Funny how the water seemed to cool at just the moment his brain turned to hockey. Seemed about right. He wrenched the water off and grabbed the towel from the hook.
They still smelled a little musty, and he had to assume they always would after all the washings he’d done. He could get new towels, of course, just like he could get someone to fix this place up, but just like with the truck, something stopped him.
Maybe he should stop letting it. He had a plan now. A plan in place even if he left. He was building something for…something. Someday. Even if he got back in the league, he sure as hell couldn’t play hockey forever.
Much as he’d like to.
He dried off, pulled on his boxers, and ran a hand through his wet hair. He needed a haircut, and to do some laundry that wasn’t towels. He was out of clean pants, and he doubted the T-shirt situation was much better.
But first, he absolutely needed food.
He hadn’t conned Mel into teaching him to cook anything yet, and while he could probably search the Internet for a few tips and tricks to making something with the chicken in his fridge, he was too hungry to fiddle around.
Scrambled eggs would have to do, along with a little light llama reading, then some laundry.
Life had gotten weird.
He went through the prep, cracking a few eggs into the skillet, tossing some cheese in for good measure. He’d get back on the “protein shake, vegetables, and lean meats” thing tomorrow.
Drawing the spatula through the raw eggs, he squinted at the pages of his book. Then he cursed and went to retrieve his glasses. “Old-man eyes, my ass,” he grumbled, sliding the thick frames onto his nose.
He glanced from the book to the eggs, stirring occasionally. When a knock sounded at the door, he paused. Why was someone at his door at nearly eight thirty at night?
Shit, his life hadn’t just gotten weird—it had gotten lame.
The eggs were about done, so he took the pan with him. Buck and Mel and the kid who’d dropped off his library books the other day were the only people who ever came out here, and he wasn’t expecting anyone.
He opened the door and about dropped the pan. Mel stood on his doorstep looking…not at all like Mel.
She stared at his chest, and he acutely felt the fact that he was basically standing here in his underwear holding a pan of eggs. And she wasn’t exactly fully dressed herself.
She stepped inside. “Take off the glasses. Put the pan down.”
They were words, and perhaps at another time they might make sense strung together, but he could see her legs, her arms, the tops of her breasts. He could see more of her than he could not see of her.
“I’m sorry, did you…say things?”
She closed the door and crossed her arms under her breasts, which…um…what was happening? She had makeup on. And sexy clothes. With cowboy boots.
He was dreaming probably. Yes, this was an unconscious fantasy.
“I said, take off the glasses and put the pan down,” she said in a careful, measured tone.
“Could I possibly then get dressed?”
“No.” She shook her head emphatically, the loose ends of her ponytail swinging back and forth as she stared him down. “That will not be necessary.”
“Um.” He’d never considered himself shy before, and he’d certainly had his fair share of brazen sexual proposals thrown his way. He’d even taken up most of those women.
But those women weren’t Mel.
Her eyes met his, cool and determined, but there was a flash of something underneath. He couldn’t read it, she kept it so well hidden. “Glasses. Pan. Now.”
“Can you maybe fill me in on what’s going on, and why?” Carefully, watching her, he set down the pan, flicked off the burner, and then—because, eh, why not—he took off the glasses and placed them on top of his book.
She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. She pushed out her chest, which meant he could see down the front of her shirt enough to see the tops of a black bra.
She looked so…soft. Which was not a word he’d ever associated with her, but his fingers itched to touch, to run along the delicate curve of her breasts, the sloping angle of her collarbone.
And then follow it with his mouth.
“We’re going to have sex.”
His gaze jerked from her breasts to her face. “Right now?”
“Yes.”
“And I don’t suppose I have any say in the matter?”
Her expression flickered briefly, like a quick flash of uncertainty before she banished it. “You want to, don’t you?”
He scratched fingers through his hair, trying to work out the right way to deal with this. Because, something about being a good guy for Mel, when he’d never been much of one before, held some strange appeal. He wanted to try this new good-guy thing. “Well, that’s not a straight yes or no question.”
“Yes, it is. Either you want to get me naked or you don’t.”