Divorced, Desperate, and Delicious

Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

  

Chase sent Lacy one more glance, then started past her. Fabio, wearing horns again, came barreling out of the studio barking. As Lacy sidestepped the dog, her shoulder brushed up against Chase’s.

“Thanks,” Chase said, offering her a smile, and he came within a breath of pressing a quick kiss on her cheek. Jason was right; he was a fool to want to leave here.

Stepping into Lacy’s room, Chase backed against the wall beside the window where he could listen and possibly peer out without being noticed. He heard the front door open.

“Hi, Hunky.” Lacy’s voice carried, and Fabio barked in the background.

Hunky? Chase pushed open the blinds a half inch to see who stood on Lacy’s porch.

The blond guy standing outside Lacy’s door wore a FedEx outfit and a smile—a big outfit and a big come-on smile. He looked more like a weight lifter than a deliveryman. And he stared at Lacy as if he’d love to lift her a time or two. So, this was the guy Lacy was supposed to bring inside and screw his brains out in every room of the house? Not! Chase thought.

“Have lunch with me today?” the man said, passing an envelope and clipboard to Lacy.

“Wish I could, but can’t,” Lacy said, matter-of-factly.

“Okay, then have sex with me,” the man said.

“Real smooth talker,” Chase muttered.

“Wish I could, but can’t,” Lacy said in the same nonchalant tone. She signed the clipboard. “But thanks for the offer.”

The man laughed. “Am I wasting my time?”

“Yes,” Lacy answered, and returned the clipboard with a bright, flirtatious smile. “But don’t stop asking.”

“You’re killing me, Lacy,” the man said.

No, Chase thought. I’m going to do that.

“Bye,” Lacy said and closed the door.

“I won’t give up,” the man called out.

Yes, you will! Chase walked out of the bedroom and met Lacy in the entranceway. Fabio danced at her feet. “You know, you could call and report him for harassment.”

Lacy glanced at Chase and then opened her envelope. “He’s not harassing me.” She pulled out what looked to be a check and then went and tucked it into a basket on the antique sewing machine beside the front door.

“He asked you to have sex with him,” Chase snapped. “Or did you miss that part? I think it came right after he asked you out for lunch.”

“He was joking,” she answered. “Besides, he asked nicely.”

“Right,” Chase said. “Maybe if you stopped calling him a hunk, he might ease up on the invitations for sex.”

Lacy looked up. “I called him Hunky . . . which is his name.”

Chase shook his head, angry at her, angrier at himself for sounding jealous. No, not just for sounding jealous, but for being jealous. Jealousy didn’t belong in the type of relationships he intended to have for the rest of his life, and it certainly didn’t belong here and now.

Sifting through his feelings, he decided it was his cop instincts making him overreact. “You don’t know him. He could be a rapist or a serial killer. You’re out here in the boonies and he could push his way inside and attack you.”