“Why? The less I wear the more comfortable I am. I put the shorts on as a courtesy to your virtue.”
She gasped. When he laughed, she realized that’s exactly the reaction he’d been going for. Narrowing her sights, she chucked the book in his direction, which he easily deflected with a flick of his hand. How annoying.
“Relax, Luce. There’s nothing wrong with appreciating someone’s more appealing physical traits. In fact, that’s lesson number one.”
She snorted. “How to properly ogle someone?”
“No. How to properly get someone to ogle you.”
Suddenly Lucie needed a drink and practically bolted to the kitchen. She was almost positive she had a bottle of wine some— Aha! Grabbing the corkscrew out of a drawer, she worked quickly to open and pour a large glass of the Moscato wine, and then drained it almost just as fast. And then repoured.
“Do you have wine often?”
She jumped—again—and whirled to face him, glass in one hand, bottle in the other. “Will you stop sneaking up on me like that? And, no, I don’t usually drink wine. This was a Christmas gift from a patient.”
“I’m not sneaking. You’re jumpy. Maybe the wine isn’t such a bad idea.” He scanned her apartment for a minute, allowing her to down most of her second glass without an audience. “Do you have a full-length mirror around here?”
“In my bedroom, but—”
“Perfect. Let’s go.” He grabbed the bottle away from her and led her to her room.
“What are you doing?”
“I told you, lesson number one: dress to impress.”
Lucie was afraid to ask for clarification, and instead chose to gulp some more wine. After he plopped her down on her bed he strode over to her closet and began rifling through her clothes. She thought to object, to tell him to get away from her things, but the alcohol was already easing the tension in her shoulders and she decided to see what he was up to.
“So tell me, Luey, what’s so special about this guy? Why is he our objective and not anyone else?”
“Why is that important?” she asked, wringing her hands together as she watched his back. “Can’t I just say I like him and leave it at that?”
As he moved hangars from one side to the other, occasionally pulling a garment out, only to put it back with a muttered insult, she studied the play of muscles in his shoulders and back. She’d seen Stephen in tight T-shirts when he sometimes used the PT room for a quick workout, but he didn’t look anything like Reid. Where Stephen had a runner’s body, thin with lean muscle, Reid’s body was the exact opposite. He wasn’t large or bulky like those fake wrestlers on TV, but his medium build didn’t have an ounce of fat on it, and every square inch was home to a beautifully defined muscle. It definitely wasn’t a hardship watching him do anything, no matter how mundane, in his shirtless state.
“Nope. Not good enough. You’re willing to do something incredibly unconventional and drastic to get this guy. So I want to know why him. I need to know what I’m working with here if I’m going to help you.”
She bit her lip and wondered if she dared tell him. Not even Vanessa knew, but she supposed if she could share it with anyone, it would be Reid. After all, he was in her home for the explicit reason to help her in her quest to date, and eventually marry, Stephen. Plus, he’d be gone in a couple of months so it wasn’t like he’d be around to lord her incredibly pathetic secret over her until the end of days.
Opening up her nightstand drawer she pulled out a crinkled magazine page. It was a full-page ad for a real estate company, featuring a picturesque colonial home with an idyllic family standing in front of it. The husband stood proudly by his wife, one arm around her waist, the other hand on his son’s shoulder. Younger sister stood in front of the mom who held an infant in her arms. The quintessential American couple with two-point-five kids and their faithful shih tzu at their feet.
“Here,” she said, holding out the page. “I’ve kept this for three years. This is what I want.”
Reid turned around, took the page, and studied it with a frown in his brow. “I don’t get it. Does he live in this kind of a house or something? If that’s what you’re getting at, I have to tell you, that’s not—”
“No, not the house. The whole thing. The perfect life. Or almost perfect because everyone knows nothing is perfect, but I’d like to get as close to perfect as I can get and that ad screams Almost Perfect.”
Reid rubbed a hand over the stubble on his jaw. “Okay, I see what you’re getting at, but how does Mann fit into this?”