I’m here, and we’ll consider my launderette duties as part of my rent.”

“You don’t have to,” he countered gruffly.

“Well, I want to.” She folded her arms over her chest and dared him to argue.

Smartly, he backed down. “Okay. But I don’t want to hear from you about how I left things inside-out, or how something is stained beyond saving. I don’t care. I’m not in love with any of my clothes. Got it?”

“Got it,” she agreed. Shehadnoticed that he wore jeans, jeans, and jeans. And that he owned exactly three t-shirt colors: black, white, and gray. Not that she’d complain about that. It gave her a good look at the extensive ink on his arms, and a peekat a tat on his chest that just breached the neckline. “Would you, um…consider doing a little shopping while I’m here? For some things to wear that are, perhaps, a little more adventurous?”

She could easily see him in a tight Henley, deep brown to match his eyes. And if she could get him into a pair of khaki’s…

“Are you trying to upgrade my wardrobe, O’Shea?” he asked amusedly.

“Are you saying it doesn’t need help?” she countered.

“Fine,” he gave in easily. “It’ll save me from arguing with Mizzay. The woman’s been at me to amend my non-existent ‘style’ ever since I started working for SOS.”

“I knew I liked her,” O’Shea beamed as Billboard pulled into his driveway.

It had been a very productive ride, as far as she was concerned, and she hoped Billboard felt the same.

Were they one step closer to more of those heart-stopping kisses?

Time would tell, so it was no good over-thinking it.

O’Shea opened her door. “Let’s drop Zoe off so we can get to your office.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Billboard and O’Shea walked into total pandemonium at the SOS office.

“What’s going on?” Billboard snapped to attention and questioned Mizzay, whose fingers were flying over her keyboard.

She held up a hand, so Prez, with a look on his face that told Billboard some bad shit had hit the fan, clipped out the answer. “Lakisha’s best friend Marin was snatched off the street a few minutes ago. We’re mobilizing.”

Without hesitation, Billboard elbowed his way through the large bodies and strode to the huge, open safe where an enormous cache of guns and ammo were stored. He immediately began weaponing up. “Isn’t school still in for them?” he asked over his shoulder.

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