A Date with the Other Side (Cuttersville #1)(26)
Author: Erin McCarthy

“They didn’t want Shelby to leave him, thought she was making a mistake. My aunt thought Danny took good care of her.”

He popped the top on his drink and took a sip. Something about Brady’s comment bothered him. “What do you think of Danny?”

Another shrug. “He’s cool. But hey, if Shelby doesn’t want to be married to him, I don’t see that it’s any of Aunt Susan’s business, you know? And Shelby doesn’t need anyone to take care of her. What is this? Like the fifties, man? Come on.”

Boston was liking Brady more and more with each passing minute. But he was left even more with the impression that he needed to stay away from Shelby Tucker. He couldn’t get involved with her, no matter how appealing she was. Brady had said that women here wanted commitment, and he couldn’t give that. Not even close.

“It’s because she’s dyslexic, you know.”

Those words brought him back to attention. Shelby had a learning disorder? “She is?”

“Yeah. She’s real smart, but being dyslexic messed her up in school.” Brady scowled at him. “She can read, though, I don’t mean that, it’s just stuff is harder for her and her mom was a total freak about it, acting like she’s disabled or something.”

Which was probably how she’d tumbled into marriage and now haunted house tour guide. Nobody had encouraged Shelby to aim higher. The thought made him feel anger and sadness and a few other emotions, all of which were inappropriate for a woman he planned to stay the hell away from.

They finished eating in silence until Brady cocked his head and pinned him with a stare. “What is up with your hair tonight? You’re always like Mister GQ, but tonight you look like shit.”

Boston glanced at his reflection in the microwave. Nice. He looked as if a wool sweater had landed on his head. He’d taken the mousse out of his hair during the shower, but hadn’t had a chance to put his regular products back in. All night he’d been with Shelby, fuzzy-headed and deodorant-free. That must have made quite an impression.

“I didn’t have time to put my hair stuff on.”

“What do you use?” Brady touched his own hair. “I’m not getting a good hold with what I’m using.”

“It’s forming cream. Twenty-five bucks a jar, but it does the job without looking shiny.”

“What brand?”

“I don’t know. Want me to go up and get it?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“No.” Boston took the steps two at a time and laughed to himself. Brady had thought yogurt was feminine. What did discussing hair products qualify as?

A minute later, he slapped the jar in Brady’s hand, who had slid off the counter.

“We can’t buy anything like this here,” Brady said, inspecting the jar. “It sucks to live in the sticks.”

“You can order it online.”

“No computer.”

“You can use mine.”

“Seriously?” Brady looked up at him as he unscrewed the lid, surprise on his face.

“Sure. You can come here and use it some night.”

“Thanks, man.” Brady smiled, then frowned when he looked at the forming cream. “This stuff is nasty looking. No offense or anything, but it looks like you shot your wad into the jar.”

It took Boston a second to infer Brady’s meaning, and when he did, he couldn’t help laughing. “It does not.”

“Yes, it does.” Brady stuck a finger in and pulled out a dripping white glob of forming cream.

Boston saw the resemblance immediately and decided he would be switching to clear-colored pomade.

Brady put down the jar, then rinsed his dirty plate under the faucet and set it in the dish rack.

“Well, I’ve gotta head out, but I might help Shelby out tomorrow with the tour if it gets out of hand, so I’ll see you then.”

Boston felt a touch of alarm. “Out of hand? Why?”

“Word’s out that the spirits are talking, locking doors and shit. People want to see. I’d expect double to triple the number of gawkers tomorrow.”

Oh, wonderful. And he couldn’t even bitch about it because he knew how much Shelby needed the money.

Brady left with a wave, leaving the back door open behind him.

Boston went to close it, but it glided shut on its own before he even got there.

Stopping in the middle of the sunny yellow kitchen, Boston glanced around suspiciously before deciding to head to bed. “Thank you,” he said to the empty room as he passed through to the hallway.

The only answer was the click as the kitchen light turned off behind him.

He was avoiding her. Shelby sighed, standing on the front porch of the White House, pulling the door closed behind her. Seven days, a whole blinking week, and she hadn’t seen him once.

Not since she’d interrupted him on the verge of giving her an orgasm and had leaped out of his bedroom.

What kind of a woman was dumb enough to do that?

She was, apparently. And all week she’d been feeling like someone must have whacked her with a stupid stick. A really big stupid stick.

It was an understatement to say she was regretting her actions. But she’d been in the middle of feeling all kinds of strange swirling emotions about Boston, confusion and embarrassment and a panicked sort of anxiety that he’d find her about as sexy as a block of ice, when she’d looked up and seen that door roll open.

An escape route from a man who had her feeling like she was way too old to be acting so ridiculous.

Only seven days and seven long frustrating nights later, she was rethinking things a bit. At night she dreamed about him.

During the day she traipsed her way through his house twice on the tour, smelling his aftershave lingering in the hall and seeing his bed neatly made, his coffee mug un-rinsed on the counter. Not to mention she was constantly having to talk about him, explaining to the tour-goers what exactly had happened the times they’d been locked in rooms together by unruly spirits. Well, she left out the bit about her springing off the bed half naked, and the actions immediately preceding it.

Gran nudged her. “You’re supposed to be the guide. Tour’s leaving without you, Shelby.”

A serious lack of energy left her shoulders sagging and her wondering if she needed a multivitamin. And she could actually afford a ten-dollar bottle of pills now that her tour was just about busting at the seams every day. Everyone wanted a chance to see the White House’s increased paranormal activity.