Fast & Loose Elizabeth Bevarly (bts book recommendations .txt) 📖

pants yet, either, because he was standing there in the lipstick-kissed silk boxer shorts and nothing else.

“You said you were decent,” she said lamely to his back.

“I am decent,” he told her without turning around. “I’m also in my underwear.”

She gripped the doorjamb and bit her lower lip hard, mostly to prevent herself from crossing the room, because what Bree wanted most in that moment was to stand behind Rufus and…lick him. “Next time,” she said shallowly, “I’ll try to be more specific with my questions.”

“You do that.”

He finally made a decision and scooped up a well-worn polo the color of a pine forest after a hard rain. Then he dragged on a less disreputable-looking pair of blue jeans than the ones he’d had on, stuck his bare feet into a pair of extremely well-worn Top-Siders, and turned to face her.

She remembered then that there was one question she had been specific about that he hadn’t answered. So she asked it again. “Have you really not had sex with anyone since you met me?”

He dropped one hand to his hip and, with the other, reached back to rub his neck in that way men do when they know they have to say something they really don’t want to say. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I really haven’t had sex with anyone since I met you.”

“Why not?”

He dropped both hands to his sides, expelled a restless sound, and looked at her as if she should know the answer to that better than he did. “Because I haven’t wanted to have sex with anyone since I met you, Bree. No one except you.”

She thought about all the times she’d worked with him when she’d been going out with other guys. All the times she’d talked to one of the other female bartenders—while Rufus was within earshot—about a date she’d had the night before with some wealthy guy she’d managed to snag. She thought of the times she’d come into the bar with a date when he was working. And she thought about how he must have felt on those occasions. She’d always known Rufus had a thing for her. But she’d never realized it went as far as this.

She told herself she should apologize. But that might just sound patronizing. So all she said was, “I didn’t know it was like that.”

He shrugged. “Now you do.”

Something about the way he said that made it seem like he was tacking on an unvoiced, So what are you going to do about it? But really, what he was probably thinking was, So what am I going to do about it?

They stood there in silence for a moment, each clearly having no idea what to say. There was something heavy and uncomfortable hanging between them that was thick enough to hack with a meat cleaver, but damned if Bree could identify exactly what it was. Tension, maybe. Embarrassment. Confusion. All of the above.

“Maybe I should go,” she finally said. She even went so far as to take a small step backward, into the hall.

“No,” Rufus said quickly, completing three giant steps to catch up to her. “No, you shouldn’t. I promised you dinner. And I always deliver.”

She took another step backward into the hallway, a larger one than was probably necessary to let him pass. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything. And if he seemed to take a larger step than necessary to get around her, well…Bree pretended not to see it.

She followed him to the kitchen, which, like the rest of the house, was cozy and well appointed with everything anyone could need to feel comfortable. The furniture here was older and well used, too, but sturdy and nice. He had all the essential appliances like a coffeemaker, toaster oven, and microwave, and a few that surprised her—espresso maker, bread machine, food processor.

“I didn’t know you liked to cook,” she said, remarking on those last two.

He shrugged. “It’s not a passion,” he said. “I just like to be self-sufficient.”

“Next you’ll be telling me you grow your own food in the backyard.”

He colored a little at that.

She laughed. “No way.”

“Just tomatoes and peppers. Those are passions. And maybe a few herbs, too.”

“Do you have a microbrewery in the basement?”

Now he laughed, too. “No. But there’s some Red Stripe in the fridge.”

Her favorite brand. What a shocker.

He went to the fridge and pulled out two of those, along with a ceramic bowl in which, she discovered, he was marinating a couple of steaks. After opening the beers, he pushed a button on the portable CD player on the counter, and the room was filled with mellow guitar.

He tilted his head toward the back door. “Keep me company while I light the grill. It’s such a nice evening, I thought we could eat out. Literally.”

The hours that followed were some of the most pleasant Bree had spent in a long time. She didn’t do enough of this, she thought as Rufus brought a couple of after-dinner coffees out to the deck for them to enjoy. By now, the sun had dipped behind the trees, and the sky was stained with the last orange and gold remnants of daylight. The mellow guitar music had segued to sexy saxophone, and when she sipped her coffee, she realized Rufus had laced it with Frangelico—another favorite. As she leaned against the deck railing beside him, she could feel what little tension was left in her body gradually easing away. Even more important, the anxiety that normally gnawed at her brain began to evaporate, too.

“You have a really nice place here, Rufus,” she said softly as she watched a rabbit in the far corner of the yard nibble at a patch of clover.

“You sound surprised,” he replied just as softly.

She set her coffee mug on the deck railing and turned to face him. “I guess I kind of am.”

He turned to face her, too, but still cupped both hands around his own mug. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I guess you just never