“Exactly.”
“And who is on your list that fits that profile?”
“Oh, I don’t know . . . everyone else.”
“Great!”
“Anyway, how is your day? Have your brokers come up with any new marketing plans?”
Glen leaned against the glass, grinning. Mary actually listened and remembered. “We actually have a few plans to target for the summer travel season.” He bounced a few ideas off of her, found her genuine interest warming to his soul. When he hung up, she was running off to lunch and he had a meeting to attend.
Seemed to him, the East Coast–West Coast relationship was working out really well.
Mary was sinking her teeth into her Reuben when Kent pulled up to the empty space beside her.
“Hey,” she said around her food.
He pointed down. “Am I good here?”
She nodded and wiped her mouth, washed the food down with her tea. “You’re fine.”
He glanced around. “I thought maybe your friend was joining you again.”
“Glen? Ah, no. He’s not here. He’s doesn’t actually live here.”
Kent accepted the ice water Carla set in front of him. “Is that right?”
“He’s on the East Coast.”
“That doesn’t sound terribly convenient.”
She lifted her sandwich for another bite, hesitated before saying, “He’s a pilot, so . . . it works. Except when my car breaks down. Thanks again, by the way.” She filled her mouth.
Kent seemed to take in the information slowly. “I suppose if you’re both committed to making it work, then good for you.”
She smiled, tried not to look smug. “So far.”
Carla set a Reuben in front of Kent. “Thanks, hon.”
Carla winked, moved on down the line.
“Is your car still in the shop?”
Mary set her sandwich down and shook her head. “The guy did a number on it. It won’t be running for another week and then it goes to the body shop.”
Kent just stared at her. “What guy?”
“Someone broke into my house . . . ripped it up a bit. Messed up my car.”
“What?” There was outrage in his voice.
“Someone with a Napoleon complex, I’m sure. Anyway . . . yeah, my car won’t be back with me for a while.”
“That sounds awful. Any idea who did it?”
“No clue.”
“Are you concerned . . . living alone?”
“I’m not going to let this person win by living in a bubble. I’m being more careful. The police have been in the neighborhood more since the incident.”
Kent reached into his suit pocket and removed a card. He took a pen and wrote on the back of it. “Here is my number. If you need someone to walk you to your car, just check on you . . .”
Mary hesitated. She didn’t want the man to get the wrong idea.
“For your safety, Mary. I know you’re dating East Coast guy. I can’t help but wonder if that will work, but I get the hint. I’d like to think we’re friends. If I had a girlfriend as gorgeous as you, I’d like to know there was someone watching out for her when I couldn’t be there.”
When he put it that way, it felt wrong not to take his number. “Thank you, I appreciate it.”
“I think I need a drawer,” Glen said from her bathroom the following Saturday morning.
He’d arrived in time to take her out to dinner Friday night, made love to her until one in the morning, and now stood in her bathroom brushing his teeth.
“A drawer?”
“You know . . . the boyfriend drawer.”
She hid a smile behind her palm with a tiny squeak she knew he couldn’t hear. She’d never been in a relationship long enough to warrant a drawer. “What makes you think you’re drawer-worthy?”
She stood over the very place his drawer would be, removed a pair of panties, and slid them on.
“I think the exclusive boyfriend is entitled to a drawer.”
Mary found a matching bra, hooked herself in, and dropped the bathrobe she’d put on after her shower. “Does that mean I can have a drawer at your place?”
“Of course . . .” He had a toothbrush in his mouth, so of course sounded more like ah cus. The water in the sink was turned on, then off. “But you might wanna come over at least once to see if you even want a drawer at my place.”
It was kind of strange that she’d yet to step foot in Glen’s home. “I have to be invited.”
“Oh, sweetheart . . . you are always invited.”
She smiled into the thought and walked to the doorway to the bathroom. Glen had a towel wrapped around his waist, his bare, sculpted chest stared at her in the mirror. “Have you ever had a drawer at a girlfriend’s house?” she asked.
Through the mirror, he let his eyes fall up and down her frame. He licked his lips. “I’ve never had a girlfriend before. The drawer never came into question.”
She found that hard to believe. “You’ve dated a lot of women.”
“Dated. Some of them more than once.”
“Not one girlfriend?”
“I don’t count high school. And drawers weren’t an option back then.”
“Someone in college, surely?”
“I can give you Jason’s number if you don’t believe me.”
“So I’m your first real girlfriend?” It sounded strange coming out of her mouth.