Page 29 of A Not So Merry Rescue
She turns her nose up. “Beer is great, thanks.”
“Lager? Ale? Stout?”
“Any of them. I’m easy.”
She makes it too effortless sometimes.
“Are you? Pegged you differently. As someone who wouldn’t give away the farm. Not immediately, anyway.” I’m rambling, but the more I say, the rosier her cheeks flush. Her neck, too. Like Rudolph’s nose, all shiny and bright.
“Walked myself into that one. Lager. Nothing holiday related.”
I grab two, opening them up on the bottle opener screwed to the wall. “You want a glass or do you drink from the bottle?”
“Don’t tell my sister, but bottle.” Her cheeks flame redder.
“Darn. How’d you know she was the first person I was going to text?” I snigger, handing her the bottle. “Why can’t she know?”
Willa takes a swig, and my eyes latch onto her throat as she swallows. Though not a part of anyone’s anatomy I usually give any attention, her neck is slender and long. Arched back to accommodate the bottle. It would look even better against a pillow . . .
Damn, I’ve got it bad.
Less than thirty-six hours, and I’m about to give my left nut for a roll in the sack.
It’s been too long since I’ve been laid. That must be the issue.
“Too many germs.” Her voice is tinnier as she mimics her sister.
“Are you two identical?”
“God, no.” I nearly choke on my beer. “It’s bad enough having someone share your birthday, your friends, your brain sometimes. I couldn’t imagine sharing the same DNA.”
“Tell me how you really feel, Willa.”
“I don’t know what it’s like not to be a twin, so I can’t say how I’d feel if I didn’t have her. I’d be lonely, that’s for sure. She keeps me entertained.”
“Does she write, too?”
“No. She’s creative in other ways. Painting, drawing, clay, jewelry. If you can make it with your hands, Clem can do it.”
“Impressive.”
“She’s very talented. I’m not biased when I say that. She truly has a gift.”
I love how there’s not an iota of jealousy but only pride for her sister. Does she feel the same way about her gift? I hope I get the chance to find out.
As if that will happen. She’s not here to get to know. She’sonly here until her car is fixed, a temporary pit stop on her road trip to other places.
Willa offers to clean up our dinner, and since I need a shower, I let go of the control to do it myself and agree. I can’t complain too much about how her cleanup job after breakfast.
And when I’ve washed away the stress and stench of the day, I find a sparkling kitchen and Willa relaxing on the couch, her feet tucked under her, her beer on the ottoman. She changed into teal leggings and an oversized sweatshirt and swapped the glasses for the black ones. She doesn’t look like a guest but someone who belongs in the space.
Ireallyneed to get laid.
9
willa
Last night’smemories assault me.
