Page 96 of Roughing the Player
Chapter 26
Eleanor
“MOM?”Kaylee.
It’s so good to hear her voice. She’s only been gone a few days, but I miss her more than I can say. So does Butch. He and I spend our evenings moping around the house and our nights curled up in bed. Not even baking or treats can put us in a good mood. “How are you, honey? Is everything okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you having a good time?”
“I am. But I don’t know about Brock.”
My hackles rise. He said it was okay for her to fly down there. Did he change his mind? Before I jump to the wrong conclusion, though, I need to hear what she has to say. “What do you mean?”
“It’s pitiful, mom. Except for the absolute essentials, he hasn’t unpacked a thing. And he’s been here for months.”
That’s what she’s worried about? “Honey, he’s probably busy with meetings and interviews.” Never mind dealing with all the women popping up at his front door. “Maybe he just hasn’t had the time.”
“No. That’s not it. He’s here a lot. He just doesn’t want to empty the boxes. I offered to help, but he said to leave them. And they’re a pain because those boxes are everywhere.”
My heart climbs to my throat. Oh, God. Has she seen his sex toys? When I called him with her flight details, I made him promise to hide those things. If he hasn’t kept his word, I will fly down there and strangle him. “You didn’t go into his, err—”
“Oh, please. I know all about that room. Meghan told me.”
That little busybody is too inquisitive for words.
“Don’t worry. It’s locked up tight. I couldn’t get in even if I wanted to. Which I don’t. Because, ugh. But if it’s like every other room in this place, everything in there is boxed up too.”
And hopefully padlocked as well. What sounds like a doorbell rings in the distance.
“Not again!” Kaylee huffs out.
“What is it, honey?”
“Hold on, Mom.”
She takes her cell with her because I hear the entire conversation.
“Hi, is Brock home?” some chirpy female voice asks.
“No. He’s not here. Can I help you?”
“You must be his daughter. Kaylee, isn’t it?”
Who the hell is this woman and how does she know my daughter’s name?
“Yes.”
I know that tone. It’s Kaylee’s hurry-up-and-get-this-over-with-because-I-don’t-have-time-for-you voice.
“Well, aren’t you adorable?”
Dead silence on Kaylee’s part. I don’t blame her. Since when do you call a twelve-year-old adorable?
“I’m a neighbor. I thought I’d come over and introduce myself. I brought a casserole.”
You and everyone else, apparently.
