Page 18 of Inviting Trouble
No, she hadn’t grown taller, but she’d filled out.Don’t think about it.
“You always wear skimpy workout clothes?” he blurted.
She eyed him. “Everyone serious about working out wears the right clothes. Baggy stuff would get caught on the equipment.”
“It looked like you were only wearing—” he gestured in the general area of her chest “—a, uh, you know, a, um, bikini top or something.”
“A bra?” she asked way too loud. “Is that what you can’t say? A bra?”
“Shh.” His neck was hot, the tips of his ears too. Mad enjoyed messing with people. And the more she could make them squirm, the better. He couldn’t let her know she’d gotten to him. “Yeah, a bra.”
She shoved his shoulder. “You try shopping in the women’s fitness department. It’s all sports bras and half tops. The men’s stuff is way too big for me.”
He kept his mouth shut. He shouldn’t have brought it up. What did it matter if she wore skimpy stuff at the gym? Probably lots of women did. Just because he was noticing her didn’t mean she wastryingto draw extra attention to herself.
They got to the restaurant and the waitress gestured for them to take a seat. They were the first customers. Mad went to a table for two by the window with a view of the ocean. The sky was gray; the water a bluish-gray. Maine in winter. It made you want to sit in front of a roaring fire.
He sat across from her. “Don’t you want to dry your hair? It’s freezing.”
She scrunched her hands in her hair, making it stick up. He wondered if those spikes were soft. “I didn’t have a hair dryer.”
He gestured for the waitress and ordered them two coffees. Then he pulled off his gray sweatshirt and handed it to her. “Put it on.” He had a T-shirt under it.
She crossed her arms. “I’m fine. Besides, you’ll be cold without it.”
He shook the sweatshirt at her. “I’m cold just looking at you.”
“Then don’t look at me.”
“Put the damn shirt on.”
“No.”
He set the shirt on the side of the table and crossed his arms. She stared at his biceps. “Then we’ll both be cold.”
She lifted her chin. “I’m not cold at all.”
He heaved an exasperated breath and put the sweatshirt over the back of his chair. “So damn stubborn.”
“So damn overprotective,” she returned. “I don’t need a protector. I could kick your ass.” Her brown eyes glittered in challenge. She was all sass and attitude, exactly like he remembered. He relaxed a bit, feeling on more stable ground now that they were both fully dressed and bantering like old times.
“Ya think?” He laughed. “I’ve got a good sixty pounds of muscle on you.”
“Say the word,” she said with a smile that was downright scary. “I can’t wait to see you go down.”
He jolted.She didn’t mean that dirty, right?
The coffee arrived. Thank God. He took a sip, leaving it black. “Sweet as always, Mad.”
She sipped her coffee too, taking it at its full bitter strength like he did. “I wasn’t raised to be sweet and pretty.”
“No, you were not.” She was raised in a houseful of males, who she imitated, doing her best to fit in with them all.
She scowled.
“Don’t pout, shortstack. Sweet is overrated.”
She brightened. “So what’s the plan now that you’re home? You have any job prospects lined up?”
