He turned his gorgeous blue eyes on her and smiled. “Shoot.”
“How many items currently reside on your bathroom counter?”
Barrett cocked a brow. “Huh?”
Alyssa laughed. “Very good question.”
“I don’t get it,” Barrett said.
“We’re conducting a poll about men and their bathrooms,” Alyssa said. “Indulge us.”
Barrett finally shrugged. “Okay, fine. Uh . . . soap, of course. Toothpaste and toothbrush. Deodorant. Maybe a comb?”
Harmony smiled when Barrett struggled to come up with anything else. She knew he was an absolute male of the not-so-fussy-about-his-grooming variety.
He finally cast her a helpless look. “I don’t know. I’ve got nothin’ else. Did I fail?”
“Oh, no,” Harmony said. “You most definitely passed.”
“You should go out with Barrett,” Alyssa suggested. “He’s a nice guy, and he obviously doesn’t keep thirty-seven things on his bathroom counter.”
Barrett laughed. “Yeah, and Drake would kill us both. He’d definitely kill me.”
The idea of going out with Barrett appealed, though. She’d had such a crush on Barrett when Drake had first introduced them all those years ago. And now? Hmmm. Yeah, definitely appealing.
“What my brother doesn’t know won’t hurt him—or you. What do you say, Barrett? Care to take me out?”
Barrett was at a loss for words. Harmony was his best friend’s little sister.
Only she wasn’t so little anymore. When he’d first been drafted by Tampa, he and Drake had bonded. Both of them played defense, they’d been roommates and they’d become friends. It had been that way for the past six years.
He’d been coming here to Drake’s mom’s house ever since that first year, back when Harmony had been in college. Back when she’d still been a kid. Now she was a woman, and she’d just been dumped by some guy who was obviously too stupid to know what a treasure he’d had.
She was beautiful, with brown skin, long, dark curly hair, and those amazing amber eyes. She had the kind of body any man would want to get his hands on, curves in all the right places . . .
And he had no business thinking about Harmony at all, because there was a code—no messing with your best friend’s sister.
Absolutely not. No. Wasn’t going to happen.
He pushed back his chair and stood, looking down at Harmony as if she were Eve in the Garden and she’d just offered him the forbidden apple. “I know the rule, Harmony, and so do you. I think I’ll go check out what Granny made for dinner tonight.”
He might be tempted, but there was too much at stake. He was going to step away from the sweet fruit in front of him before he decided to do something really stupid and take a taste.
Because going down that road would spell nothing but doom.
Don’t miss the next Hope novel from New York Times bestselling author Jaci Burton
MAKE ME STAY
Available soon from Jove Books
Reid McCormack stood in the middle of the main floor of the old mercantile in downtown Hope, his boots kicking around years’ worth of dust and debris. The ceiling was collapsing, the original wood floor had seen years of use, and some of the floorboards were worn down to holes. He’d already been to the second and third floor to check things out. The original staircase leading to the second floor should probably be condemned. Plumbing was shit, electrical was shot, and the list of crap items he ticked off in his head should be giving him nightmares.
But Reid had a vision of what this place could be—of what it once had been. As an architect, he built from new—he’d never done work on anything historical. He was an architect, but he was also a licensed contractor. He’d done renovation work here and there, but nothing of this scope.
As he studied the blueprints for the old mercantile he’d agreed to renovate, he still had no idea what he was doing back in his hometown, or why he’d agreed to this job.
It was a big project, and he had plenty of projects with his company in Boston. Shifting responsibilities over had been a giant pain in the ass, as was taking a leave of absence and putting his company—his baby—in the hands of his associates. He’d sweated blood and risked a hell of a lot of money to get his architectural firm up and running, and with numerous late nights and damn good work, he’d made a success of McCormack Architectural Designs.
The thought of not being in Boston overseeing the business sent of shot of nervousness straight to his gut. But, he’d had to admit, when he’d come back home for his brother Logan’s wedding in the spring and they’d taken a look at this old place, it had been childhood memories, plus the challenge of restoring the mercantile to its former glory, that had been too much to resist.
This was his chance to do something out of the ordinary.
He had ideas for the mercantile. A lot of them. And now that he and his brothers had bought the old building back from the town, it was their responsibility to do right by it.