Page 65 of Panty Dropper

CHAPTER 29

Billy

Two sharp knocks on the door to Reagan’s room was all it took for her to yank it open. I was relieved, actually. Mrs. B had banned me from coming to the boarding house years ago after I’d visited not one but two guests in the same evening, then got myself caught when I was on my way to a third.

The night had ended with the women confronting me, and then each other. That was when it got messy and a catfight ensued. There was name calling, hair pulling, and face scratching—and that was just what was directed at me. I’d left the boarding house with several flesh wounds and lifetime banishment.

Reagan stood in front of me now, eyes wide and cheeks a little flushed.

I grinned. “Waiting for me on pins and needles, darlin’?”

She turned and grabbed her purse. “I appreciate punctuality.”

I snuck a look behind her into her room before she shut the door. My eyes lighted on the bed. Thinking about laying her out on that floral comforter, her hair spread out over the dusty pink pillows, sent a flash of heat belting through my body. It took every ounce of discipline in me to keep from suggesting that we ditch the house hunting and spend a “friendly” day in that bed, naked and smiling. It was tough. I wasn’t someone who was particularly known for my self-control.

But this thing with Reagan—it wasn’t about momentary satisfaction. I was in this for the long game, and I needed to treat it as such. She wanted to be friends. Fine. We could start there.

If I could make Reagan feel safe and settled here in Firefly, then I had a much better chance of spending a hundred days and nights happy between the sheets with her, instead of just the one.

She shut the door firmly behind her and shrugged her purse strap over her shoulder. “So. Where are you taking me?”

I looked her up and down. She was wearing a floaty white dress that reminded me of the one Marilyn Monroe had worn in the iconic picture of her standing over the grate. Unlike Ms. Monroe’s, the dress Reagan wore ended at mid-thigh. Her legs looked a mile long and I had a flash of them wrapped around me.

If we weren’t “just friends” then I would probably give her a whistle and say something like, “Damn girl, you could stop traffic in that dress.” Instead, I went with the more friendly, “I feel underdressed.”

My words may not have been flirtatious, but my voice was raw and hungry and a blush sprung up on her cheeks in response.

She ran her hands down the bodice of her dress. “I have to do laundry. It was the only thing I had that was clean. I was wearing shorts, but Cheyenne stopped by and brought donuts, and jelly ended up in my lap. This was the dress I was supposed to wear to my bridal shower. Which was supposed to be last weekend. And which, obviously, I didn’t wear.” She shook her head and let out a short breath. “Anyway, it’s the only thing that I have that’s clean. Ready?”

Flustered Reagan might just be my favorite Reagan. I wasn’t used to seeing her so unsure of herself, and I had a pretty good guess as to what was causing it. Sexual tension was a real thing and anyone who said different was a liar.

I moved to the side, further into the corridor, and held out my arm, when a commanding voice echoed down the hallway. “Mr. Comfort!”

Shit.

I heard a thwack and looked up to see that Mrs. B was walking straight toward me smacking that rolled up newspaper she always carried against the palm of her hand. “This is private property and I believe I told you that you are not welcome on these premises.”

The room that Reagan was staying in was a corner unit, and she was still standing in front of the door so she was not in Mrs. B’s sightline.

I held up my hands in surrender. “I’m just here picking up a friend.”

“A friend?” she questioned.

My eyes cut to Reagan, who looked like she was about to bolt back into her room. But instead she stepped into view. “Billy offered to take me to look at properties to rent.”

Mrs. B looked between the two of us, her eyes narrowing before she pointed the rolled up newspaper toward me and warned Reagan, “You be careful with this one. You’re a nice girl, and he has a silver tongue.”

She knows all about my tongue.

“Yes, ma’am.” Reagan nodded.

“Well now, you kids behave yourselves, ya hear me?” she said pointedly in my direction.

“Yes, ma’am,” we chorused.

I felt like we were kids leaving the principal’s office as we left the boarding house. As we walked down the steps, I did my best to keep my hands to myself. I’d placed my hand on her lower back the day before in the bar and she’d seemed fine for a moment, but then she’d tensed up. I didn’t want a repeat of that scenario, so I kept my arms at my sides.

Until we reached my truck. When I opened the passenger door for her, I did offer my hand, and she took it. She stepped onto the running board and got inside. The movement caused the material of her dress to float up and I got a glimpse of white cotton panties. The flash caused me to instantly be at half-mast.

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