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I just didn’t think I was worth sticking around for, a tiny voice whispered in her head.
“And besides,” she said, trying to lighten up the tone of their conversation, “you know we don’t have Ubers in this town. We only have Ernie Trimble, and I heard the last time someone called him for a ride, he drove so slowly that they could have gotten to the market faster if they’d walked.”
Dodge laughed. “Poor Ernie. I do not understand why an eighty-two-year-old man decided to become the self-professed taxi driver of this town. Did you see he even had his minivan painted bright yellow and added a big magnet on the side that says, “Trimble’s Taxi Service”?”
“Oh no. But it doesn’t surprise me.” She laughed but her laughter turned into a yawn as the pain meds must have started to kick in. “Sorry. These pills just make me so tired.”
Dodge shook his head. “Don’t be sorry. You need your rest. I’ll be here if you need me. Oh, and also, I met your cat.”
Her eyelids felt heavy as her head sank further into the pillows. “Then I’m even more sorry. She can be a tyrant. Her name’s April—for April Ludgate.”
“The mean girl from that show,Park and Rec?”
Maisie nodded, her voice feeling as if it were drifting away. “She seems sweet, but she’s got a dark side. And she pretty much hates everyone. Sometimes even me.”
Drowsiness was pulling her down, but her lips curved into a smile as she heard Dodge’s soft chuckle and his murmured, “I doubt that. No one could hate you.”
Chapter Six
Maisie woke the next morning to sunlight streaming across her pillow. Her head felt groggy—she imagined either from the drug-induced sleep or from the airbag slamming into it. She hated taking pain meds, they always knocked her out then left her feeling like she had a hangover when she woke up.
A soft purring sound filled the room, and she turned her head to see Dodge sprawled out on her reading chair, her pink and white fuzzy blanket across his body, his cowboy boots on the floor next to the ottoman, and her cranky cat curled in the crook of his arm, purring like a well-oiled lawnmower.
She couldn’t believe he’d stayed the whole night. And shereallycouldn’t believe her cat was curled up next to him, content as a bug in a cowboy-sized rug.
That throw he was using had never been one she preferred, but it suddenly became her new favorite as she imagined the scent of Dodge clinging to its fibers. The John Grisham book sat on the end table, and she was pleased to see he hadn’t dog-eared any pages or left it tented at his place.
He was still asleep, and she took her time studying him, letting her gaze linger on his long legs, his strong arms, his chiseled jaw, the set of his mouth. She stared at his lips, imagining what it would be like to kiss them. Then heat flushed her cheeks as she remembered standing next to her bed the night before, her arms around his neck, their bodies pressed together, heat filling her as they’d passionately kissed.
But that had been a dream.Hadn’t it?
She shook her head, trying to remember what she’d dreamed versus what really happened, as fragments of the night before played through her mind. She had a clear image of kissing him in only her bra and pajama shorts, but surely that had been the dream part. But then how had she gotten her T-shirt off over the sling and then gotten it fastened again over her pajama top?
Her cheeks flamed again. In her dream, she’d taken advantage of the fact that Dodge Lassiter was in her bedroom and practically thrown herself at him, wrapping her good arm around his neck and kissing him for all she was worth. But that’s only because she was ‘dream Maisie’ not ‘real Maisie’.
What if she reallyhadkissed him?
In the dream, she remembered him kissing her back, and she could almost recapture the feel of his muscular chest pressed to hers. But if that were real, then that also meant he’d seen her half-naked, wearing only tiny shorts and a lacy push-up bra.
Thank goodness I was wearing one of my best bras.
But it probably wasn’t real.Was it?
Whatwasreal was that Dodge had spent the night inherbedroom. Albeit, on her reading chair and snuggled up with hercat, but she was still counting it as a win.Hisdog was sprawled on his back in the bed next to her, his furry legs stretched out in a spread-eagle position, his pink belly exposed.
As if he sensed that she was awake, Moose opened one eye and regarded her before stretching his legs out then flipping over and attempting to crawl into her lap. He gave her chin a quick lick then nuzzled his big head into her shoulder and let out a groan. He was a very vocal dog.
The groan must have woken Dodge, because he stirred and stretched almost the same as the dog had done.
“Mornin’,” he said, his voice still husky with sleep. “How are you feeling?”
She licked her lips. Her mouth had gone dry. He was so dang sexy. She imagined him asking that same question but after waking upinher bed, not next to it. All she wanted to do was run her fingers through his thick hair and cuddle into his chest—the same way her cat was doing.
Lucky cat.
“Sore. But I’m okay,” she told him. “Feel a little like I got run over by a Mack truck.”
“I imagine you will for the rest of the weekend,” he said, lazily stroking his hand over the cat’s back. She let out a low purr as she stretched out her body.
