Page 29 of Dancing in the Rain

Drew’s footsteps thudded down the stairs and he reappeared, now wearing a pair of dark jeans and a white button-down shirt, whose cuffs he was turning back. It didn’t appear he’d done anything with the longish hair that fell over his forehead or the days of beard stubble. “Okay,” he said. “Ready.”

Peyton picked up her purse. “I should probably drive.”

He paused. “I’m not that drunk.”

She lifted an eyebrow.

“Actually, there’s a little place not far from here that I like…we can walk.”

“Oh. Okay.”

They strolled along the sidewalk beneath the leafy canopy provided by the big old trees, wrought iron–fenced rectangular beds of shrubs and flowers on one side; on the other, big old houses that she knew were worth millions of dollars each, despite the unassuming ambience of the neighborhood. “I was surprised to see that you don’t live very far from Sara.”

“Yeah, I know. I was surprised, too.” They walked on in silence for a moment. “Training camp started today.”

She wasn’t sure where that came from, but whatever. Then she realized…“This is the first one since you retired.”

“Yeah. It was kinda getting to me.”

“It must be hard, giving up something you love.”

“Yep. I tried for the past few years to keep going, but in the end I was just making my knee worse.”

“Is it painful?”

“Not all the time. I had a lot of rehab. Just doing certain things bothers it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hey, I’m not looking for pity. I’ve got enough of that for myself.”

“Yes, I can see you’re riding the pity train. But the train has just arrived at the intersection of We All Have Problems and Suck It Up, Buttercup.”

He shot her a startled glance and then gave a choked laugh.

“Hey.” She lifted one shoulder. “It’s true. You said that the other day when we were talking in the kitchen. What happened since then?”

He scratched his chin. “I don’t even know. I guess I just fell into a pity pit.”

“It can be addicting, I know.” She eyed him. “People use all kinds of coping mechanisms, and some aren’t very healthy. Drugs, alcohol, self-pity. You can get yourself into trouble.”

“I don’t do drugs.”

“Good to know,” she said dryly.

“Okay, I get your point.”

He directed her around the corner and they continued walking, this street was busier with more traffic.

“Also, self-pity is not very attractive.” Crap. Why did she say that? It made no difference to her how attractive he was. “In case you’re having problems with the ladies,” she added.

Which was doubtful, based on what she’d seen of him. Holy cannoli, the man was gorgeous, from the dark hair hanging over his forehead, his strong jaw with all that yummy stubble, wide, heavily muscled shoulders and chest, ripped abs and powerful thighs. Not to mention the package he’d had on display that she couldn’t help but notice…whoa.

It had been a struggle to maintain her composure when he’d flung open the door to reveal himself in all his naked glory, because all she’d wanted to do was stand and stare and possibly drool a little. She’d tingled in places she’d almost forgotten about.

“Yeah, that’s not a problem,” he confirmed with a hint of cocky attitude.

Great. Not only was he a drunk, he was a womanizer.

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