Page 53 of Just Friends
“Ben said he hadn’t answered the text.”
“Either busy or sleeping…” The phone was on the bedside table. “You’ve already talked to Ben?”
“Yeah, he texted to turn on the television and is freaking out about the bad publicity for the town.”
“They say there’s no such thing as bad publicity.”
“Tell that to Ben.”
Rebecca laughed glancing up directly at the chiseled bare chest of Weasel. He could be the guy on the cover of a romance novel standing in the bedroom doorway wearing only sweatpants. The fact Weasel looked like that and ate the way he did was completely unfair. Rebecca had never once seen him in sweats; he’d pulled them off and climbed into bed naked.
“All right,” Rebecca spoke into the phone. “Let me know if you hear anything.”
“I’m sure he’ll call you first,” Hannah got in before disconnecting.
“Did I wake you?” Rebecca asked, setting down her phone and ignoring the buzz alerting her to incoming messages. He appeared worse for wear and probably should still be asleep.
Weasel shook his head. “I need to write the report as soon as possible.”
“How do you feel?”
“Fine.”
“Really?”
“I’ll live. No worries.”
Right. “Coffee?” Rebecca rose and headed into the kitchen. “Or go back to bed.”
Weasel followed and watched her put the grounds into the filter. “I’ll go back to bed if you come with me.”
“I meant to sleep.”
“I didn’t.” Weasel came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and nipping her ear lobe.
Rebecca giggled, “I thought you needed to write a report.”
“Priorities,” he whispered up against her neck, breath and scruffy beard sending shivers down her body.
Rebecca turned to face him, and he pressed her against the counter. “The meth lab explosion made the national news…” running her hands up his torso and over his shoulders. “And you were there and could’ve been seriously hurt.”
“Hey, it’s okay,” he kissed the top of her head. “I’m careful; I don’t take chances with meth labs. I know what I’m doing.” He bent, pressing little kisses along her forehead to the chin.
Eighteen
Winter
In the middle of the living room floor, something had gone terribly wrong with wrapping paper and tape. Rebecca hated wrapping presents. She was not one of those people who produced beautiful packages with elaborate color coordinated bows and cute little sprigs of holly on top. Nope, no matter how careful, hers could be mistaken for one rolled up by a blind guy missing a few fingers. Whoever invented the gift bag was a brilliant human being.
But deciding to wrap her mom’s present was the dumbest plan she’d had in a while. Next to driving eight hours to Chicago for Christmas with her mom and Roger. The name was stupid. What kind of name was that? It conjured the image of a pompous jerk. Not that there was any reason to suspect Roger wasn’t a perfectly nice man. She never got the ends on gift wrap to fold neatly. It always fell way too long or far too short.
A knock brought her out of her daze. Rebecca frowned at the box and sighed. Through the peephole, Weasel stood there in his dark blue windbreaker, and scruffy a few days past respectable. Rebecca opened the door, and he stepped to her closing it behind him. She tried to step out of his path, but he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her against him for a kiss that blew a few brain cells. The jacket radiated the cold, but his body heat underneath replaced the chill.
“Hi,” Rebecca responded when he finally stopped kissing her, his arms still circled her, each hand with a firm hold on her butt.
“Hi,” Weasel replied, voice husky. “I had to see you before you left.”
Rebecca draped her arms around his neck. “I’m just finishing wrapping a present for my mom.” She pulled away and moved back into the room. He hung up his coat.