Page 50 of Just a Client

“He’s a good guy.” I nodded toward the front of the tent, where he was putting up the team’s banner. A good guy that I’d done bad, bad things with. My cheeks flushed at the memory of looking down at him as he came. His eyes closed, head tipped back into the pillow, the cords of his neck pulled taut. So bad, but so damn good... and we’d only made it to third base.

“A good-looking guy is what I think you meant to say. Wait. You’re blushing. What happened? Spill.” Lara gestured at me with a blue-cellophane-wrapped biscotti in a way that reminded me of the cowboys at Blue Star wielding a cattle prod around an unwilling bull.

“We made out,” I whisper-shouted, in fear of being stabbed with an Italian cookie. Eyes wide, I clamped my hand over my mouth as soon as the words flew out. This topic was not suitable for public discussion. It should wait until we had a bottle of wine and privacy. But I could use some perspective before I let lust lead me down a path I would—er, might—regret.

The making out was only part of my confusion. Yesterday, last night, and this morning had been surreal. It played out like a weird fairy tale where I was the princess and all my wishes were granted.

“You kissed?” She sounded more like an interrogator than my bestie, wanting to squeal over all the sexy details. Lara wasn’t a woman to let a man turn her head. Her pessimism could be contagious. It might help to rein in my ridiculous, unprofessional, and likely unwise enthusiasm for Wilson.

I needed my best friend to open my eyes to the big picture. Make me see the light and repent.

“Ah, more like heavy petting. Very heavy.” I fanned my hot face, thankful the other parents were slackers and hadn’t arrived to help set up the bake sale yet. The incendiary memories of this morning assailed me, and I knew the direction of my thoughts showed on my face. Writhing on top of Wilson’s hard-on had been a fevered dream of possibilities. Not reality.

“Hold the phone.” Lara raised a finger to stop my words.

We both swiveled our heads to triple-check that we were alone. Wilson stood outside the tent, fighting with the team’s banner. At some point, my brother had arrived and joined him in the struggle. They both clasped zip ties between their gritted teeth as they cursed the stiff breeze that made their task damn near impossible.

“I need details,” she hissed.

I told Lara the Cliffs notes version of yesterday at Blue Star. As I relayed the events, I sidestepped her questions concerning Wilson’s intent for the ranch. He and I had talked a little about it that morning on our way over to the fairgrounds. He said he had more due diligence to complete before he decided. But I knew he wanted that ranch—badly.

My real estate agent’s sixth sense said he was buying it. Maybe.

God, I hated not knowing for sure. He might buy the ranch. He might like me. He might be a shitty guy, like Lara’s baby daddy. Or he might not.

While I explained to her what an idiot I’d been to get sunburned, I rolled up the long sleeves of Wilson’s UV-blocking fishing shirt to show off my slightly pink forearms. My stupidity astounded me, and retelling the tale to Lara, I got pissed off anew. At my age, I knew better, but the thought of that commission check had blinded me.

What else could that amount of money motivate me to do? I pushed that ugly and unflattering question away quickly. But it wouldn’t be ignored. It lingered, making me question everything.

None of what happened this morning between me and Wilson was about the deal. At least not on my side of the equation. I wondered at the moral character of someone who’d expect or offer sexual favors as part of a real estate deal. Wilson wasn’t that kind of man. And I wasn’t that kind of woman. But the less charitable people of this world might not see it like that.

I shook off the unpleasant tingling growing between my shoulder blades. The sensation I’d first felt when Brian was killed and my life became fodder for the gossip mill. I never wanted to be the center of that kind of attention ever again.

“It’s not that bad.” Lara poked my pink skin gently. Her delicate touch brought me back to the conversation.

“It was. He fixed it with some amazing cream from his company. Then he fed me and tucked me into bed. He stayed with me all night to make sure I was okay.”

Lara’s eyebrows climbed so high in disbelief or astonishment that they were in danger of disappearing into her hairline. Skeptical only scratched the surface.

“He was worried I had sunstroke.” My insides went all warm and soft. He’d been so sweet to me.

No way I’d tell Lara the price of the cream; I already felt icky about it. Money and sex were the leading causes of stupidity among adults in this world. Another bolt of self-loathing shot through me. Getting off with him this morning was a complication that I knew better than to have indulged in. I gritted my teeth and forced a smile for Lara so she didn’t pick up on my inner turmoil.

If the paltry value of that cream made me uncomfortable, how would accepting the commission make me feel, especially if we did ‘it’? Disgusting. Vile. Reprehensible. I could tell myself it wasn’t about the money, but was I one hundred percent sure? Would anyone, even Wilson, believe my interest had nothing to do with a commission check the size of Texas?

The expensive coffee I’d drunk at Wilson’s churned in my belly at the thought. I snagged a rice crispy treat from the table and opened it. The gooey marshmallow goodness would soak up the coffee ravaging my gut. And childhood nostalgia should improve my outlook. Carbs were an easy shortcut to emotional healing.

“Stop right there. The tender caring stuff happened before the, and I quote, ‘heavy petting’ part?” She looked askance at the sweet treat in my hand, catching my wrist before I could shove it in my face. She held my gaze and my treat hostage, waiting for me to fill in the timeline.

I nodded.

She let out a long, low, impressed whistle, and her expression confirmed she had the same idea I did. The taking care of me stuff was big and important. Wilson proving he was a good guy.

My sunburn zombie state aside, those were significant actions. Outward displays of caring that made my heart take notice and sent my brain off spinning fairy tales. Thus, my need for the cereal treat in my hand poised inches from my mouth.

“Are you falling for him?” She was suspicious; her track record with out-of-towners—well, one in particular—was the main reason I had my prohibition against them. She might love that Wilson took care of me and that he was here to help sell baked goods for her son’s ball team, but that didn’t mean she trusted his motives. Once bitten, twice shy and all that.

I opened my mouth to reply, but I did not know what to say. At a total loss about what to do, I went for the carbs. I jerked my hand free of her hold and took a big, delicious, comfort-filled bite of the rice crispy bar. The noise of chewing blocked out the world. I closed my eyes, and the overpowering sweetness flooded my brain with dopamine. God bless butter and marshmallows.

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