Summer Love: The Best Mistake / Impulse

She hadn’t been sure he’d come. She knew she’d hustled him, and after she’d finished being amused by it, she felt guilty. But here he was, right on time, standing at the foot of the steps.

“I pushed you into a corner….” she began.

“Yeah, you did.” She looked so somber, he had to smile. “You’ve got a real talent for it.”

She shrugged her shoulders and smiled back at him. “Sometimes being pushy is the only way to get things done, but I always feel bad about it after. I did bake brownies.”

“I could smell them all the way upstairs.” When she didn’t move, he tilted his head. Funny, though she was wearing that sexy waitress rig again, she didn’t seem so outrageous. Except for that bow tie, he thought. Something about that black tie around that slim white throat shot straight to his libido.

“You going to let me in, or do you want me to stand out here?”

“I have this guilt thing,” she explained, “whenever I have to ask anyone for a favor. And it was so sweet of you to take Keenan to the game, especially when…”

“When I’d been asking you out?”

She shrugged her shoulders again, let them fall. He was looking at her that way again, and something in her body was reacting helplessly. Better, she thought, to set the rules quickly. “I don’t go out with men. I should have told you straight out.”

He had to force himself not to lift a hand to that neat little bow and tug. “At all?”

“It’s just easier not to. They’re not interested in Keenan, or they pretend they are so they can talk me into bed.” When he rocked back on his heels and cleared his throat, she laughed. “What they don’t know is that they’re clear as cellophane. You see, Keenan and I are a team. As a sportswriter, you should know what that means.”

“Sure. I get it.”

“Anyway, you gave him a really wonderful day, and I feel like I’m twisting your arm about tonight.”

He decided, after a moment, that she wasn’t doing it on purpose. There was just too much sincerity in that glorious face for a con. And if there was a twinge of guilt because he had given considerable thought to talking her into bed, that was his problem.

“Look, he’s asleep, right?”

“Yes. All the excitement wore him out.”

“So, I’ll eat your brownies and watch your TV. No big deal.”

Her smile came easily now, beautifully, and made his mouth water. “I left the number of the club by the phone, just in case. The Finklemans should be home by eleven. She’d come over and relieve you if you want.”

“We’ll play it by ear.”

“Thanks, really.” She stepped back into the kitchen to let him in. “My shift ends at two, at closing.”

“Long day for you.”

“I’ve got tomorrow off.” After grabbing her purse, she took a quick look around. “Make yourself at home, okay?”

“I will. See you.”

She hurried out, those incredibly sexy heels clicking across the tile. Coop let out a long breath and told himself to settle down. The lady had just set the ground rules. Fun and games were out.

She had the face of a siren, the body of a goddess and legs designed to make a strong man whimper—but deep in her heart she was Betty Crocker.

Coop took a deep sniff and decided to content himself with a plate of double-fudge brownies.

***

The storm rolled in just before midnight. Coop had taken Zoe at her word and made himself at home. He was stretched out on her couch, sunk deep in the cushions, with his feet propped comfortably on her coffee table. He was dozing in front of an old war movie, his only regret being that he hadn’t thought to bring a couple of beers down with him.

Zoe’s selection ran to milk, juice and some unidentified green liquid.

He’d poked around a little—it was simply in his nature. The clutter ran throughout the house, but he began to see a pattern to it. Obviously she wasn’t a detail person, but the general lack of order made the house comfortable, even cozy. Coop wasn’t sure if the result was by design or simply because she was a woman who worked two jobs and had a kid to raise.