Page 44 of Flippin' Cowboy
Nick entered, accompanied by a blast of icy winter air that slapped Winnie in the face. She burrowed deeper into her nest of fuzzy blankets and glared at him.
She tried to ignore the subtle waft of his aftershave. Or how good he looked in his fleece-lined denim jacket and worn jeans, his stubbled cheeks reddened with cold and his gray eyes with their fringe of long, sooty lashes.
He looked past her, to the back of the cottage’s open plan living room-dining room-kitchen area.
“Should I be concerned about a drinking problem?” His tone was wry.
She turned her head to follow his gaze, and saw the bottles of Kahlua, vanilla-bean vodka, and crème de menthe lined up on the kitchen counter next to her blender.
“I’m good,” she told. “I mean, I deserve some creamy, boozy goodness tonight. Want one?”
The offer slipped out before she could think about it.
Nick Evans struck her as an expensive single malt Scotch kind of guy. Or small batch bourbons. Definitely not “cheap booze as dessert,” though.
Besides, getting drunk with him sounded like a bad idea. What if she yielded to the temptation to stick her nose into his neck and inhale his aftershave?
She groaned.Bad idea. Really, really bad idea.
“Thanks, but we don’t have time for that,” he told her briskly.
“We have all night.”Crap. That came out all wrong, she thought, her face heating. “You going anywhere? I’m not.”
Looking annoyingly smug—and way too sexy for his own good—he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall of her living room. “As a matter of fact, you’re my date for theRestoring Seattlefinale viewing party at your sister’s diner.”
Don’t stare, she told herself. Even if he does look good enough to eat.
Then his words registered.
“Nope.” She deliberately lifted her glass and took a long pull from her milkshake. Pure chocolate perfection slid down her throat and melted into a pool of warmth in her stomach.
His dark brows rose. He stayed firmly put. “Karla told me to say ‘please.’”
Winnie groaned. “Are you crazy? I’m not going anywhere near that place tonight.”
“Winnie,” Nick began gently.
She interrupted him ruthlessly. “Look, I know you don’t respect me, but do you really hate me that much? What have I ever done to you?”
Nick’s eyes widened in shock. “Of course I respect you!” he snapped. “Why would you think—? Oh.”
“Exactly.” She crossed her arms and stared at him defiantly. “‘The fake celebrity flippers butchering Seattle’s historical heritage represent everything wrong about The Renovation Channel,’” she quoted from memory. “‘And Winnie Snowberry is the worst of the worst. Is she even a real general contractor?’”
He had the grace to look abashed. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. And I’ve changed my mind after working with you. You’re very good at what you do, Winnie, and you really do care about the history of the building.” He paused. “And I certainly don’t hate you.”
“Then why do we argue so much?” she retorted, unwilling to believe him.
His mouth widened into a slow, panty-melting grin. “Because it’s fun? And because Karla thinks it makes for good television?”
Winnie snorted. “As ifyoucare what Karla thinks! Weren’t you the one who said you hated pandering to the audience?”
Nick sighed. “I said a lot of stupid shit those first few days, didn’t I?”
“Yep, you sure did.” Then Winnie relented. “But I’m glad you don’t hate me and you don’t think I’m incompetent.”
“I don’t hate you and I think you’re highly competent.” He pushed off the wall and walked over to the sofa. “Now that we’vesettled our misunderstandings, are you going to get up and get dressed? Your sister is throwing you a party, and I think we should attend. Karla and the crew are there, too.”
“I said no.” Defiantly, she raised her glass and sucked down a giant mouthful of boozy frozen shake.
