Heated Rush - Leslie Kelly [27]
She’d forgotten about the ones she’d stashed away at the back of her closet in recent years. Not just in black, but in red and navy, too. All with the tags still attached.
But she didn’t decide to wear one of those. Because Annie had a problem. She did not know for sure that Sean was taking her somewhere that would require a cocktail dress.
According to what she’d just discovered, a pair of jeans and a baseball cap might be more appropriate.
“You are such a contradiction,” she mumbled, staring at Sean’s photo in the slick brochure from Monday night’s auction.
She had grabbed the program from the center console of her minivan when she got home from work, shoving the usual contents—empty bottle, rattle, spare pacifier, blanket—out of the way. Hoping to find out the name of the restaurant where they’d be dining so she could decide what to wear, she’d read the paragraph beneath his picture. And had been thoroughly confused.
“A home game at Wrigley,” she read again. “Followed by wings and beer at a pub.”
That so didn’t sound like the kind of dinner she’d envisioned. Sean had specifically mentioned her yellow dress, and even the most clueless of guys—which he wasn’t—would know a woman wouldn’t wear something like that to a baseball game.
Wally, who was sprawled in his favorite so-not-cat-like spread-eagle position on the couch, lifted his head to see if she was speaking to him. Not that he usually paid any attention, at least, not unless she had food. “Go back to sleep,” she said. “Better yet, go into my room and stay there so you can’t be mean to Sean.”
He ignored her. Wally wasn’t the most friendly creature. When her brother Jed had come to visit, the disdainful cat had actually peed on his shoes.
Picturing the horrendous possibilities, she picked Wally up and took him with her to the bedroom, bringing the brochure along, too. Now that she’d caught sight of that picture again, her eyes kept going back to it, acknowledging that, yes, she truly was going on a date with that incredible man.
Giving in to a sudden impulse, Annie tore Sean’s page out of the program so she could save it. She was obviously channeling her Tiger-Beat-Magazine-loving tween self. Because if she drew hearts around his face and wrote “Sean Loves Annie” in spiky cursive handwriting, it would look much like the artwork that had adorned her bedroom walls when she’d been twelve.
“Crazy,” she said, laughing at herself for the silliness. Tara would have such a field day with this one.
Realizing she was running out of time, Annie showered, put on the basics in terms of makeup, and left her hair down in its usual slick bob.
But that didn’t solve the problem of the clothes. That was why, when she heard a knock on her apartment door at seven o’clock, she was wearing nothing but a bra and panties, covered with a short, silky blue robe.
When she answered and saw Sean standing there in a dark, tailored suit, she knew she should have gone with a dress.
“Good God, woman, are you tryin’ to kill me here?”
He stared at her from the doorway, his eyes narrowing as he noted the deep vee of the robe and the tight cinch of the tie around her waist. She could almost see the hunger wash over him, like a wave of warm water, as he parted his lips and breathed audibly across them.
“Give me a piece of pizza,” he muttered. “We’ll call this number two and I’ll come back in an hour for our third date.”
Pizza wasn’t a food anyone would associate with someone who looked like him. Not tonight, anyway.
His long, dark hair was pulled back into a short ponytail, his ruggedly handsome freshly shaved. The impeccably tailored jacket highlighted the broad shoulders, the splashy colors of his tie completely in style. The trousers skimmed over his lean hips and she’d wager his shoes were Italian.
And he was a rescue worker? Good grief, the man looked like he should be on the pages of a Hollywood magazine. She couldn’t help thinking any ambulance he